F-Bomb jumps up on the couch and curls up next to me. Spence narrows his eyes at the cat for not curling up next to him, but there's no real heat behind it. He cuts off another bite of cake with his fork as he says, “Well, go on then.”
This might be pushing it, but I need to dig deeper with him. I honestly don't know if it's better to pile on to a day that's already been emotional and get it over with—or wait for another day. Not that this will be the only emotional day we experience together.
I know there's some deep trauma he's alluded to. I just need him to know he has a friend he can unload on. Working up the courage, I clear my throat. "You don't have to answer if you're not ready."
Spence raises a brow.
"You've mentioned there were things that happened before Travis." He stills, fork mid-flight to his mouth, and my nerves kick. I push forward anyway. "Can you share a little bit with me? I want to understand."
Spence sets his fork down on the plate. "That's not really a twenty questions topic, Ryan."
"I know," I say softly. "But I want to know you, Perfect. Really know you." The words feel inadequate, but I mean them with everything I have. "But we don't have to talk about it right now."
I look down at my palms. I'm not sure I'm ready for how he's going to react.
Spence sighs, then leans back. "Okay."
My head snaps up to meet his eyes. "Okay?"
"Yes, Ry. Ask away."
I pick at my jeans nervously. "What happened? Before Travis. Or during. What made you close yourself off?"
Spence looks to the ceiling. I can see his throat working, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows down whatever's trying to choke him. He drops his head and meets my eyes, and the pain I see there makes me want to reach for him, but I don't. Not yet.
"It was my parents, mostly. But that stretch of yearsbetween my parents and Travis, it was one thing after another."
I curl my legs up on the couch and rest my elbow on the back of it, letting him know he has my full attention. "Tell me."
Spence leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His fingers knit together, white-knuckled. "Well. My dad. That part's simple."
"Don't minimize it, Spence," I tell him. "But go on."
"I guess straightforward is a better word." He laughs, but it sounds broken. "He found gay porn on my computer." A pause. My brows lift, but I force my face neutral, let him continue at his own pace. "He called me while I was at work. Told me to get my ass home." Spence's voice drops, goes flat in a way that terrifies me. "When I did, things got violent."
I sit up straighter, muscles tensing, my jaw so tight I could probably crush my molars into dust. "Spence—”
"My mom got me out of there that night." He keeps talking like I didn't speak, like he's rushing to get it out before he can't. "He had been violent with her before. But when he raised a hand to me, that's where she drew the line."
My fists are clenched now, and I don't know what to do with them. I feel helpless just hearing about it, impotent rage flooding my veins, but I nod, prompting him to go on.
"We bounced around between a few shelters before we got on our feet." His voice cracks on the last word. He looks away, toward the window, anywhere but at me. "I don't,” he sighs. “I don't like talking about that time in the shelters, Ryan."
"Okay," I tell him, gently. "You don't have to right now."
He just nods, but there's appreciation in his eyes for not pushing, something raw and vulnerable that makes my heart ache for him.
"My dad was a drunk." The words come out clipped, dismissive. "He died a few years after we left. Drank himself to death."
"Damn. I'm sorry."
"Don't be," he tells me, shaking his head, and I can see him retreating behind walls, see him trying to make it not matter. "It wasn't a loss for me. He was never going to be a part of my life."
Still, I feel bad for him. I feel bad for the kid who lost the chance to show that piece of shit what he made of his life, what he survived.
Spence draws a shaky breath. "My mom…that's tougher."
I don't say anything. I just give him the space to share things on his terms, my body leaning toward him, wanting to bear some of this weight if he'll let me.
