Trust Again: Dawn and Spencer's Story (The Again Series Book 2)

by Mona Kasten

  “It was the first time he ever raised a hand against me. And when he saw how stoned I was, he slapped me again. He gripped me tightly with both hands and yelled. I could have fought back but I didn’t. I was probably in shock.”

  Spencer’s voice was gruff and he cleared his throat. “They operated on her and put her in a medically induced coma. I remember the first time I saw her after the operation. Dad didn’t want me in the room, so I had to wait outside. But through the window in the door, I could see her lying there. She had a tube stuffed down her throat, and IVs were connected to both her little arms. She looked shattered, pale, and lifeless. Because of me.” He covered his eyes with his other arm so I couldn’t see them.

  I tightened my grip on his hand.

  “It was like someone had thrown a bucket of ice water on me. I woke up suddenly. I mean, really woke up. Olivia would need a long time to recover, and it wasn’t even clear what that recovery would look like. But she was alive. And that was the moment when I completely turned my life around.”

  “How was she after the accident?” I whispered.

  He paused. “It was the toughest year our family has ever had. Olivia had a severe head trauma that damaged part of her brain. One side of her face was paralyzed after the accident and she had aphasia—she couldn’t speak. My parents found the best doctors money could buy so she’d get the best possible speech therapy. She said nothing for more than a year and had to relearn everything from scratch. Language, writing, most motor skills. She didn’t understand context anymore. It was so frustrating for her because she wanted to tell us things but couldn’t, since her mouth and tongue didn’t work together.”

  It must have been horrific. To have a body that didn’t do what you wanted. “How did you handle it?”

  His breath became jerky and I saw him trying to find the right words. “Badly. Just badly. I was suffering from traumatic stress, had panic attacks, and sleep problems. Olivia’s scream came back to me whenever I closed my eyes. I couldn’t stop thinking about how I could have prevented this. I’d start sweating and had trouble breathing. Mom sent me for treatment—I got therapy and anxiety meds.”

  I remembered that he’d once mentioned his therapist. And suddenly those pills I’d seen in his kitchen cabinet made sense.

  “Did it help?” I asked softly.

  “Definitely. I could sleep again. You have no idea how wonderful that is, after months of not sleeping through the night. But also, I had to pull myself together. For the sake of the family. I owed them a lot. Including becoming the brother Livvy deserved. Someone who supported his family instead of tearing it apart from the inside.”

  “Spence…” I gently took his hand from his eyes. “Listen, I don’t want you to think I’m not taking this seriously. The way you behaved back then was not okay, but what happened to Olivia is not your fault.”

  His expression hardened, but I wasn’t finished.

  “Even if you hadn’t been high, could you have caught her?” I demanded.

  He just snorted.

  “If you hadn’t had a cell phone and had been watching her climb, would you have been able to get to her fast enough to prevent her fall?”

  “You don’t get it. Even now, six years later she’s disabled, and everyone thinks she’s mentally disabled because she can’t speak the way she used to and her face is paralyzed. She doesn’t deserve this, Dawn. She deserves a better life. And because of my mistake, she can’t have it.”

  I held his face in both hands. “Stop punishing yourself.”

  “But it’s my…”

  “If you even form the word ‘fault’ in your mouth I will beat you silly.”

  He fell silent.

  “I know you, Spencer Cosgrove. I know you and that you love your family more than anything. You’d do anything for them. That’s more than enough.”

  “But being willing to do anything now doesn’t erase any of the pain my family has had to suffer because of me,” he sighed.

  If he’d been telling himself this for the past six years, it would certainly take more than one night of me arguing with him to undo it. I stroked his cheeks with my thumbs and just looked him in the eyes. It was a heavy burden he was carrying around, and the weight was pulling him down. It was a burden he was going to share with me from now on. I’d see to that.

  “Did your relationship with your family change after Olivia’s injury?” I asked cautiously.

  Spencer blinked. “Yes. One hundred percent.”

  “In what way?”

  “I didn’t leave Olivia’s side. Even when they tried to throw me out, I refused. One time I even tied myself to her bed with zip ties. My dad looked like he wanted to hit me again but the nurses ignored me after that and I stayed with Livvy day and night. My grades took a nosedive but I didn’t care. I think my mom forgave me. When things were at their worst, that’s when I started painting. Livvy’s therapy inspired me to get serious with art. The way one could communicate with colors was fascinating to me. Sketchbooks were our first step toward connecting. You have to be patient when someone suffers that kind of injury. Livvy was irritable and her emotions would fluctuate a lot. They still do.”

  “Is that why you go home so often?”

  He nodded. “I’m the only one that really gets her. That’s why my parents bought this house. When I was accepted into Woodshill they wanted to move here, too, but her treatment possibilities are much more limited here than in Portland. My move made Olivia’s condition worse. It was a lot for all of us to get used to. And I’m only here because mom pushed me to study. If it were up to me, I would have stayed with Olivia. Especially because of my dad.”

  “What do you mean?”

  His gaze became gloomy. “He doesn’t know how to deal with her. If she throws a tantrum, he screams back. He just has no patience. He treats her like she’s a burden. And he talks to her like she’s a baby or a kindergartener. But she understands everything and, from their tone, knows very well when someone is talking down to her. Sometimes it gets to be too much for her. And she has seizures. It’s gotten worse since I moved out. Because I’m no longer there to serve as a buffer to my dad.”

  The word buffer made me flinch. The idea made me incredibly angry.

  “But she’s feeling better now, isn’t she?”

  He nodded slowly. “Yeah, that’s true. She’s in high school and wants to go to college after she graduates. But it’s going to be hard. Aphasia is often mistaken for a mental disability. It’ll be this way for the rest of her life. She can’t even order food in a restaurant because she’s afraid to read the menu aloud. But she’s in treatment and giving it everything she has. I’m sure she’ll be able to do anything she wants. It’ll be difficult, but I’ll help her.”

  He radiated such confidence that I was speechless for a moment. “How do you do that?”

  “Hm?” He looked up at me questioningly.

  “You sound so sure… how do you say that with such certainty?”

  “I’ve already told you about my life philosophy.” He cracked a wry smile. “Every new day gives me another chance to start fresh and be a good person. Every morning is a new beginning. I haven’t forgotten what I did but I try to live with it and strive to be someone who deserves the love of my family and the time of my friends.” He took my hand in his and brought it to his lips. “And the touch of a woman who is much too good for me.”

  Something painful rippled through me.

  How could he say things like that? How could he assume he wasn’t good enough for his family—or for me—given everything he did?

  “Don’t say that.” My voice sounded tight and only now did I realize that tears had sprung into my eyes.

  Spencer sat up and looked at me, startled. “Dawn…”

  “When I moved here, happiness seemed like a far away dream. It seemed impossible to laugh so hard I’d
cry, or dance wildly. Or just feel alive.” I gave him a little punch. Not hard, but just enough so that this stubborn ass would really hear my words. “You’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever met. So just stop saying you’re not good enough.”

  His shocked expression started to melt away.

  “Sweetie…”

  “If you’re going to put yourself down again, I’ll cover my ears.” I put my hands over my ears and started humming a random melody to make my point.

  He opened his mouth but I couldn’t hear him. His grip was gentle but firm as he reached out and moved my hands.

  “That’s one of Livvy’s favorite songs,” he said.

  “I have no idea what song that is,” I responded quietly.

  “I think it’s from the first part of High School Musical.”

  “Oh.”

  He grinned. He actually grinned. With his mouth, his eyes and his whole face.

  “You crazy girl,” he murmured and pulled me close.

  Together we sank into the pillows, arms wrapped around each other, Spencer’s chin on my head.

  I closed my eyes. “Tell me more about Livvy.”

  “She’s basically like any other 14-year-old girl. She loves cheesy movies; her current favorite is Pitch Perfect. She likes boy bands even more than you do, which is why I know almost all the songs on your iPod by heart. During physical therapy I used to sing to her a lot and she made me memorize all of One Direction’s songs. She was kind of sad when Zayn left to do his own thing, but she likes his music and wants to continue supporting him. Oh, and she’s into that weird nail polish where you put two coats on, and the top layer crackles.”

  I laughed into his chest.

  He put his hand on my lower back and idly drew small circles with his thumb. “Lately, I’ve been collecting ideas for her birthday.”

  Blinking, I looked up at him. “When is it?”

  “In two weeks. I have no idea what 15-year-old girls like. Fifteen somehow sounds kind of grown up. I could live with 14, that’s definitely ‘girl’ territory. But 15 sounds… I don’t know.”

  “What are you thinking of getting her?”

  His eyes sparkled. “I’d love to buy her concert tickets, but Mom wasn’t so keen on the idea. She only started letting me go to concerts when I was 16.”

  “What I wouldn’t have given to have had a brother who would take me to concerts.”

  “I can take you to concerts,” he said, and I grinned into his shirt.

  “I wouldn’t want Olivia to get jealous.”

  “We can just wait till she’s 16 and then go as a group.”

  “All right, deal.”

  Over the next hour he told me about his sister, and in such detail that his love for her was more than evident. Talking got easier for him by the minute. And it was good to be there for him. To learn his secrets. To understand him better.

  Eventually, as his breathing grew slower, he rubbed a hand over his eyes. “I’m tired.”

  I stroked his belly. “Then sleep.”

  He shook his head. “You shouldn’t have to go home alone.”

  In the long pause that followed, I felt his heartbeat and took stock of my own feelings. Nothing but warmth. No anxiety. No fear.

  “I’d rather stay with you,” I whispered.

  For a while he just lay there. Then, as if he’d just understood my words, he wrapped his arms around me even tighter and buried his face in my hair.

  Chapter 28

  We were a tangle of arms and legs. He had one arm wrapped around me, his hand lying on the strip of skin where my shirt had slipped up. His other arm was stretched out under my head. I inched my hand along his arm until I reached his long, slender fingers. I stroked his wrist and followed the lines on his palm. That’s what woke him up. I felt the tension change in his body.

  “I slept well,” I murmured.

  “My bed is terrific, isn’t it?” His voice sounded scratchy and sleepy.

  I turned on my back and faced him. He looked tired and disheveled, but the pain was gone from his eyes. He stroked his fingers lightly over the bit of bare skin on my stomach. I caught my breath.

  He bent over and briefly murmured, “Thanks,” then placed his lips on mine.

  This kiss was different. It felt like more than just “thanks.” Unspoken in the kiss was the bond that had been created between us the previous night—actually, over the past few months. I opened my lips for him and when his tongue met mine, something inside me that I thought I’d lost began to bloom.

  Very slowly he pushed the hem of my shirt higher. He stroked the undersides of my breasts with his thumbs, and I gasped. Then he ran one hand along my ribs to my waist, reaching the edge of my panties. He let his hand wander farther south, down to my legs. But when he started to stroke my inner thigh, I reflexively clasped his hand.

  “Don’t.”

  Spencer rolled on top of me. He lifted strands of my hair off my forehead and looked at me searchingly. I felt naked. As if he could see inside me.

  “You’re perfect, Dawn.” He kissed me gently. “You don’t need to hide from me.” He brushed his lips on my cheek. “I told you my story. It’s your turn.”

  My heart was pounding wildly. It felt like I was standing on the edge of an abyss. Boom. Boom. Boom.

  “Please don’t break me,” I whispered.

  He pressed his forehead against mine.

  “I wasn’t planning to.”

  With my hands around his neck, I drew him close. Spencer made a guttural sound that drowned in our kiss. I pressed myself closer, to feel even more of his warmth. What I really wanted was to take him in, hold him and give him everything. He deserved so much, and I tried to show him with my body. With every gesture, every touch.

  My hands slid under his shirt and stroked along his spine. Slowly I pulled the shirt over his head. Mine followed a little later, and then his skin was hot against mine.

  I threw a leg over him to pull him closer. He was hard and hot through the material of his boxers, and he moved a little lower so he could rub against me just where I needed it most. Spencer was panting and his warm breath grazed my throat. My lips traveled over his chest and left a trail of kisses up to his neck. Spencer rolled to his side and pulled me with him, with my leg still wrapped around him. A low growl reverberated deep within his breast. That sound drove me crazy. Especially when his chest was against mine and I could feel the vibration moving through me.

  He shoved his hand into my panties from behind and clutched my bottom. I had no idea how he did it, but his dominance mixed with his tenderness was intoxicating. He pulled my panties down and I kicked them off the bed. Then he stroked along the inside of my thigh and looked at me. His fingers left trails of tingling sensation on my skin. He kept sliding up over the row of scars on my inner thigh, but nothing changed in his expression. He looked exactly like before. He didn’t stop, or linger too long on the spot. He treated it like part of my body. Part of me.

  He mercilessly worked his way up with his hand until it landed between my legs. His eyes locked on mine, he sunk two fingers into my wetness. His unyielding eye contact was a challenge I wanted to meet. A spark flared in his eyes and he entered me again with his fingers. Slowly. Deliberately. As if trying to leave his mark on and in me. But he’d done that already.

  He pulled his fingers back a bit and then pushed them in again. He built up a punishing rhythm and watched my every reaction. Every whimper, every gasp told him how much he drove me mad. When he touched a particularly sensitive spot in me and my muscles contracted around him, he groaned deeply. I arched my back and pressed into his touch. A tremor ran through my body.

  “Let go, Dawn,” he whispered.

  A firm touch with his thumb at my most sensitive point, another thrust with his slightly curved fingers, and I broke apart in his arms. I probabl
y moaned his name. Maybe even shouted it.

  He held tight to my thigh, which was still wrapped around his hip. His thumb continued with its relentless circles and my body trembled long and hard. And even though I had just come, it wasn’t nearly enough. I wanted him. I needed him.

  Everything in me felt like it was made of fire. I reached down and pushed the offending material off his hips. Off with you! Go far away! To the other end of the world!

  “Oh, yeah,” he murmured into my mouth and pressed his naked body against mine.

  “Condom,” I said.

  “Good idea.”

  It was great, the way it was between us. That we could lose ourselves completely in passion, but still be ourselves. Crazy, playful, and at the same time, on fire.

  Moments later he was spreading my legs apart with his knees. He lowered himself onto me; his weight pressed me into the mattress and there was nowhere else I’d rather be. Under him, encircled by his strong arms, his sparkling eyes above me, locked onto mine.

  I wrapped my legs around him. Slowly, slowly, he thrust inside me, his eyes still holding mine captive.

  “You’re so damn amazing, Dawn Edwards,” he growled.

  “Same to you, Spencer Cosgrove.”

  Smiling, he brushed my bangs off my forehead and put his weight on one elbow.

  He slipped out of me and entered again, slowly, as if he were savoring this moment as much as I was. He kept to this languid rhythm and an enormous heat built up in me.

  Raising my head, I kissed his chest and licked the sweat from his throat. He let out a throaty groan and it sounded so damn sexy that my muscles tightened around him. He sucked in a breath of air and I felt him tense deep inside me. My hands wandered over his shoulders and I grabbed his biceps as I tilted my hips, trying to feel more of him. Spencer reacted right away. He pushed deeper into me and I clung to him. His lips stroked mine; I arched my back. To want someone as much as I wanted him would have been scary if it hadn’t felt so great. It was frightening, exciting, wonderful—simply everything.

  Spencer was everything to me.