BLURRY | SPRINA

Chapter Seventeen

The gallery doors closed behind Spencer, the sharp click echoing through the air of the empty porch. He stood frozen in the middle of the room, his chest tight as Jasper's invitation replayed in his head.

Spencer scoffed bitterly, his fingers curling into fists. He didn't know whether to punch the nearest wall or break down right there. Trina was slipping away, and he had no one to blame but himself.

The bouquet in his hand felt like a cruel joke now. He dropped it onto a nearby bench, the hydrangeas scattering across the wood as he stormed away from the gallery, his heart pounding in his chest.

By the time Spencer reached his car, his emotions had spiraled into chaos. He needed to clear his head — or drown out the ache.

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Hours later, Trina was curled up on the couch with a book, the sound of rain tapping gently against the windows. The faint aroma of the lavender candle burning on the coffee table filled the room, meant to calm her nerves.

She'd told herself she wouldn't think about Spencer tonight. Or Jasper. Or Puerto Rico.

Her plan was working — until she heard a knock at the door.

Frowning, she set the book down and got up, glancing at the clock. It was late, too late for anyone to just stop by. Her stomach twisted with worry as she approached the door.

She peeked through the peephole.

"Spencer?" she breathed, startled.

When she opened the door, he stood there, looking like a shadow of himself. His cheeks were faintly flushed, his shirt rumpled, his hair disheveled. The faint scent of alcohol lingered on him, mingling with the rain that clung to his skin. His sad, crooked smile made her heart stutter, though she immediately shoved the feeling aside.

"Hey," he slurred slightly, swaying on his feet. "You're home."

Trina sighed, already feeling a mix of frustration and concern bubbling up. "Spencer, what are you doing here? Are you drunk?"

"Maybe," he muttered, his voice carrying a quiet desperation as he leaned against the doorframe for support. "I just...I needed to see you."

She leaned outside slightly, glancing toward the driveway. Her stomach dropped when she saw his car parked haphazardly nearby.

"Did you drive?" she demanded, her voice rising. Her eyes widened in disbelief when he nodded, his hand gripping the frame for balance.

"Spencer!" she exclaimed, her frustration boiling over. "You shouldn't have driven like this! Do you have any idea how dangerous that is? What if you hurt yourself — or someone else?"

He blinked, guilt flashing across his face as he stared down at the wet ground. "I didn't think about that," he mumbled. His voice cracked, and when he looked up at her, his eyes were glassy. "I just...I needed to see you, Trina. Please, just...five minutes. That's all I'm asking."

Her fingers clenched around the doorknob as she hesitated, torn between slamming the door in his face and letting him in to figure out what the hell was going on. Finally, she exhaled sharply and stepped aside.

"Come in," she said reluctantly. "But you're sitting in the chairs. You're not ruining my couch." She pointed toward the dining table as she closed the door behind him. "I'm getting you water. Stay put."

Spencer nodded weakly, shuffling toward the seat and sinking into it with a defeated sigh. His elbows rested on his knees as he buried his face in his hands.

When Trina returned with a glass of water, she set it in front of him before sitting across the table, her arms crossed. "Drink," she instructed firmly. "And talk."