BLURRY | SPRINA

Chapter Twenty-One

Trina hesitated as she stepped onto the docks, the weight of her thoughts pressing heavy on her chest. She shouldn't be here. Not after everything. But somehow, she found herself taking the launch to Spoon Island anyway.

The wind was crisp, biting at her skin as she pulled her jacket tighter around herself. Wyndemere loomed in the distance, dark and imposing, just like the past that clung to the people who lived inside it.

She hadn't even called ahead. She just...needed someone to talk to.

The moment the boat docked, she hurried up the path, her boots crunching against the damp ground. As soon as she reached the front doors, she knocked, then took a step back, exhaling sharply.

A few moments passed before the door creaked open.

Spencer stood there, surprised, his hand still on the knob. "Trina?"

She bit her lip. "Hey."

His gaze searched hers, concern flickering in his blue eyes. "What are you doing here?"

"Can I come in?"

Spencer hesitated but then stepped aside. "Yeah, of course."

Trina walked inside, the warmth of the mansion contrasting the cold storm raging inside her. She turned, watching as Spencer shut the door behind them.

"Is Esme home?" she asked cautiously.

Spencer shook his head. "No, she's out."

Relief washed over her, though she didn't say it out loud.

Spencer studied her for a beat before gesturing toward the sitting room. "Come on. You look like you could use a drink — or at least some tea."

She managed a small smile and followed him.

Once they were seated, Trina exhaled, her hands knotting together in her lap. "I shouldn't have come unannounced."

Spencer shook his head. "I don't mind. What's going on?"

She let out a breath. "I just... I needed to talk to someone who understands."

Spencer leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. "What happened?"

Trina hesitated, then finally spoke. "I almost got killed yesterday."

Spencer stiffened. "What?"

"Jasper and I were chased down in Puerto Rico. Some guy from his family's past tried to run us off the road." She let out a humorless laugh. "We barely made it out."

Spencer's jaw tightened, his hands clenching into fists. "Trina —"

"I just don't get it," she cut in, shaking her head. "You and Jasper...you're not your families. You're not your fathers. But somehow, their pasts keep pulling you down. Why do you let it? Why do you let it define you when you're both good guys?"

Spencer's expression shifted, something unreadable crossing his face. He leaned back, exhaling as he stared at the fireplace, lost in thought.

Finally, he spoke. "It's not that simple."

"Make it simple," she echoed her words towards Jasper from earlier, the desperation creeping into her voice.

Spencer sighed. "I spent my whole life trying to be my own person. Trying to prove that I'm not my father, that I don't want to be like him." He shook his head, his jaw tight. "But no matter what I do, I'm still his son. People look at me and see a Cassadine. They expect me to act like one. And sometimes, it's just easier to live up to their expectations than fight them."

Trina frowned. "That's not true."

"Isn't it?" He looked at her then, his gaze heavy. "I tried to do the right thing. I fought against my family, against everything they stood for. And where did that get me? Alone. Without my grandmother, without my father..."

"without you." His voice softened at the last part, but Trina caught it.

Her heart clenched. "Spencer—"

"I didn't want this life," he admitted. "I wanted to be normal. To go to college, to have friends who didn't expect me to choose sides in a war I never started. But I don't get to have that. Being a Cassadine means the past is never just in the past. It follows you. It owns you."

Trina watched him, her throat tightening. She had asked the question for Jasper — but Spencer's answer had been about himself.

And for the first time in a long time, she saw it — the weight he carried, the exhaustion in his eyes.

"That's not fair," she whispered.

Spencer huffed out a laugh, but there was no humor in it. "No. It's not."

A beat of silence stretched between them.

Then, without thinking, Trina reached out, her hand covering his. "But that doesn't mean you have to let it win."

Spencer's breath caught. His fingers twitched beneath hers, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he turned his hand over, lacing his fingers with hers.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. They just sat there, hands entwined, the storm raging outside mirroring the one brewing between them.

Trina squeezed his hand gently, her thumb brushing against his skin. "You're not alone, Spencer."

His eyes flickered with something vulnerable — something he rarely let anyone see. "Sometimes, it feels like I am."

She shook her head. "You have people who care about you. Your grandmother, your friends..." She hesitated, voice lowering. "Me."

His grip on her hand tightened ever so slightly. "Do I truly still have you, Trina?"

The question lingered between them, thick with unspoken words and years of emotions left unresolved. Trina opened her mouth, but nothing came out at first. She wasn't sure how to answer that — wasn't sure what the truth was anymore.

Spencer let out a small, dry chuckle. "You don't have to answer that."

She swallowed hard. "I don't know, Spencer." Her voice was quiet, but honest. "I don't know what we are anymore."

Spencer looked down at their joined hands, as if searching for an answer himself. "I don't either."

The weight of their history, their choices, and the things left unsaid hung heavy in the air.

A loud clap of thunder outside broke the silence, making Trina jump slightly. Spencer instinctively shifted closer, his fingers still intertwined with hers.

"You should stay until the storm dies down," he said, his voice softer now. "It's not safe to go back right now."

She knew he wasn't just talking about the weather.

Trina exhaled, nodding. "Okay."

For now, she would stay.

Neither of them moved to let go of the other's hand.