Losing Control (14 page)

Spence ran a hand through his hair as he pushed open the door to his apartment. The fact the living area was empty didn’t surprise him. It was late. After dealing with stuff alongside Cal most of the day, Spence had worked on his current piece—which he hoped to have done for the upcoming show—and had completely lost track of time. Maggie had probably already gone to bed; he knew she had to open the bookstore in morning. He crossed to the kitchen and pulled a beer from the fridge. He popped the top of the bottle and on his way to the couch—thinking he’d catch the highlights of the ballgame on ESPN—he noticed the light on in the bedroom. Was Maggie still up or had she fallen asleep reading, as was her habit, he wondered with a smile.

Crossing the room to the doorway, he peered in and found Maggie sitting on the bed, her back against the headboard, book face down in her lap.

“Hey, darlin’.” He took a swig from the bottle and entered. He sat on the edge of the mattress and studied her. “I thought you’d be sleeping by now.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” she said dully.

Spence frowned. “What’s wrong?”

She shook her head and met his gaze. He reached over and squeezed her knee, then ran his hand down to her ankle. She watched his movements, corners of her mouth turned down slightly and brow wrinkled.

“Something’s obviously bothering you,” he said, tracing her anklebone. “Talk to me.”

She snorted and pulled away, wrapping her arms around her now bent legs.

Spence stiffened then stood. He set his beer on the dresser and faced her. “What’s wrong? Are you pissed at me or something?”

“Or something,” she murmured.

“Well, then let’s talk about it,” he said, exasperated.

“I—” She took a deep breath. “Kate mentioned something today.”

He waited a beat, then prompted, “And?”

She straightened slightly and met his eyes. “I Googled you.”

Ah well, there it is.

“I see,” he said.

“That’s it?” she said, wide-eyed. “I see?”

“What do you want me to say, Maggie?” Weariness weighed on him.

“Tell me why you lied to me,” she demanded. “Tell me why I had to find out in passing conversation that the man I’m with has a whole other life I’m oblivious to.”

“First of all, I never lied to you,” he said firmly, pushing down his anger at the accusation. “Second, have you ever once asked me about my work? I wasn’t hiding anything from you, Maggie, but I’m not going to go on and on about something you so obviously find distasteful and below your notice.”

“That is not fair,” she cried. “And don’t try to turn this around on me. I didn’t keep things from you.”

“Neither did I!”

“The hell you didn’t.” She unfolded her legs and stood abruptly. “When you’re with someone, in a relationship, you share things! You talk about what you do for a living, for God’s sake!”

“You’ve known since we met what I did for a living,” he ground out.

“But not that you were successful. That’s a pretty huge thing to leave out, Spencer. You didn’t tell me that you were partners with Cal; that you were invested as much as he is. Why would you let me believe that—?”

“That I was a freeloading loser?” Anger hardened his words, heated his face.

“No. Damn it.” She shoved her hands through her hair. “I just don’t understand.”

“Not once have you ever asked about my work,” he stated. “You pretended it didn’t exist, because from the moment you heard the word ‘artist’, you had me all figured out, didn’t you? When I come up from the studio, you wouldn’t even acknowledge what I was doing. You’re more than happy to discuss the gallery and what Cal and I are doing with the business, but my actual work, the thing I love, you ignored. Completely.”

He couldn’t push away the hurt of those facts. He wanted her to be a part of his life—all of his life. Maybe he should have told her long before now, but God, was it too much to ask for her to ask? To want to know more about what he did, to show the slightest bit of interest?

Maggie’s mouth quivered, and a few tears escaped and trailed down her cheeks. “You could have told me,” she whispered.

“Why? So you could mark it on your list of future husband qualifications? Financially independent; check. Do I fit the bill now, Maggie? Am I worthy of you now?”

“How can you say that? I’m with you—”

“And you made it clear in the beginning I was an itch for you to scratch, that we had an expiration date. Then you could move on to your serious search for a man.”

Her cheeks reddened and she looked down guiltily.

“Did it occur to you that I wanted you to want me for who I am? My art? It’s a part of me, a huge part.”

“It’s a part you didn’t share with me,” she shouted. “Okay, I should have asked about it, shown an interest, I get that. But when you keep such a big part of yourself away from me, how can I even
know
you?”

“Maybe you don’t,” he tossed back.

She inhaled sharply. “Clearly I don’t.” Crossing to the closet, she slid her feet into her shoes, and picked up her purse where it lay on the floor.

His heart squeezed painfully, but he couldn’t bring himself to tell her to stay. He shouldn’t have to beg to keep her here with him.

She lifted her gaze to his as she draped the strap of the small bag over her arm. “I-I—”

“Leaving?” he snapped. “I guess I don’t quite match your perfectly ordered idea of a man, huh?”

“I need some time to think,” she said quietly, moving toward the door.

He stepped in front of her. “Good idea, and while you’re at it, think about this. You may be able to find that man who fits all your requirements and looks perfect on paper, but he will never make you feel the way I do. And you can think of
that
for the rest of your life with Mr. Perfect. Think of me when he takes you to bed, when he’s inside you and you’re wishing it was me.”

As soon as he spoke, he regretted the words. He inwardly cringed. Fuck, going off like that wasn’t helping at all.

“Please move,” she said tightly, looking over his shoulder. “I’d like to leave now. Please.”

The note of pleading killed him, but his anger and frustration was too close to the surface, so he just stepped aside and let her pass. When the sound of the door closing echoed through the apartment, Spence turned his eyes to the now-empty bed. He slammed his palm against the door and pain radiated up his arm.

“Fuck.”

Maggie hurried down the stairs and outside to her car. Her heart raced and her breaths came out in quick pants, but she managed to hold it together as she got in her car and drove home. As she parked and hurried up the path to the porch. Held it all together until she saw her mom sitting on the porch swing in the dark, slowly swaying back and forth.

Then she burst into tears.

“Oh sweetheart!” Angela Monroe jumped to her feet and came to her. “What’s the matter?”

She led Maggie up the stairs and guided her to sit on the swing. Sitting beside her daughter, Angela wrapped her arm around Maggie’s shoulders.

“Spencer and I got into a fight.” Maggie drew in a shaky breath. “I think I messed it all up.”

“Come on then,” her mom prodded. “Tell Mom about it, sweetie. It’ll help.”

Through tears, Maggie spilled it all out—what she’d learned from Kate and the internet search, confronting Spence, and the resulting argument.

“Go ahead,” she said weakly, leaning into her mother and leaning her head on her shoulder. “Tell me I was a bitch, and I don’t deserve him anyway.”

“Oh, Maggie.” Angela sighed. “Always so black and white.”

“It’s okay,” Maggie insisted. “I can take it. You don’t have to hold back because you’re my mom. You know my faults better than anyone.”

The older woman chuckled. “That I do, but you’re being too hard on yourself. And I’m certainly not going to kick you when you’re hurting.” She rubbed up and down Maggie’s arm soothingly.

“But I screwed any chance we had.”

“Every couple fights, and in my experience, it’s a rare thing if the fault falls on only one of them. Right now…” She twisted slightly, and when Maggie straightened, she whisked the wetness from her girl’s cheeks. “You’re going to go to bed and give both of you the chance to cool down.”

Maggie gave her a shaky smile. “Thanks, Mom.” She stood and looked down. “You’re waiting until I’m not a mess before telling me what you really think, aren’t you?”

Angela chuckled and rose as well. “Ah, sweetie, you know me too well. I’m not shy about giving my opinion. I’ll always be honest with you, but remember something. No matter what, this mama loves you; and I’m always on your side.”

Tears stung Maggie’s eyes again. “Love you too, Mom.”

“Now to bed, Margaret Mary Monroe.”

“Yes, Mama,” she quipped.

As they walked arm and arm into the house, Maggie tried to push everything out of her mind so she could sleep. She needed rest so she had a clear head when she faced Spencer again. Of course, that was easier said than done. His face filled her mind when she closed her eyes for the night, and he danced through her thoughts until sleep finally claimed her.

* * * *

Maggie laid her head on her desk; her eyes closed and sighed heavily. She was exhausted. It’d been a week since her fight with Spencer, and she had yet to see him. And sleep had been an elusive bitch as a result.

She’d gone to the apartment, called him a few times. He’d finally returned her call late a couple nights ago. The phone call had been far from warm, but he’d assured her he wasn’t avoiding her. He’d been going back and forth between home and the Cities most days, preparing for his show.

He’d asked her how she was. She’d lied and said fine. Then there was the fabulously awkward silence before he said he had to go. Right before the click ending the call, he’d said softly, “I miss you, Maggie.”

“I miss you too,” she whispered now to the empty room. And God, she did. So much it hurt.

Straightening, she glanced at the clock. It was past time for her to go home. She nibbled her bottom lip as she pondered what to do now. Going home to a microwave packaged dinner while sitting in her room reading most of the night held no appeal. Maybe she should go and see if Spencer was around. It couldn’t hurt, she decided. Maybe she’d catch him, and they could talk and figure things out.

She rose, grabbed her purse and left the room. After saying goodbye to Kate, she hurried outside. Deciding to walk the few blocks rather than drive, Maggie took the time to gather her thoughts. Over the past days, she’d had time to really digest everything. While the hurt remained, the anger was gone. She could even understand his side of it, now that she was calm. Mistakes were made on both parts, now, if they could just get past them… She hoped they could, because his parting words to her that night—even though they were said in anger—rang true. She would compare any guy to Spencer, no question. And she suspected they’d fall woefully short.

Coming up to the gallery building, Maggie decided to check the apartment first. She found the door locked and pulled her key from her purse. Once inside, she walked through and found it empty. She held onto hope as she made her way down to the gallery space. Her heart leapt when she heard voices in one of the back rooms.

“Spencer?” she called, walking in that direction, stopping short when Cal and her mother came through the doorway. She frowned slightly when she took in their attire—Cal’s suit and her mother’s dress. Maybe they were going to dinner?

“Hi sweetie. Cal was just showing me around,” her mom said brightly, approaching and dropping a kiss on her cheek.

“Hey,” she answered then looked at her brother. “Um, is Spencer here?”

“No.”

Taken aback by the curt reply, she shook her head. “Oh, all right. Do you think he’ll be back tonight?”

A muscle jerked in his cheek as he clenched his jaw before responding. “No. His show is tonight. Mom and I are heading there now to meet him for dinner before it starts.”

Oh shit. His show was
tonight
? Well, didn’t she feel like a horse’s ass.

“We should go. Meet you at the car,” he said to their mother and moved to walk around them.

“Cal,” Angela said reproachfully.

“What?” He came to a halt. “I’m supposed to pretend that everything’s great? It’s not. It’s one of the biggest nights of Spence’s life, and his girlfriend,” he sneered the word, “had no clue. All because she’s too damned stubborn to even ask.”

“Wait a minute,” Maggie started.

“No,” he bit out. “I’ve been with him the last week, listened to him, watched him walk around like a freaking zombie because you’re in a snit that he didn’t tell you he made money painting. It’s gutting him, Maggie. Shit, when he showed interest in you, I told him to have a care with you.” He laughed harshly. “I had it backward—I should have told
you
to have a care with
him
.”

“Cal, please” she said miserably.

“Please what?” he demanded. “Maggie, I love you, but damn, you piss me off. You don’t realize how good you had it with Spence. He treated you well; he made you happy. We could all see that. How could you just throw that away?”