Page 62 of Over You

His big, blue eyes stared up at me on a soft coo.

So much had changed in the past few years, but one thing that hadn’t—Spencer’s sobriety. It hadn’t been easy, and anyone that says staying clean is as simple aswantingto be sober is lying through their teeth. Over the years, Spencer’d had moments and struggles, but with time, it had gotten better. Not easier. But better. I wasn’t foolish enough to think he was in the clear, and if he ever relapsed, we’d just start back at day one.

Because people inevitably screw up. My mom. Spencer’s mom. Me. After all, “To err is human, forgive divine.”

“I knew you’d be up on your tower, Rapunzel.” Spencer crossed the gable, the moonlight catching on his tattoos. “Your publisher called. Said the proofs would be ready next week.” He gave me a kiss as he sank beside me. “I’m proud of you.”

I smiled and kissed him again.

Last spring, when I was two months along with Flynn, I graduated with my creative writing degree. My first project was Spencer’s biography. From foster care to stardom to addiction—and somewhere among those pages, I had managed to cram in our story.

Spencer reached for the baby, but I didn’t hand Flynn over.

“You’re a baby hog,” he said, taking him and cradling him in his arms. “Isn’t she, buddy? She’d better be glad she’s pretty.”

Flynn grabbed Spencer’s chin and giggled.

Out of all the dreams I’d had in life, this topped every last one. I didn’t have just one world; I now had two.

Resting my head against Spencer’s shoulder, I stared across the dark beach at the ocean while I played with the bottom of Flynn’s tiny foot.

Spencer kissed my forehead. “What do you want me to sing tonight?”

“Flynn likes ‘Baby Shark.’”

“The hell am I singing that.” He scowled. “That song is about as entertaining as nails on a chalkboard.”

“Somebody’s not a fan of ‘Baby Shark.’” I laughed.

“It’s torture. Not music.” He shook his head before tickling Flynn’s cheek. “How about I sing the song that made your mother fall in love with me? Would you like that?”

Spencer sang the first few words of “Free Fallin’” before I pinched him. “You think I fell in love with you the first night Isawyou?”

“Why not? That’s when I fell in love with you.”

“You did not.”

“You’re really going to argue with me over this?” He glanced at Flynn. “She’s going to argue with me over this.”

“I’m just saying, love is a strong word.”

“Let me put it this way.” Spencer inched closer until the smell of cardamom and mint swirled around me. “There was something that happened when I first laid eyes on you that made it impossible for me to get you out of my head.” His lips caressed mine. “And I was already terrified to lose you. Tell me that’s not love.”

I grabbed his shirt and tugged him closer. “Promise me you’ll say things like that for the rest of my life.”

“Every day, for the rest of this life and the next, babe.”

At seventeen, I moved in with Spencer. By eighteen, we were married. By twenty-two, I was lost. Without purpose. And at twenty-six, I understood that fairy tales may not exist but love stories do.

There would be victories and struggles throughout life, and each would become a chapter in our book. The real beauty of it was, we’re the ones writing it, and we got to decide what kind of story we wanted to tell.

Spencer’s and mine could have been a tragedy of how we fell apart, but instead, we made it the story of how we stayed together.

Love is an addiction we all fall victim to, and it’s the only addiction with the power to heal.

The End