Humbling Spot Conlon (A Spot Conlon Love Story)

Ch. 21: Worth The Wait

I felt the blanket being yanked off of me as I woke up. "Mornin' sleepyhead." 

I squinted open my eyes to see Spot standing over me with the blanket I had been using. I ignored him, simply rolling over. My ankle was then grabbed. I was dragged off the bed, landing with a thud on the ground. 

"Ow," I groaned, kicking Spot's hands away from my feet. 

He gave me a smug look and held out his hand. I swatted it away, picking myself up. I punched him in the arm with a glare. 

"Someone's grumpy," He teased. 

"I wonder why," I said, rolling my eyes as I put on my hat. 

I decided to just sell in Brooklyn today. I was tired and didn't feel like walking back to Manhattan. At the moment, the idea of walking back seemed absolutely horrible. 

Spot and I decided to make it a competition to see who could sell them the fastest. I won, which he was not too happy about considering the amount of trash talk he'd done. 

After finishing, we sat on the docks, our feet dangling over the sparkling ocean water. It was silent. A peaceful silence, as it often was. The warm breeze blew through our hair. The sun beamed down on our tanned faces. 

"Did I ever thank you?" Spot asked finally, breaking the silence. 

"What for?" I wondered. 

He sighed and closed his eyes, as if taking everything in. He stayed like this for several moments. I watched the wind blow his hair around, then saw his calm look, a smile trying to creep its way onto his face. I shook my head, trying to snap out of it and come back to reality. 

Spot opened one of his eyes, giving me a mischievous smirk. "Getting me away from your psycho friend." 

I tried to keep it in, but soon I bursted out laughing. "She's not that bad," I protested. Spot raised an eyebrow at me. "Okay, maybe she is a little psycho." 

"But, then again, who could resist this?" Spot gestured to himself, waggling his eyebrows. 

I suppressed a laugh, then raised my hand high. "I could." 

"You sure about that?" He winked. 

"Very," I insisted. 

"If you say so." 

We made unobstructed eye contact for a while. He smiled softly and I could feel my face redden. "Stop lookin' at me like that," I commanded. 

He didn't stop. "Like what?" 

"Like that," I repeated. He shook his head with a chuckle, taking his eyes away from me. He fingered his necklace as he stared out at the ocean. 

"Why'd you run away?" I asked. I had been wondering ever since he'd first mentioned it. 

He held up the necklace. "My mom died when I was little," He faltered, as if retelling the story hurt. "After her death, my dad started ta drink. He would always come home late and drunk. He'd beat me for nothin'. I couldn't handle it anymore. So I ran away." 

"How old were you?" 

"Seven." 

I couldn't imagine that. He'd been living on the street since he was seven? That was absolutely horrible. "I'm sorry." 

"It's okay. I became a newsie practically right away." 

"How did ya come ta be the king anyway?" 

"I dunno how I became the king. I just kinda worked my way up. Used my brain-"