Page 77 of Unfinished Noise

“Yeah.” Jamie shifted in his seat. “I don’t enjoy seeing Spencer uncomfortable. Billy’s reaction wasn’t subtle.”

“Spencer didn’t care,” Alfie said. “He looked only at you.”

Jamie felt that warm pull again. “I noticed.”

Nathan called back, “Billy’s problem is that he thought he’d always have a door open. Spencer slammed it.”

The van hit a bump, and Alfie grabbed the seat in front of him. “I swear Spencer aims for those.”

Spencer lifted his voice. “Maybe you should sit like a normal person.”

Alfie grinned. “No fun in that.”

Jamie smiled at the sound of Spencer’s voice. The drive felt long, but not in a bad way. It gave him time to think and settle into the idea of Christmas. Rings. Vows. A future he wanted.

Alfie stretched again. “You’re really happy, huh?”

Jamie didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. I am.”

“Good.” Alfie’s tone softened. “Spencer deserves someone who doesn’t make him question everything.”

Jamie looked at the back of Spencer’s head, the way his hair curled slightly at the ends. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Nathan raised his hand without turning. “We know.”

The van rolled on toward Reno, the sky shifting from orange to deep blue. A warm, contented feeling settled in Jamie’s bones, leaving him tired. His exhaustion came from sun, dirt, and laughter.

He leaned back in his seat, listening to the hum of the road and the soft conversation drifting from the front. Spencer glanced at him in the rearview mirror. Jamie met his eyes and felt that steady warmth again.

The day had been loud, dusty, and chaotic, but still calm.

Chapter Thirty

Spencer

Their first stop in Reno ended up being a hotel, a plain beige building with a flickering neon sign and carpets that smelled faintly of old popcorn. The soft cushions and bed offered a welcome sense of luxury after five hours of driving. Spencer dropped onto the bed with a groan while Jamie flipped through channels.

“Anything good?” Spencer asked.

“Nothing,” Jamie said. “But it’s better than listening to Nathan complain.”

Spencer laughed and stretched out on the hotel bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. The room felt unusually still—TV murmuring low, curtains drawn against the neon glow outside. He let his shoulders drop, tension sliding out of him in a slow wave. Jamie sat at the foot of the bed flipping through channels, his knee brushing Spencer’s leg every time he shifted. Spencer said nothing, but he didn’t move away either.

The quiet settled around them, warm and easy. Jamie’s soft huff of annoyance at a commercial made Spencer’s mouth twitch. He watched the way Jamie’s hair fell over his forehead, the way the blue light from the TV softened the sharp lines of his face. Something in Spencer’s chest loosened—like he’d finally exhaled after holding his breath all day.

He didn’t treasure the moment out loud. He didn’t need to. His body already told the story: the way he leaned back, the way his foot nudged Jamie’s without thinking, the way his gaze lingered on Jamie longer than the TV. It was enough.

A sudden pounding rattled the door.

Jamie muttered, “What now?”

Spencer pushed himself up and opened it. Jamie followed him to the door. Farlan and Billy stood there, both red‑eyed and shaking. Billy looked wrecked, like someone had kicked the ground out from under him.

Farlan’s voice cracked. “Spence… we need to come in.”

Spencer stepped aside. “What happened?”

Billy dropped onto the edge of the bed, hands trembling.