Page 106 of Point of Contact

“You’re not in Afghanistan anymore, so no, you need more than that,” he said gently. “Try and get some rest, and if you wake up early, call me again, okay? No matter what time it is.”

With a mumbled agreement Jesse hung up. Trevor turned on his side to run his palm over the empty expanse of mattress next to him, wishing Jesse was here, his deep, even breaths lulling Trevor to sleep.

Suddenly he could picture it so clearly: the mornings they’d wake up wrapped around each other. Sometimes they’d make love, other times they’d drift back to sleep until the sound of the alarm sent them scurrying. Unless it was a day off. Then they’d emerge from their cocoon to have a leisurely breakfast on the patio, the sunlight catching in Jesse’s blond stubble as their bare feet flirted under the table. If it was winter, they’d sprawl with the newspaper and blankets on the couch, snowflakes drifting down outside the living room window...

Sighing, Trevor closed his eyes, aching with the need for all of it, wondering when, exactly, he’d fallen so hard. Before he knew it his phone was buzzing again, and he pulled it to him, surprised to see it was now four thirty in the morning. He answered it with a smile. “Did you sleep?”

“I did, and it felt great.” Jesse yawned, and he gave a tiny groan at the end of it. Trevor could tell he was stretching, and he bit his lip against the image of Jesse, flushed and warm, tangled up in his sheets.

“Still not long enough, though,” Trevor said huskily. “You need more.”

Jesse chuckled. “It’s always been like this for me, even when I was a kid. I’m used to it.”

“Why when you were a kid?”

“Because my biggest fear back then was that the house would catch fire during the night. My parents couldn’t hear an alarm, Trev, so it would’ve been up to me to alert them. I’m the one who listened for the doorbell, the phone, so I also taught myself to be a light sleeper.”

Trevor swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. “Wow. You had a lot on your plate.”

“It’s just the way it was.”

“What was it like, growing up in...silence?”

“There wasn’t anything silent about my childhood.” Jesse’s tone was warm with remembered fondness.

“I thought you said you spoke in sign language.”

“But signing isn’t always silent. If we were arguing, or if my parents were talking politics with their friends, there’d be a lot of big gestures, hands slapping together. We stomped on the floor to get each other’s attention.”

“Could they speak at all?”

“Yeah. There’s nothing wrong with a Deaf person’s vocal cords, Trev; they just can’t hear themselves to regulate the sounds or the volume. They would vocalize along with sign if it was us at home, or when they were with friends.” He paused, and Trevor could hear him swallow before saying huskily, “When my mom said my name, it sounded like ‘Zehshee.’ My dad was a jokester, loved puns. Loved my mom. They didn’t know it, but when they hugged, they’d make this low humming sound in their throats. I used to wonder if they signed into each other’s hands in bed at night.”

“That’s such a lovely thought,” Trevor said quietly. “So intimate.”

“Yeah.” Jesse heaved a shaky sigh. “I miss them.”

A short silence, and in that moment all Trevor wanted was to hold him close, to whisper his understanding into Jesse’s ear, let him cry if he needed to. He didn’t say anything, knowing there were no words.

“I, uh, guess I’d better get ready for work,” Jesse said at last. “It shouldn’t be too late a night for me, so is it okay if I come over after?”

“You don’t even have to ask, just come over. That goes for tonight, for anytime, okay?”

“Okay. See you soon.”

“Bye.”

After they’d hung up, Trevor wallowed in bed while the room lightened, images of a young Jesse watching over his parents swirling in his mind. Those images morphed into the hard-eyed soldier watching over his platoon, and finally the tender lover who watched over Trevor, making him feel safe and cherished.

But who watches over you, Jess?

With a sigh Trevor got up and made his way to the kitchen to brew some coffee, his eye falling on the house key he’d tossed carelessly onto the counter after Carl’s visit. He picked it up and turned it over in his fingers, thinking about the day Carl moved in.

“I have my inventory list here, Trev,” Carl announced, waving a thick sheaf of papers, “so we can check things off as we go through the boxes, which are all numbered and labeled.” He handed Trevor a pen. “Box Number One. Ready?”

Trevor took the pen with a roll of his eyes, but by the end of the day he had to admit everything had gone smoothly, much more so than his and Riley’s haphazard move.

“Okay, respect,” he said at last, collapsing into a chair at the kitchen table as Carl broke down the last box. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything quite so methodical in my life.”