Page 114 of Point of Contact

He ran a shaky hand across the mattress and gazed around at the empty walls. There were tiny holes in the plaster where posters had been tacked up, and Trevor blinked back more tears as he realized he couldn’t remember what had hung where. A quick scan of the dresser top showed faint dust marks in the shape of whatever object had rested there, and for the life of him Trevor couldn’t bring any of it to mind.

He reached up to clutch his hair. Dammit, he should have forced himself to come into the room before Carl dismantled it. He should have fucking forced himself to look one more time so that he’d have a mental picture—

“Stop it,” he hissed out loud. “It’s done.”

Picking up the manila envelope Carl left him, Trevor hugged it to his chest. He’d said everything was inventoried, listed by category and location. Someday, if Trevor wanted, he’d be able to piece together exactly what was found on Riley’s dresser, and maybe by seeing the posters again it would remind him where they’d hung.

“Bless you, Carl,” he whispered fiercely, and leaving the room, he carried the envelope to his office and filed it carefully away.

* * *

Trevor got up early the next morning to dust and wipe down all of Riley’s furniture in preparation for donation. He opened each drawer carefully, steeling himself, but Carl had gotten it all. Pulling the mattress off the bed frame, he stood it up against the wall, catching his breath when a glimmer of something on the carpet underneath caught his eye. Trevor bent to retrieve it, smiling when he realized it was a wrapper to an oatmeal crème pie, one of Riley’s favorite snacks; it must have been clinging to the side of the mattress. Other than that, the floor was meticulously clean, and Trevor had to marvel at Mrs. Sayres’s housekeeping skills. He never would have thought to clean under someone else’s bed.

The closet was totally empty, and so was the bathroom, not even an old shampoo bottle lurking in the shower. Trevor leaned against the wall with a sigh. He’d asked Carl to do this for him because of his ruthless efficiency, hadn’t he, and fuck if he hadn’t come through.

“Well, Riles, this is it, bud,” Trevor said to the empty room. “It’s just me and my memories now.”

He gathered up his dust cloths and headed back to the kitchen, just in time to hear a loud knock on the door. When he answered it, two burly men were standing there wearing polo shirts with Goodwill stenciled on them.

“Hey, mister,” one of them said. “Somethin’s wrong with your doorbell. We been out here for five minutes!”

“Sorry, it’s broken,” Trevor murmured, and showed them where to go and what to take. “I, uh, need to be on a conference call in a few minutes, so do you mind letting yourselves out?”

“Nah, we’ll just leave the tax receipt for the donation on your kitchen counter. Have a nice day, mister.”

Trevor retreated into his office and slid the pocket doors shut, listening to the whine of the electric drill as the men took the bed frame apart and carried Riley’s furniture to their box truck. It was quick, and efficient, and took all of ten minutes.

When everything was quiet, Trevor emerged and tiptoed down the hall, his throat closing at the sight of the room, now empty of everything except the furniture impressions left in the carpet, impressions that would eventually fade.

Just as Riley’s presence was slowly fading from Trevor’s life, bit by bit, piece by piece.

With a sob Trevor put his back to the wall and slid to the floor, tears streaming down his cheeks.

“I miss you, Riley James.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

“Okay. So tell us who the girl is, Byrney!”

“Girl?” Jesse glanced at Silvera, who waggled his eyebrows at him.

“‘I love you, baby,’” Silvera mimicked in a high-pitched voice to the guffaws of the other guys, who all made exaggerated kissing sounds at Jesse. “Who is she, some hottie from that bar where you work?”

“No.” Jesse shifted uncomfortably, in that moment heartily regretting the impulse that had led him to answer Trevor that way earlier. He considered making something up, and shame slithered through him almost immediately. Damn if he’d make the man he loved some sort of guilty secret, or something to be hidden away. “His name is Trevor.”

Dead silence followed that pronouncement, and then Watty croaked, “Come again?”

“I said his name is Trevor,” Jesse said evenly, staring down each of the other three men. Enriquez blinked and Silvera smirked, understanding dawning on his face.

“His name?” Watty still sounded bewildered. “What?” He took a nervous gulp of water.

Silvera smacked him on the back of the head. “He’s telling us he’s gay, fool. ‘Baby’ is a guy.”

The water spewed back out as Watty sputtered, “No fucking way.” His eyes were wide in his dirty, bearded face. “You’re a—”

“Watch it,” Enriquez warned him in a stern voice. “This is Byrney you’re talking to.”

Watty subsided, but he still looked shocked to his core. After a moment he said tentatively, “Really? You’re gay?”