Page 46 of Point of Contact

“I guess I’m kind of hoping if I do, maybe it’ll help...things.” Trevor shrugged helplessly, unsure how to explain it. “But I can’t do it alone, Jesse. Will you—”

Jesse stopped walking and looked at him, his eyes soft with compassion. “Of course I will. Whatever you need.” He paused. “I’m actually off work the next two days. If you want, I could come over tomorrow morning.”

Trevor started to shake his head, about to say that was too soon, but deep down he knew that if he didn’t take this chance, he wouldn’t have the strength to ask again. So he nodded instead. “Yes. Tomorrow morning would be great. About eight thirty?”

“I’ll be there.”

Trevor gave him a watery smile. “Great. See you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow.”

Trevor hurried to his car and drove away, aware of Jesse still standing in front of the club watching him go.

* * *

Jesse finished out his shift on autopilot. He pulled beer from the tap, mixed drinks, flirted lightly with the ladies, discreetly throwing away the occasional lipstick-print napkin with a scrawled phone number on it left for him on the bar. Not even a hot-eyed stare from a cute guy broke through Jesse’s reverie.

Trevor. Where was his husband in all this? Why was he driving clear across town to ask a total stranger to help him through what was sure to be an intensely emotional, devastating task? Jesse didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but it was hard not to. Different scenarios and possibilities swirled through his mind, and he sighed. Their marriage wasn’t any of his business, and whatever Jesse was doing for Trevor, at its heart he was really doing it for Riley.

It was the best way he knew to honor his friend’s memory, being there for the dad he’d adored. Jesse bowed his head for a moment.

Don’t worry about him, Riles. I got this, bud. I got this.

Chapter Fourteen

Trevor didn’t sleep that night, and when Carl strode into the kitchen at seven thirty, he hoped he didn’t look as wrecked as he felt.

“Morning, love,” Carl chirped, kissing him on the top of his head. “What time did you come to bed? I didn’t hear you, so I must have been dead to the world.”

Trevor muttered indistinctly around the rim of his coffee mug, and Carl continued, “I went ahead and laid your blue suit out on the bed, okay? Run it by the tailor today, if you would. I’ll call over there when I get to work and ask him for a rush on it, so I think if you get it there before noon, we’re golden.”

“Okay.”

Carl grabbed his lunch tote from the fridge and tilted Trevor’s chin up for a quick kiss. “See you tonight.”

When Carl had gone, Trevor headed to the bathroom to shower and shave, grimacing at his dull-eyed, haggard face in the mirror. By the time he was done, it was eight thirty, and right on time there came a brisk knock on the door. He pulled it open to see Jesse standing on the stoop, wearing black track pants and a pullover fleece.

“Brrr,” Trevor yelped as the cold air hit his bare feet. “Come in and have some coffee. Are you hungry?”

Jesse pulled his fleece over his head and hung it on the coat tree in the foyer, revealing a long-sleeved white T-shirt underneath with what looked like a Hawaiian-style turtle on the front of it. “Yeah, I am,” he confessed. “I almost overslept and didn’t have time to eat.”

Trevor, leading the way to the kitchen, paused. “Oh, Jesse, I’m so sorry,” he said contritely. “I didn’t think about you having a late night. The hostess did say you were closing at work.”

“Nah, no worries. I didn’t have your number, or else I would’ve called and asked for a little more time, but I didn’t want to not show up and have you think I blew you off. Not with this.”

Trevor pressed his lips together, knowing how upset he would’ve been if Jesse hadn’t come. “Thank you,” he managed. “I really appreciate that.” He reached out and touched Jesse’s arm. “The least I can do is feed you. How do you feel about omelets?”

Jesse brightened. “Mushrooms, onions and cheese?”

“Of course.”

“Then I’m all about it.”

Jesse made himself at home at the kitchen island, and before long, Trevor was sliding a plate in front of him. Jesse picked up his knife and fork enthusiastically before hesitating. “You’re not having any?”

Trevor shook his head. “I don’t think I can.”

Jesse took his knife and cut the huge omelet in half, handing Trevor his fork and getting up to grab a new one from the dish drainer next to the sink. “Try and eat a little,” he ordered gently. “Come on, just a few bites.”