Page 51 of Point of Contact

“Trevor—”

“No, no, I’m sorry. Don’t answer that. Jesus, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Trevor pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers, closing his eyes. “You were at war, and I’m an idiot.”

It was Trevor’s turn to jump when Jesse scooted a little closer to him, his body smelling of clean sweat and fresh air.

“There ain’t a thing wrong with you, and you’re not an idiot. Ask whatever you fuckin’ wanna ask, and if I can, I’ll give you the answers, Trevor. I promise.”

His amazing blue eyes were clear and direct, and Trevor couldn’t look away from them. A question bubbled to his lips, the one he most wanted an answer to, but he truly didn’t know if he had the strength right now to live with hearing something that could never be unheard.

What happened to my son?

Trevor opened his mouth, and all of a sudden a gaggle of mountain bikers appeared over the rise. They thundered past, shouting greetings and leaving dust in their wake, along with small bits of rock that pelted the ground around where Trevor and Jesse were sitting cross-legged.

Jesse stood, reaching down to haul Trevor to his feet. The moment was gone, but it was vastly comforting to know Trevor could ask his question when—and if—he was ready.

“Let’s hike?” Jesse asked, and Trevor shouldered his pack. Riley’s pack.

“Let’s do it.”

* * *

Jesse pulled up in front of Trevor’s driveway and switched off the engine.

“You need help getting into the house?”

Trevor threw him a withering look, which made Jesse put his hands up in mock defense. “I wasn’t calling you old, I swear!”

“If you weren’t, it’ll be the first time all day,” Trevor grumbled. “I thought I did pretty well, all things considered.”

“You did awesome.” Jesse grinned at him, his teeth white in his dirty, sweaty face. “Wanna do it again sometime?”

“Definitely.” Trevor pushed his door open and hauled himself out, grimacing. His muscles had stiffened even during the short ride, and he groaned, holding on to the door frame. “Wow, I didn’t realize how out of shape I am.”

Jesse jogged around the front of the truck, walking next to Trevor as Trevor hobbled toward the house. “You need to eat better and sleep better,” he said gently. “That would be a start.”

When they reached the door, Trevor turned to Jesse. “I feel like I made some progress today, in more ways than one. Thanks to you.”

Jesse put his hand on Trevor’s shoulder. “You’re strong as fuck, Trevor...in more ways than one. Give yourself the credit.” He squeezed hard once and let go. “Do you, uh, maybe want my number? In case you need to talk. Or whatever.”

“Yes, please.”

Trevor hurriedly unlocked the front door and limped toward the kitchen and the pad of paper he kept next to the phone. He tore off a sheet, grabbed a pen and handed it all to Jesse, who scrawled his phone number across it.

At the door they shook hands, flowing into a brief, back-pounding hug that seemed entirely natural. Jesse smiled at him as he backed out through the doorway. “Take care, okay?”

He strode toward his truck, and Trevor lifted his hand in a wave as Jesse beeped the horn and drove away. Once he was gone, Trevor headed for the kitchen to make himself some hot tea, suddenly ravenous. He washed his face and hands in the powder room off the kitchen and dove into making some spaghetti with homemade meatballs, one of his favorite comfort foods.

By the time Carl walked in from the garage, the sauce was simmering, filling the kitchen with a delicious smell. Trevor dropped a large handful of pasta into the pot of boiling water, lifting his face for a kiss.

“Hey, babe. What’s all this?”

Trevor shrugged. “Just hungry.”

“Well, it smells wonderful. Let me shower and change, then we can eat.”

He disappeared in the direction of the bedroom, and Trevor opened a bottle of wine and set the table. By the time he was done, Carl still wasn’t back. “It’s ready when you are,” he called out.

No response, and curious, Trevor made his way down the hall to their room, stopping short at the sight of Carl sitting slumped in a chair, still in his business clothes. “What’s wrong—” Trevor started to say, and then he noticed the blue suit still carefully laid out on the bed. “Oh, shit.”