Page 58 of Point of Contact

“Oh, stop it,” he scolded himself as he got under the hot spray. “Keep wallowing in self-pity, or spend a few hours with a good-looking guy?”

No matter how straight he is or how dead you are inside.

Grabbing a towel from the rack, Trevor dried off quickly and brushed his teeth, not bothering to shave. A quick rummage in his closet unearthed his favorite long-sleeved Rockies T-shirt, and he pulled that on along with a pair of jeans that he had to cinch up with a belt so they didn’t pool around his ankles.

Jesus, you’re a mess, Trev.

He plopped a baseball cap on his head, and with one last grimace into the mirror, made his way back to the living room, where Jesse was standing in front of a bookshelf perusing the items on it.

“Ready to go?”

Jesse turned and looked him over, and Trevor couldn’t help but think maybe he should have gone ahead and shaved.

A few minutes later they were ensconced in Jesse’s truck heading north on the I-25 toward Denver. Jesse navigated the traffic with an easy confidence, one elbow propped on the windowsill, fingers loosely on the wheel. His other hand rested on the gearshift not far from Trevor’s knee, and Trevor’s eyes were drawn to a scar on his forearm, one that looked like a crater, the skin around it puckered.

“What happened?”

“Hmm?” Jesse glanced at him before following Trevor’s gaze. “Oh. Shrapnel.”

Trevor winced. “Jesus.” He stared at the scar, fascinated. “Did it hurt?”

“Nah. At least not when I got it. Afterward? Hurt like a bitch, but I didn’t even notice it until way after the fight was over.”

For some reason Trevor wanted to touch it, and he reached for Jesse’s arm, asking, “Can I?”

In response Jesse extended his arm toward him, and Trevor traced his fingertips over the pit. It was rough, the puckered part a little jagged. Jesse’s skin was warm, alive, and Trevor drifted his fingers down to Jesse’s inner wrist, where his pulse throbbed visibly. When he found himself stroking over it with his thumb, Trevor snatched his hand away, face burning.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, flashing back to the morning after that damn party, and Jesse’s reaction to the touch of his hand then. He couldn’t help but tense a little.

A muscle ticked in Jesse’s jaw, and after a moment he said, his voice sounding a little husky, “The wound really was no big deal. Actually, Riley was the one who even noticed it first and pointed it out. ‘Jesus, Byrney, you got a fuckin’ hole in your arm.’ I looked down and was like, ‘Oh, shit. I sure do.’ Just your typical day in the Valley.”

Once again, Trevor had to appreciate how easily and naturally Jesse said Riley’s name, acknowledging his existence, instead of feeling like he had to walk on eggshells around him. “Well, I’m glad it didn’t hurt too much.”

“Nah, it didn’t.” Jesse rolled his wrist a couple of times, making the bones crack, before settling his hand on the gearshift again. “So how long’s it been since you’ve been to a game?”

“Oh, man, it’s—” Trevor cast his mind back. “At least three years? Carl didn’t care for baseball, and once Riley was out of the house...” He shrugged. “It’s not like I’d have minded going by myself, I just never did.” A pause. “Did Riley ever talk about baseball?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Trevor could see Jesse grin.

“Sure, he did. A couple of the other guys were Mets or Yankees fans, and oh my God, there were some heated debates. A few fistfights, too.”

“Over baseball?” Trevor was aghast, surprised when Jesse laughed out loud.

“Over baseball, over which way the wind was blowing, over who was hotter... Charlize Theron or Natalie Portman.” His voice was full of amused fondness. “There were long stretches of time when nothing was going on, and we were bored out of our minds, you know? We’d run out of stuff to talk about a long time ago, so...”

“I remember Riley mentioning a Guitar Hero battle or something.”

“Oh, yeah. Once we got that generator hauled up there, guys started sending home for all sorts of shit. But eventually we got bored with that, too, so every now and then something would spark a fight. No big deal.” He snorted. “My favorite was this epic rock war. We didn’t have anyone to shoot at, so we hucked rocks at each other. Everyone was running and dodging, diving behind shit like they were in a fuckin’ action movie or something. Idiots.”

“You miss it.”

Jesse glanced at him, his voice a little tighter as he said, “I do sometimes, yeah. You think I’m crazy?”

Trevor studied him before saying slowly, “No. I mean, I can’t imagine missing it, but I wasn’t there.” He was gratified to see Jesse relax again, wondering who’d judged him for that, and realizing he was most likely judging himself. “I can’t even wrap my mind around the intensity of what you experienced, and I got to sit home safe in my little bubble, so who am I to think anything?”

At those words, Jesse blew out a small breath like he’d been holding it, and Trevor changed the subject. “So you’re from Atlanta?”

“A small suburb of it. And before you ask, nope, I don’t miss it. Not at all, which is why I stayed here after I got out.”