Page 68 of Point of Contact

Jesse nodded, his head tilted back, eyes closed, and Trevor was relieved to see that his face looked open, relaxed.

“If you came out to him so long ago, it kind of bothers me he reacted so harshly toward you the night of the party. It doesn’t seem like him, and I’m wondering if he ever said why...”

Trevor’s voice trailed off when Jesse snapped his eyes open. “Trevor, I came out to him only like a month before he died.”

“What?”

“He had his suspicions the night of the party, but he was so pissed and wanting to defend you that he didn’t think about giving me the benefit of the doubt. He just went off.”

Trevor blinked a few times, processing that. “There are beaches in Afghanistan?”

Jesse gaped at him. “What? No. We were in Hawaii. On mid-tour leave.”

At those words, all the air left Trevor’s lungs in a sudden whoosh, light-headedness sweeping over him.

“Trevor?” Jesse lunged from his chair and flew over to sit next to Trevor on the couch. “Breathe,” he urged him. “Breathe.”

Bile welled up in Trevor’s throat and he choked on it, feeling Jesse’s hand squeezing the back of his neck. “Oh, God, what’s wrong?” Jesse asked frantically, peering at him. “Talk to me!”

Trevor struggled for air. “Mid-tour leave? Riley came home on leave and didn’t come to see me?” He wrapped his arms around his middle and doubled over. “He didn’t want to see me?”

“Oh, God, he never told you about it?” Jesse knelt at Trevor’s feet. “That’s not what happened! Listen to me.”

Trevor forced himself to focus on Jesse’s face.

“It’s not like that, Trev, I promise. He was planning to come home, but when we got notice of our leave slot, he realized it was the same time you’d be in Boston. He got an email—”

“Boston?” Trevor’s voice didn’t sound like his own. “Boston? Why didn’t he tell me? I would’ve canceled the trip. I would’ve wanted to see him!”

“You were already there when we found out. You’d just left,” Jesse said gently. “He didn’t want to ruin your trip.”

“Ruin my trip?” The pain roaring through Trevor threatened to eviscerate him where he sat, that pain followed by a rush of anger so intense that he found himself shouting, “Ruin my fucking trip? Goddammit, Riley!”

Startled, Jesse fell back on his ass, his eyes wide.

“Goddammit! How could he not realize that I wanted—I needed—to see him! Oh, Jesus. If only I’d gotten to see him one more time.”

He fought back the tears, grief and anger burning their way through him, his hands clenching into fists. Jesse was staring up at him from where he was sprawled on the floor, his face twisted in anguish.

“I was planning to take him to Hawaii when he got home,” Trevor raged. “Me! That was supposed to be our trip.”

“No!” Jesse gave a muffled exclamation as he got to his knees. “Don’t blame Riley, Hawaii was my idea. I tried to encourage him to surprise you in Boston. I didn’t know—”

Trevor could see him trembling, and instantly shame surged through him, shame for making Jesse the target of his shock and pain.

“It’s not your fault,” he forced out. “It’s not your fault.”

Jesse shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut. “I should’ve tried harder to get him—”

At that Trevor reached out to pat Jesse’s cheeks, willing him to look at him. “You didn’t know about our plans,” he said, softening his tone. “It’s not your fault.”

Jesse opened his eyes, and Trevor let his hands fall away as he slumped back into the couch, heaving a ragged sigh.

After another moment, Jesse stood. “I’ll be right back,” he said quietly, disappearing in the direction of his bedroom. Trevor lifted the hem of his T-shirt and wiped his eyes with it. When Jesse returned, he was holding something that looked like a picture frame. He sat down next to Trevor and, after a brief hesitation, handed it to him.

Trevor turned it over and caught his breath. It was a photo of Jesse and Riley standing on a beach side by side, grinning, both of them flashing the “hang loose” sign. The ocean was a gorgeous blue behind them, the sunset a brilliant tapestry of pinks and purples. Tiki torches stuck in the sand burned brightly along the periphery.

“We were at some stupid luau. I’d just been pulled onstage to dance the hula.”