Page 84 of Point of Contact

Sudden grief surged up again, and with a sob Jesse ran to dive beneath the waves, letting the saltwater wash away his tears.

Chapter Twenty-One

Should I go out there?

Jesse rinsed the last plate and put it in the drainer before grabbing a dishrag and wiping down the counters and small table. As he hung the rag over the spigot to dry, he gazed out the window again at the dark figure silhouetted against the moonlit ocean.

Not sure if Trevor wanted to be alone or not, Jesse debated with himself for a moment longer before snagging the half-full bottle of red wine from next to the stove. He picked up his glass and left the cabin, scuffing his way through the sand toward where Trevor sat, knees drawn up, his own wineglass dangling from his fingers between them.

He glanced over as Jesse approached, and smiled when he saw what he carried. “How’d you know I needed a refill?”

Relieved that he’d made the right call, Jesse poured him some, then dropped down to sit next to him, burying the base of the bottle in the sand to keep it from tipping over. He put his fist to his mouth to cover a soft belch. “Damn, that was the best steak I’ve ever had. You really do know your marinades.”

Trevor’s lips quirked up. “Well, I’m a ‘grill boss,’ remember? At the party you were all so impressed by my simple burgers and brats.”

Jesse snorted. “We lived on chow hall food, or greasy takeout, Trev. Any home-cooked meal was gonna seem like heaven.” He took a swallow of wine. “But those were some damn good burgers. We talked about ’em all the time.”

“You did?”

“Yep. Especially in Afghanistan when the only thing we had to eat were MREs. At that point we all would’ve given our left nut for some decent food.” He shook his head. “I think Riley and I each gained fifteen pounds the two weeks we were here in Hawaii. Not kidding at all.”

“Yeah, it seems like all I’ve done here is eat.” Trevor held his glass up to the moonlight, squinting at it. “And this wine is delicious.” He sounded so surprised that Jesse couldn’t help the soft chuckle that escaped.

“You doubted my wine-choosing skills that much?” he teased, nudging Trevor with his shoulder.

Trevor nudged him back, swirling the dregs in his glass. “No. I’m just so used to everything tasting like sawdust anymore, it feels strange to actually enjoy eating. To enjoy anything, really.”

“Mmm.” Jesse drained the last of his wine and put his glass down next to the bottle before leaning back on his elbows. “I remember how that feels. When my mom died, it would piss me off to see people laughing, having fun, because it felt wrong for them to do that. Then after a while I learned to pretend that I was, too, because it was easier to fake it than have to explain stuff over and over.”

“I call that ‘wearing the face.’” Trevor finished his wine before mirroring Jesse’s pose, the unbuttoned denim shirt he wore falling open, revealing his smooth chest and flat stomach. “The one that says ‘I’m okay’ when I’m not. The one I use to fool people and get myself through the day.” He paused. “I love that I don’t have to wear it with you.”

“I’d never want you to feel like you have to.”

Trevor tilted his head back to stare up at the brilliant, star-lit sky. “When did it get better for you? I mean, to where you weren’t faking it anymore?”

“Well—” Jesse hesitated, casting his mind back. “I don’t think I can pinpoint an exact moment. For a long time she was the last thing I thought about before I went to sleep, and the first thing I thought about when I woke up. Eventually I realized that some mornings I wouldn’t think about her until nine a.m., and then later on maybe it’d be noon or so. There are some days I don’t think about her much at all, but every now and then I still cry.” He sighed. “I’m sorry, I know that doesn’t help much. I’ll always love her. Always miss her. I just try to live a life she’d be proud of, that’s all.”

Trevor dropped down to lie flat on his back, throwing his forearm over his eyes. “Riley would be devastated if he could see me now.”

“What? I’m sure that’s not true.”

“This pathetic wreck of a human being I’ve become? He’d be so fucking pissed off at me, it’s not even funny. I’ve given up my business, lost my relationship—”

“Because you’re grieving the death of your only son.” Jesse kept his voice gentle. “Trevor—”

“I’ve been sitting here thinking about that war memorial we saw,” Trevor interrupted. “The names of the fallen, how moving and meaningful it was. Riley died serving his country, like those men on the Arizona did. If I can honor their sacrifice, I need to find a way to honor his.” Trevor closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, they were glittering with tears. “I’m not honoring his life if I let his death destroy me.”

Jesse floundered, once again feeling unsure and out of his depth, wishing he knew what Trevor needed...

With a grunt Trevor sat up, then got to his feet. “C’mon, let’s walk for a bit.” He waited until Jesse stood, too, and they kicked through the sand to amble along the shoreline, the breeze ruffling their hair.

“Today on the back of that motorcycle,” Trevor said, “I felt so much exhilaration and awe of the beauty I was seeing. When we came around that curve, for a few brief moments, I felt alive.” He glanced over at Jesse. “It scared the shit out of me. I wasn’t faking it, Jess... I felt it.”

Jesse made a helpless gesture. “It’s okay to enjoy yourself on the back of a motorcycle, and it doesn’t mean you’ve forgotten about him, or you didn’t love him.” He winced, mentally kicking himself for his ineptness. “Jesus, I’m sorry. That sounded patronizing as hell.”

“Coming from someone else maybe, but not from you. Never. Carl said almost that same thing to me once, and I dismissed it as the worst sort of platitude. I guess I wasn’t ready to hear it.”

They reached a small outcropping of rock with a ledge that jutted out over the water. Trevor scrambled to the top, and after a moment’s hesitation, Jesse followed him. They climbed until they stood side by side, looking down at the furious ocean foaming and surging against the base of the rock, a fine mist spraying up into their faces.