Page 94 of Point of Contact

“Thanks for everything, Jess,” he whispered into his ear. “I’ll call you in a few days, okay? I think I’m going to need some decompression time.”

“Hey, I’m not going anywhere,” Jesse interrupted, pulling away with a squeeze to Trevor’s shoulder. “You know where to find me.”

Trevor nodded, and Jesse pursed his lips at him in an unobtrusive air kiss before climbing into the back seat of the cab and roaring away.

“Taxi, sir?”

The hopeful voice at his shoulder startled Trevor into action, and he tore his eyes away from watching Jesse’s taillights disappear into the distance. “Yep, I’m ready,” he said with false heartiness, and soon he was standing in the foyer of his house, the air a little stale and the silence oppressive.

Now what?

Leaving his bags strewn haphazardly by the front door, Trevor made his way to the backyard and dropped down into his favorite chair, sprawling out with a sigh. He gazed around, taking in the immaculate landscaping, the pool, all of it ready for the summer to come.

God, how he loved this house. The memories swirled together in his mind, a kaleidoscope of color and warmth—Riley, and then Carl—every single one, good and bad, still infinitely precious.

Like moving day, Riley at age fourteen, desperate to act cool but unable to contain his excitement over it all. After years of hard work, saving and cramming themselves into tiny apartments, this was the reward.

Trevor bit his lip. So many memories, of sleepovers, missed curfews, arguments, homework. The thought of listing the house, showing it, letting strangers tramp through it with thoughts of making memories of their own here...

No.

Leaving the backyard, Trevor grabbed up his bags and headed toward the master to dump them on the bed, then made his way down the opposite hall toward Riley’s room. He flattened his palm on the closed door, the same old grief and anxiety flaring to life at the thought of going inside.

“What am I gonna do, Riles?” he asked aloud, his voice hoarse. “I think it’s time, but I—I can’t—”

No answer, just silence. Trevor clenched his hand into a fist. By now, if nothing else, he understood what his limits were, and dealing with Riley’s room was still beyond them. Of course he could leave it alone, leave it as is, but the idea of it sitting here untouched like some sort of goddamn shrine—

Trevor leaned his forehead against the door, his tired eyes dry and burning. If he was going to keep the house, he had to deal with the room somehow. He had to deal with this splinter under his skin, one that might be easy to ignore but painful when pressed on, one that would relentlessly work its way deeper...

Something had to be done about it.

But what?

* * *

“I left him three days ago, Jesse.”

“Oh, Sami.” Jesse clutched the phone. “I’m so sorry.” He listened to her uneven breaths, his heart aching for Watty. “What are you gonna do?”

“I’m, uh, going to take the kids and move back to North Carolina, stay with my parents for a while.” Her voice was sad and weary. “Having to go bail him out of jail the other night was the last straw.”

“I know.”

“A bar fight. Really?” The underlying anger was palpable. “After spending almost his entire paycheck on some stupid tattoo, then drinking up the rest? I’m done, Jesse.” Sami caught her breath in a sob. “You probably think I’m a horrible bitch, don’t you, leaving my husband and kicking him when he’s down.”

“No way,” Jesse interrupted gently. “I’d never judge you. You have your kids to think of.”

“He still refuses to go back to the VA. I made an appointment for him and he blew it off. He’s scaring me, scaring the boys.”

“Has he—” Jesse swallowed hard, afraid of the answer. “Has he hit them? You?”

“No.”

Jesse slumped in relief, tightening his grip on the phone again when she went on, “But he’s come close a few times. He’s just so—so angry.” She trailed off. “I don’t know how to help him. I just don’t know how to help him.”

“I’ll talk to him.”

Sami gave a watery sniff. “He’s not your responsibility, Jesse.”