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“Okay. In case you’re wondering why you’re naked, I’m gonna wash this crud off of you, all right.” Trent poured a dollop of shampoo in the one bowl and got in position so he could hold Wood’s head over it. He used one hand to cradle the back of Wood’s neck and the other to massage the soap into his hair. He made sure to watch Wood’s eyes for a spark, for a reaction, but he didn’t get one. Wood didn’t even bother to help him as Trent struggled. “It’s all right if you’re too tired to fight right now. I can fight for both of us.”
Trent meticulously scooped the clean water from the other bowl and let it rain over the silver waterfall. So beautiful. He made three trips to refresh his bowls, and he’d only washed Wood’s hair. Trent was so damn tired, but he persevered.
Next was Wood’s face. Trent closed the bar of Ivory soap inside another washcloth and dipped it in the fresh bowl of water to work up a lather. It took him a long time because he didn’t want to miss one speck of dirt, and he didn’t want to get soap in Wood’s eyes either. When he’d completed that task, Trent slowly ran a towel along Wood’s forehead and over his wet hair, gazing at him as he did.
“Hey,” Trent whispered. “Are you looking at me?”
Wood didn’t blink.
Trent felt a lump lodge his throat, and his eyes became too blurry for him to see. He scrubbed the back of his hands over them, ignoring the fatigue, and continued his duties. “I’m right here, Wood,” Trent repeated solemnly. Over and over he said it, hoping he’d get any sign of recognition from the amazing guy he liked to annoy. “Not going anywhere.”
Trent didn’t have another sexual thought as he cleaned Wood’s beautifully painted body. He was too upset, too confused, and too scared to get aroused. It’d been twenty-four hours and Wood was continuing to block him out. Trent dumped the dirty linen in the laundry room and got Wood settled on a fresh blanket with his own comforter from his bed covering him. He found some loose shorts in a drawer for Wood but didn’t have the strength to lift him to put on a T-shirt.
He tried once more to get Wood to drink after his bath, thinking he had to be feeling better, somewhat human, but Wood didn’t even try. Trent had to get up and walk away before he tossed every piece of furniture in Wood’s room. Fuck he was mad! Trent limped down the hall, wanting to punch the wall, or kick it, anything to let out the rage and anger. He was doing everything he could think of. Joking, yelling, touching, threatening, and he’d talked until he was blue in the face. Never had he talked so much in his life. But he was out of things to say. His life was a hot mess, nothing to write home about.
Trent sat at the table and stared down the hall, feeling that sense of desperation trying to creep into his spirit. And as if she had some kind of radar for when he was getting down, his phone vibrated in his pocket, and he pulled it out to see Summer’s smiling Contact picture. He exhaled a weary breath and answered. “Hey.”
“Hi. How’d it go today?”
“All right,” Trent lied.
“Doesn’t sound all right.”
Trent rested his forehead in his palm. “I’m scared, Summer. I’m so damn scared.”
“Trent.” She gasped. “I’m coming over.”
“No.” Trent startled. “No, no, no. Don’t. I can’t let anyone… I don’t want him to have to explain anything to anyone later if he doesn’t want to.”
“Okay, that was cryptic as hell.”
“I know.”
Summer was quiet for a while as if she was waiting for Trent to cave and confess like he always did, but not this time. It wasn’t his secret to disclose. As if she’d accepted he wasn’t going to elaborate, she asked, “Do you need anything? Are you hungry, did you guys eat dinner?”
“Yes. We’re good.” Trent nodded, then remembered, “Oh, yeah, there is something I need. Can you bring me some cans of Campbell soup on your way to work tomorrow morning? I used my last one.”
“Is Wood sick?”
“Summer,” Trent warned.
“All right, all right. Gosh, men. So weird.”
Trent smiled. Why did she say that all the time, like men were such peculiar creatures?
“I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Okay.” Trent was about to press End when he heard Summer shout.
“Trent!”
“What?” He frowned.
“Try playing your music tonight to settle your nerves. I haven’t heard you sound this stressed and worked up in a long time, and those damn records are the only thing I know that helps besides me or Bishop.”
Summer hung up, and Trent got his ass moving and went into his bedroom. Why the hell hadn’t he tried his records earlier? Music had a way of touching the heart. Trent dug through Miles’s crate and removed an old-school R&B ballad titled, “Try Again.” He grabbed his secondhand acoustic guitar from out of the closet and walked back across the hall.
