“Well?” She propped both hands on her hips.
“Well what?” Trent barked. “Okay, okay, I’m leaving.” He scooted to the end of the bed and began to put his Timberlands back on.
“Oh my gosh. Are you kidding me?” Summer rolled her eyes, then went and stood directly in front of him. “My robe has been open for five minutes, I’m wearing a black leather and lace teddy, and you haven’t even glanced at me. I was asking you how do I look?”
Trent had a hard time meeting Summer’s knowing expression or staring at that sarcastic smirk. “You look real nice,” he muttered, then continued tying his laces. “And I saw you were half-naked—I was being respectful since we’re only friends. I don’t look at you like that.”
“Don’t bullshit me, Trent. I could make a priest take a second look at me wearing this skimpy thing. It’s because you don’t see me as the one with the sexy body. Stop avoiding your roommate, and go home and get in his face and ask him what the fucking deal is. Tell him you demand to know who this Brody guy is, that’s all you have to do. Besides, I have a feeling Wood’s crazy about you.”
“Sure,” Trent mumbled. “That’s why there’s probably some other guy in my damn house right now, sitting on my couch, watching my television and drinking my beer.”
“Awwww,” Summer cooed. “And he’s probably eating all your porridge too. Geez, why do gay men have to make shit so complicated?” She scoffed. “You can’t stay here, T. I won’t be your enabler.”
Trent sighed. “Maybe I do like him… a lot—”
“Yes! I knew it! Finally,” Summer shouted and threw her hands in the air, making her ample breasts almost pop out of her lingerie.
Trent ran his fingers through his short hair. Well, shit. Summer was a gorgeous, voluptuous blonde with a body built from hard work and he hadn’t even noticed she was practically naked in front of him. But the moment Wood entered a room, every one of Trent’s senses came alive.
Trent stalled as long as he possibly could. After he left Summer’s, he rode around the city of Virginia Beach for a while, before he took the longest route home. It was after ten o’clock, and he couldn’t wait another minute to eat some food. He pulled into the driveway, unsure if Wood would be home or not, or… fuck. Trent gritted his teeth. What if Wood’s company had decided to stay the night? Technically there wasn’t shit Trent could do about it if he did but go in his bedroom and drown himself in music.
He made as much noise as he could when he came inside. He slammed the door closed, then stomped his boots on the mat before removing them. His roommate was nowhere to be found, so Trent threw his bag in the closet, then slowly made his way down the hall to Wood’s open door. He didn’t know what he was preparing himself for, but he exhaled in relief when he saw Wood’s bed was still made and his room empty. He had to be home because the man knew better than to leave so many lights on.
Where the hell are you? “Wood!” Trent called out. He walked back into the living room and turned in a full circle, wondering what was going on. It was a small living space, and Wood was too big to hide anywhere. He was about to call out Wood’s name again when he saw the back door was cracked. He figured maybe he was taking out the garbage and decided to get his food ready to put in the oven. It would’ve been nice if you’d made dinner since you’ve been here all evening. Trent glanced behind him and stared at the door, anticipating Wood’s big body to fill up the frame any minute.
He finished washing his four pieces of chicken breast, then seasoned them with salt and pepper and put them in the oven. After he washed his hands, he went to the back door and checked outside to see if his roommate had got lost. The porch light was off, making it easy for Trent to see the bright orange flames flickering in the aluminum ice bin Mike used for cookouts. What the fuck? Wood was sitting on a stack of cinder blocks, hunched over a bag, barely moving.
Trent eased out the door, confused as to why the hell Wood was sitting in the cold in front of a makeshift bonfire. “Wood,” he called as he came closer. He was already shivering as he rubbed his hands together. “It’s freezing. What are you doing out here?” Wood sat up taller, and that’s when Trent saw the bottle of Jack Daniel’s. He couldn’t believe it. He’d never even seen Wood drink one of his beers; now Trent could tell that he was three sheets to the wind.
“Go home, Trent,” Wood slurred, as he tilted the bottle high and chugged three large gulps before he set it down beside him.
“I am home,” Trent answered. Damnit. Wood looked horrible. His eyes were half-lidded, and his usually styled gray hair was tangled and messy. He sat slumped forward with his shoulders low, and every now and then he’d sway, then right himself. “Come inside.”
Wood ignored him as if he wasn’t even there and reached inside the trash bag that sat between his legs and pulled out a crinkled envelope. Trent watched as Wood ripped open the letter, his breathing accelerating the longer he read, as if the words were taking him to another place. Trent stood there silently until Wood finished all four pages. He thought Wood was going to fold the letter and put it back inside the bag, but instead he took the candle lighter and set it on fire. He watched it burn in Wood’s hand, the flames illuminating the pain and hopelessness he saw in those moist eyes. After he could no longer hold on to it, Wood dropped the singed paper in the bin with the stack of other ashes, then reached for his bottle.
How long has he been out here? It’d been long enough for Wood to be on his second bottle of liquor. Trent picked up the empty bottle of cheap vodka and threw it in the trash can. He stared at Wood wondering what the hell had happened in just one day to turn him into this. Who did this to him? Was it that Brody guy? Trent was getting angry, but most of all he was nervous. He recognized this kind of spiraling, self-destructive behavior quite well because he’d done it himself. While he’d never been a heavy drinker, he’d had his other vices.
“Wood. Come on, man. Whatever the hell it is, it can’t be that bad.”
Wood didn’t glance in Trent’s direction. As if he was on robot mode, Wood reached inside and got out another letter to repeat his torture. This time Trent walked behind Wood to get a better look at the envelope, but he couldn’t make out the addressee name in the dark. “I’m making dinner. You hungry?”
Wood’s reaction was a scoff, but at least it was something.
“If you’re not interested, then I’m gonna eat it all by myself.”
The next letter was only a few lines, and Wood finished it quickly, burned it, and tossed it. After he drank another quarter of his bottle, Wood slowly turned toward him, and Trent almost flinched when their eyes met. Wood’s grief was so real and potent that it was somehow filtering into him.
“Oh, now you’re available?” Wood said. His words came out jumbled as if his tongue was too thick for his mouth.
“Wood, what happened?”
“None of your business. You wouldn’t understand,” Wood snarled. “These are old man problems.”
Trent bristled. “Is this what you call being a man, huh? Sitting here getting wasted and feeling sorry for yourself? You think you’re the first person to have it hard out of prison, Wood?”