Trent didn’t finish his thought before he tore out of his chair and ran down the hall to Wood’s bedroom as last night’s events slammed into him. “Wood!” he yelled when he stumbled into an empty bedroom. “Fuck!” Trent hauled ass through the trailer and shouldered out the back door, knocking the screen off its hinges as he did. He didn’t know what the sound was that belted from his mouth when he saw Wood lying facedown in the dirt because he’d never made it before.
“No, no, no, no,” Trent gritted out as he hurried over and gathered Wood’s big body up in his arm and tried to move him. It felt as if he was attempting to lift a Volkswagen. “What the fuck have you done? Wood! Wake up!” Trent’s breathing stuttered at the first feel of Wood’s ice-cold cheek, and the look of his pale, chapped lips. “Come on, damnit. Don’t you even fuckin’ think about it.”
Trent tried with all his might to get Wood up, and he only managed to scoot him a few feet. He slapped Wood repeatedly on his cheek, trying to rouse him, feeling he wasn’t strong enough to carry him. He scrubbed his arms up and down Wood’s chest and arms to give him some friction. “Wake up, wake up. Or I swear I will call the police right now, parole or not, if you don’t fuckin’ wake up. You hear me?” Trent threatened.
Wood eventually groaned and his thick body began to tremor fiercely, and Trent breathed a slight sigh of relief, regardless that it sounded as if Wood was nothing but a massive ball of agony. He doubled his efforts trying to wake him, calling his name louder. Whatever it took, he’d do it. Wood’s body began to convulse as he heaved violently, and Trent went from scared to petrified. He got behind Wood and forced him up on his knees with his arms wrapped around him as if he was about to administer the Heimlich. Trent shoved his clamped fists into Wood’s midsection as he doubled over and emptied his stomach onto the grass. “That’s right… get all that shit out.” He could only imagine how much discomfort Wood was in, and he thought the alcohol may had even poisoned him, so it was good he was getting it out of his system.
Wood vomited until his body was nothing but a quivering mess in Trent’s arms. He held on tight, showing Wood he had him and he wasn’t letting him go. After he hoped most of the liquor was out of his system, Trent knew he had to get Wood out of the morning cold, now. He ran back inside and yanked Wood’s comforter off his bed. He returned and noticed the sky was already a shade of purplish sapphire, the first glimpse of day ready to peek through at any moment. Trent was so angry at himself he could spit fire; how could he have fallen asleep and left Wood out there? He wrapped Wood in the thick comforter and channeled every bit of that fury he was feeling—at himself for not being there and at Wood for putting them through this—and began to drag Wood inside the house with it.
Trent was able to get Wood through the kitchen and down the hall into his bedroom. He ignored the spasms in his back as he unwrapped Wood and hurried to get the cold, damp clothes off him. Trent had worked outside most of his life, so he knew what to do if a person started to experience any signs of overexposure to the cold. And under any other circumstance he would’ve called the fire department by now, but if AA and staying sober was in Wood’s parole conditions, then after he was treated at the hospital, he could possibly be on his way back to prison. Trent couldn’t do that. Not if he could help first.
Once he got Wood undressed down to his boxer briefs, Wood began to shiver so hard he looked as if he was having a seizure, and Trent felt some hope. If Wood was in an advance stage of hypothermia, he wouldn’t be trembling, and his breathing would be a lot slower. Trent grabbed a new blanket out of the closet and draped it over him. He remembered Bishop kept a space heater underneath the bed, and he dragged it out and plugged it up on the other side of the room and turned it on full blast. He put a pillow under Wood’s head, and his eyes opened slowly, red and watery, breaking Trent’s heart.
“Fight it, Wood. Come on, man.” Trent put his palm against Wood’s scruffy cheek and shook him slightly when he began to doze again. “No. Stay awake. Wood! Wood!”
“Leave me alone,” Wood said, his speech so garbled that if Trent wasn’t in his face, he wouldn’t’ve been able to understand him.
Damnit. “No. I won’t leave you alone. Fuck you. I’m not as immature and weak as you think. I’ll stay right here in your face until you get sick of me and get the fuck up,” Trent threatened.
Wood looked as if he tried to scoff at him, but he ended up dry heaving so hard his face went from ghostly white to bright red before he curled in on himself. Trent wrapped his arms around Wood’s broad back and positioned him on his left side in case he got sick again. He held him tight to let him know he wasn’t going through this alone, no matter how many times he pushed him away. Wood coughed and grunted until his body went limp. Every few minutes Trent would do something to stir Wood to keep him from dozing too deeply. He lay there for what felt like forever until the room was bright from the new day and the feeling in his arms had gone dead. Trent shifted his position and had to clamp his mouth closed when a sharp stabbing shot down his back. He was sweating like crazy, but the heat was doing Wood good, and his color was slowly coming back. Trent heard his phone ring for the millionth time and decided he needed to get up so he could stretch and get Wood to drink some water.
“Hey. No going to sleep,” Trent said against Wood’s earlobe.
Wood moaned, but he didn’t open his eyes.
“I’m not gonna get out your ear until you look at me.” Trent pulled back and stared down at Wood’s face, wondering why the hell he’d been so stupid. The man was fucking handsome. Even lying there prone on the floor and smelling like a horse field, he was still stunning. Trent ran his hand through Wood’s long hair on top of his head, surprised how soft the light gray strands felt sifting through his fingers. The sides were darker, mostly black and shaved close, and Trent realized it was a look he found very attractive. After his sixth or seventh run-through, he glanced down and saw Wood watching him through heavy-lidded eyes. Trent slid his hand away and stared, unsure of what to say.
He got up and did a few bends to try to loosen the tightness he felt all over but gave up at the useless effort. Hauling Wood through the trailer like that must’ve caused him to pull a muscle or something because he could barely stand up straight. Wood was gazing in the same place Trent had just been, his eyes focused on nothing as if he was lost in his head. God, if he only knew what happened. The thought to call Bishop had popped into his mind so many times he was getting frustrated. He understood why Wood hadn’t called him, and Trent was going to do his best to prevent Wood from any more disappointment.
“I’ll be right back. I’ma get you some water, okay. You have to try to hydrate now,” Trent murmured and left out the bedroom.
In the kitchen he retrieved his cell phone off the table and saw it was a little after eleven, and he had nine missed calls, four from his boss and five from Bishop. “Shit.” He immediately hit Redial, and Summer picked up on the first ring.
“You asshole. I was just about to come over there. What’s going on? Why aren’t you at work?” Summer said the moment the line connected.
Trent hobbled over to the cabinet and got a plastic cup and poured it half-full with a bottle of water. “I’m sorry. Look, um. I need you to cover for me with the boss today, all right.”