Wood’s eyes were still glossy as if he’d just shot-up with meth. When Trent gazed into them, he knew Wood wasn’t looking back, and it was ripping at pieces of his chest. Trent scooped a small amount of broth on the spoon and put it to Wood’s barely parted lips and waited. When Wood didn’t move, Trent eased the spoon inside and poured the lukewarm broth in Wood’s mouth, only to watch in devastation as it dribbled back out.
“Ugggh. Wood. Come on!” Trent scooped some more and uselessly tried again. “One damn spoon, man.”
Trent stopped when he realized his hands were shaking. He set the bowl down, surveying the mess he’d made trying to get Wood to eat. He had broth saturating his beard, mixing with the dirt still present from last night. Trent scooted away until his back was against the side of the bed. He dropped his head forward and gripped two handfuls of his hair. What am I doing? What am I doing? Trent pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and stared at the home screen. His finger hovered over Bishop’s contact picture for a long time before he eventually tossed the phone across the room. Trent struggled to his feet, staring down at the big lump of man he’d somehow grown crazy about.
Trent woke each day looking forward to their morning fight over the bathroom, or who ate the last of the cereal. His one-hour lunch break with Summer was full of him detailing to her all the infuriating shit Wood had done to him the night before. Like staring at him as if he wanted to lick him all over while Trent ate his dinner or brushing his hard body against him when they were both in the kitchen as if Wood didn’t have plenty enough space to maneuver. He threw wadded-up pieces of paper at his face while he watched television, then had the audacity to call Trent immature. He smiled when he remembered Wood going on and on about the uselessness of video games and how it rots the brain cells. Trent asked him if he’d read that in an Encyclopedia Britannica.
Just weeks ago he’d hated when clock-out time came because he knew he was going home to a dark empty trailer. Now, after a long day of work, he was one of the first guys that burned rubber out of the parking lot. Because he knew he was going to turn his key and come into a brightly lit house with the heat already pumping and someone waiting to greet him with a smile. Albeit a sarcastic, mischievous one, but Wood was there nonetheless. And for some reason he found Trent’s temper amusing… delicious was actually the word he used. He’d been so busy trying to win at the so-called game, he hadn’t realized neither of them were truly playing.
Trent huffed and shook the nerves out of his hands. He knew deep down—maybe always had—that he wanted to try to do this with Wood, he did. Wanted to see if his feelings were real, if what he’d been craving for so long was the last piece of the puzzle. Trent rolled up the sleeves of his sweatshirt as determination set in. The difference between him and Wood was he was one relentless motherfucker and the word coward was not in his vocabulary. “Man up, T. If you want someone as great as Wood, then it looks like he’s gonna make you work for it.”
He covered the remaining soup with plastic wrap and put it in the refrigerator. After he scoffed down the last of the chicken breast and steamed rice he’d made last night, he popped two of his muscle relaxers and chased them with water. He filled another cup and went back to Wood’s room. He crinkled his nose at the stench the moment he stepped over the threshold. Trent could smell the sweat and filth mixed with traces of whiskey seeping from Wood’s pores.
Maybe that was why Wood couldn’t eat or drink—he still smelled like sick. Trent needed to get him cleaned up, and he was positive that would make Wood feel alive again. Thinking he had a good plan, Trent googled how to give a sponge bath because there was no way he’d be able to drag Wood into the bathroom and up over into the tub.
Trent cranked the heat up in the bedroom, then gathered the necessary supplies the WikiHow website recommended. He filled two of his largest bowls with warm water and grabbed the last stack of clean towels. On his hands and knees, Trent slowly began to peel away the layers of blankets, revealing Wood’s warm, damp flesh. He swallowed thickly as he tried to keep himself from thinking thoughts he shouldn’t at a time like this. Instead he kept Wood’s lower half covered and shoved a couple of towels under his head so he could wash his hair.
“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?”