Trent stared at the lifeless expression in Wood’s eyes before his gaze dropped to his lips. Slowly, Trent eased into Wood’s side and lowered his face until they were only a hair width apart. He stopped, wishing that miraculously Wood would soldier through and take that last inch as if he couldn’t wait another second for their mouths to touch, but he didn’t budge. Trent kept his eyes lowered until they connected. Wood’s lips were dry and cracked, but they still felt wonderful. Trent had never kissed another man’s lips, never really wanted to, until he met Wood. Never had he wanted a bond with someone so fiercely. Trent breathed into Wood’s mouth as if he was feeding life back into him and pressed his lips deeper. When he pulled away, Trent gasped as his hand flew to his lips that still vibrated with sensation. God. His body felt as if it’d been shot with adrenaline and his soul had come alive.
Damnit. It was supposed to help him, not me. Trent shook his head. That was stupid. This isn’t a fuckin’ fairy tale. When Trent glanced up, his body froze. And his heart began to beat hard enough to make his chest hurt. There was no mistaking now. Wood was staring dead at him.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Wood
Wood’s body was jostled roughly as Trent fell down on his, his strong hands clutching his face. “Wood, Wood. Are you looking at me? Wood.”
Wood closed his eyes and slowly opened them, wanting to be sure the sight before him was real. That he was staring into Trent’s warm, rum-colored eyes, and there was no judgment there. No shame, or pity. Just weariness and concern. Wood felt the pain of what’d happened slam back into him hard enough to make his ribs hurt when he cried out.
Trent scrambled to his knees and yanked Wood into his hard chest, clutching him in a fierce hug. “That’s it, Wood, come back. Let that pain in so you know you’re alive.”
Wood dreadfully realized he was here in real time and completely exposed. While the guilt was still heavy on his heart and he had no clue if it would ever fully subside, he realized he wasn’t as alone as he thought. Wood felt his stomach contract violently, and he moaned at the discomfort, causing Trent to hug him tighter.
“You’re all right,” Trent whispered, running his hand up and down his bare skin.
Wood’s entire body ached, bruised clear to his soul. Now all he could do was close his eyes and bury his face in the crook of Trent’s neck since he had no place else to hide. He breathed deep, and there was that scent of fresh rain and gardens.
“Don’t you ever terrify me like that again,” Trent said, carefully lowering him to the pillow, and Wood noticed he was on the floor surrounded by soft blankets and multiple pillows.
I’m sorry. Wood was so ashamed he could barely meet Trent’s weary eyes, but he did. He’d been a quitter and a wimp, letting life beat him to a pulp without so much as throwing a counterpunch. Now all Wood could hope for was that he had time to repair the damage he’d done with the man still palming his cheek. He exhaled and turned into the comforting touch.
“I want you to drink some of this water now, all right? You’ve been out of it for almost twenty-four hours.” Trent reached beside him, and Wood noticed him cringe as if he was hurt before he placed a small plastic cup to his lips. Trent held his neck to steady him and watched as Wood accepted the first couple of sips. A look of pure elation eclipsed the weariness in Trent’s expression, and it made Wood feel even worse. He’d put Trent through so much. Damn, how was he ever going to repay this kind of debt?
“Drink a little more,” Trent said in that tender, velvety tone. A voice that Wood was sure he’d continue to hear in his dreams.
Wood let the cool liquid run down his blistering throat, and when he tried to speak, to say thank you, it came out as a painful groan. If he could just get rid of the physical pain, he’d slowly figure out how to deal with the other. He needed to rest because he felt as if he’d been awake for longer than one day. Wood closed his eyes and let his head sink into the pillow. After a couple of seconds, Trent’s forehead gently pressed against his, his hot breath caressing his lips.
“Go ahead and sleep, Wood. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”
Trent
Trent managed to snag an hour nap beside Wood before he startled awake at the sound of his alarm blaring in his bedroom. He got up as quickly as his back would allow, put on his slides, and trudged across the hall—stepping around large pieces of broken lamp—to turn off the irritating beeping. Once he hit Cancel, Trent sat gingerly on his mattress and rubbed at the sore muscles in his hip. He believed his camping on the floor days were long gone.
Feeling as if he was still on duty and unsure if Wood was really all right, he texted Summer to remind her he wasn’t coming in today. Trent got the broom and dustpan out of the utility closet and cleaned up the results of his outburst. I really have to stop breaking other people’s shit. Now he’d need to replace Wood’s bedside lamp. When he was sure he’d gotten all of the glass and parts disposed of, he decided to check on his roommate one more time. Trent eased the door open and peeked inside, not wanting to disturb Wood if he was finally resting. But he was concerned when he saw the deep frown lines creasing Wood’s forehead and the way his head kept jerking to the side as if someone was slapping him.
Damnit. Trent rushed into his room and dug around in Miles’s crate for something to chase those fucking nightmares away. He’d memorized every record backwards and forwards, and he knew the ones he used to make himself feel better, but music touched everyone differently. He needed to make sure to choose the right one. Talk to me, Miles. Who’s he need right now? Trent anxiously fingered through the albums when he suddenly stopped at a fading black cover with yellow lettering. Trent slowly eased the old record from its sheath and placed it on his turntable. With practiced precision, he slid over the tonearm and hovered the needle above the outermost groove. He gently touched it down; the initial sound of crackles and pops from the groove noise never failed to stimulate him, to prepare him for the flawlessness of what was to come. It was a quality of sound that he just couldn’t get from a CD or a MP3 file. As soon as “Pain In My Heart” by Otis Redding began to play, Trent closed his eyes. It was such a slow but powerful rhythm, and the painful lyrics went directly to his core. He hoped Wood could feel it too.
Trent let the record play on a low volume, just loud enough for Wood to hear it across the hall. He got a bowl of cool water and another thick wash rag from the linen closet and settled next to Wood as he continued to fight in his sleep. “What are you dreaming about, huh?” Trent dipped the cloth in the water and wrung it out enough so he didn’t make Wood wet. He folded it in half, then gently placed it in the center of Wood’s clammy forehead. The heat was turned down and the blankets were only pulled up to his waist, but he was still sweating. Trent slowly wiped away the perspiration, running the moist towel down Wood’s cheek while he fingered his soft hair away from his face.
Wood moaned as Trent dragged the cool compress down his throat, then repeatedly stroked over his Adam’s apple, becoming swept up in the intimacy. He swallowed roughly when he thought of leaning closer and licking that thick lump of cartilage he’d become fascinated with when he watched as Wood drank whole bottles of water in seconds. By the third song, Trent had got lost in his job as the music lulled him into a state of peace he hadn’t felt in a long time. He concentrated on his task, meticulous in the way he caressed the bright roses decorating Wood’s thick pecs. He dipped the rag once more, unable to resist using it to slick down the sexy gray-and-black hair on his stomach, leading to his groin.