Chapter Sixteen
April 2009—Eleven months after
The exuberant rap on the front door startled Trevor, and he dragged himself up from the couch and went to answer it. Jesse stood on the stoop, wearing a white Atlanta Braves jersey and a faded pair of jeans, the whole ensemble topped by a backward baseball cap.
“Oh. Hi, Jesse.”
Trevor stood back to let him in, and as Jesse brushed past him, he got a whiff of a light citrusy aftershave that smelled amazing, one that made him aware of his own unwashed, sorry state. He tugged self-consciously at his wrinkled T-shirt and hitched up his sagging pajama pants. “What’s up?”
“Well, I have the day off so I thought maybe I’d kidnap you for a few hours.”
“Kidnap me?”
“Yep. I scored two tickets to the Colorado Rockies opening day. Wanna go?”
“The Rockies?” Trevor raised his eyebrow, staring pointedly at the Braves jersey.
Jesse smirked. “They’re playing my hometown team, so we’ll be a house divided, but... What do you say? Come up to Denver with me?”
He looked so hopeful that it killed Trevor to disappoint him, but showering and getting dressed seemed like a monumental task at the moment.
“I don’t know, Jesse. I—”
“I’ll wait while you get ready,” Jesse said firmly. “And I’m not in any hurry. We get there when we get there.”
Trevor opened his mouth to refuse, but something made him say instead, “Okay. Gimme fifteen minutes.”
“Great!” Jesse plopped down on the couch and helped himself to the sports section of the newspaper Trevor had been reading.
Sighing, Trevor headed for his room, and as he stripped off his pajamas, he grimaced at the sour smell of them. How many days had he been wearing them now? No clue. The days blurred together since Carl had packed up his stuff and driven out of his life. Who was there to get dressed for? Carl was gone, Riley was gone...
“Oh, stop it,” he scolded himself as he got under the hot spray. “Keep wallowing in self-pity, or spend a few hours with a good-looking guy?”
No matter how straight he is or how dead you are inside.
Grabbing a towel from the rack, Trevor dried off quickly and brushed his teeth, not bothering to shave. A quick rummage in his closet unearthed his favorite long-sleeved Rockies T-shirt, and he pulled that on along with a pair of jeans that he had to cinch up with a belt so they didn’t pool around his ankles.
Jesus, you’re a mess, Trev.
He plopped a baseball cap on his head, and with one last grimace into the mirror, made his way back to the living room, where Jesse was standing in front of a bookshelf perusing the items on it.
“Ready to go?”
Jesse turned and looked him over, and Trevor couldn’t help but think maybe he should have gone ahead and shaved.
A few minutes later they were ensconced in Jesse’s truck heading north on the I-25 toward Denver. Jesse navigated the traffic with an easy confidence, one elbow propped on the windowsill, fingers loosely on the wheel. His other hand rested on the gearshift not far from Trevor’s knee, and Trevor’s eyes were drawn to a scar on his forearm, one that looked like a crater, the skin around it puckered.
“What happened?”
“Hmm?” Jesse glanced at him before following Trevor’s gaze. “Oh. Shrapnel.”
Trevor winced. “Jesus.” He stared at the scar, fascinated. “Did it hurt?”
“Nah. At least not when I got it. Afterward? Hurt like a bitch, but I didn’t even notice it until way after the fight was over.”
For some reason Trevor wanted to touch it, and he reached for Jesse’s arm, asking, “Can I?”
In response Jesse extended his arm toward him, and Trevor traced his fingertips over the pit. It was rough, the puckered part a little jagged. Jesse’s skin was warm, alive, and Trevor drifted his fingers down to Jesse’s inner wrist, where his pulse throbbed visibly. When he found himself stroking over it with his thumb, Trevor snatched his hand away, face burning.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, flashing back to the morning after that damn party, and Jesse’s reaction to the touch of his hand then. He couldn’t help but tense a little.
A muscle ticked in Jesse’s jaw, and after a moment he said, his voice sounding a little husky, “The wound really was no big deal. Actually, Riley was the one who even noticed it first and pointed it out. ‘Jesus, Byrney, you got a fuckin’ hole in your arm.’ I looked down and was like, ‘Oh, shit. I sure do.’ Just your typical day in the Valley.”
Once again, Trevor had to appreciate how easily and naturally Jesse said Riley’s name, acknowledging his existence, instead of feeling like he had to walk on eggshells around him. “Well, I’m glad it didn’t hurt too much.”
“Nah, it didn’t.” Jesse rolled his wrist a couple of times, making the bones crack, before settling his hand on the gearshift again. “So how long’s it been since you’ve been to a game?”
“Oh, man, it’s—” Trevor cast his mind back. “At least three years? Carl didn’t care for baseball, and once Riley was out of the house...” He shrugged. “It’s not like I’d have minded going by myself, I just never did.” A pause. “Did Riley ever talk about baseball?”
Out of the corner of his eye, Trevor could see Jesse grin.
“Sure, he did. A couple of the other guys were Mets or Yankees fans, and oh my God, there were some heated debates. A few fistfights, too.”
“Over baseball?” Trevor was aghast, surprised when Jesse laughed out loud.
“Over baseball, over which way the wind was blowing, over who was hotter... Charlize Theron or Natalie Portman.” His voice was full of amused fondness. “There were long stretches of time when nothing was going on, and we were bored out of our minds, you know? We’d run out of stuff to talk about a long time ago, so...”
“I remember Riley mentioning a Guitar Hero battle or something.”
“Oh, yeah. Once we got that generator hauled up there, guys started sending home for all sorts of shit. But eventually we got bored with that, too, so every now and then something would spark a fight. No big deal.” He snorted. “My favorite was this epic rock war. We didn’t have anyone to shoot at, so we hucked rocks at each other. Everyone was running and dodging, diving behind shit like they were in a fuckin’ action movie or something. Idiots.”
“You miss it.”
Jesse glanced at him, his voice a little tighter as he said, “I do sometimes, yeah. You think I’m crazy?”
Trevor studied him before saying slowly, “No. I mean, I can’t imagine missing it, but I wasn’t there.” He was gratified to see Jesse relax again, wondering who’d judged him for that, and realizing he was most likely judging himself. “I can’t even wrap my mind around the intensity of what you experienced, and I got to sit home safe in my little bubble, so who am I to think anything?”
At those words, Jesse blew out a small breath like he’d been holding it, and Trevor changed the subject. “So you’re from Atlanta?”
“A small suburb of it. And before you ask, nope, I don’t miss it. Not at all, which is why I stayed here after I got out.”
“I thought I detected a hint of the South in your voice.”
Jesse chuckled. “Yeah, and when I’m really, really tired, my accent gets thicker. Riley used to give me so much shit about it, too.” He shook his head in mock disgust. “Called me Georgia Peach one time, and then the rest of the guys piled on. Fuck, I took so much razzing that night.”
Trevor didn’t even try to hide his smile. “I hope you got him back for that.”
“I did. Ate his last two oatmeal crème pies and left the wrappers right on his pillow.”
At that Trevor laughed outright. “You didn’t! Those were his favorites! I used to send him three boxes at a time in his care packages.”
“I know, and he thought he was being sly where he hid them.” Jesse shook his head. “Amateur.”
“Did you and Riley go to any games together?”
“You know, that’s one thing we never got to do. So thanks for coming with me today.”
“Thanks for inviting me.”
“Sure.”
They lapsed into silence after that, and Jesse switched on the radio, which was set to a classic rock station. Strains of The Who’s “Who Are You” drifted into the truck, and Trevor was amused when Jesse tapped his fingers on the steering wheel and bobbed his head, eventually busting out a few lyrics.
Before he knew it, Trevor joined in, and soon they were singing at the top of their lungs.
Trevor played air guitar, and Jesse pounded his fist on the dash in emphasis as they shouted the lyrics in unison.
When it ended, Jethro Tull’s “Songs from the Wood” came on next, and Trevor chuckled. “Riley called this elevator music.”
Jesse gasped. “Blasphemy! Riley, how dare you?” He turned up the volume defiantly and shouted the lyrics out the window. Trevor laughed at his indignation until his sides hurt, and then to his horror he burst into tears.
Jesse didn’t say anything, just fished a napkin out of the console and handed it to him, continuing to sing until the song was over.
“Sorry,” Trevor muttered as he balled the napkin up and stuck it in the plastic bag hanging from the glove box. “Can’t take me anywhere, can you? I might fucking start blubbering or something.”
“Hey.” Jesse reached over as if to touch Trevor’s knee, then pulled his hand back again. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, okay? Cry if you need to cry.”
“Crying sucks.” Trevor grabbed another napkin and blew his nose. “I’m sick of it.”
“Just last month I went into Kohl’s for something, and I had to walk by where they sell the perfumes. Some lady was trying one on, and God, it smelled just like the stuff my mom used to wear. I walked on past, bought what I went in there to buy, and when I got to my truck, I sat there and cried my fuckin’ eyes out.” He looked at Trevor. “She’s been gone for eight years. So. Cry if you need to cry.”
This time when he reached over, he patted Trevor’s knee gently before turning his attention back to the road, singing under his breath as a Rush song came on. Trevor brushed his fingers over the spot on his leg Jesse had touched, closing his eyes, the road noise and the sound of Jesse’s deep voice soothing him. It wasn’t long until he drifted off to sleep.
* * *
“Wakey wakey.”
Trevor snapped his eyes open to see Jesse’s amused face hovering over him.
“We’re here, Trev.”
Sitting bolt upright in his seat, Trevor scrubbed one hand over the lower half of his face, giving thanks to any god that might exist for the fact he hadn’t drooled all over himself. Jesse got out of the truck, put his arms over his head and arched his back in a stretch, groaning as his vertebrae popped. The jersey he was wearing was unbuttoned at the bottom, and it rucked up to show a very nice set of abs. His faded jeans rode low on trim hips, revealing a blond treasure trail under his navel that disappeared down below his waistband.
“Ready?” Jesse bent to peer at him, and Trevor blinked, embarrassed to have been caught staring. He really needed to get a fucking grip.
“Yeah.”
Jesse locked the truck, and they ambled out of the parking garage to make the short walk over to Coors Field, where they joined the queue lined up at the entry gates waiting to get in. The enthusiasm from the crowd was infectious, and Jesse traded some trash talk with a couple of Rockies fans who’d good-naturedly booed his jersey.
As they headed inside, smiling ballpark employees were handing out small boxes as giveaways, and when Trevor got his, he looked down to see it was a Todd Helton bobblehead. Of course it was. He sighed.
“He was Riley’s favorite player, right?” Jesse asked as they strolled along the concourse in the general direction of their seats.
“Yeah, he was.” Trevor told him the story of batting practice and Riley’s jersey. “That was such a fun day.”
“Sounds like it. Hey, want a beer?” Jesse indicated a refreshment line that wasn’t too long yet, and Trevor shrugged.
“Sure.”
While they waited, Jesse said, “We got into more than one argument over who was better, Todd Helton or Chipper Jones. It was fun to piss him off.”
“Did you go to games with your dad, Jesse?”
“I did.” Jesse smiled fondly. “In fact, that was one of the last things we did together before he died.”
Whatever Trevor might have said was lost when the counterperson called out, “Next!”
“What kind of beer do you want?” Jesse called as he strode toward the open register. Trevor hurried after him.
“You don’t have to buy my beer,” he protested, and Jesse gave him a mock glare.
“I invited you, so I pay.”
“And you drove us all the way up here,” Trevor retorted, “so I’m buying dinner after the game.”
“Deal.” Jesse grinned at him. “You walked right into that one, Estes. Now I’ll have to think of a good place to get steak and lobster.”
Trevor was bemused when Jesse not only bought each of them a beer, but several hot dogs and a bag of peanuts, too. “I really hope you’re hungry, because I can’t eat all that.”
“You’re gonna eat at least one hot dog. No arguments.” He handed Trevor his beer. “I’ll eat the rest.” Grabbing a handful of condiment packets, he stuffed them in his pocket, and Trevor snagged some napkins before following him down the concourse to their seats.
“Wow, not bad,” Jesse said in satisfaction, gazing around. “My buddy has season tickets and he couldn’t use them today, so he asked if I wanted them.”
“He couldn’t use them on opening day? That sucks.”
“I know, right? He’s in nursing school, had—what do you call them—clinicals or some rotation shit this weekend.” Jesse unwrapped a hot dog and handed it to Trevor, who regarded it dubiously.
“There’s just something about a ballpark dog,” Jesse mumbled, his mouth full, and Trevor watched in fascination as he polished one off and started on another. He managed to eat half of his before wrapping it back up and dropping it to the floor underneath his seat.
He settled back to people-watch, enjoying the excitement in the air as the pre-game festivities hit full swing. Players were down on the field stretching and warming up, and the mascots were on top of their respective dugouts amping up the crowd.
Jesse cheered as the Braves’s starting lineup was introduced, the announcer’s voice smooth and subdued.
“And now...the starting lineup for your Colorado Rockies!”
The entire ballpark went nuts as the names of the Rockies players, accompanied by loud, pumping music, were shouted over the loudspeaker. Caught up in the enthusiasm, Trevor clapped and hooted along with the crowd, letting the energy carry him along for the ride.
“Play ball!”
The game was good, the two teams evenly matched, and it wasn’t long until Trevor was completely caught up in it. Jesse, despite being deep in Rockies ‘enemy’ territory, celebrated each Braves victory loudly and enthusiastically, which attracted the interest of a group of young women a few rows ahead of them.
Trevor got a huge kick out of watching them vie for his attention, especially the way they got up several times to parade past where Jesse was slouched in his aisle seat, long legs splayed wide, one knee jiggling up and down. They would pause next to him, wait for him to notice them, and when he didn’t, would try again a few minutes later. Finally one of them managed to drop her purse at his feet, and he leaned over, picked it up and handed it back to her without even a glance in her direction.
“God, you’re oblivious,” Trevor exclaimed when the clearly disappointed girl had no choice but to move along.
“What?” Jesse looked over at him, mystified, and Trevor laughed, thinking how different it’d be if Riley was the one sitting next to him right now. Or rather, not sitting next to him because Trevor knew without a shadow of a doubt he’d have been ditched at Riley’s earliest opportunity.
“Oh, nothing. Something just struck me as funny, that’s all.”
With a shrug, Jesse went back to eating peanuts and drinking beer, to all appearances enjoying himself immensely. At the seventh inning stretch he cajoled Trevor to his feet and draped his arm around his shoulders, forcing him to sway back and forth with him as he sang the traditional words endearingly off-key right in Trevor’s ear. Trevor couldn’t resist the temptation to wrap his arm around Jesse’s trim waist in return, the feel of his warm body so close to his sending that pesky little tingle through him again.
He’s young, gorgeous and straight, you idiot. When did you get so pathetic?
When the song was over, Trevor said, “Need to run to the restroom. Want anything while I’m gone?”
“No, thanks.”
Jesse stepped to the side so Trevor could get past, and to his vast amusement the gaggle of young women was passing by yet again. They paused, and Trevor could feel the “look at us” vibes rolling off them. Jesse sat back down without a glimmer of interest, and as Trevor trailed behind the group up the steps to the main concourse, one of them said, “That guy is so stinkin’ hot. Why won’t he notice me?” She flipped her shining blond hair. “Maybe he’s gay.”
Another girl snorted in derision. “If he doesn’t pay attention to you, he must be gay? Sure, bitch.”
“Maybe he and that dude he’s with are boyfriends,” the first one said doggedly. “Like a sugar daddy thing, you know?”
“Or maybe the older one hired the younger one as an escort.” Now the second girl got into the spirit of things. “’Cause he’s lonely and can’t get a date.”
“So he brought him to a ballgame?” A third voice, and one full of derision. “I’d think if he’s gonna pay a guy to go on a date with him, it’d be out to a club or something, not a boring old baseball game.”
Trevor supposed he should be insulted by the whole exchange, the implication he couldn’t get a hot guy like Jesse to go out with him unless he paid him, but he couldn’t muster up any real indignation.
“Excuse me, ladies.”
He scooted past them, enjoying their gasps and exclamations of “Oh, shit, do you think he heard us?”
Trevor chuckled to himself the whole time he used the bathroom, and when he was washing his hands, he glanced into the mirror, unable to help but grimace at his reflection. Jesus, he looked like a deranged scarecrow, all red-rimmed eyes and razor sharp cheekbones. He could see his collarbones standing out in sharp relief under the T-shirt, aware of his clothes hanging loosely when they’d used to fit.
What a wreck. An invisible, shrunken, lonely wreck.
Better get used to the thought of paying men, because that’s definitely where you’re headed, old boy.
After drying his hands off with a paper towel, Trevor trudged back toward his seat, where the crowd was on their feet, going wild as Helton rounded the bases, pounding his way toward home. He dropped into a slide just as the catcher reached to tag him, and the home plate umpire swept his arms out to the side... “Safe!”
Glancing up at the scoreboard, Trevor could see the score was 5-4 Rockies at the bottom of the eighth, and he patted a dejected Jesse on the shoulder as he squeezed past him to his seat. “Sorry for your loss.”
Jesse glared at him. “We have one more inning!”
“It ain’t happening, Jess. Ain’t happening.”
Indeed, the Braves couldn’t manage to get a single hit during their last at-bat, much less score, and the game ended with the Rockies victorious and the ballpark rocking with celebration. Luckily, Jesse was an amiable loser, and he shrugged, turning his mind to more important things.
“I’m starving,” he declared. “How about that steak?”
Trevor stared at him incredulously. “Where the hell are you putting all this food?” He scanned Jesse from head to toe, trying not to dwell on the memory of those tight abs under that loose jersey...
“My mom always said I had a hollow leg.” As he spoke, Jesse’s hands moved along with his words, and Trevor was jolted to realize it wasn’t just random gestures. In fact, he’d done that same thing earlier when talking about his mom and perfume.
Holy shit, he’s using sign language.
Trevor could tell Jesse didn’t even realize he was doing it, and he wondered if his mom had been Deaf. Curiosity about his life burned through Trevor, but this wasn’t the time or place, so he bit back the questions.
They shuffled out of the ballpark, caught up in the teeming crowd, and despite Jesse’s joke about wanting expensive steak, they ended up at a nearby grill and bar where they bellied up to the counter along with scores of other exuberant fans from both teams.
The trash talk and game analysis flew fast and thick as Trevor ate loaded nachos and had another beer, while Jesse washed his thick burger and crispy fries down with some ice water laced with lemon.
By the time they hit the I-25 south again, Trevor was floating on a pleasant buzz and feeling drowsy. It was dark outside, the music was playing softly, and the cab of the truck was an intimate little cocoon. Trevor sank back into his seat with a sigh.
“Thank you, Jesse. For today.”
“You’re welcome.” Jesse’s voice was low and relaxed. “I had fun.”
“Me, too.”
“If my buddy ever can’t use his tickets, do you want to go again?”
“Sure.” Trevor had a thought. “If you want to come to my house for dinner sometime, too, I’ll show you how to really grill a steak.” Geez, Trev, what’re you doing? “Bring your date along,” he added hastily, his ears hot with embarrassment.
At that Jesse shot Trevor a disgusted look. “Nah, the date ain’t happenin’.”
“Oh, no. She wouldn’t reschedule?”
When Jesse muttered, “no,” Trevor wanted to feel bad, but honestly, a woman who’d treat Jesse like that over one cancellation wasn’t the type of girl he’d ever want to see him with.
“I’ll just come by myself.”
Trevor was so pleased to hear that, he reached over and gripped Jesse’s thigh in sudden exuberance. “Awesome! When?”
The feel of firm muscle under soft denim shot heat all the way up Trevor’s arm. He wanted to snatch his hand away but did his best to withdraw it casually, his whole face now so hot he wondered if it was casting a glow.
When that muscle ticked in Jesse’s jaw again and he shifted in his seat, Trevor waited miserably for him to make excuses about being busy for the next one hundred years.
“Well, I just got to bid on a new schedule at work,” he finally said, his voice gruff, “so I’m actually free every Friday night from now on. Just let me know when you wanna have dinner, okay? I’m down for that.”
Slumping in relief, Trevor forced out, “Yeah, okay.”
As he drove, Jesse rested his hand on the knob of his gearshift, his fingers so close to Trevor’s knee that if he moved his leg the slightest bit that direction, he’d be touching him.
Don’t do it, Trev. Don’t do it.
He didn’t. But God, he wanted to.