Chapter Twenty-Seven
The knock at the door sounded overly loud, although it wasn’t. Trevor stood in the foyer breathing deeply, making a concerted effort to relax his clenched fists. At last he swung the door open, hoping he didn’t look as pale and sick as he felt, although judging by the expression on Carl’s face upon seeing him, he did.
“Hey, Trev,” Carl said tentatively. “You okay?”
Trevor stood back to let him in, not feeling the need to pretend. “No, not really.”
He offered Carl some coffee, relieved when he accepted because that meant stalling a little longer, and they spent several minutes in the kitchen making small talk until at last Carl laid a gentle hand on his forearm.
“You sure you want to do this now?”
Trevor grimaced. “If not now, when? It’s not ever going to get any easier.”
With a last concerned look at Trevor’s face, Carl stood to put his mug in the sink. “Okay,” he said quietly. “I guess I’ll get started. Why don’t you go sit outside or something, honey?” He broke off, a sheepish look flitting across his face. “Sorry. Old habits.”
Trevor bit his lip. “If we’re revisiting old habits, then I, uh, could really use a hug right now.”
Without another word Carl drew him into his arms, and Trevor put his head on his shoulder, leaning into him. They swayed together, Trevor breathing in the scent of the expensive cologne Carl always wore, wondering why it didn’t seem familiar anymore. Instead he ached for Jesse, for the hard planes of his chest, the smell of his clean sweat after a hard day’s work.
Still, Carl’s solid, comforting presence was a balm to Trevor’s fragile heart, a heart that was breaking into jagged pieces all over again.
Finally Trevor pulled away. “Thanks. And yes, I’ll sit outside while you—” He gave a helpless gesture. Carl patted him on the arm once, waiting while Trevor refreshed his coffee and gathered up his laptop before hurrying to open the patio door for him and then close it softly behind him.
Trevor perched on his favorite chair, feeling cold despite the heat of the late morning sun. He clutched his hot mug, listening to the faint sounds of Carl moving around inside the house and trying not to think about what he was doing in there.
Giving up his half-hearted attempts to do some work, Trevor pulled his phone to him and thumbed his contacts open, scrolling to Jesse’s name to re-read their last dozen or so texts. He couldn’t help but smile at the sweet silliness of their exchanges, just like kids with their first crush.
“Oh, Jess.” Dropping the phone to his lap, Trevor stared out over the pool, remembering Jesse’s last call three days ago.
“Finally got a signal! God, I miss you.” Jesse’s voice was low and fervent. “How are you? What’ve you been up to?”
“Oh, you know, this and that. Doing some work, making some phone calls. Missing you.”
Jesse sighed, and Trevor asked, “Any idea when you’ll be home?”
“Not really,” Jesse said regretfully. “We’ve already gone way off the grid here, and who knows where we’ll end up and when.” He paused. “It’s helping, though. A lot. We all have a fuck-ton of shit to unpack and—”
When he didn’t go on, Trevor said, his voice gentle, “Take all the time you need, okay? I’m fine, I promise.”
Jesse blew out another breath. “Okay. I’ll call again as soon as I can.”
“I love you.”
There was a long hesitation, and Trevor wondered if his Army buddies were standing right there. He was about to let Jesse off the hook with a goodbye when Jesse said loudly and firmly, “I love you, too. Bye, babe.”
Right before Jesse ended the call, Trevor could hear hoots and hollers coming from the guys he was with. “Ooh, Byrney! Who was—”
Trevor shook his head at the memory, hoping he hadn’t taken too much crap from his friends and wondering what he’d told them.
A muffled crash sounded from inside the house, and Trevor tensed, his grief and anxiety rushing back in a nauseating wave. Before it could overwhelm him, Carl opened the patio door and stuck his head out.
“Sorry,” he called. “It was just that fucking plant stand again, the one I always knock over.”
He slammed the door, his pique and disgruntled tone for some reason causing Trevor to chuckle, and then laugh out loud. His mirth maybe had a faint tinge of hysteria to it, but Trevor didn’t care, knowing laughter was walking a fine line right next to crying, and right now he much preferred the former.
“I’m so tired of crying, Riles,” he rasped. “So tired. You understand, don’t you?”
As always, there was no answer, but the pool suddenly seemed to shimmer a little more brightly under the warm July sun.
Cowabunga, bitch!
Trevor wiped his eyes. It was fitting, he thought, a full circle sort of thing, that he was finally packing up Riley’s room in the same month as the party where Riley’d spent the last night he’d ever spend at home. Bookends to a precious life, one a beginning and the other an ending, a necessary one but one that still threatened to tear Trevor’s heart out by the roots.
He bit back a sob. Maybe he should have asked Jesse to do it. Maybe he should have waited until he was home from his camping trip, because the thought of going through this first night alone...no. He’d made his decision after careful, agonizing thought and it did no good to second-guess it now.
Trevor stared blankly at the pool, unaware of how much time had passed, when suddenly the door opened again behind him. He looked over at Carl as he slumped into the chair opposite Trevor and dropped his forehead into his hands.
“Finished?” Trevor was proud of how even his voice sounded, and Carl nodded, glancing up at him. Trevor was surprised to notice he was a little pale, his eyes slightly rimmed in red. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” Carl cleared his throat. “It’s just—well, it was harder than I thought it’d be—” He trailed off apologetically, and Trevor leaned forward to take his hand, touched by his obvious sorrow.
“I know,” was all he said. He squeezed Carl’s fingers, and Carl squeezed back.
“You want to see?”
No, Trevor didn’t, but he gathered all his composure around him anyway and stood, not letting go of Carl’s hand as they walked into the house and down the hall. When they reached the doorway to Riley’s room, Carl released him and moved back, but not so far that Trevor couldn’t feel his warmth at his shoulder.
Trevor closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them again. In the room the blinds were open, the sunlight painting cheerful stripes across the floor and walls. The furniture was still there—a dresser, queen-size bed and nightstand—but everything else was gone, even the Army stuff Jesse’d moved in here for him so many months ago.
“I stored all the boxes in that built-in cabinet in the garage. That’s what you wanted, right?”
Trevor nodded jerkily, not trusting his voice yet.
“The boxes are all numbered, and I packed them by location and category, like ‘Keepsakes and Trophies on Shelf’ or ‘Books,’ that sort of thing. The inventory lists everything out under the individual box number, and I collated them in order and put them in this.” Carl moved around him to the dresser and picked up a manila envelope Trevor hadn’t noticed was there.
“Th-thank you,” Trevor forced out, wanting to say more but not sure what.
“What’re you going to do with the furniture?”
Trevor twisted his fingers together. “I’m having Goodwill come out tomorrow morning and take it apart, haul it away for donation.”
Carl nodded, and Trevor cast one last glance around the room before backing out, knowing he’d reached his limit for this moment. He left the door open, though, as he turned and headed back to the kitchen, Carl on his heels.
The clock on the stove showed it was after four p.m., and Trevor cleared his throat, saying huskily, “Fix you a late lunch? Early dinner?”
“I’m supposed to meet Greyson at the Broadmoor for dinner, but Trev, if you need me here with you, I’ll call him. He told me to stay if it was necessary, so he’ll absolutely understand.”
Moved beyond words at the unknown Greyson’s show of compassion for a man he’d never met and had every right to resent, Trevor felt tears spring to his eyes. “I’ll be okay, Carl. I just didn’t want to send you away hungry.” His lips trembled, and with a muffled exclamation Carl reached out to pull him into a fierce hug.
“I’m sorry, Trevor,” he whispered into his hair. “God, I’m so sorry.”
Trevor clutched him, miraculously hanging on to his composure, unwilling to put Carl through any more than he already had. “Thank you,” he croaked. “Thank you for being here, for being such a good friend.” He stepped back, reaching up to cup Carl’s face in his hands. “And thank Greyson for me. Give him this, would you?” Rising up on tiptoe, he brushed his lips across Carl’s. “He sounds like a keeper.”
“He is.” With one last squeeze, Carl let go of him and swiped up his keys and phone from the counter. “You know we’re only a phone call away, Trev.”
“I know.” Trevor walked him to his car and waited until he drove off before making his way back inside. He stood at the end of the hallway, unmoving, until the sunlight streaming into Riley’s room spilled out through the doorway. Finally Trevor took one step, then another and another, until he found himself next to Riley’s bed, stripped bare of its linens.
He ran a shaky hand across the mattress and gazed around at the empty walls. There were tiny holes in the plaster where posters had been tacked up, and Trevor blinked back more tears as he realized he couldn’t remember what had hung where. A quick scan of the dresser top showed faint dust marks in the shape of whatever object had rested there, and for the life of him Trevor couldn’t bring any of it to mind.
He reached up to clutch his hair. Dammit, he should have forced himself to come into the room before Carl dismantled it. He should have fucking forced himself to look one more time so that he’d have a mental picture—
“Stop it,” he hissed out loud. “It’s done.”
Picking up the manila envelope Carl left him, Trevor hugged it to his chest. He’d said everything was inventoried, listed by category and location. Someday, if Trevor wanted, he’d be able to piece together exactly what was found on Riley’s dresser, and maybe by seeing the posters again it would remind him where they’d hung.
“Bless you, Carl,” he whispered fiercely, and leaving the room, he carried the envelope to his office and filed it carefully away.
* * *
Trevor got up early the next morning to dust and wipe down all of Riley’s furniture in preparation for donation. He opened each drawer carefully, steeling himself, but Carl had gotten it all. Pulling the mattress off the bed frame, he stood it up against the wall, catching his breath when a glimmer of something on the carpet underneath caught his eye. Trevor bent to retrieve it, smiling when he realized it was a wrapper to an oatmeal crème pie, one of Riley’s favorite snacks; it must have been clinging to the side of the mattress. Other than that, the floor was meticulously clean, and Trevor had to marvel at Mrs. Sayres’s housekeeping skills. He never would have thought to clean under someone else’s bed.
The closet was totally empty, and so was the bathroom, not even an old shampoo bottle lurking in the shower. Trevor leaned against the wall with a sigh. He’d asked Carl to do this for him because of his ruthless efficiency, hadn’t he, and fuck if he hadn’t come through.
“Well, Riles, this is it, bud,” Trevor said to the empty room. “It’s just me and my memories now.”
He gathered up his dust cloths and headed back to the kitchen, just in time to hear a loud knock on the door. When he answered it, two burly men were standing there wearing polo shirts with Goodwill stenciled on them.
“Hey, mister,” one of them said. “Somethin’s wrong with your doorbell. We been out here for five minutes!”
“Sorry, it’s broken,” Trevor murmured, and showed them where to go and what to take. “I, uh, need to be on a conference call in a few minutes, so do you mind letting yourselves out?”
“Nah, we’ll just leave the tax receipt for the donation on your kitchen counter. Have a nice day, mister.”
Trevor retreated into his office and slid the pocket doors shut, listening to the whine of the electric drill as the men took the bed frame apart and carried Riley’s furniture to their box truck. It was quick, and efficient, and took all of ten minutes.
When everything was quiet, Trevor emerged and tiptoed down the hall, his throat closing at the sight of the room, now empty of everything except the furniture impressions left in the carpet, impressions that would eventually fade.
Just as Riley’s presence was slowly fading from Trevor’s life, bit by bit, piece by piece.
With a sob Trevor put his back to the wall and slid to the floor, tears streaming down his cheeks.
“I miss you, Riley James.”