“I can see that. I feel that way about him. I’ve respected him since the first day I met him. I could tell it was a struggle for him, but he didn’t take the medication. The next day, it was stupid of him to come to my house, irresponsible in some ways, but I’d admired him for that too. He didn’t give up.” Simon could only hope Trevor didn’t give up now, either. “Most people aren’t that strong. I’m not that strong.” And he wasn’t. He’d given up. When he realized his hand would never be the same, he’d folded. It was all or nothing. Simon had always been that way. He didn’t move on with this life the way Trevor did when he got sober.
“He’s stubborn as hell.” Blake laughed, but Simon couldn’t make himself do the same.
“I spent too much time feeling sorry for myself after I got hurt. Jesus, I have more than most people, but I couldn’t see it. I didn’t want to. He made me want to. He makes me feel like things would be okay, regardless.” He made Simon feel and do a lot of things he hadn’t felt in a long time, if ever.
“It means everything to him not to let you down anymore. You or your mom. You’re a family, and that means the world to Trevor. I’ve never had that. He’s okay. I have to believe he’s okay.” Simon’s left thumb drummed on the steering wheel.
“You’re in love with him,” Blake said. “Does he know?”
“I never told him.” Because that was Simon; it was easier to keep things in. Easier not to feel. To put everything else over his emotions. So, he hadn’t put himself out there. Not in the realest way he could. Maybe if he had, they wouldn’t be here right now.
“He loves you. Trevor doesn’t love easily, but he loves you. He knows you feel the same.”
Christ, those words somehow managed to ease some of the ache in Simon’s chest. He needed Trevor to know how he felt. He needed to hear again that Trevor loved him. Simon glanced over at Blake, the truth on his tongue. “He was there. He didn’t know what was happening, but he was with the man who injured my hand. Trevor left, and we didn’t realize the connection until yesterday. It was in his final binge before he went to rehab.”
The air in the car suddenly rose fifty degrees. It was so thick, Simon felt like he would choke on it.
“Shit,” Blake finally mumbled after what felt like an eternity. “That’s going to wreck him.”
“I know.”
“Can you get past it?”
Unfortunately, Simon wasn’t sure he had an answer for that.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Trevor sat alone, lights out, in his dark hotel room. His cell phone was dead beside him. The battery had been low when he left Simon’s, and he hadn’t charged it.
He needed to call his brother and let Blake know he was okay. Even if Simon hadn’t called him (he knew Simon well enough to know he would), Blake would be worried about him by now. Even when Trevor didn’t go home, he called. At least now he did. He’d never bothered before he got sober.
It was selfish of him not to do so right now.
Trevor reached over, felt the bottle on the nightstand as though it had somehow disappeared. It was cold against his skin. Welcoming. Familiar. A long lost friend that he’d missed. A lover who had comforted him when he needed it. Someone he had lost but now found again.
It would be the easiest thing in the world to do, to open it. To take a drink. Relapsing would be a whole hell of a lot easier than staying sober. Relapsing meant he could forget, stop feeling, stop remembering. Stop caring.
Trevor wrapped his fingers around it again. Held it before lifting it off the table and into his lap. He clicked the lamp on the bedside table. He looked at the tray, eying each object—the spoon, the baggie, the lighter, the needle. His eyes went back to the heroin again.
The bottle was the lesser of the two evils. People drank every day. Blake did. Simon did. He could handle just that—take a drink and continue to live his life. It was a normal part of life.
It had never been that easy for Trevor, though. It likely never would, and he wasn’t sure he had the strength to fight it anymore.
***
The next morning Simon sat in one of the spare bedrooms at Heather’s house. Blake had gone home the night before. They had no evidence that Trevor had even come here. If he was missing much longer, they could contact the police, but Simon wasn’t sure it would do any good. He was a grown man who’d walked out on his lover and had a history of drug abuse. They had some time before Trevor missing would be taken seriously.
He’d just gotten dressed, ready to go out and spend the day driving around the city and calling Trevor again, when his phone rang. His heart sped up, pounding against his chest, a mixture of fear and hope. It was the same emotions he felt every time he performed a surgery—fear that he wasn’t enough, but hope that he was.
