Trey stared at Nash's hand, at the redness dripping down. "Is it... did the wound open?"
"That too." Nash took a deep breath. He pressed his hand against his torso again.
Trey frowned. He pulled the edges of Nash's jacket apart and saw a small crimson stain on Nash's orange shirt, on the right side of his chest, while just under the ribs blood oozed through the fabric pressed against Nash's side. "What happened?"
"The guard used a piece of broken glass and I was too slow." Nash's voice was quiet and low. "It's not deep, I just can't stop the bleeding." With the fingers of his free hand he rubbed his forehead. "And I feel tired and weak."
"The blood loss, probably." Trey stood up. "I can't do anything in here. It's too dark and too dirty."
"I can't get back to the flat." Nash said, he pulled the bag beside him on his left shoulder. "Tony noticed that I'm not okay and... he is a bastard and I don't intend to be left at his mercy."
"He was in the building and your flat- it's trashed."
"The flat was just temporary, anyway." Nash stood up and his hand gripped the rail. "But we have to get away. Tony just wanted to get to my share, but if Samuel finds out that I'm hurt and finds me, I'm screwed. That guy doesn't leave witnesses behind, especially not the weak or hurt ones that might turn him in." He sighed. "By now the guard is probably conscious already and it's just a matter of time before the whole thing is on the news."
Oh, god. This thing was too big for him. Trey's heart hammered in his chest and his fingers went into the pocket of his hoodie, they touched the vial, caressing the plastic surface. "If I help you with your wound and get you out of here, you will tell me Steve's whereabouts?"
"Yes."
Trey chewed his lip. Too big for him, definitely. He would also have to trust Nash, and he didn't trust anybody -- well, except Patty and Liam. And Patty was gone, her ashes rested in a white porcelain urn in the warehouse he rented, waiting for him to be ready to say goodbye to her and to scatter her at her favourite spot in the park, the one with the view over the lake. "Okay. But how do I know that I can trust you?"
"Can we talk about that after we get out of here? I really need to lie down."
Trust, huh? Trey looked at Nash's grimacing face, he stepped up to the next stair and wrapped his arm around Nash's waist. He was going to do it. He couldn't believe his stupidity. He was actually going to help Nash.
They went down the stairs, peeping around the corners, and when the coast was clear they went through the back door hidden at the end of the ground floor hallway into the back yard. Nash had a beat-up Dodge there, the car's sides full of dents and the hood a darker brown than the rest of the car.
Nash said that nobody knew that he owned the car, so they should be pretty safe, or that's what Nash liked to think.
Trey thankfully knew how to drive, and after he had Nash secured on the passenger seat and his fingers tightly wrapped around the steering wheel, his eyes ineffectually blinking the daze of drugs away, he drove off.
He drove on the local roads for a little more than half an hour, his driving a little jerky when he had to take off at the intersections, but disregarding that his hands shook and that he felt his concentration slip from his grasp a couple of times, he managed to drive pretty well. He followed the instructions Nash gave him; silence ruled the atmosphere, interrupted only by Nash's deep breathing or directives. They ended up in a motel parking lot, hidden behind the large shopping centre, just a few blocks away from one of the main bus stations.
Supporting Nash with his arms they stumbled toward the one of the rooms that cradled the parking lot in a two-story L-shape. Nash led them toward room number 19 on the ground floor. He pulled out the key from the pocket of his jacket and thrust it into Trey's hands.
Trey unlocked the door and pulled Nash into the room. He lowered Nash onto the greyish washed-out carpet before he went back to the car and retrieved his backpack and Nash's bag.
The need to take another pill, to quiet down the heartbeat that thundered in his ears, twisted Trey's insides and sent drops of sweat sliding down his spine, wetting his already damp armpits and the back of his T-shirt. He shook his head: no pills, he couldn't afford to have his brain even more intoxicated.
"We need to get you clean. Can you go and shower?" Trey squatted down on the floor beside Nash, he pulled the black boots off Nash's feet.
Nash nodded and with Trey's help pulled himself up. They went into the small bathroom where Trey peeled off Nash's clothes, and guided him into the shower stall. The wound had stopped bleeding, but when they removed the fabric, the cotton stuck to the cut edges broke the thin layer of coagulating blood and it started to ooze again. Trey examined it. It wasn't that deep, not as deep as the cut he had made, but it was long, starting a little above the navel and stopping just above hip bone. It would be best to stitch it.
Nash sat down, his legs hanging over the raised base of the shower, and leaned on the wet, tiled wall. He clumsily washed himself.
Trey only needed a moment to get his backpack. After Nash finished he took the smallest towel of the three hanging on the rack between the shower and the sink. He used it to dab the skin on Nash's chest before he took disinfectant, a needle and some thread from his backpack. He sterilized the needle by holding it over his lighter's flame, then after he disinfected Nash's skin, he started to use the needle on the edges of Nash's cut. "Does it hurt?"
"Yes." Nash opened his eyes. His tanned skin had lost its glow and it seemed somehow greenish. And his usually warm eyes looked... dead.
Trey looked at Nash, his tensed jaw, the curled hand and stiff body. With the back of his hand Trey wiped his sweaty forehead, then focused on the sewing again. "Where did you get the key?"
Nash bent his leg and leaned his left arm on his knee. He closed his eyes again. "I took the room in the morning, for a week, before the...the thing. Had a bad feeling."
"Would he, your friend, really kill you? And the other one rob you?"
"They are not my friends." Nash sighed. "And yes, they would, without hesitation."
Trey made a knot, cut off the thread and cleared the things away. He took gauze and medical tape and covered the cuts with them. Then he looked at Nash and his eyes and for the first time really saw him, his body, the strength, the beauty of it. The wet skin that glistened under the artificial light. He felt heat in his cheeks. He abruptly stood up and turned away.
He had always regarded himself as an asexual person, despite the fact that he had sex with his psychiatrist, because that had been Liam giving him intimacy, the closeness of human touch and the feel that he was not worthless when he desperately needed it. It was wrong, they had both known it -- Liam better than him -- but he'd had a crush on Liam then, was in a state where he would have broken down under rejection and he had forced Liam to spend time with his arms wrapped around Trey. It should have been just that, just a touch of skin, but Liam couldn't help himself and he crossed the line, and Trey hadn't fought him and hadn't really cared. Trey used that incident to force Liam to indulge his wishes and every additional incident just gave him a stronger hold over Liam.
"Could you help me up? My legs are a little too weak." Nash tossed the towel on the pile of his clothes, ignoring his still damp skin.
Trey swallowed and helped Nash up and back into the room, where he led him to the double bed -- the only bed -- in the middle of the room and between light yellow sheets that should have been white, but they were clean and smelled of softener. Then he offered a sleeping pill to the Nash.
Nash took it. He rinsed it down with a glass of water Trey brought from the bathroom before he curled up in the bed, his face smoothed out, the wrinkle on his forehead disappeared and his eyelids fluttered closed.
Trey stood for a few seconds by the bed, staring down at Nash and heat again warmed his cheeks. What the hell was happening to him? His fingers curled and he almost stomped into the bathroom, where he got rid of his clothes and took a long shower. Since he didn't have any clothes he wrapped himself in the bigger towel and tried his luck with Steve's bag. He borrowed a change of clothes; they were a little too big for him, but they seemed clean and that was all that mattered.
Then he sat on his heels in Nash's oversized slacks and sweater, the sleeves rolled up, staring into the bag, at the transparent plastic bag that seemed to be holding six bank bundles with hundred-dollar notes, and there could have been more since he could only see the upper surface, which he had uncovered when he took the clothes out.
Trey furrowed his forehead. The money had to be Nash's share. But how could they have exchanged the jewellery for money so soon? He shook his head. Did it really matter?
He rubbed his elbow and stood up. He tossed the bag's contents into the nightstand drawers and under the mattress he hid the money bag, which had more than just six bank bundles, but Trey didn't bother with trying to see how many rows of six bundles the bag contained.
He looked at Nash again, who peacefully slept. How could he?
It seemed that Nash trusted him. No, that's wasn't it. Nash probably trusted Trey's desperate need to find Steve and maybe even knew that Trey would do almost anything to learn Steve's whereabouts. Trey leaned on the wall beside the nightstand for a moment.
Somebody else would grab the money and run, screw Steve and his revenge. But he...he couldn't do that.
He pushed himself away from the wall, he had things to do. And it was better to busy himself than to spend his time pondering things.
Trey used a bag to toss the dirty clothes in, his and Nash's, going through the pockets, finding in Nash's jacket his wallet with more than enough money for the laundry and the groceries he intended to buy. Then he tossed the bag on his shoulder and put on his sneakers. He went outside to investigate his surroundings.
He found the laundromat two blocks away from the motel and used its machines while he read the newspapers he had bought at the newsstand on his way.
Trey couldn't find anything about the robbery or theft of the jewels in the newspaper, but it could have been too early for those editions.
He folded the paper and looked at the two brats running around the island of appliances, while their mother busied herself with pulling the clothes out of the washer and putting them into the dryer, ignoring her children's antics. He smiled at the children and the tremble of his hands subsided.
They had planned the robbery for nine o'clock, at opening time, when the number of customers should have been few or none, so by now there should be at least some announcement about it on the newsstand's notice-board.
"Oh, well," he murmured under his breath and tossed the newspapers into the bin. When the dryer beeped, he folded the clothes into the bag.
On his way toward the shopping centre, he passed by the motel and left the bag in the room. He didn't waste time on the shopping, just grabbed some bottled water, canned food, fruits; food that could be eaten without the need to heat it and kept without refrigeration. He bought some simple clothes for himself: jeans, a few T-shirts and underwear.
It was past eight when he got back to the motel room and suddenly the adrenalin that had pumped him through the day left him in a rush. A hole opened up in his stomach, so big that his hands now had a different reason to tremble.
He stuffed himself with the food and then climbed under the covers, because there was no way he was going to sleep on the floor and besides, the bed was big enough.
He rolled onto his back and closed his eyes.
"For a moment there, I thought you would take the money and leave me." The mattress dipped when Nash faced Trey and his hand touched Trey's face.
Trey turned his head, his gaze on Nash in the semi-darkness. It should disgust him, the touch. But it didn't. "I was tempted. And how can you be awake? You should be sleeping."
"I didn't take the pill. You just thought I did." Nash shifted closer to Trey. "But I managed to take a nap. I have to say, I feel better."
Trey didn't make any attempt to move, something held him rooted to the spot. Was it Nash's warmth? The gentleness that shouldn't be there? "I read the newspapers. They don't mention any jewel store robbery."
"That's a good thing." Nash hooked his hand behind Trey's nape and pulled him closer.
"What are you trying to do?"Trey suddenly had trouble breathing.
"There's something I've wanted to do from the start." Nash pressed his lips against Trey's, and when Trey's lips opened in surprise, Nash slipped his tongue between them. His wet muscle explored Trey's mouth in a delirious caress and rubbed against Trey's, tempting Trey to reciprocate.
Trey entangled his fingers into Nash's short hair, the heat spreading in his body, surprising him with its intensity. This couldn't be right. A kiss should never feel this good.
Nash ended the kiss and wrapped his left arm around Trey, pulling him against his side.
"What?" Trey touched his lips. "Why?"
"Like I said, I've wanted to do that from the start." Nash said. "There's something about you. So much more than is visible on the surface and I want to see everything."
"Why are you telling me this? Why now?"
"I have time now and you don't seem so on the edge anymore." Nash pulled Trey's head onto the uninjured side of his chest. "And besides, I had a horrible day today, I needed something to brighten it before it ends."
"I'm not your entertainment."
"I know. I never thought you were. Now go to sleep. Tomorrow is going to be a busy day, too."