What was he doing here? In this room? In this bed? In Nash's arms? Trey turned away from the warm body on which he was half-lying and slipped out of the bed. From the small pocket in his backpack he pulled out his mobile phone and closed himself into the bathroom.
He huddled in the corner of the bathroom, behind the door and beside the sink. He turned the phone on and typed the telephone number on the mobile's key-display, the sequence of numbers so familiar that it was impressed in his brain.
Exactly three beeps before the receiver on the other side was picked up. "Dr. Keaton's office."
"Liam?" Trey pressed the phone tighter to his ear.
"Trey! Thank god. Where have you been? We haven't had our sessions for almost two weeks. You are not calling and your phone is out of service. I was thinking about calling the police. What's happening?"
"Nothing much." Trey started to play with the hem of his slacks.
"Your parents called me, they couldn't get a hold of you and they found out that you sold Patty's apartment. They are worried. They are afraid you might try to-"
"I'm not going to kill myself." Trey tugged on the tread that hung down from the seam at the side of the pants. "And I'll call them. But not now, later."
"Trey! They have been through a lot. You weren't the only one suffering; they have suffered alongside you. And they still do. They love you; they worry about you. "
"I know. I know. I just..." He couldn't tell him what was going on, could he? They would freak out. "There is something I need to do. Could you tell them I'm ok?"
"I see." Liam sighed. "I'll tell them that you are all right."
"Liam." Should he ask?
"Hmm?"
"How do you know that you like somebody?"
"Trey, are you falling in love?"
"No!" He wasn't falling in love. He couldn't be, could he? Trey burrowed his brows together. "Well, I don't think so. It just, you know how I hate when people touch me."
"Yeah, except a few close friends."
"I don't have friends, Liam. I only have my family and you." Trey put the phone on the other ear. "But, there's this person. He touches me and I don't find it disgusting at all, actually, I like it."
"That's great."
"No, it's not. It's scary."
"Of course, it's scary; liking somebody's touch isn't something that happens to you often." The papers rustled. "Why don't you come to see me on Thursday at eleven and we will talk about it."
"I need to talk about it now!"
"I have a client in fifteen minutes; you'll have to make it short."
"Then forget it!"
"Trey!"
Trey didn't answer it, but he didn't disconnect the phone either.
"Trey," Liam's voice became softer. "This is a big thing for you and it would be good if we talked about it properly. But until we do, don't fight it, even though you are scared. It's good that you are letting somebody close. Just take it slowly, focus on what you are feeling and what makes you feel good."
"I don't know if I can."
"You can." Liam said. "So, on Thursday will you come at eleven and we will talk then?"
"I don't know. I'll call you when I can."
"All right. But don't wait too long and don't do something stupid."
"Yeah." Trey nodded, disconnected the call and turned the phone off. He tapped the phone against his chin. In love, huh? He smiled. Yeah, right.
"Ray." A knock on the door. "Can I come in?"
"Yes."
The door opened and Nash made a slow step into the bathroom, his body hunched, his hand holding his side. He slowly turned around until his gaze fell on Trey, then on the phone Trey held in his hand. "What were you doing?"
"I didn't call the police."
"Who did you call?" Nash took small steps over to the toilet, which was across the sink, put the seat down and sat on it.
"A friend. I needed to talk to somebody."
"Can I check?"
Trey chewed his lip for a while, then turned on the phone. He leaned forward and put the phone into Nash's outstretched hand.
Nash took the phone and went through it. "An out of state number." He pushed some keys on the dial. "Dr. Liam Keaton." He looked at Trey. "What kind of doctor? A psychiatrist?"
"Yes. Can I have the phone back now?"
Nash tossed him the phone, which Trey caught and turned off.
"You look really present today and your eyes are clear." Nash said.
"I hadn't taken a sedative yet." There wasn't really a need for one. He just woke up and even if he had been upset, Liam's voice always managed to calm him down.
"But you are not trembling anymore."
"I'm not under stress, right now." Which was weird, considering that he was sitting in the bathroom with a robber, who intended to use the heist money for a drug deal and might even kill him – No, Nash wouldn't kill him; there was something soft and tender inside of him, Trey could see it, he could almost touch it now that Nash's mask had slipped down.
"I bet that doesn't happen much." Nash pressed his hand against his side as he stood up. "And I'm sorry, because I'm going to change that."
"Change what?" Trey wrinkled his forehead. Should he be afraid? His eyes examined Nash's face.
"Your stress level. And stop looking at me like that," Nash said. "I'm not going to hurt you; you should know that by now. You are just going to run some errands for me."
"What if I refuse?" Trey hugged his knees.
"Then I'm not going to tell you where Steve is." Nash went toward the door.
"That's not fair. We had a deal. You said that if I helped you, you would tell me where Steve is. And I did help you. I brought you here and patched you up."
"The condition was that you help me. Driving me here, taking care of my wound and running errands are just a part of that 'help me' package." Nash left the bathroom.
Trey chewed his lip, he rested his chin on his knees. He should have known that there would be more to it than that. He just should have known. He sighed.
#
It wasn't so bad, Trey thought, standing beside the window, pretending that he wasn't interested in what Nash was doing behind a computer. So far Nash had only sent him to buy two prepaid cell phones and to find internet access.
He gazed through the window of the small internet cafe on the street. There weren't a lot of people on the sidewalks; it was late and this part of the city was more commercial than residential. He took a sip of water from the plastic bottle he held in his hand; his eyes glanced around the space. Four white walls, on one side two rows of desk with low barriers and computers; on the other side a small counter with a register and computers. That, and a soda machine beside the door was all that occupied the room if he didn't count a clerk, three costumers, Nash and him.
He scrutinized the screen, only seeing the Gmail's heading and the beginning of the mail, which he suspected was from Nash's so-called friend Tony, or so Trey believed because of the 'Antony' he glimpsed at the top of the page. He would have thought that after Tony crashed Nash's apartment, Nash wouldn't want anything to do with him, but it seemed he was wrong. It probably had something to do with that drug deal or something.
His eyes slid back to Nash, to the wide shoulders, the blond hair and the strong-chinned profile. A sight that had become too familiar to Trey. It was like they had been living in that motel room for months not just for one week. He sighed and leaned the side of his body against the wall. Everything had become too comfortable between them, too cozy, almost like they were friends, good friends; but not only that, Nash's presence had become as calming to him as Liam's, if not even more. He hadn't needed to take a pill for his nerves or stomach for more than four days. That was disturbing — the man was a robber and future drug dealer, for crying out loud.
Nash stood upand gestured to Trey that he was finished, then went to the clerk where he paid.
Trey stepped out of the cafe and waited for Nash to join him before they returned to the motel together. Trey went to shower as soon as they got into the room, then pulled on a T-shirt and slacks and slipped under the cover with a book in his hand. He had read a page and a half, without even knowing what he actually read, when Nash joined him in bed.
Trey put the book face down on the nightstand, his gaze on Nash.
"What?" A newspaper rustled. "Do you need a goodnight kiss?"
"It's been a week and I have done everything you wanted. When are you going to tell me Steve's whereabouts?"
"Soon."
"How soon?" Trey leaned back on the pillow and smoothed the blanket over his lap. "What are you waiting for?"
"Maybe even tomorrow." Nash turned the page of the newspaper; he looked more preoccupied with it than with the conversation. "Do we really have to have the same conversation every night?"
"We have been here for a week already. You wounds are healing nicely and I really don't see any reason why you still need me."
"Neither do I, since all you do is whine." Nash folded the newspaper and faced Trey. "Do you have some place that you need to be?"
"I missed the appointment with my psychiatrist."
Nash inched closer to Trey. "You are visiting him because of what Steve did to you? Because of those scars?"
"That's part of it." Trey slid lower on the pillow. Why was Nash bringing that up now?
Nash moved over Trey. "What did he do?"
Trey didn't want to talk about it. He wasn't ready to talk about it. He turned away and pulled the blanket as high over his body as he could with Nash's hand pulling the blanket down. "No, let go." His breath accelerated.
Nash slid under Trey's cover and wrapped his arms around Trey.
Trey waited for the beginning of the rush, for the panic that that was waiting around the corner to leap on him, for the memories to crash down on him, but instead his breathing levelled out and slowed.
Nash's hands slipped under Trey's shirt, his finger trailed the scar over Trey's abdomen while his mouth pressed a kiss on the side of Trey's neck. "Not ready to talk about it, huh?"
"Not to you." Trey curled up and pressed his back against Nash's chest. Every night after they got into the bed, Nash often spooned with him, cuddled him and even rained small kisses on his skin, but except for the French kiss the first night, he hadn't gone beyond that.
"That's okay." Nash propped his chin on Trey's shoulder.
"Why are you being so nice and understanding?" Trey put his hand over Nash's. "Do you want me to develop Stockholm syndrome?"
"You're not my prisoner. You can leave whenever you want." Nash rubbed Trey's belly before he splayed his fingers and let them rest over Trey's navel.
"In theory."
Nash sighed, released Trey and rolled to his side of the bed.
Trey didn't turn around, but he listened to sound of the drawer being opened, the rustling of the paper.
The drawer closed with a soft click and then Nash's arms and warmth were back. He pushed one hand under Trey's side and thrust what he held in the other one into Trey's hand. "Steve's whereabouts."
"What?" Trey looked at the paper and unfolded it. There was an address written on it. "What's that?"
"Steve's address." Nash wrapped his arms around Trey's waist.
"Are you serious – you are not joking, are you?" Trey stared at the address.
"No." Nash leaned his cheek on the side of Trey's head. "This is what you wanted, and why you stayed and helped me. There's nothing more holding you back – you can leave now."
There should have been relief and joy that he had finally gotten what he wanted, but there was none. Except maybe sadness and an emptiness that had already been there, but that now felt twice as strong. What the hell was happening to him? Trey crumpled the paper in his fist and snuggled back into Nash's embrace, but it would have been better if he had taken a pill than sought comfort from the man who had given him the anxiety in the first place. "Aren't you worried that I'll go to the police?"
"No. If you had any intentions of doing that, you would have already done it."
"But why are you giving me the address now?"
"I meant to give it to you tomorrow, anyway, and since a day or two doesn't make much difference..." Nash sneaked his hand under Trey's shirt to rest his hand comfortingly against Trey's belly. "And it did stop your whining."
Trey bit into this lip, his body pressed against Nash, absorbing Nash's warmth, the paper heavy in his fist. So, this was it?