We. Simon wasn’t the only one throwing that word around. He stepped backward. They were becoming unexpectedly close to each other. It was like spending time together was automatic, something they would do daily. What the hell was going on here?

Trevor ran a hand through his hair. Simon watched it move, and then flatten against his head again. It looked like he shaved the sides and underneath. It fit Trevor, though the haircut struck Simon as something young, he liked it.

“I need to go. My meeting is in twenty minutes. That’s cutting it close.” Trevor went to turn around just as Simon’s right hand shot out and locked around his wrist. It was almost as though it had a mind of its own. It wouldn’t work for surgery, but it worked well enough to grab Trevor without Simon instructing it to.

He needed to let go.

He really needed to let go.

Trevor’s wrist was warm and rough. Hair brushed Simon’s fingertips. He looked down at the skull tattoo beneath his hand. Trevor had a second skull on his upper arm. He didn’t like tattoos but he found himself admiring Trevor’s. “I...”  He what? Simon let go. “Thanks for helping me. Oh, and for insulting my manhood because I didn’t have a television.” It was an attempt to lighten the mood, the mood he wasn’t sure why had suddenly gotten so tense, but Trevor didn’t take his bait.

“Yeah...yeah, no problem.” Trevor didn’t move. Didn’t walk toward the door. Hadn’t he said he needed to go? Simon suddenly needed him to go. “Simon...”

In that moment, there was something in the way Trevor said his name. The rough baritone of his voice. The question there. And Simon knew he would ask something that Simon didn’t want to talk about. Something he wasn’t sure how he would even reply to. Because he felt it, too, the tension, the connection. Christ, what the hell was this about? That word kept popping up where Trevor was concerned...connection. It was a completely unique experience for him.

“You should go. You’re going to be late.” His fingers still felt the rough skin of Trevor’s wrist, as though they were still touching.

Trevor paused, then, “Yeah, I guess I should.” But still, he didn’t move, so Simon made the decision for him. He walked over to the door and opened it.

“Thanks again. I appreciate all the help. I won’t be around this weekend. I’m heading into the city for the next three days to see Heather.” It would be a surprise to his ex. She’d again invited him, but he’d said he couldn’t make it. She was used to that, Simon not being able to make it. “I’ll be back Sunday evening, so everything is a go for you guys to start on Monday.”

Trevor stood by the door, staring at him. His eyes weren’t as wide as they usually were. He had lines around them, the kind of lines you got not from age but from spending too much time in the sun.

“Have a good one. See you Sunday.”

Simon let out a deep breath when Trevor finally responded to him, and then he was gone.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Trevor was antsy the whole next day. He ran twice as long as he usually did, and then went to another meeting. It wasn’t that he was sitting around jonesing for a drink, or thinking about trying to score some pills or anything. He just felt...edgy. It was stress-related, he was sure. Hell, maybe this would just be his life from here on out. He’d be fine for a while, and then feel like he could crawl out of his skin.

Whatever the reason, he knew going to an extra meeting couldn’t hurt. It actually helped. They usually did. Afterward he went and got the stitches out of his hand.

Just as Trevor pulled into his driveway, his cell rang. He fumbled trying to pull it out of his pocket, hoping it was Simon. Whatever had happened last night needed to be forgotten. Their job started on Monday, and the last thing he wanted was any awkwardness. If he fucked this up for Blake and the crew, he would never forgive himself.

It was more than that, though... Simon was his friend. Hell, he couldn’t remember having many of those. People he got drunk or high with didn’t count. They weren’t really his friends. They were people he partied with. There was a big difference, though he hadn’t known it at the time. Back then, Trevor would have called them friends. It was only after getting clean that he realized none of them were to be found.

But it wasn’t Simon. It was his mom, and guilt poked and prodded at his insides as Trevor considered not answering. He loved his mom. She loved Trevor and Blake both. No matter what he’d done in his life, she never lost faith in him, and that counted for a whole hell of a lot.

It’s what made it so hard to look at her.