by M. C. Roth
“Three of the best days of my life,” the man said with a smile. “Name’s Ian. Thanks for your help, man. I appreciate it.”
“Trent,” he replied as he grasped the outstretched palm. Ian’s hand felt so warm against Trent’s, which was slippery from a mix of rain and a sheen of sweat. He was sure that his face was beaming red, hopefully hidden by the downpour.
“I’ll stick around until the cops show up, just in case they ask any questions,” said Trent. He leaned back against the side of the suburban and winced as his freezing shirt pressed against the only remaining warm spot on his back.
“Do you know any place I can get this baby fixed up?” asked Ian. “She’s a custom, so I usually wouldn’t let just anybody work on her, but I’m a bit out of my area here.” Blue eyes glanced around and his lips pulled into a frown at the sight of the meagre buildings, looking from the cracked grout to the crumbling brick.
“There is an auto shop about one block that way.” Trent pointed to the other side of the street. “It’s after six o’clock now, though, and I don’t think they’re open again until tomorrow.”
“Shit.” Ian cursed and kicked the thin rubber tyre. “Any hotels then? I don’t exactly know anyone around here either.”
“Uh no, no hotels. No taxis either,” Trent added. He crossed his arms and stuck his freezing hands under his armpits.
“I could just call a ride share.” Ian reached back into the car to withdraw his phone from where it was stashed in the centre console. Trent risked a quick peek—just a peek—as the man bent over from the waist. His pants had started to cling as they soaked through as well, and they left very little to the imagination. Trent bit back the noise that tried to escape and forced his gaze away.
“Yeah, good luck with that,” said Trent after quietly clearing his throat. “Welcome to the middle of nowhere. This coffee shop”—he pointed at the glass window that had mostly emptied of its patrons since the bustle had died down—“is the best one for fifty kilometres. I can say that because it’s the only one within fifty kilometres.”
Ian groaned and sank down along the side of the car until he was hunched on the kerb. “I think I took a wrong turn about two hours ago. I was supposed to be checking into the Marriott tonight.”
Trent couldn’t honestly think of the closest hotel that wasn’t a small operation instead of a chain. Even they were few and far between. Most were closed until the summer began to ramp up.
Ian looked utterly defeated, and it was pulling at Trent’s heart strings uncomfortably. His car was trashed, his body was bruised and his lip was still dribbling slow drops of blood. Ian’s eyes closed and he leaned back against the car, thunking his head into the side.
Trent shifted from foot to foot before shoving his hands deep into his pockets. He could hear his mother’s voice in his ear, telling him to make the situation right.
“You can stay with me for the night if you want,” said Trent with a shrug as he tried to downplay how much he liked the idea. The eye candy alone could last him for a decade. Christ, he would have to give Ian some of his pyjamas. That ass inside of a pair of too-small track pants would be drool-worthy.
Trent shook his head and tried to clear the image from his mind before it could spiral out of control. “I’m just a few blocks away. It’s only a one bedroom, but I can pull out the old air mattress.” He would happily sleep on the air mattress and give up his bed to Ian. Christ.
“You don’t have to do that. I mean, I almost hit you with my car,” said Ian as he stared at Trent like he had sprouted a few extra limbs.
“But you didn’t, and it’s kind of my fault that you hit the suburban.” Oh God, he sounded eager…way too fucking eager.
“That’s a bit of a stretch,” said Ian. His eyebrows couldn’t get any higher at this point, and he had started to lean back with a touch of caution.
Trent shrugged, glancing away and trying to play it off as much as possible. “It’s up to you.” He sighed as he had the strangest craving for a cigarette. Stress and excitement did strange things to him, especially brief grazes with his mortality. He hadn’t smoked since a one-week stint as a teenager. Every once in a while the need struck when the situation called for it.
“You know what? Sure. I’ll take you up on that.” Ian nodded.
Trent couldn’t stop the smile that went wider as Ian smiled back. That simple gesture made the man’s face light up in a way that went straight to his eyes. What was Trent thinking? A sexy hunk of a man in his house for the night? He’d never be able to keep his hands to himself. Well, he would, because consent was sexy, but it would be the hardest night of his life…literally.
“I’m gay though,” said Trent. He blushed as soon as the words left his mouth. “If that’s a problem, no big deal. I just don’t want you to feel awkward.”
Trent saw the sudden blanch, even as Ian tried to hide it, and it made his gut clench. Trent was out and proud of it, but every so often someone had a reaction to the news. Most people didn’t care, but a select few did. Those few always managed to get under his skin and keep him awake at night.
“You don’t have to stay with me. I’m sure you can find other arrangements,” said Trent, backpedalling quickly to avoid any sort of awkward confrontation.
“No, sorry… I didn’t mean…” Ian trailed off as he pushed himself off the kerb. “You just surprised me, that’s all. Most places, you don’t really say that to a stranger.”
Trent opened his mouth, not really sure what he was going to say. Where the hell had this guy been where he fought random truckers and people had to hide six feet into the closet? He couldn’t judge too harshly, though. The population of his tiny town was miniscule, and there were four churches smashed into it. Up until twenty years ago, no one would’ve announced it here either.
His thoughts were cut off by a piercing flash of lights as a police cruiser came around the corner and headed their way. He held out his hand to help Ian the rest of the way to his feet. The contact sent a wave of heat up his arm and under his jacket.
He bit back a sigh and turned to greet the officer.
I am so screwed.
Chapter Two
“What seems to be the problem here, gentleman?” asked the officer as he approached them. The officer looked from the corner of the Corvette to the dent in the parked car with a grim frown, before he looked to the two of them standing there. He faced Ian as if he somehow knew that he was the one who had caused the accident.
“Hey, Dan,” said Trent with a small wave. “Long time no see.” He smiled as he realized who it was. Dan was a good cop and a good man, who had moved up from Boston twenty years before in the pursuit of the quiet life. His wife, who hadn’t seen a cow before in her life, had quickly fled back to her home in the city, leaving Dan with the mortgage and their two teenage children.
“Trent,” said Dan, before reaching out to shake his hand. “Good to see you again, son. Does this machine belong to you?” He looked back to the yellow beast, his eyes moving along the sculpted edges that screamed money.
Trent shook his head and looked to Ian. The man had gone silent, his arms crossed defensively. Ian’s eyes were narrowed and his forehead furrowed as he looked from Trent to the cop in confusion.
“He a friend of yours?” asked Dan as he looked at Ian with a raised eyebrow, obviously not impressed by what he saw.
“We actually just met,” said Trent with an awkward laugh. “Uh, Dan, this is Ian. He owns the Corvette. And Ian, this is Dan. He came to my work when I accidentally called nine-one-one.” Trent’s mouth hung open as he struggled for what to say next. As for introductions, it was one of the strangest of his lifetime, but he wasn’t willing to say any more than he already had.
“Ian,” said Dan, taking control of the situation as his voice snapped into a professional tone. “My name is Officer Lorne, or you can call me Dan if you prefer. Can I have your first and last name, please?” He pulled a notepad and pen out of his pocket that loo
ked like they had seen better days. The frayed edges of the paper soaked up the pouring rain in moments, spreading the ink across the page.
“Ian Reynolds.” Ian answered in a clipped tone as his hands gripped into fists where they were tucked under his elbows.
“Okay, Ian… Is it okay if I call you Ian?” Dan waited for Ian’s nod before he continued. “What happened to cause this situation here?” He motioned between the two cars, both of which had seen better days.
“I hit the puddle along the side of the road there,” said Ian as he pointed at the spot where he had drenched Trent. It had filled back into a brimming pond as the rain continued to pour down on them. “My tyres must’ve lost traction because I just spun out of control. I turned the wheel and hit the brakes, but nothing seemed to work.” Ian shuddered and closed his eyes for a moment.
“How fast were you going?” asked Dan, not even looking up from the damp pages this time.
“About twenty-five,” said Ian. “Miles per hour.” He added a second later.
Dan’s pen paused and he looked up in confusion. Trent wondered when the last time was that the officer’d had someone answer in miles instead of kilometres. Probably during his time in Boston, but not since.
Dan lowered the notebook and took a step closer to the car, leaning over to examine the plates. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen Florida plates. You here visiting family?”
Ian shook his head. “No family, not here at least. I just went for a drive.”
Trent watched as the officer paused as if waiting for Ian to continue. Dan chuckled when Ian remained silent.
“That’s one hell of a drive, son, but you’ve got the ride for it for sure. Trent, was there anything you wanted to add to Ian’s statement?” Dan looked at Trent and Trent felt his stomach clench tight.
“No. That’s what happened.” Trent felt guilty as soon as he said it, even though it was the truth. Ian’s gaze snapped to him with a look of surprise before he covered it with a frown.
“Well, I’ll go track down the owner of the other vehicle. I expect he’s in there doing the crossword puzzle,” said Dan as he looked to the coffee shop. “I’ll call in a tow truck to take your car over to the garage so you can get it fixed up.” He nodded once and stepped past them to the coffee shop.
“Why did you lie for me?” Ian asked, pinning Trent with a gaze that pierced into his soul.
“I didn’t.” Trent took a step back and thought back to what had happened. It was true…every word.
“I almost hit you, but you didn’t say anything.” Ian leaned against his car and his whole body seemed to deflate against the surface.
“You aren’t gonna get charged for splashing me with a bit of water,” said Trent as he shook his head and let out a small laugh. This guy was unreal. “But I appreciate the concern.” He walked over to the kerb and sat down on the solid surface. It was cold and wet, like everything else around him. A steady stream of water poured down the little valley and washed over his sandalled feet.
It didn’t take long for a tow truck to arrive from around the block and hitch up the yellow convertible. Ian had tried to insist on driving it over himself, but Dan had waved him off. The airbag was still sitting deflated in the front seat, so the car was unsafe to drive. The suburban driver was surprisingly nice when he followed Dan out of the cafe with a half-drunk cup of coffee and bits of ice cream clinging to his thin upper moustache. The whole thing was like a slow-motion sitcom.
The rain petered off to a thin drizzle as the officer finally pulled away with his sodden notebook full of likely illegible writing. The rest of the crowd had cleared, and the suburban drove off in the direction of home. It left the two of them, Ian standing and Trent sitting, on the drenched deserted street.
Trent sighed in relief. “I hate talking to cops. It’s like talking to a minister. Even if you didn’t do anything wrong, you still feel guilty.” He was soaked to the bone and shivering steadily. He tried to keep his teeth from chattering. The sun was starting to plunge along the horizon behind the thick wall of clouds, taking the last bit of warmth with it. His stomach grumbled and his eyelids were heavy from adrenalin withdrawal. “I’m going to head home. Are you still coming?” Trent asked as he turned to Ian.
Ian was watching as the last hint of yellow disappeared around the corner on the back of the tow truck. His short-sleeved shirt and long pants still clung to his soaked frame, only making the size of him stand out more. Trent suddenly felt much more awake.
“Yeah, I’m coming,” said Ian as he finally turned. “I’m just trying to figure out how I got out of this without any charges.” He shook his head as if he still couldn’t believe it.
“Come on. I’m only a few blocks away. You must be as cold as I am.” At least Trent had the hoodie, but even with that he was still chilled after being soaked. Ian was in nothing more than a T-shirt and long pants, but he hadn’t complained once. Trent glanced at Ian’s arm as he stood, to see if there were any goosebumps, but he got an eyeful of muscle instead. He gulped and looked away, focusing on the sidewalk beneath his feet.
Ian stepped in beside him without a word and their feet splashed in the small lingering puddles as their paces matched. Ian moved with a grace that was too smooth for a man of his size, and he was nearly silent except for the splashing water.
They turned a corner to the street that led to Trent’s home. Most of the lawns were neatly clipped and their porches freshly painted crisp white, but one neighbour pulled down the property value of the entire street. His grass was higher than Trent’s knees and the stems had gone to seed already. Beneath the blades were the leaves from the previous fall that were still clumped and unraked. The porch was made of crumbling concrete that had once had a green rug along the surface. All that remained were the frayed edges of black fibre that had been worn down by hundreds of feet.
There were only a few streets in the tiny town, but every single one of them seemed to have one bad egg. It was unfortunate that Trent had to pass this one every day on his five-minute walk to work.
Trent glanced up at Ian, who was looking ahead with a slight frown on his lips. The tattoo on the side of his skull swirled around the back like dark shadow etched permanently in his thoughts.
“Did that hurt?” Trent asked as he continued to stare at the ink, trying to figure out what it was exactly. The lines were faded with an outline of dark green that he imagined must’ve been black originally. He could see red and blue, but not much else.
Blue eyes cut towards him. “The accident? Nah, just my lip hurts where the air bag hit me.” Ian puckered his lips then grimaced as the split started to seep again.
“I meant your tattoo. I’ve never had one before, but it looks like it would’ve hurt.” Trent could picture the needles piercing into flesh in such a sensitive place with no padding between skin and bone.
“Oh, yeah.” A large hand swept over the beads of moisture on his skull in a practised move. “Hurt like a motherfucker, but I was drunk off my ass, so that helped.”
“Oh.” Trent bit his lip in thought. He’d been drunk before, sure, but not enough to walk into a tattoo parlour and let someone permanently mark him. “I didn’t think you could get that done if you were drunk—just like you can’t get married if you’re drunk.”
“Money paves the way for most of that stuff.” Ian said with a sudden sad smile. “I would’ve got it either way, but the alcohol just sped up the timeline.”
Trent narrowed his eyes, finally able to see what the image was—a flag, twirling and rocking in an imaginary breeze. “An American flag?” He snorted.
“I’m patriotic.” The sad smile lifted into something more generous.
“Do you think I’d look good with a maple leaf on my forehead?” asked Trent. He hoped he came out joking and not sarcastic. Sometimes his brain-to-mouth filter malfunctioned.
Ian’s eyebrows rose as he pondered it for a second. “I don’t think anyone would look good with that.”
/> Trent laughed, a full-bodied thing that made his face flush and his eyes water. It wasn’t even that funny, but he was relieved that he hadn’t managed to insult someone he’d just met.
“You’re right. There is something sexy about an American flag. This is me,” he said as he pointed to his house. It looked tiny from the outside and was even smaller on the inside. ‘Cosy’ was how the real estate agent had described it. Trent preferred to call it ‘easy to clean’. It had a large back yard, though, which more than made up for the lack of space within the house.
“I just have to check on something. Do you mind?” Trent looked back to Ian, who had stopped at the end of the pitted gravel driveway. Ian’s eyes flitted back and forth over the house, from the long cracks in the siding to the worn stairs at the entrance. The lawn was trimmed, though, and the gardens were mostly weed-free.
“You live here?”
Trent felt his hackles go up at the tone and he turned to the man. “Yes, I do. Is that a problem?”
“No, it’s just…” Ian trailed off. “Tiny. Sorry, I’m an asshole, forget I said that. I’m just tired.” He looked down at the ground and hunched his shoulders as he kicked a toe against a bit of loose gravel.
“It’s fine, just give me a minute.” Trent said, his voice harsher than he’d intended. He knew it was tiny. Hell, he’d known that before he bought it. Ian’s car was probably worth more than the purchase price of the house. It still wasn’t nice to point that out, especially when he was going out of his way to help the guy. The potential eye candy was looking a little less drool-worthy.
Trent circled the house to the back yard that was hidden behind a towering eight-foot fence. The fence was crisp and new, each board painstakingly and perfectly placed—and so unlike the rest of the house. He grappled with the gate’s slick latch before he managed to open it with a flick of his wrist to tug the tiny rope that fed through a hole in the board. His feet were soaked again from walking through the grass, and little blades stuck to every crevice in his toes.