Page 3 of Point of Contact

“But I don’t have to fucking like it, Carl,” Trevor hissed at him. “I’m fucking allowed to not fucking like it!” His voice rose a little at the last, and Carl put a hand on his back.

“No, you don’t have to like it. But that kind of attitude won’t help. If anything, you should feel—”

“Don’t analyze me right now, Carl,” Trevor interrupted wearily. “Just don’t.”

Carl’s hand dropped from his back, and Trevor could tell by his body language that he was hurt.

“Carl—” he tried, but Carl was already turning away.

“I’m trying to help, Trev. You don’t have to take things out on me.” He went back inside. Trevor slumped down onto a bar stool. Carl loved him, and God knew Trevor was crazy about Carl, but he didn’t seem to understand that Trevor was saying goodbye to his only child, his baby...and sending him off to a place he might never return from.

Trevor sighed. He should cut Carl some slack for not being able to empathize. He was here, and he cared, and that meant a whole heck of a lot, it really did. Trevor needed him, now more than ever, and he shouldn’t let this fester.

As if Carl had read his mind, he reappeared and stood in front of Trevor, looking down at him.

“I’m sorry,” they both said in unison. Trevor spread his knees and pulled Carl to stand in between them, wrapping his arms around his waist and putting his head on his chest. Carl threaded the fingers of one hand through Trevor’s hair, rubbing his other hand up and down his back, holding him close.

At last Carl pulled away. “I’m going to go on in, take a shower. I’ll be waiting to...take your mind off things a little, if you want.” He tilted Trevor’s chin up and kissed him deeply, thoroughly, until Trevor was clutching him around the waist again.

“Be there in a few,” he rasped, and Carl brushed their lips together one more time before heading off into the house, giving himself a discreet adjustment as he went. Trevor scrubbed his hand over his mouth, breathing hard, waiting until his own body calmed down before standing to finish the cleanup.

He caught a glimpse of Jesse watching them again, a look of anger now in his eyes...anger tinged with disgust. Trevor wanted to flip him off, but he didn’t, deciding to ignore the little shit.

By the time Trevor finished oiling the grill and getting everything put away, dusk was falling, and the sunset was gorgeous, lighting up the Colorado sky with brilliant purples and pinks. Even though the late summer day had been hot, as the sun went down the air grew a little chilly, and Riley turned on the outdoor gas fireplace, the flickering flames making everything seem warm and inviting.

The young men sprawled about on the outdoor furniture, talking desultorily about the upcoming deployment, the married guys who were getting some that night, and how good the beer was. A few of them were smoking, the acrid smell of cigarettes drifting to Trevor’s nose. He was enjoying eavesdropping on their conversation, and he fixed himself a cup of coffee, sitting at a small bistro table deep in the shadows on the porch.

A loud belch cut through the air, a couple of the other guys exclaiming, “Jesus, Byrney, excuse you.”

“Fuck off.” Jesse’s voice slurred, and he ripped another belch even more obnoxious than the last. Trevor’s lip curled. Drunk as a skunk.

“Damn, I wanna get laid tonight,” Jesse went on loudly. “One last taste before we have to go without, dude. C’mon, let’s get some girls out here.”

“We can’t.” Riley’s voice was firm. “My dad’s house, his rules.”

“Don’t you want one last chance to be balls deep—”

“Shut up, Byrne, you’re drunk,” Smitty interrupted, although his words were just as slurred as Jesse’s. “Talkin’ about girls gonna make my dick hard.”

“Ah, but you’re in luck, Smitty. From the looks of things, you could probably get your dick sucked ’round here, no problem.”

Trevor froze, and there was a charged silence before Riley said, his tone sober and deadly serious, “Watch it, Byrne. You do not want to go there with me in my own fucking home.”

Trevor got up and slipped inside the house to watch and listen through the open French door, knowing Riley wouldn’t want or need his interference. This was a battle his son had fought many, many times before.

“Daddy, what’s a cocksucker?”

“What?” Trevor whirled around to see seven-year-old Riley standing in the doorway with a tear-and snot-encrusted face, his cheekbone bruised, his lower lip split and bloody.

“Steve’s big brother called you a cocksucker. I don’t know what that is, but I kicked his butt...”

“I’m just saying,” Jesse sneered, “that I didn’t know your dad was a—”

The sound of a chair being scraped back. “You’d better fucking consider carefully the next word that comes outta your mouth. You didn’t know my dad was a what?”

Trevor clenched his hand on the edge of the doorframe, resisting the urge to charge out there and get involved. He could see the mutinous look on Jesse’s face in the flickering light, could almost see his lips forming the word fag before he amended it at the last minute to gay.

“I didn’t know your dad was...gay.” The emphasis on the last word was insolent, rude. “All right? Gay.”