Page 47 of Point of Contact

He looked so earnest, so concerned, that Trevor didn’t have the heart to disappoint him. He cut off a small piece and ate it. “Needs hot sauce,” he muttered, going to the fridge for a bottle of Tabasco. They shared the omelet right from Jesse’s plate, Trevor surprising himself when he ate half a dozen bites relatively easily.

“I just hogged your breakfast,” he said ruefully, and Jesse laughed, rubbing his flat stomach.

“Well, it was delicious. If I’d known you could cook like this, I would’ve stayed for pancakes that morning.” His voice was light, self-deprecating.

“You really did miss out,” Trevor informed him. “I make a mean blueberry pancake. Those were Riley’s favorites.”

“Totally. He used to say IHOP had nothing on you.”

They sipped their coffee for a moment in silence, then Trevor said, “Jesse, I don’t think I can go through with this. With his room. I’m sorry you came all this way for nothing.”

Jesse looked at him over the rim of his cup. “It wasn’t for nothing, Trevor. I got a delicious omelet and some good company out of it, didn’t I?”

“Good company? Yeah, right.” Trevor heard the bitterness in his tone.

“Yes, good company. Because I loved Riley, and I miss him, too, and talking about him with you is—well, it helps.”

At those words the ever-present tears sprang to the surface, and Trevor dashed them away impatiently. “God, I’m so fucking sick of crying,” he ground out, standing up and going to the French doors. “So fucking sick of it.” He leaned his forehead against the cold glass, squeezing his eyes shut.

After a moment Jesse got up and came to stand next to him, and Trevor could feel his warmth. “Hear me out on something, and if it’s still a no, I’ll leave.”

The last thing Trevor wanted him to do was leave, and he had to clench his teeth against begging him to stay, just stay and...talk to him. “All right,” was all he said, not lifting his head from the door.

“When my mom died, I had to pack her room up in stages. It took me a long time to do it all.” He paused, then said softly, “I brought some boxes in my truck. Let me box up his clothes, his underwear, his shoes, things that really aren’t sentimental. Okay? You don’t have to see them. After that I can either take them to Goodwill for you or store the boxes in the house somewhere, but it’s a start, and you can see how you feel after.”

Trevor turned to look at him, the relief swamping him so strong he nearly threw up. “You’d do that for me?”

“Yeah. And I’ll be very careful with everything, I promise.”

“I know you will. And if you find his Rockies jersey, don’t get rid of that. Please.”

“I’ll keep anything I think might be sentimental, and when you’re up to it, you can look through them. But jeans, generic T-shirts, underwear, socks...let’s start with those, and go from there.”

Trevor couldn’t speak, so he just nodded and collapsed down at the island, watching as Jesse went out to his truck for some boxes, obviously taken from the restaurant. He held up a roll of butcher paper. “I’ll line the boxes with this, and fold everything before I put it away. Okay?”

“Okay, Jesse. Thank you.”

Jesse headed down the hallway, and Trevor heard the quiet snick of the door to Riley’s room opening and closing. He put his head down on his crossed arms, so exhausted that he slid into a doze. Before he knew it, Jesse was touching his shoulder.

Trevor jerked to sitting, noticing that Jesse seemed pale but composed. “It’s done,” he said simply. “Six boxes. Sealed and labeled, and I only handled his walk-in closet and his dresser.”

“His jersey?”

“Found it, and it’s folded up in the bottom drawer of the dresser, along with a couple other things I thought you might want to take a look at first.” Jesse held up what appeared to be a light blue T-shirt. “Do you mind if I keep this? He bought it when I was with him and I—”

“Of course. Was there anything else you wanted?”

Jesse shook his head. “Just this. Thanks, Trevor.” He paused. “So do you want the boxes—”

“Donate them. Please.”

Trevor retreated to the backyard as Jesse made several trips to his truck, and at last Jesse joined him, lacing his hands behind his head and taking several deep breaths. “You all right?”

“No,” Trevor said honestly. “It’s ripping my heart out to think of giving away his things.” He gripped his fingers together tightly. “But he’s dead. He doesn’t need them anymore, and I have to start somewhere.”

Jesse dropped to a crouch in front of him. “So now you’ve started, and you don’t need to do anymore today, or not for a long time,” he said firmly. “Not till you’re ready.”

“I know,” Trevor whispered. “I can’t thank you enough for this, Jesse. Truly.”