Page 59 of Point of Contact

“I thought I detected a hint of the South in your voice.”

Jesse chuckled. “Yeah, and when I’m really, really tired, my accent gets thicker. Riley used to give me so much shit about it, too.” He shook his head in mock disgust. “Called me Georgia Peach one time, and then the rest of the guys piled on. Fuck, I took so much razzing that night.”

Trevor didn’t even try to hide his smile. “I hope you got him back for that.”

“I did. Ate his last two oatmeal crème pies and left the wrappers right on his pillow.”

At that Trevor laughed outright. “You didn’t! Those were his favorites! I used to send him three boxes at a time in his care packages.”

“I know, and he thought he was being sly where he hid them.” Jesse shook his head. “Amateur.”

“Did you and Riley go to any games together?”

“You know, that’s one thing we never got to do. So thanks for coming with me today.”

“Thanks for inviting me.”

“Sure.”

They lapsed into silence after that, and Jesse switched on the radio, which was set to a classic rock station. Strains of The Who’s “Who Are You” drifted into the truck, and Trevor was amused when Jesse tapped his fingers on the steering wheel and bobbed his head, eventually busting out a few lyrics.

Before he knew it, Trevor joined in, and soon they were singing at the top of their lungs.

Trevor played air guitar, and Jesse pounded his fist on the dash in emphasis as they shouted the lyrics in unison.

When it ended, Jethro Tull’s “Songs from the Wood” came on next, and Trevor chuckled. “Riley called this elevator music.”

Jesse gasped. “Blasphemy! Riley, how dare you?” He turned up the volume defiantly and shouted the lyrics out the window. Trevor laughed at his indignation until his sides hurt, and then to his horror he burst into tears.

Jesse didn’t say anything, just fished a napkin out of the console and handed it to him, continuing to sing until the song was over.

“Sorry,” Trevor muttered as he balled the napkin up and stuck it in the plastic bag hanging from the glove box. “Can’t take me anywhere, can you? I might fucking start blubbering or something.”

“Hey.” Jesse reached over as if to touch Trevor’s knee, then pulled his hand back again. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, okay? Cry if you need to cry.”

“Crying sucks.” Trevor grabbed another napkin and blew his nose. “I’m sick of it.”

“Just last month I went into Kohl’s for something, and I had to walk by where they sell the perfumes. Some lady was trying one on, and God, it smelled just like the stuff my mom used to wear. I walked on past, bought what I went in there to buy, and when I got to my truck, I sat there and cried my fuckin’ eyes out.” He looked at Trevor. “She’s been gone for eight years. So. Cry if you need to cry.”

This time when he reached over, he patted Trevor’s knee gently before turning his attention back to the road, singing under his breath as a Rush song came on. Trevor brushed his fingers over the spot on his leg Jesse had touched, closing his eyes, the road noise and the sound of Jesse’s deep voice soothing him. It wasn’t long until he drifted off to sleep.

* * *

“Wakey wakey.”

Trevor snapped his eyes open to see Jesse’s amused face hovering over him.

“We’re here, Trev.”

Sitting bolt upright in his seat, Trevor scrubbed one hand over the lower half of his face, giving thanks to any god that might exist for the fact he hadn’t drooled all over himself. Jesse got out of the truck, put his arms over his head and arched his back in a stretch, groaning as his vertebrae popped. The jersey he was wearing was unbuttoned at the bottom, and it rucked up to show a very nice set of abs. His faded jeans rode low on trim hips, revealing a blond treasure trail under his navel that disappeared down below his waistband.

“Ready?” Jesse bent to peer at him, and Trevor blinked, embarrassed to have been caught staring. He really needed to get a fucking grip.

“Yeah.”

Jesse locked the truck, and they ambled out of the parking garage to make the short walk over to Coors Field, where they joined the queue lined up at the entry gates waiting to get in. The enthusiasm from the crowd was infectious, and Jesse traded some trash talk with a couple of Rockies fans who’d good-naturedly booed his jersey.

As they headed inside, smiling ballpark employees were handing out small boxes as giveaways, and when Trevor got his, he looked down to see it was a Todd Helton bobblehead. Of course it was. He sighed.