Unfortunate Son (8 page)

“Call 911!” Trevor demanded again, never slowing down his work. He saw someone else appear at the doorway. “Call an ambulance!” The person at the door disappeared, and Trevor hoped like hell they were finally going to call someone, though he knew it was probably too late for Lex. He wasn’t responding, and Trevor had no way to know how long he’d been under.

Memories pushed at the corners of his mind, and he pushed them back, hard. The last time he’d done this had been during basic training, working on a dummy as part of the standard medic training that all recruits underwent. He’d thought about going the medic route for his career field, but they’d been full up when he enlisted. The last time he’d been face-to-face with Marine medics had been in the desert, as they worked futilely over Lucas’s body.

“Hey, don’t you need to, like, breathe or something?”

“Been too long since I was trained.” Trevor never stopped working. “Compression alone works too. They changed the guidelines a few years ago.”

Another person joined them. “Liam is on the phone with 911. You need relief?”

Trevor’s arms were burning. “Can you do rescue breathing?”

“Yeah.” The other man—Sam, Trevor finally realized—climbed onto the bed and tilted Lex’s head, positioning it to open his airway. He pinched Lex’s nose shut and nodded. Trevor paused his movements, and Sam bent down to give two short puffs of air. He lifted his head and Trevor went back to his compressions.

“Do thirty,” Sam said, reaching for Lex’s wrist to check for a pulse. Trevor counted under his breath, then paused for Sam to breathe again. He didn’t try to keep track of how many rounds of compressions and breathing they did, but he was just about to ask if they could switch places or someone could take over for him when there was a commotion in the hallway and then—thank God—paramedics were dashing into the room.

Trevor dragged himself away from Lex’s body and fell onto the other bed, his arm and shoulder muscles screaming at him. He’d be sore for days, probably, but he pushed that thought away. Lex still wasn’t breathing. He’d never felt anything like a heartbeat. He looked at Sam, who stood on the far side of the bed, back against the wall. When their eyes met, Sam shook his head, and Trevor’s heart fell into his stomach.

Jesus Christ
. Why hadn’t he checked on Lex before he got in the shower? He might have been okay if he’d been found an hour ago, when Trevor first woke up. He would’ve had a better chance, at least.

Someone put a bottle of water in Trevor’s line of sight, and he took it without thought, opened it, and drained half of it in one long draught. He shivered, suddenly cold, and reached to pull the bedspread around himself. He watched the activity with a sort of clinical detachment, mentally cataloging and naming the procedures and equipment he recognized. One of the paramedics continued chest compressions, but a breathing bag had been inserted, and a second person provided breaths at a steadier rate. A third worker called out numbers and relayed information through her radio. The leads to an emergency defibrillator had been placed on Lex’s chest, but the defibrillator unit lay to one side, unused.

He knew when the guy doing the compressions paused that he wouldn’t be starting back. He scrutinized the readouts, looked at his coworkers, and shook his head.

Trevor’s head pounded and his stomach twisted. He couldn’t be there any longer. He shoved the blanket away, ignored the hand that landed on his arm, and left the room.

He didn’t know where he was going. Outside seemed like a good idea.

He stopped at the edge of the pool and stared down at the water. A light breeze rippled the surface, and the late-morning Florida sun painted the vibrant blue with flecks of shimmering gold. Trevor’s brain told him the image was beautiful, but he didn’t feel it. He might as well have been looking at a landfill.

Lucas’s body, broken and burned, lay limp in his arms. Lifeless. Spirit gone, taking Evan’s heart with it.

“Trev?”

A hand landed on his arm again, and Trevor let it stay. “Hon, we got your bag moved into the other room.” Rod’s voice stayed low and gentle, so unlike his usual boisterous self. “Why don’t you come get dressed?”

Trevor swayed toward the water. “What about the shoot?”

Rod’s fingers tightened. “Don’t worry about the shoot, hon. We’ll take care of things for you. Come on in and get dressed, have some breakfast. Okay?”

Trevor nodded once. “Okay.” But he didn’t move until Rod slid his hand down to wrap around Trevor’s and tugged him back toward the house.

M
ANCLUB
GOT
Trevor on a flight home late that night. They’d briefly debated going ahead with the shoot the next day, reworked into a threesome instead of two pairs, but abandoned that idea when no one could stay on task long enough to make the arrangements. Instead, Trevor left Fort Lauderdale on the last flight back to Atlanta Wednesday night, arriving just before midnight and barely making the last MARTA train to Midtown.

As the train emerged from the downtown tunnels and phone service kicked back in, an e-mail notification alert sounded. Trevor pulled up the e-mail and didn’t recognize the name at first, but then he remembered seeing the guy mentioned online from time to time.

Dear Trevor
, the message read.
We would like to book you to shoot a scene with Erato in two weeks. We shoot in my apartment in northern Atlanta. As you may have heard, Erato is dedicated to filming scenes that focus on intimacy and emotion. We encourage kissing, touching, and physical closeness, even when it results in camera angles that are less than optimal under the usual standards for adult films. We try to book scene partners based on compatibility, and your name was suggested by a mutual friend to work with Adam Manning, who we’ve already booked. Our rates are within standard range for a straightforward shoot (no kink and minimum stills) and are negotiable. If you are interested, please contact me as soon as you can so that we can finalize our plans.

The e-mail finished up with a phone number. Trevor rarely turned down shoots, but he was too tired to figure out if he was free in two weeks. He’d deal with that in the morning. The train was pulling into his stop, and it would take all of his mental and physical energy to walk the several blocks home.

Fifteen minutes later, he unlocked his apartment door and stepped inside to a sauna. “Ugh,” he muttered. He always set the thermostat to keep the unit from running a lot when he left town, but that made coming home a miserable experience sometimes. He kicked the temperature down and waited for cool air to start blowing before he dragged his bag into the bedroom, where he toed off his shoes, stripped to the skin, and then fell onto the mattress in the dark. He needed water, and he needed to pee, but his body had had enough.

He slept.

B
UT
NOT
for long.

In some ways, the nightmare was familiar: harsh sun, gritty sand, and Lucas’s crumpled body. But a bright, crystalline-blue pool glimmered next to the overturned transport, the medics working on Lucas wore not desert-sand BDUs but dark blue polyester pants and shirts, and Marines standing to the side mingled with jockstrap-wearing twinks.

Evan looked down at the body in his arms and saw Lex’s face, eyes wide and smile a rictus, frozen in death.

The scream tore his throat as he woke, and he gasped for breath. Images tumbled through his mind—sand and sun, fire and water, sex and skin, Lucas and Lex in life and in death.

He thought the top of his head would blow off from the pressure.

Evan scrambled for the bathroom, making it there in time to spew what little he had in his stomach. More bile than anything else hit the water, and he gagged again at the smell before flushing the mess away. Closing his eyes, he forced himself to breathe slowly and deeply, fighting off another wave of nausea, until he thought he could move without losing it again.

He stood carefully and washed out his mouth at the sink. He wanted a shower, but the way his head pounded told him something to drink and maybe to eat should probably come first. He padded into the kitchen and found a bottle of Gatorade in the door of the refrigerator. He didn’t remember where it came from, but it was still sealed and the expiration date was a month away, so he opened it and took a few sips. Once it seemed like they’d stay down, he drank more deeply, bracing one hip against the counter.

He tried to keep his mind clear, with only partial success. When he’d first seen Lex and his resemblance to Lucas, he’d been worried about how he’d react to filming with him. Evan shook his head, his mouth twisting. Instead, he’d ended up with another layer added to the worst moment of his life. Now he had images of
two
dead men in his own personal horror show.

And that didn’t even count his brother, whose body he hadn’t seen.

That thought reminded Evan of his dinner with his parents. He had an extra day now, with his trip cut short, which just meant that much more time to build himself into a giant knot of anxiety. He needed something to fill the time. Something more than sleep, which was fast encroaching.

Unbidden, Riley’s smiling face flashed into his mind. Evan hadn’t thought of him on the trip, too distracted by everything else, but maybe he’d try to hook up with him again over the weekend. Evan cursed under his breath when he realized he hadn’t thought to get Riley’s number, but he did know where he lived.

He shook his head. He’d figure it out in the morning. He drained the Gatorade bottle, tossed it toward the trash can, and headed back to the bathroom. A quick shower to wash away the grime from travel and the sweat from his nightmare, and maybe this time he’d actually make it until morning.

A
BUZZING
noise dragged Evan from sleep, but it took him a couple of minutes to figure out it was his phone ringing. By the time he found it where it had fallen on the floor between his bed and night table, the call had gone to voice mail, but the screen still showed the caller. COCO LAMÉ, the screen read, and Evan rolled his eyes, redialing the number and remembering the dinner a couple of months back when his best friend, Cory Lassiter, had laughingly grabbed Evan’s phone and changed his contact to his shiny-new drag name.

“Hey, honey, I didn’t wake you, did I?” Cory sounded truly sorry, a rarity for him, and Evan had to smile.

“Yeah, but I should probably have been awake for a while.” He glanced at the alarm clock and saw it was after ten. “What’s up?”

“I just got your message about what happened in Florida and wanted to check on you.”
I left a message?
Evan thought. He didn’t even remember calling. “I can’t imagine having to deal with that,” Cory said. “Are you okay?”

Cory clucked at him like the mother hen he had a tendency to be with everyone, but particularly with Evan. The seven-year age difference played into that, but also the fact that Cory had mentored Evan’s older brother on their high school football team and stepped into a brotherly role after Charlie died.

“Yeah,” Evan repeated. He reached behind him to rearrange his pillows and then reached for the bottle of water on the bedside table. “It was pretty fucking crazy, man. He just….” Evan shuddered, unwilling to relive the scene again. “I can’t believe it.”

“I can’t either.” Cory blew out a quick breath. “Listen, honey, I’m having some people over for a cookout tonight. I didn’t ask you because I thought you were gonna be gone, but since you’re back, you want to come? Might help to be around people.”

Evan’s shoulder relaxed at the thought of a low-key evening spent with Cory and his friends. “Yeah, that sounds good,” he agreed. “What time and what should I bring?”

“Anytime after five, and whatever you want to drink, babe. I’ll have burgers and all the trimmings. Jimmy’s even making dessert.”

Evan did smile at that. “Jimmy’s in town?”

“Just for a few days. He finally hired some help he can trust not to ruin the place while he’s away.” Jimmy, Cory’s longtime boyfriend, owned and ran a private, rustic, and clothing-optional resort an hour east of Atlanta. Evan didn’t know how the couple handled living mostly separate lives—Cory managed his own small advertising firm in downtown Atlanta, though he spent many weekends with Jimmy—but it had worked for them for years. Jimmy had also been leaving the porn industry just when Evan was getting started, and his advice and insight had made a world of difference.

“Well, if Jimmy’s there, I’m definitely coming.” Cory blew a raspberry at him for that one, and Evan laughed. “I’ll bring some Corona and limes, how about that?”

“Perfect. And a swimsuit. The weather’s too nice not to go for a swim.”

“Pffft.” Evan laughed again. “You know you just wanna skinny-dip, anyway.”

Cory crowed out a laugh of his own. “Gotta make it look spontaneous!”

“Pervert.” Evan’s smile softened. “I’ll see you at five. Call me if you need me to pick up anything, okay?”

“Will do. Later, love.”

Evan ended the call, still smiling. Cory was the one person in his life who always left him smiling, no matter how bad things got. And Cory had seen Evan at his lowest moment, heartbroken and homeless after the Marine Corps threw him out, so he knew how bad things could get.

Evan shook his head at himself. All the bad memories he’d held back for so long had been resurfacing since his mother had called, and the episode in Florida had only made things worse. For the first time, he looked forward to dinner the next night. He didn’t expect it to go well, not by any means, but at least then it would be over, and maybe his mind would stop tangling him back up in old, frayed knots.

It had taken him far too long to escape those the first time around.

Blowing out a breath, Evan climbed off the bed and headed for the kitchen. A bowl of cereal, a shower, and he’d be ready to face the day. Or as ready as he’d ever be.