“I’m jealous. I’ve never been white-water rafting.”
“It’s the best. I’m so taking you.”
Trey sat up, bracing his head on his palm, elbow on the bed. “Yeah?”
“You’d have to be in a car for a few hours.”
He chewed on his lower lip. “Will you think less of me if I admit I have Xanax on hand in case I need to take long car rides? I took one just to get here yesterday, and that was only an hour’s drive.”
“I don’t think less of you.” Dom stroked the back of Trey’s neck, unable to stop touching his man. “It’s pretty brave to admit you can’t handle something and that you need help.”
“I feel like a loser sometimes, but at least my friends don’t pick on me anymore.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“About how my friends don’t pick on me anymore?”
Dom squeezed the back of his neck. “Dork. No, I meant why you hate the car.”
Those pretty green eyes shuttered, and Trey sat up. Dom didn’t reach for him, uncertain what was happening. He braced for a big fat “hell no.”
“I told you my dad used to destroy my music,” Trey said instead. “So I started writing at school and hiding it in my locker, except I was kind of bullied a lot. Mostly because I was dirt poor and my sisters all got pregnant in high school, so I was white trash to them. One day a bully broke into my locker and trashed all my music. Called it fag poetry. I hated that asshole.”
Trey’s face was a study of misery, but a determination also rested there. The strength of a guy who’d been beaten down and had gotten right back up. “After that I kept my music at my best friend Allison’s house. Me and Allison were super tight, had been since seventh grade. She didn’t care that I was poor, or that I was a shitty student who probably smoked too much weed. And she was the first person I came out to, at the start of eleventh-grade. She was great, always so super chill about everything. She did so much for me.”
When Trey went silent for close to a full minute, Dom asked, “What happened to her?”
He swallowed hard, eyes shiny. “Two weeks before senior-year graduation, her mom took us both out shopping. Allison wanted a new dress to wear under her robe, and she wanted her gay BFF along for an opinion. As if I had any actual fashion sense at seventeen, considering my clothes budget was whatever I could find at the nearest thrift shop for under five bucks.”
Dom sat up and grabbed Trey’s hands. He didn’t like the misery and anger in Trey’s voice. Memories of poverty and what Dom was guessing to be a very painful loss.
“Some asshole fell asleep at the wheel and drove head-on into our car,” Trey said. “Allison and her mom were killedinstantly. I was conscious for part of the time I was stuck in the car, before help arrived. All I remember is being really cold, and staring at Allison’s severed hand, covered in blood. I knew it was hers because of the chunky flower ring.” He coughed hard. “That was the last time I saw her. Funeral was closed casket.”
“Goddamn.” Dom kind of wanted to cry for Trey’s pain. The agony of surviving an accident like that while his best friend and champion died in a horrific way. Instead Dom held tight while Trey battled his grief.
“I was so depressed for months I could barely get out of bed some days,” Trey continued, his voice stretched thin. But he maintained eye contact with Dom. “Once I turned eighteen, I got the Gerbera daisy tattoo in her honor. Her favorite flower.”
Dom glanced at the ink in question, grateful to know the meaning behind it. “Do you think Allison would approve of the tat?”
“I know she would. She always talked about getting a tattoo when she was eighteen, because no way would her parents consent.”
“I’m so sorry that happened to you, babe.”
Trey sighed. “It explains my idiotic fear of cars, though, right?”
“It’s not idiotic. No one can blame you for being afraid after going through that.” Dom could not imagine the pain of losing Lincoln in such a way, or the last time he saw his best friend being as a bloody hand. His heart ached at the very thought of Lincoln being torn out of his life.
“I’ve never even told Dani about Allison.”
Dom blinked hard. “Really? Why me?”
“I don’t know.” Trey traced a finger down the side of Dom’s face. “I trust you. I mean, I trust Dani, but this is . . . I don’t know. I’m going to sound like a total chick, but whatever we have is really fucking special, Dominic.”
“I agree.” He drew one of Trey’s hands up so he could kiss the knuckles. “I’ve never really dated anyone before. Never met a guy worth the effort. Until now.”
“So we’re dating?”
“We don’t have to label it if you don’t want. I mean, sneaking around in tents and campers and club bathrooms is pretty nontraditional dating.”
