At some point Trey clued in to the fact that they were alone in the kitchen. He hadn’t meant to drive Dominic’s parents away, but he was insanely grateful for them leaving. He imagined they were well schooled in whatever had happened to Dominic, and if Dominic decided to tell Trey, it might be easier without them around.
He rubbed circles on Dominic’s back, aware of the slowly easing tension in his muscles. He clung to Trey a little more loosely, less desperately. Eventually he raised his head and rested his chin on Trey’s shoulder.
“You must think we’re all nuts,” Dominic said. His voice was paper-thin and rough. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. I kind of feel like I’m intruding.”
“No. Glad you’re here.”
“What can I do?”
“This helps.” Dominic released a long, shuddering breath. “You’ve gotta have a thousand questions.”
“Roxy said someone hurt you.” Trey bit back a surge of rage. “Is it safe to say this person is being released from prison? That’s the news your dad got today?”
“Yeah. That’s the news.”
“I’m so sorry, babe.”
Dominic tore away from him so quickly Trey nearly fell over. He righted himself quickly, concerned by the way Dominic moved to put the kitchen island between them. He stood hunched over, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his shorts. Trey examined his words, uncertain what had put this new distance between them, when moments ago Dominic needed him simply to stand.
“This is why I don’t tell anyone,” Dominic told the counter. “I fucking hate pity.”
“What?” Oh hell. “Dom, I didn’t mean I’m sorry you were hurt, not like you think. I mean I’m sorry the fucker who hurt you is getting out of jail. I hate that you’re going through this.”
Uncertain brown eyes met his. “Oh. Thanks.”
Trey wanted to ask so many things. What was the person’s name? When did it happen? What happened? How can I hurt this person for you? Can we go to bed so I can hold you until the demons are gone?
“Roxy tell you anything else?” Dominic asked after an awkward moment of silence.
“No, but she did seem surprised I didn’t know about what you guys are talking about.”
“It’s not exactly something you bring up after a sweaty tent fuck.”
Trey glanced behind him toward the den, but Dominic didn’t seem to care who heard him. He took a chance. “Do you want to tell me?”
“Yes.” Not a moment’s hesitation. “Yes and no. I trust you with it, but it’s not something I’ve talked about for a long time.”
“Does Lincoln know?”
Dominic nodded. “No one else in the band. Never seemed a point in telling anyone, and once I stopped going to therapy, we didn’t bring it up. Only really once a year.”
“During the parole hearing.”
“Right. His first was three years ago. Five years in prison doesn’t seem like enough time.”
Trey bit back his impulse to ask “Enough time for what?”
Dominic would tell him if he was ready. The possible answers were already making Trey sick to his stomach. Dominic looked around the kitchen, as if instructions for what to do next were written somewhere on the walls. He looked everywhere except at Trey, until a decision took hold and he strode toward the refrigerator. He pulled out a six-pack of beer with four remaining, circled the island, and then slipped his hand into Trey’s.
“Come with me.”
Trey allowed himself to be led out the back door and across a spacious stone patio. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the well-tended backyard. The rear of the property had a half dozen large oak trees, and beneath their shade was a pair of lounge chairs. Dominic put the beer on one of the chairs but didn’t sit.
“This is where I was sitting the day you called me,” Dominic said. “After you found out I was in XYZ.”
“I remember. You played Monopoly with your family.”
