Wood: A True Lover's Story

“Oh, now you’re available?” Wood said. His words came out jumbled as if his tongue was too thick for his mouth.

“Wood, what happened?”

“None of your business. You wouldn’t understand,” Wood snarled. “These are old man problems.”

Trent bristled. “Is this what you call being a man, huh? Sitting here getting wasted and feeling sorry for yourself? You think you’re the first person to have it hard out of prison, Wood?”

Wood leapt up faster than Trent thought he’d be able to in his condition and gripped two fistfuls of his shirt. He barely had a chance to hold on to Wood’s waist before he was shoved against the fence. Wood’s body was hard and hot pressed against his own despite the freezing weather. Trent’s heart raced and he struggled to maintain his composure as Wood’s massive form towered over him, his forehead digging painfully into his.

“What the hell would you know about being a man, huh? You don’t know shit!” Wood bellowed down on him.

Trent dug his fingers into Wood’s trembling body. “Then tell me,” he whispered.

Wood squeezed his eyes shut, grimacing as if he was in more than just emotional pain. Trent’s gaze was stuck on that handsome face until Wood lazily opened his lids. “Be glad you don’t know this kind of hate, Trent. Be glad you don’t know what it’s like for someone to loathe your entire existence.”

“Who did this to you?” Trent gritted out. “Tell me.”

Wood’s touch began to soften as he slowly unclenched his fists, but Trent refused to let him go. Anything for Wood not to go back to that bottle. He dipped his head when Wood’s shaking hand inched up his throat and cuffed the back of his neck. It was comforting, and something he desperately needed, but now wasn’t the time for him to take.

“I called you. Where were you?” Wood moaned tiredly, pressing his cheek against the side of Trent’s temple. “I didn’t call anyone else, just you… and you wouldn’t answer me. So, just how busy were you?”

Trent wanted to slide down the side of the gate and sink into the dirt because he couldn’t feel any lower than he did now. He’d been an asshole. Wood had reached out to him—maybe even before he got those bottles—and he’d been a stubborn jackass. “Wood.” Trent shook his head somberly. “I wasn’t with a…”

“Wasn’t what?” Wood mumbled, still slurring horribly. “You were busy, right? That’s what you texted. So? Was it good, Trent?”

“No. I wasn’t doing that. I—”

“Yes you were,” Wood growled, strengthening his grip, causing Trent’s stomach to lurch into his throat. “Even through the whiskey, I can smell her expensive perfume on you.”

Trent sighed in exasperation. He’d showered at Summer’s after work and changed into some spare clothes he kept in his duffle bag. But before he walked out the door, Summer had given him a hug for support. “It’s not like that. She’s just a friend.”

Wood roared and shoved him off, almost falling over when he did. “Screw you! You think I’m stupid. Guys your age don’t have female friends. Do you really think you can suck enough titties to keep your gay thoughts suppressed, Trent? I’ve seen it so many times until it’s not even amusing anymore.” Wood stumbled back to his seat and went for his liquor.

Trent tried to snatch the bottle from Wood’s hand, but he wasn’t quick enough. “I’m trying my best to be understanding and not knock you on your ass right now, but you’re pushing it.”

“Then go.” Wood tore through another envelope. “I’m good now. I don’t feel a thing.”

Damnit. How many more letters are there? “If you don’t knock this shit off and get it together, I’m gonna let Bishop come handle it.”

Wood’s laugh was dry and fractured. “Yeah, you do that. Run call Bishop to handle your problems like you always do. While you’re at it, tell him that his hero is just a goddamn man and that you were right all along. I might corrupt him.” Wood tossed the burning letter in the fire. Since that one looked to be around ten pages, it took longer for the flames to consume it. Wood went completely still as he watched the words dissolve into nothing.

“All right then. No calling Bishop.” Trent clenched his jaw, not appreciating the backlash, but he knew Wood didn’t mean any of it. “The chicken should be just about overcooked now. Come on, let’s eat,” Trent bargained. He was so cold his feet and hands were tingling.

“Trent.” Wood glared up at him with surprisingly clear eyes and a stern expression. “I don’t wanna eat with you. I’m done with the bullshit teasing and playing. Go out there and fuck, get fucked, I don’t care. I’m leaving this goddamn city. They don’t even have decent buses here anymore!”

Trent felt as if his chest was going to implode from the anger. His breathing was out of control as if he’d just gone twelve rounds in a bout, and no amount of deep breaths would slow it. He’d made one mistake, and now Wood was leaving, not only him, but Bishop too, and most likely he’d be blamed for it. “Fine! You want to run away and be a coward. Go! I won’t stop you. Men like you never stick around long anyway.”