Wood: A True Lover's Story

Trent felt like he was in zombie mode as he put away their groceries and stiff-walked to his bedroom. He didn’t bother putting on another record; he had just enough energy to open his arms and dive face-first into the mattress.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Wood

Wood woke from a fitful sleep but feeling a lot better than he had the first time he’d come to. Only he didn’t see Trent anywhere. He was positive he hadn’t made all that up in his mind—the man had been there, touching his face and bathing his chest. That bluesy music, luring him into a peaceful slumber. It’d felt so good, and Wood had wanted to tell Trent that, but he’d struggled to speak. His mouth felt dryer than the Mohave, and his throat threatened to fracture each time he swallowed. Trent! His mind sought him out whether Wood spoke the words aloud or not. As if Wood needed him. Trent! No. What he needed to do was get his ass off that hard floor and pull himself together. He was done acting helpless.

Wood turned over, pain flaring in his stomach. He had to breathe through the surges of nausea as he worked his way to the side, scooting until his back was propped against the front of his dresser. The small distance had him sweating and breathing hard as if he’d just completed fifty push-ups. Wood had never felt like this in his life. Hit with the kind of pain that attacked him everywhere, the kind that shut down the limbs and senses. Wood shook his head, still unable to fathom what had truly happened the other day. He’d lost his family, his life’s work, his redemption, and his sobriety all within hours. Never once had it dawned on him when he walked out of that prison seven months ago that he’d fail so miserably. That he’d fall so low.

Wood reached up and gripped the top edge of the heavy dresser. One thing was for damn sure… he was getting the hell up. He grunted and strained as he got to his feet, his legs feeling as if they were no longer able to support him. He had to stand there a moment to gain his balance and work through the dizziness. Wood took a step toward the bed but had to hurry and catch himself, knocking over some of his toiletries in the process. It wasn’t five seconds later Trent exploded into his room, skidding to a halt on the pile of blankets when he saw Wood standing.

“What are you doing?” Trent rushed to his side and wrapped his arm around his waist to support him, but Wood heard him hiss in pain. “Come on, try to get in bed.”

“No,” Wood gritted out. He cleared his throat. “I need to stand.”

“Okay,” Trent agreed. “Okay, that’s good.”

Wood used the furniture around the room to help him take his few initial steps. He had so little energy it was embarrassing. If he fought a sixteen-year-old right now, the kid would probably give him a run for his money. He was holding on to the doorknob when stepped into the hall, and his left knee gave out. Wood knew he was going down, but Trent swooped under his arm just before he hit the floor. Though he could see Trent’s back was bothering him again, somehow Wood felt the safest he’d been in a long time. As if he knew Trent wouldn’t let him fall, he wouldn’t leave him alone, he wouldn’t desert him when he needed him the most. Somehow Wood had earned Trent’s trust, and his loyalty had quickly followed. And Bishop was right. Wood was beginning to feel pretty damn lucky about that.

“Where are you trying to go?” Trent asked him. “Maybe you should lie down and drink some more.”

“I will.”

“Good.” Trent tried to turn, but Wood stopped him.

“I need to go to the bathroom.”

Trent’s cheeks flushed, and a pretty blush color worked its way down his chest. “Okay.”

Wood didn’t know if Trent was relieved or disappointed when he told him he didn’t need for him to come in the bathroom and help. He’d argued that it might not be safe for him to shower alone, and Wood couldn’t stop the curve of one side of his mouth. He slowly removed Trent’s hands from around his waist and kissed his knuckles.

“I can handle it,” he promised and closed himself inside, keeping it unlocked like he agreed. He could tell Trent didn’t want to leave him alone, but Wood had suffered enough humiliation. He needed to do this part by himself.

Wood took a long, hot shower, not thinking Trent would care about breaking their ten-minute rule. Hell, it’d taken him at least that long to go from the toilet over into the tub. His body was still achy, but he felt more sluggish and tired than he did physical pain now. Wood brushed his teeth three times, then rinsed with the mouthwash as flashbacks of him getting sick all over himself made him want to vomit again. He scrubbed his face clean, but there was no amount of soap that would wash away the embarrassment. He wrapped a towel around his waist and shut off the light. When he opened the door, his heart stuttered to see Trent standing there waiting.