Page 17 of Primary Seduction
“Because he’s got a lot of work on.” The excuse sounded dumb even to him.
His beer came, and he drank some down fast. He needed to forget. Forget Max. Forget Frederick. Forget Trish. Forget everything. He’d had enough tonight.
One hour later, Trent walked with Logan to his car—all right, against Logan. He couldn’t quite keep himself upright.
“I don’ even like guys. So wha’ the prob’em? I had wife for god’ sa’e.”
“It’s all right, Trent. Everything will work out. You’ll sort it out with Max, all right,” Logan responded.
“‘k.”
****
The next morning, when Trent woke, he had a bass drum in his head, desert mouth and a rolling stomach. He blinked open his eyes, wincing in the light but managing to see a bottle of water and some paracetamol on his bedside table next to his clock. He remembered the walk from the car to his house and up the stairs. But the rest was a blur. He would have to thank Logan for looking after him.
He sat up slowly, not wanting to chance sudden movement in these early stages; he knew only too well what quick motions did to his chances of keeping anything down. He swallowed the tablets and the full bottle of water. Gingerly, he stood hesitantly, needing to use the bathroom. It was slow going but he managed to get there, do his business and get back to sitting on the bed without issue. He glanced at the clock, finally being able to discern what the numbers meant. Eleven o’clock. He hadn’t a clue what time Logan had loaded him into bed so couldn’t tell how long he’d slept. He’d try to remember to ask him later when he also asked about that girl—he’d forgotten her name.
Trent took a few deep breaths, then stood again and made his way, gently and slowly, down the hallway to the kitchen area. He sat on a stool there and took a few more breaths. The nausea was not abating, but he knew it would take a while. He had no idea how much he’d had to drink last night. A small comfort was that he’d stuck with beer all night, so no mixing drinks to make him worse.
He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, staring at nothing until a knock on his door had him wincing again. He wasn’t going to answer. Nobody needed to see him in this state.
The pounding continued until a voice joined in. “I know you’re in there, Trent. Open the door. I need to make sure you’re still alive.”
Trent’s heart rate increased when he identified the voice as Max. He was the last person he’d expected to hear from. He debated ignoring it but knowing Max, he’d call in reinforcements, and then he’d have everyone turn up.
He got up and walked over to the door. He’d just got there when the pounding started again, making him press a hand against his forehead and his mouth to stop the nausea. Once the noise had stopped, he flicked the latch and opened the door slowly. Max bustled his way in without preamble and turned to look at him.
“Bloody hell. You look like death warmed up.” He cocked his head. “Nah, even death looked better.” Max chuckled. “Have a good evening, Trent?” He smirked.
Trent glared at him. “What do you want, Max?” he asked as he headed towards the kitchen once again. Coffee was calling his name.
“I come bearing gifts.” Max held up a carrier bag.
“What?” Trent was lost. He filled the kettle with water and switched it on, resting against the counter, breathing deeply before opening the cupboard for a couple of mugs. As he put them down, Max brushed his hands away and steered him carefully to a chair at the table.
“Sit. I’ll finish the coffee and make you some breakfast.” Max turned to busy himself with his self-appointed tasks.
“I don’t think I can stomach anything right now, but thanks.”
“You will. Once you start eating something, you’ll begin to feel better. Trust me.”
And the funny thing was, Trent did. He sat there, frowning, trying to figure out what was happening. He must have completely spaced out because the next thing he knew, Max placed a steaming plate of cooked breakfast foods in front of him, and he had his hand around a half-empty mug of coffee.
The smell turned his stomach, but he breathed through his mouth so he could at least attempt to eat as a way of thanking Max. But as he started eating, as Max had predicted, he began to feel better. He’d managed to eat the whole plate and drink several cups of coffee before he realised what he’d done.
“Feel better now?” asked Max.
He looked at him, seeing the smugness on his face, but not caring. “Yes. Thanks for that. I really do appreciate it.” He frowned, having a thought. “How did you know I needed breakfast?”
Max laughed. “I bumped into Logan this morning, and he said you might be feeling a little delicate. I offered to come around and make sure you were all right. Logan had police stuff to do but said to tell you he’d see you soon.” Max finished off the last of his plate and stood to clear them.
“No, leave them. I’ll do it.” Trent began to stand but Max’s words stopped him.
“Nah, sit, rest up. It won’t take me long to wash these up. Tell me what happened last night. Logan told me to ask you about a guy and girl?”
“Trust him.” Trent huffed. “A guy was harassing a girl and I tried to stop it. Not my finest moment, I have to admit.” He stared at the table, frowning. “She looked to be around Jocelyn’s age. It made me mad, thinking that it could’ve been her in that situation and who would’ve tried to stop it?” The thought of it happening to Jocelyn made his stomach turn. “I only did what I’d want someone to do if they saw it happening to her.”
Max was silent for a moment. “It was brave. A little reckless. But brave. I hope I could say that I would’ve done the same.” He placed a plate on the draining board.
