Page 7 of Primary Seduction
Trent nodded. “Yeah, I suppose so. The kids will probably say different though.”
“Do you see yourself continuing to teach? Or is there something else you’d like to do.” Max canted his head to the side, making him look adorable.
He looked down at his mug, fiddling with the handle. Adorable? What the heck? “Yes, I love teaching. I may go for a different age range one day, but I don’t see myself leaving it completely any time soon.” He glanced back up at Max, seeing his gaze on Trent. He sat there caught in Max’s eyes, not understanding what was happening or how he was feeling. He frowned and blinked his gaze away, looking down at his coffee again.
Suddenly very sober, he began to talk, but Max beat him to it.
“I think I should redecorate for you. Free of charge, of course. I can just see a few more knickknacks and homely things that could make you more comfortable.” Max surveyed the area. “You could have a desk over in the corner by that window…” Max pointed to the very front window of the apartment, “…and use the natural light to do your paperwork. It would be easier on your eyes than using lights. And near those bookcases, you could fit a comfy chair for reading. Putting up some pictures on the walls will make it a little less…sterile.” Max winced at his word choice no doubt.
Trent knew what Max saw, but he shook his head. “Thanks for the offer, but I can’t right now.”
“Why not? It might help cheer you up a bit.”
Trent gritted his teeth and rubbed his forehead. Everyone kept telling him he needed to cheer up, but if only they knew what he was actually going through. They knew nothing about it; but he couldn’t get upset with anyone about their throwaway comments because he refused to share those reasons with them. “Thank you, but no.” He stood up heading towards the kitchen to rinse his mug.
“Shit.” He heard Max mutter the expletive but didn’t acknowledge it. He heard footsteps coming closer just as he stumbled and fell against the counter. “Are you all right?” Max asked, reaching out to him.
Trent rubbed his forehead again. “Yeah. I’ve just got a nasty headache again. Keep getting them, and they’re hard to shift.” He laughed without humour. “The alcohol probably hasn’t helped.” He placed his mug in the sink and turned on the tap.
“Maybe you need a trip to a BDSM club! That’ll loosen you up.” Max laughed. Trent jerked and looked at Max in shock.
“What! No, I’m fine, thanks.” Trent shook his head. Where the hell had that come from?
Max laughed again, the sound a little forced. “I’m only joking, Trent. Bad humour, sorry.” Max paused. “I’m sorry, Trent. About before. I need to learn tact. It’s one of my downfalls.” Trent turned to see Max give a shrug and a half-hearted smile.
“One of them?” He raised one eyebrow to show his forgiveness—and disbelief. Max laughed “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it. I know it all needs doing, I just don’t have the funds for it right now.”
“I said it would be free—” Max began.
“I know. But I would still need to buy the items you want me to add to the apartment. And I just can’t right now. When I can though, you’ll be the person I call.”
Max looked crestfallen for some reason. “Sorry, Trent. I am forever sticking my foot in my mouth.” Max placed his mug on the side. “I’m going to head out. Thanks for the coffee.” He turned to go, and Trent let him.
He watched as Max walked to the front door and closed it behind him with a soft click. The silence left behind was deafening. He had no idea why he hadn’t stopped Max from leaving. He was conflicted and very unsettled—not by Max’s presence—but by how he felt. He didn’t quite understand what it was, and it was making him uncomfortable.
He washed up Max’s cup and placed it on the draining board alongside his own, staring at the two cups side by side, a startling realisation of contentment flowing through him. He liked the idea of having two cups there as if he shared his life with someone. Trent shook his head at his idiotic thought and headed back to lock up. Once he was sure the front door and windows were locked up tight, he stalked to his bedroom. No lingering feeling of being drunk made it easier for him to navigate his way towards the bathroom. A nice hot shower would help him to sleep—he certainly needed it.
****
Trent woke four hours later, drenched in sweat, panting with fear. He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, resting his head in his hands, distantly noticing he was shaking. He’d not had a nightmare like this for a while. Ever since the kids had been born, he had suffered with the occasional nightmare—which he assumed all parents did—about losing their children in some tragic event. His had always been a car accident, and every single time, he remembered it vividly afterwards.
He was sitting in the passenger seat next to Trish. Jocelyn and Harper were in the back seat, arguing as always. They were on their way to the beach for the weekend, the car packed with all their belongings. Trent was laughing at something Trish had said, and she’d looked over at him smiling. He stared at her briefly because it wasn’t very often she smiled anymore. She gazed back, and then he turned back to the windscreen. Eyes widening when he saw the truck, he shouted out.
Every single time, he woke up just before impact, except this time. It hadn’t been Trish driving, it had been Max, and they’d been hit by the truck. He’d woken after holding Max in his arms, broken and bleeding, tears streaming down his face.
He rubbed his hands over his face and stood up. He needed another shower to warm the chill from his bones.
****
Chapter 2
Max
Max looked through the paperwork for Mrs Cedar’s house redesign. Again. He must have looked through it fifty times already this morning, but his mind was elsewhere. With Trent, to be precise. He couldn’t believe he’d spoken to Trent the way he had. They were friends, but not as close as he was with Sean. He should have held back a little with his opinions; Sean always told him to be careful what he said.
He shook his head. He should have just let it go, but he shoved his foot right in the back of his throat. Leaning back in his chair, he rested his head against it and stared at the ceiling. There was no way he could concentrate on the quote, so he decided to go for a stroll. There was nothing more calming for him than walking around the shops and finding bargains. Maybe he’d be able to find something for Trent.
“Stop it, he doesn’t want your help, remember,” he muttered to himself.
