“I told you,” Trevor said minutes later when G.G. opened his door. He held up the day’s offering. “Chicken with a sauce made of red pepper and garlic. And some green beans and caramelized onion mashed potatoes.”
His sleeveless t-shirt was sticking to his chest. He was conscious of his pasty bare legs.
G.G. was once again in sweatpants and a simple shirt. He didn’t reach out to take the dish. He stared at Trevor in all Trevor’s damp, pale glory. Although, since Trevor had taken up jogging and walking more, his legs were in some kind of shape at least.
G.G. raised his eyes. “You’re wet.” He said that, winced, then shook his head. “Sorry. I’m tired. I haven’t been sleeping well.”
“Not taking the pain pills?” Trevor wondered immediately. He didn’t think it came out scolding but G.G.’s eyebrows went up.
His reply, however, was quiet and unoffended. “I only got those for the first day and those wore off. It’s mostly that I sleep on this side,” he briefly raised his hand, “and now I can’t get comfortable.”
“Ah.” That, Trevor understood. “Is ibuprofen enough otherwise? If you’re straining the muscles around the injury while trying to use, or not use, that hand, you can use some muscle salve as long as you’re careful not to get it near the wound.”
G.G.’s eyebrows went up again.
Trevor pretended he didn’t see it but explained himself anyway. “I broke my arm as a kid and my brother was the accident-prone child of all time, so I know some things. For example, the difficulties of trying to do anything without getting stitches wet.”
“It… has been a problem,” G.G. admitted after a beat. “I’ve had stitches before, but I don’t remember it being this much of a struggle. Though, of course, then I was…” he paused “…younger and had some help.” He didn’t allow Trevor any time to comment. “I thought about it. But I use canvas bags for shopping now, so I don’t have any grocery bags to tie one over my hand so I can shower.”
“You haven’t been able to shower?” Trevor lowered the casserole dish to study G.G. more closely. “You poor thing. I never thought about how cheap plastic bags had their uses.” He supposed not many people saw G.G., fierce and be-flannelled, and would call him ‘a poor thing.’ But not being able to clean up properly would be frustrating. “Would plastic wrap do it? If you used enough of it and tried to keep your hand out of the shower? Wait. That would be equally impossible to do well with one hand, wouldn’t it? You couldn’t exactly cut the plastic wrap, either.”
G.G.’s eyebrows didn’t fly up again but he did regard Trevor more intently with every new sentence that came out of Trevor’s mouth.
“You don’t need someone to problem solve for you,” Trevor continued, toning down his enthusiasm. “Sorry.”
But G.G. considered his bandaged hand. “I didn’t think of plastic wrap.”
With his hand up, G.G.’s not-great attempt to change the wrappings around his wound was more obvious. The tape was twisted and all over the place. It was probably going to pull hair out when he had to change it again.
Trevor counted to five but the words had to be said. “I could wrap your hand for you.” He took a small breath, hating crushes with every fiber of his being. “Change the bandage too, if you’d rather someone else do that. No offense to how you’ve done it,” he quickly assured a G.G. who had been stunned quiet once again. “It’s easier if someone else does it, right? And I’m not squeamish.”
“Because of the accident-prone brother?” G.G. guessed after he seemed to recover. He leaned back and raised his chin to consider Trevor carefully. “Margaret said you need a new desk?”
Trevor would have waved that off if his hands had been empty. “I can manage with what I have for now.”
G.G. glanced away. “If you say so.”
He really must think that Trevor was nice to him to get something. Maybe his work was sought-after and he dealt with ass-kissers all the time.
“I’m not offering in order to get work out of you,” Trevor assured him. “Although, if you really built your garage and made that cat tree in the living room, then I’m sure a desk you made would be amazing. That cat tree… the trunk looked like real wood. I mean, it was wood. But it looked like a real tree. That’s quality artistry. But I’m… a setup from IKEA would work for me. I’m not that serious.”
G.G. cut him a look, then turned his head to face him again. “That isn’t what your grandmother says.”
Trevor was not someone to blush, but he was close to it now. “Grandmothers.” He held out the casserole dish again. “Anyway. If you want, show me where the plastic wrap is and I’ll take care of you. Your hand,” he added quickly. “I’ll take care of your hand. So you can shower.”
G.G. opened his mouth. His attention dipped downward for a second, possibly considering Trevor’s dog-washing ensemble. He closed his mouth.
If anything, Trevor’s current look should have convinced him more to let Trevor help. Trevor clearly wasn’t someone afraid of getting his hands dirty.
“Come on.” It fell out of Trevor, natural as anything. “Stop worrying and get it over with. You’re like Ellie. She’s good for her baths, but going to the groomer? She gets so difficult even though she’ll be happier once it’s over. In her case, about halfway through her haircut when she’s cooler.”
“Did you just compare me to your dog?” G.G. demanded, warmly incredulous.
Nearly a thousand miles away, Sky was probably raising his head from his work to elegantly roll his wrists and look knowing.
Trevor briefly shut his eyes, then nodded before he opened them again. “…Yes. You could blame lockdown if you want, and not me being immature or,” he stumbled over the word, “pushy.” Their age difference must be glaringly obvious to G.G. Trevor didn’t notice it much because he had spent two years with someone older than both of them so his perception was skewed, but G.G. must think of him as a babbling kid.
Trevor hadn’t actually offered to groom G.G. like a dog. That was something at least. Although once he thought that, Trevor immediately thought of tethers, and suds, and a spray hose, and really, really didn’t know how to react to the combination of images. Did that count as puppy play? He’d have to look it up. A gentler bath would make more sense to disarm a toughened warrior anyway. But maybe a tether could be used if he was a prisoner or something.
Or a pet.
A tether would definitely help Sky keep still. Not that Sky needed to be forcibly bathed. But he did need to take the time for something more luxurious and decadent than a shower. A bubble bath? Now that he would have to be forced… encouraged to do.
And where would that be? Trevor asked himself sarcastically a moment later. In his grandma’s guest bathroom tub with the nonslip butterflies on the bottom and the plastic shower curtain?
“Um,” Trevor said, because he hadn’t been saying anything. “That is to say, there’s no one around anymore. Not without more effort. Families are distant. Friends are across town or farther. So if you want this done, I’m offering in a not-at-all weird or pushy way.” He took another second. “Don’t you want to shower without risking fucking with your stitches and ending up back at the ER or Urgent Care?”
G.G. released a small, barely audible breath. “I’d really like to not smell.”
Trevor beamed at him. “I won’t even offer you a treat when we’re done. That’s a joke. Because I have an awful sense of humor.”
G.G. fixed him with a look exactly like the ones he had given Trevor from across the court for two years now. Not fury. Not even a glare. Just a look. A study. Trevor stared back. He didn’t know what else to do and he liked looking at G.G. anyway.
“I’ve heard worse on worksites,” G.G. finally volunteered, breathing faster. “If you’re sure you don’t mind.”
“You’re so funny,” Trevor told him as kindly as he could. “You want me to offer again?”
G.G. surprised him with a smile, quickly squashed, and then frowned and stepped back to invite Trevor into his home.
Trevor didn’t leap forward. He didn’t. He moved slowly and stopped next to G.G. as G.G. leaned in close to shut the door behind him. “Worksites?” Trevor was breathing faster too.
“I’m a contractor—I used to be. Still am, legally. I haven’t let my license expire. But I don’t work professionally” G.G. went through the beige dining room toward the kitchen. “I only work for me now. Would you like coffee?”
Trevor briefly reflected on being twenty-four or twenty-five and going to visit friends in their apartments and being offered beer or soda or nothing at all. Coffee felt like something his parents would offer. Like something he should have offered to anyone coming to see him, back when he’d lived elsewhere. Of course, it also might not have occurred to him because…
“I’m actually not much of a coffee drinker, but thank you.”
G.G. turned around long enough to give Trevor an affronted look straight out of his grandmother’s coffee-loving playbook. But then he nodded and stopped inside the kitchen, catching the swinging door a second too late, although Trevor managed to not let the door smack him in the face.
“I’m sorry.” G.G. looked at him so mournfully that Trevor nearly apologized for having a big nose that had clearly gotten in the way of the door. G.G. continued to look pained. “I’m not used to having people over.”
Almost no one was these days, except for those who had partied through a pandemic, but Trevor narrowed his eyes suspiciously as G.G. seemed to internally debate what to do next. Trevor almost, almost, asked when was the last time G.G. had a visitor, and if it had been well before all this, but it truly wasn’t his business.
And he hadn’t seen any guests in all this time. He might have missed a few, of course; Trevor wasn’t outside all day to spy and creep. But even Nancy had the occasional visitor that caught his attention.
G.G. finally took the dish from Trevor’s hands and put it on the counter next to the coffeemaker Trevor noticed for the first time. A jar of local honey sat next to it the way Trevor’s grandmother kept a canister of sugar next to her coffee machine.
Trevor had never heard of honey in coffee and regretted not getting a cup now. It might have been interesting.
He stopped by the island and tried to keep his eyes up while G.G. got himself a glass of water. The man looked good in sweatpants from all angles.
“So.” He had to clear his throat and didn’t say anything when this made G.G. get him some water too. He seemed happy to do it; Trevor not wanting coffee must have thrown him. “You work here? Do you need the license for your own projects? I didn’t know that was necessary. People in my family do stuff around their houses all the time without….” Since Trevor wasn’t sure if he was confessing to knowledge of crimes or not, he shut up. G.G. gave him a knowing look as he handed over a glass. “Not using a contractor is bad?” Trevor guessed.
His answer was a shrug. He was going to have to learn to interpret G.G.’s shrugs. “It can be bad,” G.G. allowed. “And often is. Usually once plumbing or electricity are involved. Or stairs. Or hot tubs.”
Trevor thought of his first apartment, which had actually been a tiny in-law unit but more like a shack, with lights that would flicker. The danger of that struck him for the first time. “Yeah. I could see how that could lead to problems.” Like deadly electrical fires. Or gas leaks. Or homemade structures collapsing. He thought of his brother’s deck, built over a weekend by Patrick and one of his buddies, and resolved not to mention it. “You’re renovating your own place? One room at a time? Or whatever you feel like on any given day?”
“Home renovations require planning.” G.G. stopped across the island from him and held his glass without drinking from it.
“I bet. Especially bathrooms and kitchens, right?” Trevor was pretty sure he’d gleaned that from some show his grandmother had had on. “The kitchen probably the most. I don’t cook either, so I get it being a low priority. I have like two dishes I can do with confidence, and I can help my grandmother with chopping vegetables. But I mostly used to live off burritos, frozen or otherwise. And this party dip I bring to games… back when I went to them. Although my grandma’s been trying to teach me things. Probably so she doesn’t have to keep doing it to eat decently well. But it’s a useful skill to have.”
In defense of Trevor’s babbling, the last time he’d been alone with someone he was crushing on and actively imagining fucking had been several very long years ago.
“I cook,” G.G. offered quietly. “At least, to feed myself. Nothing to take to a potluck or anything like that. Just the recipes in the cookbooks.”
Trevor spent a second trying to decipher that, then abandoned it for later. “You want a fancier kitchen? Why not fix it then, since you can?”
G.G. turned away. “To remodel the kitchen means not having a usable kitchen for a while.”
Trevor finally had some water. “Yeah, my brother and sister-in-law did that. But they live close to my parents, so they went over there whenever they weren’t having takeout.” Which G.G. couldn’t exactly do, since his family must not be close, judging by their absence now. “You could…” Nope. That was too much and anyway, it wasn’t Trevor’s kitchen to offer the use of. “Nothing. Never mind.”
G.G. put a roll of plastic wrap onto the counter by the sink and turned back around. He waited for a second, eyeing Trevor with interest. “You can’t help yourself, can you? I figured, from how you are with Margaret. If we’re still doing dog comparisons, you’re like a border collie. But nicer. You mind everything, every little detail.”
Trevor looked up from a charming hint of a smile to warm eyes. “She’s stubborn.” He would not directly address the charges. “And she’s worried the rest of my family will take over her life and start telling her what to do because she’s older. I don’t tell her what to do. I do what’s necessary to make her life better and easier. She chooses to let me.”
Probably because no one else in the family would allow her that freedom. But his grandmother didn’t need to be bossed around, she just needed help with some things and the reminder that she was loved. “We get along in a strange way,” Trevor admitted. “Strange to the rest of my family, who don’t know how to deal with her. I don’t herd her. I provide a safe space—not that anyone abuses her. They mean well but also think they know best because she’s older, or grieving, or a woman, probably. I’m… I know I can be overly concerned, but I’m there to take care of her, not control her. I listen when she says no. A surprising amount of people can’t do that when they think they know better.”
He frowned down at the counter. “Anyway. ‘Minding things,’ as you put it,” which was slightly easier to accept than pushy, “might be a habit of mine.”
“Like when you cleaned in here for me,” G.G. commented, bringing Trevor’s head up. “You didn’t have to, but thank you.”
Yeah, Trevor had known he didn’t have to. “I hope you could salvage your towels,” he said instead of getting deeper into a discussion about his needs and kinks.
“The towels were old,” G.G. answered. Which meant no but he wasn’t sad about throwing them out.
“Well, now you get the slight hit of excitement of going to the store or maybe getting a delivery,” Trevor said. Pleasant soothing nonsense like nurses said during hospital visits to people who didn’t like doctors and had blood pressure readings that were too high. “You can choose them to match the kitchen you’ll have when you remodel.”
G.G.’s eyes widened slightly.
That had possibly been a little imperious. Trevor hurried on.
“Sit.”
That actually wasn’t better.
G.G. watched him without blinking. Trevor stared back for several heavy seconds.
“I mean,” he continued as evenly as he could, “that if you sat down, it would make the whole process easier. The ‘changing the bandages and then wrapping your hand’ process, I mean.”
“Ah,” G.G. answered, almost like he’d forgotten about his hand. Although once he sat on one side of the nook, facing out toward Trevor and the rest of the kitchen, and began to unwind the bandages, it was obvious that his hand must hurt quite a bit. A slice went through his palm and ended between two of his fingers, which was enough of an injury to make any use of that hand painful. The skin around the stitches themselves was also reddened and irritated.
Trevor inhaled, then let it out. “You aren’t supposed to move your hand.” He collected the old bandage, peeling off the remaining bits of tape without looking up. Despite his suspiciously mild tone, he made sure his actions were gentle.
G.G.’s reply was tense. “I know.”
Trevor was probably causing him significant discomfort and tried to be even gentler with the tape that was stuck.
“You must be in more pain than you’re letting on,” Trevor told him softly without looking up. Uncontrolled pain was never fun. “Did you take anything for it today? How much?”
G.G. sighed. His skin was hot to the touch, but nothing was infected that Trevor could see. “I had some ibuprofen this morning.”
“With breakfast?” Trevor clucked his tongue. “I’ll open the bottle for you so you can have some with dinner. Or I could set pills out for tonight and tomorrow morning?”
G.G. opened his mouth, but when Trevor glanced up, G.G. shut it again to swallow.
Trevor’s mouth was a little dry too. He gathered up the mess of soiled bandages and went to put it all in the garbage. Then he washed his hands before wetting a paper towel and returning to dab up some of the dried blood on G.G.’s hand that the hospital workers had missed. He held G.G.’s hand carefully by the wrist, trying to get the blood in the hair on his back his hand without causing even more discomfort. There was nothing to be done for G.G.’s nails at the moment, which had some blood beneath them. Offering a manicure when he was already leaning over G.G. in damp shorts, with one leg between G.G.’s knees and G.G.’s breath occasionally stirring the hair on his arm, seemed too much.
In a more romantic story, Trevor would have been cleaning blood from G.G.’s face and demanding to know who had done his to him.
Which reminded him.
“How did this happen, anyway?”
G.G.’s sigh this time was long and irritated. “I should have used my better knives. I have an old set I keep for no good reason, and I was cutting cheese for a sandwich and the handle cracked. The exposed blade went right through my hand. I put a towel on it, which might have worked to slow the bleeding until Urgent Care opened in the morning, but then when I was trying to clean up the mess, I slipped.” He sighed again. “And to catch myself, slammed this hand into the edge of the counter.”
At which point, the bleeding and pain must have gotten much worse. Trevor nodded sympathetically. It was something that would have happened to Patrick as a kid. And possibly now and Trevor just didn’t hear about it anymore. It was kind of a miracle Patrick had successfully built that deck, the more Trevor thought about it.
He scooted closer, trying not to encroach on G.G.’s space while also bending over him to attend to his hand. G.G.’s breath caught. Trevor debated looking up before deciding to focus on what he’d offered to do.
“Did they give you more bandages?”
“Counter,” G.G. answered in a near whisper.
Trevor glanced around, then stood up. He got rid of the wet paper towel, grabbed another from the roll, and then the paper bag that had a hospital pharmacy look to it. Inside was a bottle of antibiotics which had a Take with Food label on them, a dwindling roll of gauze, a bit of medical tape, and two packaged nonstick bandage pads.
“Did they give you a tetanus shot?” Trevor wondered while he set it all out. “Scissors?” he asked before G.G. answered. “Where is the ibuprofen? I might as well get it all set up for you. Do you have a pill caddy?”
Trevor could feel his face heating. He went to the island for his glass of water and had a sip.
Anyway, border collies were very smart animals.
“I used the kitchen scissors. Second drawer.” If G.G. saw that Trevor was flushed, he didn’t mention it. “Ibuprofen is in that cabinet. I didn’t want to put it back in the bathroom and I don’t like things laying around.”
Trevor was glad to turn his back on him to get the needed items.
“I don’t have a pill caddy.” G.G. spoke softly. “And I am up to date on my shots.”
“Well, the caddies can be useful,” Trevor insisted after a cough. “But I can leave some pills in a cup or something, if there is a cat-safe place to put it.” He came back over, pleased when G.G. raised his hand for Trevor to take. Trevor patted it with the paper towel to dry it so the tape would stay put. His fingers slipped down over G.G.’s wrist. He moved them back to a steadying, impersonal hold.
“Do you know, I don’t actually know your name,” G.G. offered into the silence. Trevor gave a start. G.G. considered him without raising his head. “I thought it was Trevor, but once, I swear I heard Brian, and Margaret doesn’t seem confused about things like that.”
Trevor shook his head, then pushed out a breath. “It’s both. Brian Trevor Matheson, at your service. But I have two older cousins who are also Brians. One is spelled with a y at least. I don’t know why the family liked that name so much. I think it was the older siblings fighting about something but they won’t say. So my choice was to be Trevor or to be Third Brian. My first name almost never gets used now except for… it doesn’t matter. Okay. I have to hold the nonstick pad in place. Let me know if I use too much pressure or if the rest of the bandage is too tight. All right?”
G.G. nodded once. His voice was strained. “Margaret was insistent about the desk.”
“She has ideas about helping me along,” Trevor excused her because she loved him.
“Is that a family trait?” G.G. wondered with a hint of a tart amusement. He went on before Trevor could respond. “Do you want to do everything all on your own?” G.G. seemed confused by this, but Trevor might have been misinterpreting his frown. G.G. was in pain and Trevor shouldn’t forget that.
“No. I—hold on, try to keep your fingers still. There you go, almost done.” Trevor tried to use his normal voice but low, soothing assurances required a gentle whisper.
The back-and-forth sway of the kitchen door heralded the arrival of the cat. Trevor had almost forgotten about it. It stopped dead at the sight of him, equally surprised.
“It’s all right, Dee,” G.G. called out. Trevor backed up quickly. The bandage part was done, G.G.’s hand was hopefully immobilized, and Trevor didn’t want to scare the cat. He went around the island for the plastic wrap, then hesitated both for the fluffy cat brushing G.G.’s ankles and the sound of G.G.’s phone ringing.
“I can go in the other room.”
G.G. gave a short shake of his head at the offer but stared at his phone for a moment before he accepted the call. “Hey.”
Trevor busied himself with figuring out how to best get the plastic wrap around the bandages. He’d taped the bandages enough they should stay in place once the plastic was removed, and it didn’t really need to stay on that long. Loosely wrapped should do it if he did enough layers to keep the shower spray out. G.G. was still going to have to wash himself one-handed, but Trevor wasn’t thinking about G.G. in the shower while the man was on the phone with… a sibling, Trevor guessed. An older sibling, probably, from what he heard of their tone.
Trevor was familiar with older siblings and tones.
He tore off several sheets of plastic wrap, as large as he could get them without them twisting, left all but one on the island, then came back over to G.G. to proceed.
“No, I wasn’t ignoring messages. I was busy,” G.G. said, looking up to Trevor as though Trevor was going to call him out for something. “I did answer,” he reminded the person on the other end. “No, small projects. Nothing else going on and I didn’t think my input was necessary.”
He apparently wasn’t going to mention his accident.
Trevor raised his eyebrows but stayed quiet.
“So they’re still planning on having the camp?” G.G. moved on from his lie. “Both boys still going?”
The speaker, a woman, said clearly, “If Jay and I can get them there. There’s a bus the day after, but anyone doing the rafting has to get there the day before for safety training.”
“I can drive them.” G.G. was quieter than his sister or maybe sister-in-law. “I have time.”
The offer was immediately refused in a friendly yet distracted tone. “You don’t need to. We’ll handle it. I’m not wasting that deposit on the rafting costs.”
“I could—”
“G.G., save your money for your projects. This isn’t a problem.”
If it had been Trevor’s sister, Trevor would have sarcastically wondered why she’d bothered him with it then. And probably been told he didn’t understand because he didn’t have kids, or something along those lines.
Anyway, if Trevor had to guess, he would have said G.G. was not hurting for money. His objection to the kitchen remodel hadn’t been the expense and Trevor was under the impression kitchen renovations cost a small fortune.
He picked at a twisted corner of plastic wrap, then began to wind it around G.G.’s hand like he was making a mummy out of clear plastic. He pressed his lips together to keep from speaking but he had to wonder how G.G. was close enough to his family to apparently be able to pick them up and drive them somewhere, but none of them were here doing what Trevor was doing for him.
There could be a lot of reasons for that but one immediately came to mind and he didn’t like it.
“Anyway,” said G.G.’s possible-sister while Trevor grabbed more of the pre-cut sheets, “you were quiet, so Mom thought I should ask. But you’re fine, right?” She asked as if she knew the answer or only one answer was acceptable.
“Right,” G.G. agreed. He even sounded pleasant about it. “I’m fine.”
Trevor went back for more plastic wrap from the roll and viciously tore off a chunk. When G.G. ended the call and put the phone down on the nook next to him, Trevor returned to his work and said stiffly, “If that truck is a stick, you wouldn’t have been driving anyway.”
“Going to drive all the way up to the redwoods for me too?” G.G. asked without any anger, then shook his head. “It’s months away. Anyway, she wouldn’t have said yes.”
But he’d offered. And might have done it if she’d agreed. Trevor finished his protective plastic mitten and stepped back. He cleared his throat, put the roll of plastic wrap back where G.G. had had it before, and then opened the lids of the ibuprofen and the antibiotics.
“There’s no point bothering her with the rest,” G.G. continued to explain, though Trevor deliberately had not commented. “She’s too far away to help with anything.”
But close enough for him to drive to her.
Trevor wanted, so fucking much, to push.
He didn’t. He moved the casserole dish to the top of the stove. “This will be fine microwaved, but personally, I’d stick the whole thing in the oven whenever you’re ready to eat. If you need help taking the plastic wrap off, or you need someone to go get you more bandages, feel free to knock on my… our… door.”
He nodded a goodbye that probably did not disguise how bothered he was, or how he knew it was ridiculous for him to be bothered, then went to the kitchen door.
G.G. got up to follow him, walking him to the front door, which was awkward and not even in an ‘end of a date’ way. It was more like making sure the unwanted guest got the hell gone.
At least, it was until Trevor glanced back halfway down the sidewalk and saw G.G. in the doorway, watching him go.