#Junkie (GearShark #1)(91)

But hearing those words from my sister was something I desperately needed. I hadn’t realized how bad until she gave them.

“I think you make a good couple.” She went on and grinned.

“Thanks, Ivy,” Trent said.

I could only nod. She gave my fingers a squeeze like she knew I couldn’t speak. She glanced over her shoulder at B.

He cleared his throat. “It f*cking pisses me off this happened to you, Trent. I know it kind of forced you guys to tell us when you clearly weren’t ready. But I’m glad, ‘cause I’ve been wanting to say this to you for a while.”

I swiveled and looked at him. He met my eyes and nodded.

“I don’t care you guys have some man love.”

Man love? Classic Braeden.

“You’re my family, and nothing is going to change that.”

Ivy’s face shone with pride, and she nodded, agreeing with him. I stood up and offered B my hand. He took it and pulled me close, and we hugged with the table between us.

“We aren’t going to let this go unpunished,” he whispered in my ear.

I pulled back and nodded, letting him see the blazing anger in my eyes.

“Put some ice on your face, man,” he said to Trent. “That shit looks painful.”

Ivy picked up the cold pack in her lap and lifted it toward his face. Then she stopped and glanced at me. “Here.” She gave the pack to me instead.

With a small smile, I took it and very carefully pressed it against Trent’s eye. “Hold this,” I told him. Once his hand was over it, I held mine out between us. “C’mon, you’re going to bed, and we need to check your ribs.”

Trent let me help him up. The stiff way he moved and the grimace on his face made me angry all over again. The need to punch something filled my limbs like adrenaline.

He leaned on me as we went from the room. Ivy wrung her hands like she didn’t know what to do, and Braeden stood there scowling. I caught his eye and made a signal for him to call his mom. I didn’t care what Trent said. Someone needed to look at him.

B nodded and palmed his phone.

“Don’t get naked!” B called. “Rome will be up as soon as he walks in.”

Trent laughed again and doubled over in pain.

I gave B the finger.

I left the bedroom door wide open and turned on the light the second we walked in. Trent slipped out from under my arm and moved slowly toward the bed.

“Take off your shirt,” I instructed.

A sound of protest ripped from his throat. I moved across the room and grabbed his shirt and ripped.

It made a distinct tearing sound as I split it up the front.

“I know you like my body, Forrester, but damn,” he joked weakly.

I pushed the ruined shirt off his body and looked down.

His right side was black and blue. Some of the skin was mottled and swollen. There was no way in hell his ribs were just cracked.

Motherf*ckers.

I shoved away from him and tucked my hands behind my neck, digging them into my skin. I didn’t know what to do with all the rage inside me. I’d never been this upset before.

There was a bruise on his left shoulder, too. Someone kicked him. I could almost see it clearly in my tortured thoughts.

“Drew,” he said, moving across the room to me.

I kept pacing.

He grabbed my arm and I stilled, not wanting my abrupt movements to jar him in any way.

“Calm down. I’m gonna be fine. I’m not the first guy to get his ass kicked in a fight.”

“This was not a fight,” I ground out. “This was an attack.”

His hand curled around the back of my neck and tugged. I stepped into him, careful where my body came into contact with his. We held each other for long, silent moments.

Downstairs, the front door slammed, and I heard voices.

Romeo was home.

I pulled back from T, went to the door, and swung it closed. I needed some time with him. Just us.

“C’mon,” I told him and pulled back the comforter and sheets.

Trent loosened his belt buckle and unbuttoned his blood-stained jeans. I helped him pull them off, and he got in the bed, dressed only in his boxers.

“Are you dizzy? Sick to your stomach?” I asked.

“Nah.”

“Stop being strong,” I snapped.

“Would you rather I cry?”

“No. Yes.” I contradicted myself. “Fuck!”

“Come here.” He lifted his arm.

My shoulders slumped a little, and I went to him. I moved gingerly on the mattress, afraid I might hurt him. He wasn’t having it, though. He pulled me into his side and anchored an arm at my waist.

“I’m sorry you had to find me like that tonight.”

I made a choked sound. “You don’t owe me an apology.”

“I think maybe I do.” The tone in his voice changed with those words. They became serious and strange… kind of shuttered like his eyes had been downstairs.

I pulled back a fraction. “What do you have to be sorry for?”

His face turned down, staring into his lap. His whispered words blew up yet another chunk of my heart.

“I’m sorry loving you isn’t enough.”





Trent

Love is patient. Love is kind.