by Ann Grech
He reached out for my hand, shaking it. His grip was firm, his hand warm. He had strong hands, and I knew they were talented—anyone who could make it as a paramedic had to be. “Anytime, bro. You’re good at what you do, so I knew Brad and Jenna would be looked after.”
“You never saw my photos though,” I replied, my brows furrowed in confusion.
“So show me them then.” He laughed and shook his head like it was the most obvious answer ever. I supposed it was. “I had a gut feeling about you. The way you analyzed every shot and adjusted your camera until you were happy? It’s obvious you’re good.”
“Or maybe I’m just faking it.” I grinned at him.
“Maybe. Sucks for the happy couple, doesn’t it?” He smirked in my direction and held up his empty glass. “Want one?”
“I’m on soda water tonight, but yeah, sure.” Trent didn’t hesitate, ordering the same drink that I’d had at the pub when we were together and getting a whiskey for himself. “You need to get back to your date?” I asked, tipping my chin in the lady’s direction. She was watching us with a sour expression, her red lips thinly pursed.
“She can wait a minute.” He continued when I looked at him incredulously. You don’t just ditch your date. “She’s pissed at me. We’ve gone out a few times, nothing serious, and I made the mistake of asking her to come along tonight. She took it as me wanting to go steady or whatever, ’cause now she’s telling me she’s gonna catch the bouquet.” At my hum and slow nod in understanding, he continued. “Wasn’t too pleased when I said it wouldn’t be me giving her the ring.”
“Harsh let down.”
“Needed to be said, but yeah, I probably should have been nicer about it.” Trent took another swallow of his whiskey, and I watched the bob of his Adam’s apple. He was strong all over, not just his hands. Even his neck was thick, muscular, and, in a suit, he looked damn sexy. His broad shoulders had filled out the jacket nicely when he was in church, and now with the sleeves of his shirt rolled up and his beefy forearms on display, I could understand why his date had wanted him to herself.
“You ever done modelling before?” I blurted out, my brain-to-mouth filter apparently on the fritz. He looked at me, startled, and shook his head. “Sorry, was thinking out loud,” I apologized. “You could easily be a model. Photographers would love you.”
“Yeah, no.” He scoffed. “I’ll stick with what I’m good at.” He swallowed the last of his drink and turned back to the bartender. “Can I grab another two soda waters with lime, bro?” He passed me one of the drinks and sipped his own. “So, I start work late tomorrow. Want me to bring over some breakfast and you can show me those photos?”
I smiled. “As long as you don’t mind Riccardo in pajamas shouting at the TV. There’s a football match on. Our team is playing, and he got it on pay per view.”
“Sweet.”
5
Angelo
Trent and I had managed to spend some time together nearly every day after he’d come over to check out the photos I’d taken with him at the bridge. For nearly three weeks, we’d gone hiking in the hills or jogging along the lake, we’d checked out a few pub bands, watched football—both rugby and the real kind—and ate countless meals together. It was easy being with him, and we had a good time no matter what we were doing. I’d laughed a lot with him, but the last couple of days were different. There’d been radio silence since Thursday when he’d called to cancel our plans. I’d messaged him and had no response for two days. It was unlike him, but he was probably just busy.
Today though, I had news and I couldn’t wait to tell him. Usually I told my sister everything—Gabriella was my confidante—but she wasn’t the person I wanted to talk to now. Bursting with excitement, I’d dialed him, but his reaction wasn’t what I expected. He was preoccupied. Quiet and withdrawn. Maybe I’d caught him at a bad moment. Perhaps he was in the middle of something, but his tone left me with that niggling feeling in my chest. Something was off and that worried me. I loved seeing him smile. When he did, the world around him lit up. His grin, his personality drew people in. I’d been scooped up and was in his gravitational pull from the moment we’d met. But in talking to him I knew there wouldn’t be any smiles that day.
I’d headed straight to his townhouse, the niggling worry turning into a hole in my chest. I wasn’t sure why, but I knew I had to get to him as quickly as I could. When I arrived, I thought I’d missed him. All the blinds were closed, and the silence surrounding the house had my nerves prickling. He hated silence. He was always playing music or had the TV going.
There was still no answer after I’d knocked twice. I turned on my heels and stepped away from the door, my mind preoccupied with where he could have gone. Then I heard it. Glass shattering, splintering against a hard surface. My gut dropped. Fear pulsed through me. Trent was inside and something was very wrong. I’d never moved so fast. Spinning around I jammed my hand down on the handle and yanked the screen open, almost falling through the door in surprise. It’s open. I yelled out his name, the panic in my voice clear as I found my footing and ran through the small lounge room to the kitchen. I saw him standing there. Glass was smashed on the floor and amber liquid splashed on the white cupboards. He held an open bottle of Jack in his hand, barely gripping it. His shoulders were slumped. Even with his head held low, I could see the pain etched on his face. I wanted to take his sorrow away. Dressed only in basketball shorts, he must have been freezing. I shivered in the icy breeze coming in from the still-open front door behind me.
I reached out, and he flinched; my heart broke at the move. I took the bottle from him and hesitated to touch him again. I didn’t want to make things worse, but I had no idea what the issue was. I wanted to help him. More than anything.
I murmured his name, and all hesitation fled when he swayed on his feet toward me. I slipped my hand around his waist and pulled him to me, holding him tight. It was as if he melted into my touch, letting me support him just for a moment. I wanted that—to be his friend. His skin was chilled to the touch and he was bleeding. Nicks along his legs left droplets of blood trickling down his shins. It had to have been from all the broken glass. The smell of liquor wasn’t just from the mess on the floor. Trent was drunk. What’s going on? His bloodshot eyes connected with mine, and in them, I saw pleading. Raw pain. He swayed again, and I held him tighter.
“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up,” I spoke quietly, trying to soothe him as I led him to his sofa. Kneeling at his feet, I checked his legs and realized a few Band-Aids would be enough to cover the small cuts. Resting my hands on his knees, I looked up at him. “You want to talk about it?” When he shook his head, I nodded and squeezed his leg. “I’m here if you change your mind.”
I went into the bathroom and searched through his cupboards until I found his first aid supplies. Neatly boxed up, just like Trent. Everything in the one-bedroom townhouse was always clean and ordered. Everything had its place. You’d never know below the surface were turbulent waters. I’d seen glimpses of pain, of how he closed himself off, but now I had no doubt there was something more there.
I grabbed what I needed and saw his robe hanging over the edge of his laundry basket. I snagged it and went back to him so I could tend to the nicks on his legs. The bleeding had already stopped, but I still needed to look after him. I needed to show him how much he’d come to mean to me in such a short time. I wrapped the robe around his shoulders and kneeled to clean the cuts, wiping away the blood and sticking the plasters over his hairy shins.
I smoothed the strips down and looked up into his eyes. I’d never seen so much sadness and agony in them before. I couldn’t help but reach out and take him into my arms. He didn’t hug me back, but he leaned into my touch. I gave a piece of myself to him in that moment. This man before me was already the best friend I had, even though we still had so much to share. He was so vulnerable, so incredibly sad, and I wanted to help him, to give him back his happy. But how?
He pulled
away after a while and turned away from me, wiping his face. He’d cried silent tears on my shoulder, and despite every instinct in me, I backed off, not wanting to crowd him. Standing, I went into the kitchen and put a pod in his coffee machine. I couldn’t help but worry about him. At only ten in the morning, he’d been drinking. Why? What happened?
He was quiet but more settled after he’d downed a cup of the strong brew. I left him to get dressed while I cleaned up the kitchen. Lost in thought, I didn’t hear him walk back into the kitchen until he was standing before me, freshly showered and dressed in jeans, a polo shirt, and his leather jacket. “You don’t have to stay,” he said quietly. “I’m okay.”
“I know.” I tried to sound convincing, but it was strained even to my own ears. “I figured we could get some food and chill for a few hours until you had to work.”
“I’m not going in today,” he mumbled. “Ford changed my roster. Said he didn’t need me.”
“What? Why wouldn’t he need you?” I asked, and Trent looked like he had a bad taste in his mouth. Almost as if he were ashamed. But why? When he didn’t answer, I continued, trying to fill the silence with babble. “Maybe we can go out then. There’s a gallery that I was going to visit this afternoon to drop off a card to. We could walk there if you wanted. It’s not far.”
“Sure.” He nodded and shook out his shoulders, smiling at me. But it didn’t reach his eyes. I let him maintain the façade for the moment. I wouldn’t push him for answers. He had to want to tell me. Hopefully one day he’d trust me enough with whatever was bothering him. Until then, I had to be patient. “I could eat too,” he added.
“Come on then.”
We walked next to each other, our pace relaxed, neither of us in a hurry to get anywhere. I enjoyed the chill of the winter day. My favorite time of year was spent bundled up in warm clothes, drinking hot chocolates by the fire or skiing on the slopes surrounding my new home. I loved it. My breath fogged up in front of me with each exhale. The weak winter rays did barely anything more than light the sky. There was no warmth in it, leaving my nose and cheeks chilled.
We passed through the park, the blossom trees in full bloom. The light pink flowers weighed down the broad branches of the old trees and littered the grass below them. This little park was one of my favorite things about Queenstown. The babbling brook, the old footbridge crossing it, and the sandstone buildings surrounding it made it quaint. Trent stopped at the top of the bridge and rested his elbows on the heavy wrought iron and railway sleeper railing. “I fucked up at work,” he admitted after a moment of silence.
“How?” I asked, leaning my butt against the handrail, one foot propped up against the balusters. My arms were crossed lightly over my chest and I turned, waiting for him to respond.
“Had a few drinks night before last, then went to work the next day. Ford said I stunk like a brewery and wouldn’t let me clock in. Told me that I needed to get my priorities straight before I came back in. He gave me a few extra days off to remind me not to go to work still lit.” Trent shook his head and blew out a breath. His lips were pursed, and he closed his eyes, his disgust in himself evident.
Oh, Trent. “You had a date that night, didn’t you?” I knew the answer to that question. When he’d cancelled the plans that we’d almost naturally fallen into, I was far too disappointed. It’d soon turned to annoyance, but I wasn’t sure whether I was annoyed with him or me. Thursday night football had become our thing, but I was hardly dependent on Trent to do something. My brother had gone out with Ford, inviting me along too. I could have hung with them, but I didn’t want to. I’d wanted to spend time with my friend. It wasn’t like I had any claim over him, and his date had been a reminder of that, which rubbed me the wrong way.
He huffed out a laugh that held no humor. “I did, but it was a no go. She wasn’t looking for someone like me, and I definitely wasn’t looking for someone as uptight and damn critical as her. I left before we’d even ordered dessert, and I’d been looking for an excuse for an hour before that. In the end, I told her I needed to get cat food for Dodge before the grocery store closed. It was like eight o’clock when I left.”
“The cat you’re minding?”
“Yep.” He nodded. I bit my lip trying not to laugh. It wasn’t funny. He was telling me about some shit that’d gone down that had upset him, but come on. How was I supposed to react? He’d used needing food for the cat he was sitting as an excuse to get out of a date. And the cat’s name was Dodge? You couldn’t make that shit up. I snorted, unsuccessfully trying to stifle my laugh, and wiped my eyes, tears welling from the effort. Trent paused and looked at me, confused, and I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I laughed and shook my head, holding my hand up to him.
“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to laugh at you, but seriously?” I sucked in a breath, my side hurting because I was laughing so hard. “Cat food? For Dodge?” Trent’s lips twitched, and I could see him fighting the smile. I looked at him again and laughed once more, nudging him with my shoulder. “You didn’t even realize how it sounded until now, did you?” When he shook his head and finally let that smile loose, I sucked in a breath, happy for a whole other reason. It was his story and he’d told it, but he was smiling and I couldn’t help but take a little pride in that.
“Fuck me. She looked so damn horrified when I said that, but all I could think about was getting out of there.” He chuckled and ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m such a dumb ass.”
“Nah, you just didn’t think.” I nudged his shoulder playfully, letting him know that it wasn’t all bad. “At least tell me you got the food.”
He nodded and sobered up. “I couldn’t wait to get out of there, but I didn’t want to go home either. Figured you would have been busy, so I stopped by the sports bar. Watched a footy match. Haven’t done that by myself in years, and I hated every minute of it. Suppose I had too many drinks.”
My heart clenched, and I wanted to reach out to him. Instead I leaned closer, my side pressed against his, and asked, “You didn’t drive home, did you?” I wasn’t sure whether I was begging him or scolding him for being so damn stupid. If he’d been drinking and driving not only could it be the end of his career, but more importantly, he could have killed someone. And it was all because he didn’t call me.
“Nah, I walked it. The night air sobered me up pretty fast.”
Thank God. I let out the breath I was holding, relief winning my emotional tug-of-war.
“So what happened yesterday and today? You just kept drinking?” It was none of my business, I knew that, but I didn’t care. I needed to know.
“Something like that,” he muttered. This was him shutting down. A noncommittal answer followed by either a subject change or him going quiet, but I couldn’t do it. I needed him to be able to talk to me.
“Look, I’m not going to push you, but maybe it’ll help if you spoke about whatever is bothering you. I’m here. I’ll listen, and I’ll do my best to help, but I can’t unless you talk to me. If not me, then pick someone else. I’m worried about you.”
“Some bad shit happened when I was younger. This time of year always drags it back up, but I’ll get through it.” He paused and added, “This—walking and being outside, spending time with you—it’s helping. You’re helping.”
I smiled softly and squeezed his shoulder, letting my hand drop after I’d reached out to him. I liked touching him, liked showing him that he was important to me. The silence stretched out between us for a moment, and I figured he could use a break from talking about himself, especially if whatever his memories were, were painful. “I got another job this morning. One of Brad’s construction crew had a baby a couple of months ago. They want me to do a family shoot for them with their dog. They’re booked in next week. I’ve never done one before though. I’m a little nervous about getting it right.”
Trent smiled, and this time it reached his eyes. “That’s great, Angelo. You deserve it.” He motioned to the street bordering the par
k. “How about we try to make it two jobs in one day? Let’s go visit this gallery and see whether you can get some of your landscapes in it.”
His words lit me up from the inside out, warming me like butter melting on soft bread straight out of the oven. I’d only known him for a short time, but Trent was one of the good ones. He wasn’t perfect—none of us were—but he’d quickly become the most important person in my life outside of my family. His friendship meant everything to me.
Dodging pedestrians and traffic on the busy street, we made our way to the gallery. Bold paintings and photographs of spectacular scenery were hung tastefully on the walls, each one having its own space. It was more than just an artwork store. High-end tourists would be their main clientele—exactly the crowd I was aiming for—but the works were varied enough that I could have been wrong.
I wandered around, taking my time to look at the composition of the images while mentally assessing my own photographs against them. Some of mine were better, but there were many that outmatched my art, the photographers beautifully capturing the moment.
Trent followed me around the gallery, his distraction not lost on me. He stared unseeingly at some pieces and wandered by the most impressive ones as if he hadn’t even noticed them. I couldn’t focus on him though, because the manager approached looking to make a sale. As I spoke to her about supplying them with one-off pieces, I watched Trent out of the corner of my eye. He was focused on something happening across the road and kept shifting so he could look out the door. When the manager went behind the counter to get a business card, I moved over to him and quietly asked, “You okay?” That same sadness I’d seen written in his features earlier was back. Mouth turned down, he had a faraway look in his eyes, but his gaze never wavered. I followed his line of sight and didn’t see anything at first, but then I spotted them. I couldn’t tell whether the person was a man or woman, but they were old and frail and sitting on the cold concrete. The threadbare blankets wrapped around their shoulders wouldn’t keep out the winter cold, especially with overnight temperatures dropping down to near freezing. Huddling against a dumpster wouldn’t be enough shelter from the cold winter gale either. My gut twisted knowing that the person would likely spend another night out in the cold, and more beyond that.
