Hide Out (29 page)

The side door slammed shut.

“What the fuck was that?” Haas barked and Trevor smiled. He had no idea who or what had closed the door, but it was nice to hear his father rattled. He turned his head against the back wall, his eyelids drooping closed.

Trevor’s eyes popped open again. There was a gap between the back of the woodpile and the wall behind it, large enough for Trevor to slide between. If he could move between the junk piles and the wall and emerge behind Haas, Trevor could knock him out with a chunk of wood or something.

Slowly, painfully, he began to ease to the side, working his way behind the woodpile. An unpleasant smell drifted beneath his nose and he inhaled, trying to identify it. It was familiar but his brain wasn’t working very well…

When it finally clicked, Trevor frowned. Why was he smelling gas?

164

Hide Out

“Could it be your little boyfriend?” Haas was obviously over his startled moment.

“No, guess not. I knocked his brains loose with a chunk of concrete. Serves him right for having such a shitty driveway.”

Trevor had to swallow back bile.
Don’t think about Pete
, his brain chanted over and over.
Don’t think about Pete.

“You do have bad taste in men, don’t you?” Haas continued. “And you always had a weakness for cops.”

Trevor was past the woodpile and was working his way behind the tall stack of pallets next to it. With the door closed, only trickles of light struggled through the small, dirty pane set high in the sidewall. Although the gaps between the boards making up the pallets didn’t hide him as well as the woodpile, the garage was hopefully dim enough to finish the job.

Another smell tickled his nose. This one he knew right away—smoke. What his blood-starved brain couldn’t figure out was why he was smelling smoke. Trevor decided to ignore it for now and concentrate on the most immediate threat—the gun his father was holding.

“I don’t know why you turned your back on me,” Haas said. “I was hoping to pass the business on to you some day. Very disappointing.”

The rational tone his dad was using added to the feeling of unreality. Trevor shook his head to clear it. He was having a hard time focusing. The rough wood of the pallets blurred in front of him.

“Is that smoke?” Haas asked. Trevor could see his hazy figure walking slowing in front of the pallets. “Would your boyfriend be trying to burn me out?” He gave a longsuffering sigh. “I should’ve hit him harder.”

The roar filling Trevor’s head wasn’t from lack of blood. It was pure rage. Putting his shoulder to the stack of pallets, he shoved with all his remaining strength.

Haas yelled as he went down, buried in a pile of pallets. Trevor went down as well, carried to the ground by his momentum. He saw the gleam of Haas’ gun as it spun away from him, coming to rest several feet away, looking as inert and harmless as a toy. Everything appeared brighter now. The colors were strange, though, the flickering light surrounding them in hues of red and orange. It reminded Trevor of the night by the fire, when Pete kissed him and jerked him off while Rhodes and Wash watched, entranced.

Pete.
The thought of his lover jerked Trevor back to reality, which was beginning to hurt more and more. He just wanted to watch the pretty flames climbing the walls but knew he had to get out. He tried to crawl on his hands and knees but they slid out from under him. On his belly, Trevor pulled himself across the floor, his eyes fixed on the door.

A hand caught his ankle.

165

Katie Allen

Trevor kicked but the grip held. He looked around and saw his father, his face battered and bloody, just his head and arm protruding from beneath the pallets. Trevor lunged forward and closed his fingers around the grip of the gun. Twisting around, he pointed the gun at Haas.

Trevor didn’t say anything. He just held the gun and his father’s gaze…until the hold around his ankle loosened.

The gun made crawling harder as he headed for the side door. Pulling himself along the floor with his forearms, pushing with his knees, he worked his way, inch by inch, toward the small door, toward freedom…toward Pete. Despite the roar of the flames, he heard his father yelling, heard the shouted threats that swiftly changed to wordless, agonizing screams. Trevor clenched his molars together and crawled, not allowing himself to stop or look or turn around to help. This wasn’t over. He wasn’t safe. If he didn’t get out of the garage, Haas could still win, still get his wish of Trevor’s death.

The heat was incredible. His skin felt sunburned on his cheeks, his lips chapped. The flames licked their way closer to the door, making it look like the only exit from hell. His vision narrowed to that single spot, that rectangle of freedom, and everything else fell away.

There was a cracking sound and a crash. Trevor ignored it and kept crawling. The next loud snap matched a searing pain across his arm and back. He cried out and tried to pull away but something kept him pinned. He fought and struggled, but whatever lay across him was immovable.

The pain faded until his entire body was numb. Trevor let his eyes close.
I always knew Dad would kill me eventually
, he thought, and then there was nothing.

* * * * *

“Fuck!” Pete regained consciousness in hell. His head felt like it was being used for meat cleaver storage and red light licked his face with warm tongues. Memory came back in an agonizing rush. “Trevor!” he gasped, rolling to his hands and knees. He pushed to his feet and stood for a moment, swaying, so dizzy the flames eating the garage looked like horizontal streaks. There were sirens in the distance, adding to the nightmare of the day.

“Trevor,” Pete said again in a hoarse whisper, staring at the inferno of the garage. He was in there. Pete didn’t know how he knew, but he was willing to stake his life on it. Trevor was in the burning garage.

He started running, falling to one knee and then standing again, wanting to scream at the ground for its wavy undulations. He reached the side door, swearing and jerking his hand away when the doorknob burned his fingers. Pete grabbed it again, ignoring the pain, but the swollen door wouldn’t open. Shoving his shoulder against it, he slammed his weight into the door and it opened just a foot. 166

Hide Out

Something was blocking the door. Pete wedged his arm and shoulder in, reaching for the obstacle, pushing at it until the door opened enough to allow him in. The smoke stung his eyes, blinding him.

“Trevor,” he shouted. On his next inhale, the smoke stripped his lungs and his next yell was already raspy. “Trev!”

A chunk of the roof crashed to the floor in front of him, sending up a shower of sparks. In the flare of light, Pete saw something gleam on the floor. Crouching low, he ran toward it, blinking hard to clear his vision and see through the watery sheen of smoke tears.

Bits of charred debris fluttered down like confetti, stinging his skin where they landed. A larger piece of wood fell, bouncing off his shoulder. Pete barely felt it, concentrating on the glimmer he desperately hoped was blond hair. It was. When he saw Trevor’s face, Pete fell to his knees next to him. A blackened beam lay across his unmoving body. Pete shoved aside the small, burned boards, exposing the full length of the beam pinning Trevor to the ground. Standing up, Pete began coughing and couldn’t stop. His eyes ran with tears until everything blurred into a nightmare-colored blob.

Rubbing his arm across his eyes just made the stinging worse. Blinking rapidly, Pete focused on the black length of the beam. He wrapped his hands around the rough, burnt wood and heaved, straining to shift it off Trevor. It didn’t move. Adjusting his grip, Pete braced his legs and pulled until blackness crowded his vision. The beam shifted, reluctantly at first and then faster as the end digging into the ground pivoted. Pete stumbled back two steps and then dropped the beam, staggering at the loss of weight.

“Trev,” he tried to say but it came out as an airless croak that set off a fit of coughing. Pete crouched down and turned him over onto his back, shoving away creeping panic and refusing to think about how still and limp Trevor was. Grasping him beneath the arms, Pete lifted him against his body and pushed to his feet. Supporting the other man with an arm locked around his waist, Pete raised Trevor’s arm and leaned forward. Trevor’s weight collapsed across his shoulders. Wrapping an arm around Trevor’s knees as he kept his grip on his arm, Pete lifted his weight across his back.

The ground appeared to tilt in front of him as he staggered toward the narrow rectangle of light marking the half-open door. Pete tripped and almost fell, lurching sideways as he tried to keep his balance without dumping Trevor on the ground. His head spun and his lungs ached, the light in front of him blurring and shifting as he stumbled toward it.

The fire roared in his ears, each crack and pop making him start. Pete knew the whole building could come down on top of them at any moment but each step felt as if he were wading through pudding. He just couldn’t move any faster. 167

Katie Allen

Covering the last few feet in front of the door seemed to take forever. The opening wasn’t large enough to allow Pete through with his human cargo, so he gave the lawnmower blocking it a shove with his foot, moving it over a few inches. It was enough for him to wedge them through and out into the sunshine. Once out, he didn’t stop but instead ran down the driveway and into the front yard. Lowering Trevor gently to the grass, he looked around for the emergency vehicles. He knew he’d heard sirens while in the garage. It’d felt as if he’d been in there for hours—

where was the fucking ambulance?

The sirens were louder but there were no flashing lights at the curb, only a gathering group of neighbors bordering his lawn. Morty was pulling a hose toward the garage, his slight figure silhouetted against the flames.

“Get back!” he roared, wincing at the raw sound of his own voice. “There’s gas! Get away from there!”

Morty didn’t stop. He hadn’t heard. Pete staggered to his feet, intending to chase after the man but Iris must have heard his rasping yell.

“He said to get away from there, you idiot!” she screamed at Morty, grabbing the hose and giving a hard yank that almost pulled Morty off his feet. That caught his attention. He hurried back toward Iris, rounding the corner of their house just as the garage exploded in a huge fireball.

Pete threw himself down, trying to cover as much of Trevor as he could. Pressing his cheek against Trevor’s forehead, he could feel the light puff of breath on his neck.

“Trev,” he gasped, grabbing his head so he could hold Trevor’s face against him.

“You’re br-breathing, baby. That’s good, really g-good. Just k-keep it up, Trev. Keep on b-breathing and I w-won’t have to kick your ass, okay?”

The explosion had settled to a dull, crackling roar, so Pete slid off Trevor onto his knees, still cupping his face in his hands. He wiped at the black soot streaking Trevor’s cheeks with his thumbs.

“You st-still with me, baby?” he asked, the closed eyes scaring the ever-loving shit out of him. “Trev? Don’t d-die. Don’t l-let that asshole w-win. I need you, okay?”

“Sir?” It was a stranger’s voice. Pete looked up. When he saw it was a fire department paramedic, he almost cried in relief. Help was here.

“I pulled him out,” Pete told him in a rush. “He’s been unconscious since. A beam fell on him. He has a G.S.W., right side.” He tried to get out of the paramedic’s way but Trevor’s hand moved, clutching at his arm.

“Trev?” Pete grabbed the searching hand and held it tightly. Trevor’s eyes opened a slit. “Where’d…your stutter go?” His voice was a faint scratch of sound.

“My stutter?” Pete repeated, with a choke of incredulous laughter. Tears of sheer relief pressed on the back of his eyes and nose. “If you’re going to ask me stupid shit like that, you might as well stay unconscious.”

168

Hide Out

His cracked lips twitched up in a tiny smile. “Going…to knock me out?”

“If I have to,” Pete tried to joke. He blinked, attempting to force the tears back, but a few escaped despite his best efforts. He rubbed his face against his shoulder and swore as ash stung his eye. “I’m sorry, Trev. I shouldn’t have been so careless. It was my fault…”

“Shut…the fuck…up,” Trevor wheezed. He started coughing, a weak bark of sound.

“Sir, we need you to give us some room here,” a second paramedic told Pete, who nodded and stood up, intending to move back just far enough for the paramedics to work but where he could still keep an eye on Trevor’s face. As he pushed to his feet, the world tilted around him, the house and yard and neighbors and firefighters all spinning like a carousel until all went black.

169

Katie Allen

Chapter Sixteen

The beeping sound woke him. Well, that and the pain that thrummed up and down his side, from shoulder to hip. Trevor blinked at the white ceiling, trying to place it. When he didn’t have any luck with that, he gingerly turned his head. Pete was watching him from a chair by the bed.

Trevor smiled. “Nice,” he rasped.

“What?” Pete’s voice wasn’t much better. Both of them sounded like their vocal cords were covered in sandpaper.

“Like the look,” Trevor explained, his gaze fixed on the hospital-issue gown that showed off Pete’s hairy legs.

Pete raised a suggestive eyebrow. “Best part is easy access.”

Trevor’s laugh turned into a fit of coughing. When it was over, Pete had a glass hovering by Trevor’s mouth, straw touching his lips.

Although he did take a sip, Trevor snorted. Turning his head away from the glass, he said, “Are we in some sort of gay soap opera? I feel like the doctor’s going to be in any minute, telling me I died and I’m my evil twin.”

Frowning, Pete put the glass back on the tray next to the bed. “If you keep talking crazy, I
will
call the doctor and tell her you need to lighten up on the meds.”

Trevor winced. “Don’t do that.”

“Bad?”

“Bad enough.” He didn’t want to talk about that. “You’re not dead then.”