Trent would take this punishment for Wood. Hell, the bathroom was only a few feet away.
Chapter Eighteen
Wood
Trent took two muscle relaxers after he ate and ended up having to go lie down. Around four o’clock, Wood called Bishop and canceled their dinner plans for tonight since Trent was knocked out and he wasn’t really in the mood to entertain. In a nutshell… he was fucking horny and frustrated. Wood stayed in his room with his door open just in case Trent needed his help and lazily sketched in his notepad. He hadn’t felt any real inspiration in years, and he was getting nervous that he never would. If he couldn’t get into a reputable shop and perform his art again, then he’d survived all those damn years in that cage for nothing.
Trent only came out of his room to use the bathroom, then climbed right back into bed. He was tinkering with Trent’s PlayStation to see if he could possibly figure out one of those ridiculous games when he heard a car pulling up in the driveway. He got up and opened the door and was surprised to see Edison walking up the porch with a large dish in his hands and a smile. Wood reached out and relieved him, then moved back so he could let his friend’s partner in from the cold.
“Don’t worry, I’m not staying. I know we canceled for tonight because of Trent’s back.” Edison pointed at the steaming container in Wood’s hands. “But you guys still need to eat, right, so I just came to drop off the enchiladas. And they’re one of Trent’s favorite, so maybe they’ll make him feel better.”
“Wow. Thanks, Edison. That was above and beyond.” Wood nodded, sitting the food on the stove. It smelled amazing, and Wood immediately wanted to grab a plate and spatula. “I’m sure this will make him feel a lot better.”
Edison began to head to the door, and Wood hated to feel like he’d just got the benefits of the comfort food and not the company. “Make sure you text Bishop and let us know when you guys wanna get together, then. And of course, if Trent needs anything, to call me. Maybe I’ll bring him some nachos for his game day tomorrow.”
“Sure thing.” Wood laughed, unable to believe a guy like this existed in the world.
Edison shrugged, and Wood noticed how kind his pretty hazel eyes were when he smiled. “It’s fine. Trent’s family. And I cook a lot on the weekends to decompress. A lot of food would go to waste if I didn’t share too.”
Wood had an idea to ask Edison for some more tips on making food for Trent, but he wasn’t in the mood for that conversation tonight. As he saw Edison to his car, he admired the nice jeans and button-up collar shirt he had on. His shoes were Polo and looked as if they’d never been worn. Bishop had told him that Edison was a slightly overweight man that could dress his ass off, and he’d believed him. But seeing Edison Scala in person… damn. The descriptions in Bishop’s frequent letters to him did the man zero justice. His old cellie was one lucky guy. Edison seemed like the real deal, the complete package. Maybe if Wood waited and was as patient as Bishop, maybe he’d have his own good thing.
Wood made Trent a plate of food around seven thirty and took it into his room. Trent was still asleep, and Wood wondered how strong those pills were he’d taken. “Trent. Trent,” Wood called out, not wanting to sneak up on a man while he was sleeping. A huge, don’t-do. “I got food.”
Trent slowly cracked his eyelids open, and a slow, serene smile spread across his face, and Wood’s lower half responded as the fluttering in his chest amplified. Trent eyed the plate in his hands, then slowly got himself into a seated position. He helped prop a few pillows behind Trent’s back, then sat his plate in his lap.
Trent’s eyes widened. “Edison brought his enchiladas?”
“Yep. About an hour ago. I thought I’d let you sleep a little longer. How’s your back?” Wood asked.
“It’s crap. But it always eases in a couple days,” Trent said, then began to eat his dinner. He glanced up at Wood, and he easily read the gratitude in his eyes.
Wood wondered how long Trent had been on his own and denying his sexuality.
“Did you eat?” Trent asked.
“Not yet.”
“Go get a plate and come in here with me,” Trent instructed.
Wood smiled and got up to do what he was told. He fixed himself a decent portion of the pasta, grabbed two cans of ginger ale from the refrigerator and joined Trent in his room for dinner. It was the first time he’d been invited in, and he had plenty to talk about as he surveyed Trent’s eclectic collection of albums and concert posters.