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Patricia Madrazo was standing right in front of him.
Patricia Madrazo. Coming from Trevor’s bedroom, closing the accordion door behind her before Michael could see into the room as if guarding it, wearing a form-fitting blouse and jeans — nothing like the sweatsuit she had on when they first met — and a full face of make-up.
She looked… soft. Beautiful, even, if you’re into 60-year-old housewives. Michael could almost understand what Trevor had seen in her.
What Trevor still saw in her, apparently.
On some level, Michael knew he shouldn’t jump to conclusions, but the way his body reacted — hard to breathe, quickening pulse, a nasty feeling at the bottom of his stomach — made that part of his brain impossible to access. He knew how smitten Trevor was with her, and why else would she be here if they hadn’t…? And why would she close the door if there was nothing to hide from him?
Why else would she be here?
A violent wave of jealousy and rage rushed through him, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t confront Trevor, couldn’t yell or curse like he should after being betrayed.
If she was surprised to see Michael or upset by his visible shock, she didn’t show it. “Michael. It is good to see you again,” she greeted him gently and quietly.
Michael definitely couldn’t return the sentiment. There she was, just giving him that patient smile of hers as if she hadn’t ruined everything. How dare she? How fucking dare she?
He took hasty steps back, almost stumbling at the doorstep, before making his way to the car, but when he touched the handle, he couldn’t bring himself to get in. He cursed and leaned on the car with both hands, looking down at the dirt and taking deep breaths in order to calm down the white static buzzing in his head.
So Trevor bailed on him and ran back to her. She left her husband, and now they were together. Right? So where did that leave him? The one betrayed this time? He had nothing, and he never expected that even if Trevor had kept his distance.
“Michael,” she called for him from the porch. He didn’t answer but turned to look at her as she took down the steps and came to him, looking slightly hesitant. “You should not leave.”
“Why?” Michael spat out.
His angry tone didn’t faze her. “Because Trevor will need you.”
“Need me? Need me? He’s been ignoring me for a fucking week and when I turn up, you’re here. So clearly I’m not the one he needs. What the hell’s going on?” But when she opened her mouth to answer, Michael interrupted her harshly. “Actually, no. With all due respect, Mrs. Madrazo, I don’t think I wanna hear it. I’m going.”
He almost turned away, but then there was fire behind her eyes. It was the same look she had given Trevor when he had done stupid shit and needed to be scolded. “Maybe that is better. Your friend is not well but if you don’t want to help him, you can’t be a very good friend to him.”
After processing the words, Michael swallowed heavily and pushed away the fury inside him for one reason only.
“What do you mean, he’s not well?”
When he stepped back into the trailer, calmer since she’d reassured him that Trevor wasn’t injured or in danger, he noticed the space was clean and smelled of food. She was cooking something undoubtedly delicious. Maybe a stew or a soup.
He suddenly realized he was hungry but ignored it and stepped into the bedroom, and she followed him in, and then they both watched as Trevor slept under the covers.
He looked too still. Not quite right.
“Is he hurt?” Michael whispered weakly despite Mrs. Madrazo telling him already that Trevor was physically fine. Michael took a step closer to the bed, not able to drag his gaze away from Trevor.
“No, just sleeping. For almost two days now,” she answered just as quietly. “Ronald said it’s the drugs.”
“Ah,” Michael breathed out. So Trevor had crashed. How had he not realized that right away? He’d witnessed Trevor in this state before, back when he’d first started using meth. It felt like a lifetime ago. Later Michael had refused to see him at all when he was on a bender because he was always a pain in the ass during them.
“Ronald said that he should wake up soon and that he’s always hungry when he does. That’s why I am cooking.”
Michael only nodded, staring at Trevor for a while longer before swallowing back the emotion and turning to her. “You still didn’t tell me why you’re here.”
“Trevor was helping me. It’s a long story. But I know what you are thinking, Michael. And you are wrong.”
“Yeah? What am I thinking?” he scoffed.
He could practically hear her smiling. “You are worried if he still likes you but you don’t need to be. You are all he talks about.”
For a while, Michael felt panic rising inside him; then he remembered that it no longer mattered who knew about them since his family already did. “He told you?”
“Yes. And I think it is sweet. You boys are good for each other.”
She sounded so genuine that Michael almost felt bad for bitching at her earlier. He jerked his neck. “Are we? It doesn’t feel like that right now.”
“Yes, you are. You will talk when he wakes up and everything will be fine.”
“If you say so,” he huffed. “I’m staying here with him.”
“Of course. I have been sleeping on the couch.” When Michael looked at her, she raised her eyebrows and continued, “You don’t believe me.”
Michael pursed his lips. “I know you had a… thing. And now you’re here again and not telling me what’s happened.”
She glanced at Trevor before looking back at him. “You have nothing to worry about, Michael. Nothing happened.”
He felt stupid for being jealous, but he couldn’t help it. “Right.”
It was clear she wasn’t pleased with the doubt in his voice. “Don’t question the promise I made to my husband.”
He resisted the urge to laugh, but he couldn’t not ask, “You do know about his mistress, right? The Russian one? Doesn’t seem like he cares about any promises.”
“Yes,” she said simply. “Her and the others.”
It was Michael’s turn to raise his eyebrows. “But… he’s not faithful. He’s not even decent to you,” he insisted. As if he had been a model husband. But at least he hadn’t been abusive. … Not like Madrazo, at least. Just words. No fists.
“I have not always been, either. But we go back to each other at the end of the day.”
He stared at her. “And that makes you happy?”
“Yes.”
Michael had nothing to say to that — he would probably never understand her, but maybe he didn’t need to. “As long as your husband’s not coming for our heads this time.”
“No, not this time.”
Michael took off his suit jacket and lay down on the bed, by the wall, after Patricia announced that she would finish cooking and then go on a walk with Chef of all people — apparently Trevor had told Chef, Ron and Wade to keep her company while he was out of it.
Michael gladly took the opportunity to look at Trevor differently than before.
The scabs on his skin, the dark circles around his eyes, the lines from years and years of angry scowling… and maybe grief, too. He looked sick, unwell, peaceful in a deceiving way, and Michael didn’t know how to make any of it better. But they were alone in the trailer, and so he dared to run his fingers gently on Trevor’s face, brushing his messy eyebrows back into place, eventually resting his hand on the side of Trevor’s neck.
He settled down to wait, too uneasy to fall asleep but resting nonetheless, and an hour or two later, he noticed Trevor’s breathing getting shallow. He was waking up.
Michael removed his hand from Trevor’s neck and watched as he groaned and smacked his dry lips, then brought his right hand up to his face from underneath the blanket, rubbing his closed eyes sluggishly. His knuckles had been busted open since they last saw each other. The bruising looked painful, but for Trevor, it was probably just another day.
And then he opened his eyes, and Michael’s face must have been the first thing he saw when his gaze focused.
For a long time, neither one of them said anything. Trevor seemed to go through a range of emotions from confused to tender to sour, but he didn’t seem angry. That had to be a good sign.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, voice raspy but almost void of any emotion.
Michael didn’t know how to answer, so he decided to buy time; he sat up and reached for the bottle of water Patricia had left for Trevor, opening and handing it to him. “You sound like you’ve swallowed sand.”
Trevor glared at him but didn’t resist, rising to his elbow and taking the bottle. Their fingers touched, and Michael felt a weakness in his hold, watched as he drank it all, some drops escaping his lips, traveling down his jaw, and ending up as wet spots on the sheets.
He tossed the bottle on the floor when he was done, sighing deeply. With a slightly better-sounding voice, he repeated, “What are you doing here, Mikey?”
“I was worried,” Michael admitted after realizing his voice messages would reveal that, anyway.
“Worried,” Trevor repeated as if someone worrying about him was the stupidest thing he had heard.
“Yeah. You ignored my calls. And voicemails. I thought you might be hurt.”
Trevor stared at him. “Didn’t I tell you I’d call you when I’m done with my business?”
“Don’t look at me like that. I had to make sure,” Michael defended himself.
Trevor made a move to get up, covers slipping off him as he turned away and sat up. He was only wearing underwear and a t-shirt, and he seemed not to want Michael anywhere near him.
And he couldn’t take that. He grabbed Trevor’s hand, just below the bruised knuckles, and stopped him from going. “Seriously, T? Stop playing around. Don’t pretend you wouldn’t have done the same if I disappeared like that after what we… after what happened.”
Trevor just gave him a gloomy look.
“Jesus,” Michael groaned. “What do you want me to say, huh? I thought you might be dead in a ditch somewhere. So I’m fucking sorry I couldn’t just wait anymore.”
“Are you done?” Trevor asked harshly.
“Yeah.”
“Good. I gotta take a piss.”
With that, he was up and gone. Michael was left on the bed, too stunned to move and not sure what to think, except that it clearly wouldn’t work to try and make Trevor talk. He’d just have to be patient and wait until Trevor was less aggravated.
He took a while to swallow his anger, then moved to sit on the edge of the bed, checking his phone in the hopes that Tracey or Jimmy had called. Of course they hadn’t. He heard Trevor turning on the shower, and he sighed and spent the time calling them both and leaving them voice messages since they didn’t pick up.
Soon Trevor was back, naked and wet, rummaging his closet for a towel. “Where’s Patricia?” he asked, not looking at Michael as he started drying himself.
“Out with Chef,” Michael said, turning his gaze away from Trevor’s ass. Not the time.
“How long?”
“An hour or so.”
“They better be back soon,” Trevor grunted and put on underwear and a white t-shirt. Patricia must have done his laundry because it was actually white, not a mix of gray and brown stains.
Michael answered, “Why? Something to do with whatever you helped her with?”
Trevor took out a pair of sweatpants, put them on, and finally turned to look at him. “That’s taken care of already. I’m just a gentleman and concerned about her safety, Porkchop.”
“After the big score, I don’t doubt Chef’s abilities to guard her.” Michael stood up with a sigh. “Come on. She said we should eat right away if you wake up before she gets back.”
The stew probably wasn’t hot anymore, but Trevor didn’t seem to care, just filled a plate and attacked it ferociously while still standing by the counter. He barely breathed between mouthfuls, soon refilling his plate while Michael just watched in mild horror and disgust and a lot of worry.
“You want some?” Trevor asked with his mouth full of potatoes and meat. “Help yourself.”
“I’m not really hungry,” he muttered when in reality he just wanted to let Trevor finish the whole pot if he needed to. He’d rarely seen Trevor so hungry or eating an actual meal.
But Trevor just scoffed at him. “Bullshit, I can practically see you salivating. Are you on a diet, Sugartits?”
“Fuck you.”
“Maybe later. Eat.” Trevor put his plate on the counter in front of Michael and got himself a new one, filling it to the brim. He kept eating without talking, but the gesture was so casually caring that Michael couldn’t help feeling a bit warm, no matter how annoyed he still was.
And the stew, obviously, was the best meal he’d had in ages. Trevor seemed to agree, even licked the plate when he was done with his third filling. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before asking, “So. She told you why she’s here?”
Michael shook his head, swallowing the last spoonful before answering. “Apparently it’s such a long story she couldn’t even give me a short version. Which makes sense since you were too busy to even let me know you were alive.”
Trevor’s expression immediately darkened. “Don’t start with me, Mikey, or I’m kicking you out. I got no time for your fucking bullshit right now.”
“I’m not starting anything,” Michael defended himself. “I just wanna know why you left so suddenly and why she’s here.”
He glared at Michael for a long moment before grunting, “Your friend at the FIB.”
“What? Davey?” Michael asked, brows knitting in confusion at the sudden change of topic.
“You got more than one? Why am I not surprised?”
Michael held back his frustration. “Of course not. What about Davey?”
At that moment, the door opened and Patricia walked in, followed by Chef carrying two bags. Chef nodded in greeting at them both, but Patricia only looked at Trevor, smiling when she saw he was up. She stepped close to him and felt his forehead. “Trevor. Are you feeling okay?”
Trevor looked at her so softly that it made Michael’s blood boil. “Never better. Thank you for the meal, Mrs. Madrazo. It was delicious.”
“Good to hear,” she said, touching Trevor’s cheek before checking the pot and starting to fix a plate for Chef, who was emptying the grocery bags. Trevor’s attention was completely shifted away from Michael as he asked Patricia if there’d been any problems while he’d slept, which apparently there hadn’t, and then Trevor demanded an update on the business from Chef.
Michael felt completely useless and, frankly, ignored, so he just muttered that he’d go out for a smoke.
He wasn’t sure if anyone even noticed him slipping out. He sat down in the disgusting armchair that was Trevor’s idea of garden furniture, leaning his elbows on his thighs, and he did smoke, but also tried to call Davey to get the answers that Trevor wasn’t giving him.
Not even three cigarettes took away the edge of his frustration of only getting his voicemail.
After some time, the door opened. Michael looked up, but it was just Chef who hesitated a bit before nodding at him again. He didn’t bother answering the gesture, and Chef walked away before Michael realized he might have known something about the whole mess. It felt too late to call after him.
Then, finally, maybe ten minutes later, Trevor realized or started caring about the fact that Michael was gone. He stepped out of the trailer, slamming the door in a way that couldn’t be mistaken for anyone else. Michael made a point of not looking at him first.
“What are you sulking about now, Sugartits?” Trevor asked as if nothing was wrong, standing in front of him.
“I’m not sulking.” He leaned back in the chair, meeting Trevor’s gaze and trying to look like he wasn’t at all upset. Or bothered by the fact that Trevor was practically looking down at him. Nope. Not at all.
“Yeah you fucking are. You forget that you’re a shitty liar.”
Michael glared at him for a moment before giving in. “Fine. I wanna know what’s going on. I’m fucking tired of being ignored.”
And out of all the things, Trevor fucking Philips laughed at him. “Hm. Ironic. Now you know how I feel when you—”
Michael stood up, unable to hold the anger in anymore. “Cut the fucking bullshit, T! If you don’t give a fuck about me being here, I’m just gonna go home. My new home that you don’t even know about because you’re not even…!” He rubbed at his face, knowing accusations wouldn’t help. Trevor clearly had something going on, and Michael had been stupid to think Trevor would drop it for him. “She said you’d need my help and I wanna help, but if you actually don’t want me around, I’ll just fuck off.”
After a moment of silence, Trevor walked closer to him. His face was unreadable, the amusement gone, but Michael knew that wasn’t a good thing when it came to Trevor. “You always make everything about you, Michael.”
Michael didn’t answer that, only let Trevor close the distance between them, trying to read his gaze.
“You wanna stay here and help me?” Trevor snarled, stepping so close that Michael almost felt uncomfortable — he tried not to show it, though. “You? In case you haven’t realized, your track record fucking sucks. The second it gets tough, you’re out that door faster than a rat leaving a sinking ship.”
“That’s not gonna happen, Trevor,” he managed to get out instead of asking what would be so tough.
“That’s not gonna happen,” Trevor mocked him, taking a frustrated step back. “I’ve only betrayed your trust a hundred times, Trevor, but that’s not gonna happen anymore!”
“It won’t!” Michael insisted, then lowered his voice. “Trevor. I am serious about this. Us. Amanda and I are getting a divorce. And the kids know about us, T. They found out everything.”
Trevor first looked surprised. Michael thought he’d finally won Trevor on his side again, but then he squinted. “How?”
“How?” Michael repeated weakly.
“They found out. But you didn’t tell them. So how did they find out?”
He huffed and jerked his neck. “It’s a long story. I was meeting them up to… Well, I wanted to talk to Amanda first but she wasn’t answering my calls, so I asked Lester to find her, but the kids were at the restaurant, too, and I thought I’d do it later, but then Tracey saw the… Did you see the—?”
But Trevor interrupted him, clearly impatient. “Is this story going anywhere? Because you’re not making any fucking sense.”
Michael forced his voice to stay calm. “It’s a long story. The short version is that Tracey saw something about us online and told Mandy and Jimmy.”
“So you weren’t gonna tell them,” Trevor stated after a moment of silence.
“Didn’t you listen to the part where I said that’s why I was going to the restaurant in the first place? To talk with her.”
“But you wouldn’t have gone through with it because you’re a coward, Michael. I know you.”
Michael couldn’t really argue with it, so he instead asked, “What do you want me to say, T? Because the reality is that we both got lawyers working on the divorce, and it’s happening no matter what. I moved out. No matter how it all came up, I wasn’t gonna go back to her because I realized that it’s always been you. And I gotta know if that’s not how you feel. Because if it’s not…”
“Then what, Mikey?”
“I don’t know what then,” he answered honestly, voice rough. “I really don’t know. But just make up your mind.”
Trevor stepped closer to him again, taking hold of his shirt, silently staring into his eyes, and after the initial shock, Michael forced himself to relax. He breathed out Trevor’s name, but was interrupted right away. “You’re the one who’s kept me guessing for decades, Mikey. You kept me there by your side by giving me just enough, but it was always on your terms, wasn’t it? You got a lot of nerve. You really fucking do,” he hissed, and his breath felt threatening on Michael’s skin.
His hold tightened, but Michael didn’t back off, didn’t stop staring at him. Even if Trevor wanted to hit him, he would not back off again. “I guess I do,” he groaned. Come on, then.
When Trevor licked his lips, Michael’s gaze dropped to follow the movement, and then Trevor was in his face, their lips almost brushing against each other. He opened his mouth to say something, but Michael couldn’t bear not kissing him then, just a soft peck that lingered and lingered, lips softly sliding against his, eyes shut as he took in Trevor’s closeness again.
But then Trevor pulled back, looking a bit scared but mainly scary when he asked, “What’s wrong?”
“What?” Michael breathed out, but it was drowned out by Trevor roughly claiming his lips again, almost bruising. Michael had to turn his head away, trying to get some space so he could think. Not that he could get far when Trevor was still fisting his shirt. “Jesus. Nothing’s wrong, T.”
“So why are you kissing me like that?” he insisted, eyes wild. “Huh?!”
Michael had to raise his voice a bit just to make sure Trevor would listen. “Like what?”
“Like you’re saying goodbye to me!” Trevor’s voice broke down a bit, his hand shaking. “You kissed me like that before you faked your fucking death.”
“Fuck, no, this is not that,” Michael hurried to explain, taking Trevor’s hand. “I just wanted to kiss you but I didn’t know if you’d… You’re the one who talks like you don’t want me anymore.”
Trevor glared at him for a long time, and Michael swallowed heavily. “Trev. What are you thinking? Come on, baby. Talk to me. I just wanna sort things out.”
Trevor didn’t, not right away. He pursed his lips, searching for something in Michael’s eyes, and eventually hissed, “If you betray me again…”
“I won’t, Trev,” he croaked. “Please. I want you with me. Please say you—”
He was interrupted by the lips on his; Trevor kissed him so roughly that by the time it was over, Michael felt dizzy and not even remotely aware how his sentence was going to end. He clung onto Trevor’s shoulders, and he gripped his hair in return, pressing their bodies close and reintroducing his tongue to Michael’s, and it was so dirty and exhilarating and Michael had been so fucking lonely without Trevor that he had to remind himself a few times that they were out in the open on Trevor’s yard and that anyone could see them and that he definitely, definitely shouldn’t push Trevor against the armchair and show him just how much he’d missed him.
Instead, he moved his hands to Trevor’s face, keeping him a few inches away. “We should do this somewhere more private,” he panted, opening his eyes to meet Trevor’s, which were misty with lust.
“I don’t give a fuck, Mikey,” he growled, letting go of his shirt to try and grope his crotch.
Michael caught his hand and laughed breathlessly. “But I do. And I’m not gonna… not here. God knows I want to, but later, okay?”
Trevor let out a displeased sound but stepped away from him, adjusting his crotch. “I’m gonna hold you to that. Fuck.”
Michael smiled, fixing his shirt, taking a look around to make sure there was no one watching them. Not that it mattered that much anymore, but old habits die hard. “I guess we gotta figure out where to spend the night, then.”
“Here, obviously,” Trevor huffed. “Don’t get fussy, Mister Vinewood.”
“No, I meant we can’t fuck here if Mrs. Madrazo is in the living room. Jesus.”
Trevor practically rolled his eyes at him. “As if she’d care, Sugartits. But I’ll think of something, don’t you worry your head with that.”
Michael just amusedly shook his head, then took a deep breath to calm down, examining Trevor’s face. There was something new about him that Michael couldn’t quite put a finger on, but mostly he was just familiar. No matter how much they had changed, how much time they had spent apart, Trevor meant home to him. He just wished he’d realized that sooner. “So… are we okay, now?”
“I don’t know. You tell me.”
Something about Trevor’s tone, the playfulness hidden under nonchalance, made Michael suspicious. He squinted at him, and the thought dawned on him when Trevor smirked just a bit. “Wait. Were you… Were you just testing me with this whole thing?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Trevor said, shrugging in a way that confirmed Michael’s suspicions.
“Cut the bullshit. Is that why you left and ignored me? To see if I would come to you?” Michael asked heatedly. “You can’t be fucking serious.”
“Not just,” Trevor sighed. “Calm the fuck down.”
“No, what the fuck that’s supposed to mean?” Michael barked.
“That there were many reasons. And if you keep your mouth shut, I might actually tell you,” he added when Michael was about to interrupt him. He held up a finger, counting his points as he went on. “I needed to medicate myself, which you don’t approve of. I needed to think, which you’re not capable of. Patricia needed help, mainly it was that. You were pissing me off, acting all better than me...”
Michael ignored the insults and Trevor’s insecurities, and he decided he would ask about Patricia later. There was something more urgent. “Think about what?” he interrupted. “Us?”
“Well, yeah.”
Michael was quiet for a long time. Even though he’d felt jealous and thought Trevor might not need him anymore, saying he’d go if Trevor didn’t want him around, he still hadn’t expected Trevor to spend time considering their relationship. “Seriously?”
Maybe Trevor noticed how upset it made him to hear that, because he stepped closer and spoke more gently. “Is it so hard to believe that I might be a little bit confused too, Porkchop, hmm? Maybe I needed to be sure.”
“I… yeah, it kinda is,” he answered, looking into Trevor’s eyes as he closed the distance between them. “Did you actually consider ending it?”
Trevor stared at his lips and drawled, “Well… not really. Not in any normal way, at least.”
Michael frowned. “Do I wanna know what that means?”
“Mmh. Probably not, Porkchop.”
He knew he shouldn’t ask about it now, not when their truce still felt so volatile. And Trevor seemed more focused on his mouth than on any of his questions. So he just sighed, putting his hand on Trevor’s neck. “Alright. So if it’s up to me, then yeah. We’re okay now. But I doubt that okay will be that simple when it comes to us.”
“If you wanted simple, you’d marry another gold digger who’s younger than Mandy and has even bigger fake tits,” Trevor pointed out, smirking slightly. “But you’re here.”
“Yeah,” Michael huffed, gazing at the beat-up trailer, the mess outside of it, before turning his gaze back to Trevor and smiling. For better or worse. “I’m here.”