Page 80 of Dangle

“Don’t you start, too. Gunny gives me enough shit about finding someone. At least you’re nice enough not to push me toward a particular someone.”

I knew exactly who the particular someone was that our former gunnery sergeant turned EDGE Chief Security Officer pushed Ewen toward. The same guy I thought he should quit avoiding. Gunny showed up in town a year ago for a job withMPD’s SWAT Unit, looking for the camaraderie and family he’d lost when the Marines forced him to retire. He promptly found a boy of his own. Since then, he’d been a pain in everyone’s ass. We should’ve been used to it, given he’d been a pain in our asses when we served under the man, too.

“How is Gunny? I’ve not seen him in the last few weeks.”

“Dude,” Ewen said, glancing at the top of the stairs, “I’m surprised this place doesn’t smell like a bathhouse. The two of you have been holed up for weeks.” He paused, then added, “I’m happy my friend is feeling more like himself, though. You are feeling more like yourself, right? I can quit worrying about you so much?”

I shrugged. I refused to apologize for locking myself away with Trey. And I didn’t know if this shift out of the rut would hold. Because I didn’t know how long I had with the boy. Every day felt both like a gift and a shoe waiting to drop. The moment the Wardens pulled their repressed heads out of their collective asses, I’d lose him. So, sue me for taking advantage of what time I had with him.

“So, what did you feel was so important you barged in without a heads up?”

“Will, Ollie, and I are throwing a bash next weekend. We wanted to…”

“Next weekend?”

Ewen rolled his eyes. “Whatever disinfectant and air fresheners you’re using in here need to be added to the cleaning supplies list for the orgy room downstairs if you’re this fucking clueless.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Memorial Day, you clueless, fucking hermit. We’re going to throw a party, but we don’t want to interfere with anyone’s family plans, so we’re going to have it the weekend before.”

Fuck. Maybe he was right. The last few weeks—however many it had been—had gotten away from me. How the hell was it almost Memorial Day weekend?

“Gotcha. Yeah, Mama has demanded my appearance. She says she let me get away with not attending family functions for years because of the Marines, but I live too close not to attend now.”

“Gotta love a Mama Slone guilt trip.”

“Shut up.”

“Dude, I’d love it if my mom were still laying on the guilt.”

“I know. I’m sorry, that was insensitive,” I said with a grimace. Ewen’s parents were both dealing with some horrifyingly tragic health issues. He and his brothers had been caring for them with my help since their diagnoses, but they’d recently had to place them in a care facility because they needed specialized care.

“Don’t apologize. I know you love them as a second set of parents. My comment wasn’t meant to make you feel bad. It just smarts still sometimes, you know.”

I nodded. I couldn’t imagine Mama or Pops not being their larger-than-life crazy selves. And I really couldn’t imagine putting them in a nursing home. The thought of losing one of them gutted me. To have them both go downhill so fast and at the same damn time…fucking shit nightmares were made of.

“What about your boy? Will he be heading to Green Bay with you or back to New York?”

Before I could respond, footsteps sounded on the stairs, and I turned, expecting to see the happy, bratty, sexy boy that had gone up the stairs a few minutes ago, coming back down. But instead of the usual bounding tread that sounded like a stampede in the Sahara coming down the stairs, the steps were sluggish with a dragging, scratchy sound. The change became even clearer when Trey stepped off the bottom step.

His face shouldn’t still be so red, nor should his eyes be that red. There also shouldn’t be tears on his cheeks still. And those were not my clothes.

“Trey?” I asked, stepping toward him.

He gasped, holding his hands up as if to ward me off. His eyes locked on the center of my chest as he swallowed and sniffled before stuttering, “I…I…I’ve gotta go. I’ll…umm…” He stopped talking. His eyes closed. Devastation was the only emotion I could come up with to describe the look on his face.

“Slone,” Ewen said, but my gaze didn’t move from Trey’s face. He continued, “I’ll talk to you about the cookout later.”

A moment later, the sliding metal door grated along its track as it opened and closed. Ewen’s key turned in the lock. But none of that mattered.

“Baby, what’s going on? What happened to my happy little brat?” I asked, hoping the little laugh I added at the end would lift his spirits enough for him to look at me.

It didn’t.

His face screwed up even more, if that was possible. He took a deep, shuddering breath. “I have to go back to New York.”

Shit. What had his fuckstick parents done now? The way they talked to Trey, both in the snippets of conversations I’d overheard and the messages I’d caught glimpses of since he’d shown up at my door, could only be characterized as emotional and psychological abuse.