Chapter Thirteen Fire and Gasoline
chapter thirteen
Fire and Gasoline
Reece woke early, his mind refusing to let him have the peace his body so desperately needed.
Part habit. Part self-preservation.
And maybe because he wasn’t in his own bed.
Not that waking up in someone else’s bed was foreign to him. He’d done it more times than he cared to admit. But it had been a long damn time since strange sheets had felt this good. Since they’d felt like safety instead of regret.
Beside him, Trent slept on, his breath fluttering over Reece’s collarbone where his head had settled in the night. His curls were a chaotic halo over Reece’s skin, his face finally free of tension, peaceful in a way that nearly undid him.
And God… he was beautiful.
Breathtaking, really.
Skin like golden sand, warm and soft under Reece’s fingers. Hair catching the faint morning light like a thousand threads of sunlight. And his body… lean, sculpted perfection. Strength and vulnerability perfectly balanced in a frame made to fit against Reece’s.
And fuck… he could’ve stayed like this forever.
He’d told himself he’d never felt this way before, but that wasn’t even the truth. He knew it. He’d had relationships. Had shared beds and mornings and lazy cups of coffee. Every person had brought something different, unlocked some new version of himself.
But this?
This was something else entirely.
With Trent, it wasn’t just hunger. Nor the desperate urge to drown in the heat and drag him under, too. It was this . The unbearable, all-consuming need to stay . To hold him through the worst of it. To be the one he reached for in the dark. Not to fuck the pain away, but to share it.
And somehow, that was the most terrifying thing of all.
Because Trent had made it painfully clear that whatever this was, it wasn’t a relationship. It was nothing more than a coping mechanism. Trent found something in Reece that helped him shut it all off, and that was all he wanted.
Reece was just a warm body.
And yet, like the fool he was, he kept showing up. Folding himself into whatever shape Trent needed for the privilege of being close.
But his heart… God, his heart was breaking from pretending that was enough. And he didn’t know how much longer he could keep lying to himself .
So he stayed there as long as he could, holding Trent close, stroking idle patterns along his spine.
Not to soothe or coax. But because he couldn’t not touch him.
Eventually, though, the familiar tug of his bladder broke through the haze of tenderness, and the thought of finding a kitchen crept in alongside it.
Maybe he could make Trent a coffee. Fetch him some water.
Find a paracetamol for when he woke, his head no doubt pounding with exhaustion.
Maybe he could satiate his need that way instead?
Careful not to disturb him, Reece eased his arm free and slipped out of bed.
Trent rolled further into the warmth Reece had left behind, already lost again to sleep and Reece knew that was instinctive rather than Trent wanting to be close to him, but it still left him with a thudding heart.
But he padded quietly to the door, easing it open and peering out into the narrow hallway.
Directly opposite, the bathroom door stood ajar. Thank Christ.
He stepped inside, relieved himself, then splashed cold water over his face, gripping the edge of the sink for a moment as the chill brought him fully back into his body.
The bathroom wasn’t a mess, but it wasn’t spotless either.
Lived in. Like the rest of the place. Shelves were cluttered with aftershaves and expensive-looking shampoos with skincare bottles lined up with labels that didn’t come cheap.
Hair products too. Small travel bottles. Like the stuff given away in hotels.
Yeah… this was a bloke who cared how he looked, who knew how to feel good when he wanted to. Reece couldn’t help but wonder how often Trent actually managed that.
He dried his hands on a towel slung over the radiator, then stepped back into the hallway.
The flat was small, and its age showed. Scuffed skirting boards, faintly yellowed paintwork, the scent of damp that no amount of reed diffusers could quite cover.
As he walked bare footed over the threadbare edges of a hallway runner rug, the pattern fading beyond recognition, he glanced at a few printed photos along the walls, mostly Trent, with various friendship groups.
Then he reached the gangway kitchen tucked at the far end.
A cramped little space barely wide enough for one person to move without hitting the counters.
And right there, planted square in the middle of it, was someone else.
A bloke. Dark-skinned, with his own tight curls and a loose, easy rhythm in his movements, bopping his head to whatever was blasting through his earphones, dancing barefoot between the kettle and toaster.
Reece didn’t even have time to duck out of sight before the man turned, spotted him standing there half-naked in the doorway.
Ah. Shit.
So Trent had a flatmate. Not something Reece had stopped to consider.
Because why would he? He didn’t really know Trent, not beyond his sharp tongue and the way he fell apart in Reece’s arms. Yeah, he’d seen him out with mates before, at the Lighthouse, around town, but he’d never connected the dots.
And now he was here, standing like a bloody statue in the narrow doorway, big bulk blocking the whole entrance, wearing nothing but a tight pair of boxer briefs and a look that probably screamed caught out , he realised he probably should have.
The bloke popped out one earbud, dragging his gaze leisurely down Reece’s body and back up again with a smirk. “Hi.”
“Uh… hi.” Reece wasn’t sure whether to bolt back to Trent’s room or try salvage this with some manners, so he awkwardly stuck out a hand. “I’m… er… Reece. You must be Trent’s flatmate. ”
The man’s mouth quirked wider as he shook Reece’s hand. “Dev. We’ve met.”
Reece blinked. “We have?”
“Oh, yeah.” Dev arched a brow in a way that said he knew something Reece didn’t.
Reece’s stomach dropped. Unless…
He gestured vaguely between them. “Have we… uh…”
Dev threw his head back and laughed. “Smooth, bruv. You come swaggering out of my best mate’s bed and have the nerve to check if you’ve shagged his flatmate? Classy.”
Reece winced, rubbing the back of his neck. “No… I didn’t think we had.”
“Nah.” Dev winked as he splashed milk into a mug of instant coffee. “You’d remember me if you had.”
Reece scrubbed a hand over his face. Jesus, how had this morning gone sideways so fast?
“So, what was it then?” Dev asked, tipping the milk bottle in the vague direction of the hallway. “Got him pissed last night?”
“No. Bad shift.” The need to defend Trent struck like a reflex. “Came to see if you had any paracetamol for when he wakes up. Reckon he’ll have a headache from the adrenaline crash.”
“Third drawer down.” Dev nodded towards a row of cupboards beneath the counter. “But if you mess up his sacred first-aid drawer, he will bite your head off.”
“Noted.” Reece stepped forward to get to it, but the narrowness of the kitchen meant his shoulder brushed Dev’s as he passed. “Sorry.”
“No problem.” Dev turned, leaning back against the opposite counter, blowing gently over his coffee as he watched Reece crouch in front of the drawer.
It was pristine. Organised within an inch of its life.
Labels out, plasters sorted by size, packets lined like soldiers.
If Reece hadn’t already known Trent was a paramedic, this drawer would’ve given it away.
He plucked a box of paracetamol free, then straightened, holding it up with a small waggle.
“Thanks.”
“Anytime.” Dev kept watching him, eyes narrowed in a quiet sort of assessment, causing Reece’s skin to prickle.
He supposed he should’ve expected it. Dev probably knew all about Trent’s tangled history, the mess Reece had already added to it. And now here he was, half-naked in his flat, looking exactly like the type of arsehole who took advantage of someone not in a fit state to consent.
Dev raised his mug, hovering it near his lips. “What was it? Not checked the news yet. Another fire?”
“Uh… no.” Reece turned over the foil blister pack in his palm. “Car accident. Whole family. Two kids and the mum survived. The dad… didn’t. Trent tried CPR but…” He shook his head. “It was too late.”
Dev froze and his expression cracked wide open as he slammed his mug down with a sharp clack . “Fuck.”
“Yeah. It was bad.”
“Fuck, shit, bollocks.” Dev ran both hands through his curls, his composure unravelling in real time. “Why didn’t he call me? Is he okay? Like, actually okay?”
Reece frowned. The panic seemed outsized.
Yeah, it had been rough, but surely this wasn’t the first traumatic shift Trent had ever had.
Then again… he didn’t know. He knew little about Trent’s life at all.
Not enough to be standing barefoot in his kitchen, clutching paracetamol as if it made him part of something.
“He didn’t take it well,” Reece said. “Looked like he was about to pass out. I brought him home.”
“Shit.” Dev spun back towards the counter, grabbing another mug and tossing in what looked like half a bag of sugar before pouring the kettle. He stirred fast, the spoon clinking hard against the ceramic. “You can go.”
Reece blinked. “Sorry?”
“You can go.” Dev jutted his chin towards the exit. “You don’t need to be here for this. I’ve got him.”
Reece straightened. “With all due respect, your flat, sure, but go fuck yourself. I’m here because I care.”
Dev raised a brow. “Do you?”
“Yes. Otherwise, I’d have dumped him at the door and walked away. Now tell me what I’m missing.”
“If he hasn’t told you, maybe I shouldn’t.”
“Maybe. But I’m not moving until you do. Then if he comes out of that room and walks into this, it’s not gonna help anyone, is it?”