Chapter Seventeen Off the Medication, Into the Fire
Chapter seventeen
Off the Medication, Into the Fire
The world was soft.
Daylight was in full swing, and the blinds were open, painting the sheets in quiet gold. But Reece had never felt less inclined to get out of bed.
Trent was curled into his chest, one leg slung over Reece’s, as Reece stroked lazy lines along his arm. The air still smelt of sweat and sex and something sweeter beneath it.
Because that’s what that had been.
Not sex. Not the rough, urgent fucking Reece had grown used to, where the end goal was release, domination, distraction. Where no one looked him in the eye long enough to see past his skin.
No. That had been different .
Reece couldn’t remember the last time he’d made love to someone.
Ian, maybe. Yeah. That had meant something.
Once. Before that? He couldn’t even name anyone.
Freddie had been the only regular in recent years, but that had always been about comfort, not connection.
They both knew it. Freddie hadn’t wanted anything deeper, and Reece hadn’t known how to offer it. Not then.
Freddie had that with Nathan now.
And Reece…
Reece had Trent .
Warm and soft against his chest, breaths syncing with his own, blond curls a mess from fingers and sweat.
Trent’s lips were swollen from too many kisses, and his skin glowed with sun and sparkles.
But even now, Reece could feel a faint tremble in Trent’s limbs.
Subtle. His body was still in the early stages of withdrawal.
He looked peaceful. But up close, the edges were fraying.
Still, Reece couldn’t stop looking at him.
Couldn’t stop wanting to.
Even the hunger curling in his stomach couldn’t pull him from this moment. The bread in the oven was probably ruined. He didn’t care. He’d cook for him later. Something fresh. Something better.
“How long are you off for?” Reece asked, dragging his nails gently down Trent’s arm.
“A week,” Trent replied. “Ordered rest.”
“Mmm.” Reece smiled. “I’d say I’m helping you there.”
Trent huffed a soft laugh.
There was a pause. Then, “What shift pattern are you on?”
Reece felt the faintest tension in Trent’s body, as if bracing for the moment when one of them had to go. When this bubble would burst.
“Three days off,” Reece said.
Reece could feel Trent smile.
“What do you usually do on your days off?”
“Bake. Cook. Watch cooking shows I’ve already seen. Bake again. Gym. Ride out to Northbridge cause the Seagull Bakery do these cinnamon buns worth the cliff route to get to. Sit on the beach and eat it. Visit Nana. Read to her.”
Trent tilted his head back, eyes sleepy but fond. “You read to her?”
Reece shrugged. “She used to read to me, back when I couldn’t sleep worrying about the monsters in the walls. Thought it was time I returned the favour.”
Trent said nothing. But he looked at him as if he was seeing more than he’d expected to. More than maybe he had expected to show.
And for once, Reece didn’t look away.
“Were you close? You and your Nana?”
“Still are, when she knows who I am.”
There was no bitterness, only that deep ache of watching someone he loved disappear piece by piece.
“I visit her every week. Sometimes she thinks I’m my dad.
My brother, mostly. Sometimes she asks where I’ve been like I’m ten minutes late coming in from school.
But she’s got this garden at the home, and I sit out there with her.
We talk about flowers. Weather. Stuff she can still grab onto.
I read her Wuthering Heights. She likes it. ”
Trent propped his chin onto Reece’s chest. “Does your brother visit her?”
Reece clenched his jaw. “He goes in when he needs to sign the papers. He pays for it.”
“You don’t get on?”
A dry laugh escaped him. “Ethan and I came out the same womb, and that’s about all we have in common. He’s a lawyer. Polished. Strategic. Never raises his voice because he’s too busy weaponising his silence.”
Trent’s brow furrowed. “When you said people leave you, did you mean him? ”
“Not only him. And Ethan didn’t leave me exactly. He… detached himself. Didn’t look back. He’s loyal when it benefits him. When it doesn’t, he ghosts the room like he was never there.”
“But you still look out for him?”
“Doesn’t matter how many times he burns me. Some part of me still remembers him as a kid. Shaking behind me when Dad was on a tear. I stood in front of him back then. Hard habit to break.”
“Is that why your Nana took care of you? Because of your dad?” Trent was soft, tentative, as if realising that while he’d laid bare his own pain, Reece might carry something as heavy.
He did. But that was a different story. A slower bruise.
“Yeah.” Reece stroked a hand through Trent’s hair, smoothing it back, the grounding motion giving him the push to go on.
“Mum bailed when we were five. She had… let’s say she had her own demons.
Pills. Drink. Men that weren’t my dad. But honestly?
” He paused, jaw tensing. “I don’t blame her for leaving.
My dad…he wasn’t just cruel to her. He was cruel, full stop.
If I’d had a way out at that age, I would’ve taken it too. ”
Trent wriggled closer, pressing their bodies tighter, looping his arm around Reece’s waist to hold him steady through it.
Reece let him. Needed it more than he’d realised.
But he couldn’t deny the way Trent’s fingers dug into him.
Not just firm, but clinging . As if he needed the touch to stay grounded himself.
As if stillness came only when he had something solid to hold.
“Nana is his mum,” he said. “And somehow, she was the only one who could keep him in check. Not always. Not enough. But she tried. God, she tried. For a tiny woman, she had more fight in her than most people I’ve met on the job.
” He swallowed thickly. “She took us in when Mum left. Cooked meals we didn’t ask for.
Put plasters on bruises we never talked about.
My dad would still show up. Drunk, angry, looking to scare us or steal what he could.
And Nana, bless her, she’d stand between him and us like she was ten feet tall. ”
A pause. Then softer:
“Didn’t always work. Sometimes… he got around her. Mostly to Ethan. Sometimes to me.”
Trent’s fingers dug into his side. Protective. Quietly fierce. It was sweet. Nice. Comforting rather than patronising.
“What happened to your dad? Where is he now?”
“HMP Chelmsford.”
Reece didn’t say more. He didn’t need to.
Because in that silence, there was understanding.
Not the same scars. But scars, nonetheless.
Trent was quiet for a moment. Then, “You ever wonder if people see you that way? Strong, solid, that lion tattoo… you can be a bit terrifying.”
Reece glanced at him. “Terrifying?”
Trent smiled faintly. “Only when you’re holding a Halligan bar. Or about to come inside me.”
Reece chuckled. Then fell serious. “Maybe people see me that way. Intimidating. It’s not on purpose.
I just… don’t want people to look at me and see weakness.
Not after the way he used to look at us.
And Ethan—” He shook his head. “He felt the same. Only he learned to harden himself in other ways. Silence, sharp suits, control. We both built armour. Just didn’t match the blueprint. ”
Trent went quiet. The questions stopped. He’d reached the edge of what he needed to know for now, or maybe he didn’t want to break the moment.
So Reece dipped his head and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. “How about that breakfast I promised you? ”
Trent curled his lips into a warm, lazy smile. “Well… I do need to see if your homemade bread lives up to the hype.”
Reece chuckled, then leant in and kissed him, making Trent chase him when he pulled away.
“Then find some clothes. Because I’m about to make you salivate in a whole new way.”
Trent groaned, flopping back on the bed with a grin that was all mischief and afterglow. “God help me.”
Reece slipped out of Trent’s hold, tugging on a pair of boxers as he went. He threw a wink over his shoulder, the picture of smug satisfaction, and padded downstairs barefoot to set the next batch of sourdough into the oven.
By the time Trent wandered in, now back in his jeans and a T-shirt, Reece was wrist-deep in flour and dough, muscles flexing with each turn and fold. Trent stepped in behind him and wrapped his arms around Reece’s waist, resting his cheek against the broad expanse of his back.
God , it was nice. So fucking nice .
“Thank you,” Trent whispered, lips warming his skin.
Reece paused, glancing back. “You haven’t tasted it yet.”
“I don’t mean the breakfast.”
Reece’s chest pulled tight. He nodded once, not trusting his voice, then jerked his chin towards the table. “Go sit. Let me feed you properly.”
Trent backed away, watching him the whole time as he sat.
But Reece caught how he gripped the chair, as if a fresh wave of nausea cast through him.
It wasn’t hunger. Although his blood sugar and his brain probably hadn’t had a proper chat in days.
Months. Fuck, years. Six fucking years Trent had been on and off that stuff. No wonder he was reeling from it now .
So Reece got to work. Kneading and shaping.
Toasted sourdough filling the kitchen. He poached eggs, mashed avocado with lemon and chilli flakes, cracked black pepper like a chef who actually gave a shit.
Then, plating it with care, he carried the dish over and set it down in front of Trent with a quiet pride.
“Bon appétit.”
Trent picked up his fork and took a bite. “Okay,” he said around the mouthful. “You might be worth keeping.”
Reece snorted. “Might?”
“Gotta keep you humble.”
“Too late for that.” Reece walked over, swiping a crumb off Trent’s cheek, letting his fingers linger a second too long. “I already know exactly what I’m good at. And between me and that meal, that’s worth you sticking around here a little longer, eh?”
Trent grinned up at him.
* * * *
Trent did stay a little longer.