8. Trevor
Chapter 8
Trevor
T he front door slams shut behind me, my body thrums with the intensity of pent-up hormones as I try to contain the raw hunger and desire coursing through my veins. The scent of Brooke still lingers on my shirt from our brief encounter earlier. Damn it, why do I have to be such a damn Boy Scout? My hand rubs my cock through my jeans, teasing myself with the possibility of release.
"Get it together, man," I mutter to myself under my breath, stripping off my clothes as I make my way towards the shower. The icy water pelts against my skin but does little to extinguish the inferno raging inside me. Images of Brooke flood my mind - her emerald, green eyes, those plump lips. The fantasy consumes me.
With a deep, guttural groan, I surrender all control and grasp my cock, pretending it is her touch igniting every inch of my being. "Fuck, Brooke," I mutter breathlessly, stroking faster as the fantasy consumes me. The thought of her silky red hair brushing against my skin as she presses her curves against mine is almost too much to bear. But despite the intense pleasure coursing through me, there is still an underlying sense of dissatisfaction. It's not enough, though. I want her here with me in this moment. I crave the real thing - her touch, her scent, her presence. My hand continues its frantic movements as I yearn for her to be here with me now. Finally, I explode all over the shower wall but as satisfying as my climax may be, it ultimately leaves me unsatisfied. I want the real thing. I want her.
Exhausted and worn out from a grueling shift today, I finally trudge my way into my condo. Dropping my bag by the door, I kick off my shoes and collapse onto the couch. The events of the day swirl in my mind: the chaotic trauma cases, the too-close calls, and the constant, suffocating presence of Vivian hovering at every corner. I close my eyes, willing the memories away, but my phone buzzes, pulling me back.
Brooke: Hi there. It’s Brooke. Did you make it home yet?
Me: Yes. I just walked in. How was your day?
Brooke: Probably not as crazy as yours although I did have a bit of a vomit session happen in the middle of the library. Apparently, once one kid throws up, they all start throwing up. Kind of like dominoes.
Me: LOL - I totally get that. I was a sympathetic vomiter when I was a kid, but you get over that pretty quickly in medical school.
Brooke: I bet you do! LOL
Me: Hey, I’m sorry about canceling our coffee date for this afternoon.
Brooke: Don't worry about it. I just hope everything's okay at the hospital.
I smile faintly, her understanding warming something in me that has felt frozen for far too long. Quickly, I type back.
Me: Everything’s okay. It was a horrific car accident, but everyone survived, thankfully. It was touch and go for a while, though.
Glancing at the clock, I realize it’s after ten. Why is she still awake? Doesn’t she have to be at school early tomorrow?
Her reply comes quickly.
Brooke: I’m glad to hear that. Don’t worry about our date, get some rest and we’ll have coffee another time. Good night, Trevor.
Me: Good night, Brooke.
I stare at her name on my screen, a small smile tugging at my lips. Her response is a stark contrast to what Vivian’s would have been—demanding, accusatory, impatient. Brooke’s empathy and kindness are like a balm to my frayed nerves. They are as different as night and day.
I smile despite my exhaustion. Her understanding warms something inside me that's been cold for far too long. When I got to the hospital and realized that I would need to cancel our coffee date for this afternoon, my fear was that she would be mad or upset, but that was just my gut’s practiced reaction from my time with Vivian. She wouldn’t have been as understanding as Brooke was.
Shrugging off my jacket, I grab my saxophone case. The brass is cool and familiar in my hands as I begin to play, a slow, soulful melody rising in the quiet room. I close my eyes, picturing Brooke curled up in one of those cozy library armchairs, listening to my curated music. Would she like my music? Would those expressive green eyes light up? A sudden thought makes me pause mid-note
Oh god. What if she hates jazz music? I’m not sure we could move on if she did.
The absurdity of the idea makes me chuckle, and I pick up the tempo, letting the music reflect my amusement. But the upbeat notes soon give way to a more reflective tune, mirroring the exhaustion and tension I can’t quite shake. The weight of the day presses on me—the constant life-or-death stakes, the lingering presence of Vivian, and the frustration of knowing she’s making a point of inserting herself into my professional space.
Today had been a close call - too close. I hate too close calls. They rattle me to the core thinking that I’m the only person in the room that can decide if this person lives or dies. Their life literally depends on me knowing what the fuck I’m doing and some days…I can’t believe the miracles I’m able to pull out of my ass. There is definitely a higher power that helps me.
Definitely.
Vivian's persistent presence in the emergency room and operating room today only added to the chaos. It was just like we were back in our dating days, when she would constantly keep track of my whereabouts, activities, and company. Except we’re not dating anymore.
Every time I turned around, she was standing there watching me...hovering. Even though we’ve been broken up for two years, she seems unable to let go of her controlling habits, and I’m wondering how we can possibly work together if she’s going to continue like this. I can’t help but feel suffocated by her overbearing behavior. I’m longing for a sense of space and autonomy from her that seems out of reach right now.
"Focus on the music," I tell myself recalling what my music mentor would repeat when he’d noticed I was getting into my head and not into my music. I start pouring my frustration and longing into each note, and it helps not only my playing, but my music creativity, too.
Thinking about Brooke helps a lot, as well. As the melody winds down, I realize I'm smiling. For the first time in ages, I feel a spark of hope.
A sharp knock at the door cuts through the final notes of my song. I lower the sax, my brow furrowed. Who the hell can that be at this hour? Setting down the saxophone, I stride to the door, half expecting to find Vivian on the other side. I don’t think she knows exactly where I live, I wouldn’t put it past her to dig up my home address and show up unannounced and uninvited.
Instead, it’s Parker Trevino, a familiar grin on his face as he holds up a six-pack of craft beer. “Figured you might need this after the day I’ve heard you had today.”
I chuckle, stepping aside to let him in. “You have no idea. Come on in.”
We settle on the couch, cracking open the beers. The first sip is a welcome relief, cutting through the tension in my chest. Parker nods toward the saxophone resting on its stand. “ Sounded good from the hallway. That something new you’re working on?”
“Yeah,” I admit, rolling the bottle between my palms. “Still a work in progress.”
“Well, it sounds great so far,” he says, taking another swig. “So, rough day at the hospital?”
I let out a long sigh. “Rough is an understatement. That kid... I really thought we were going to lose him.”
“But you didn’t,” Parker says, his tone firm. “You pulled him through. That’s what matters.”
I nod, but the weight doesn’t entirely lift. Silence stretches between us until Parker speaks again, his tone curious. “You’ve been different lately. In a good way. What’s going on?”
I hesitate, but the beer loosens my tongue. “I’ve met someone.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “Really? Tell me about her, and tell me she has some single friends?”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Her name’s Brooke. She’s a librarian, and she’s... incredible. Smart, funny, kind. We’ve only met a couple of times, but there’s something about her.” I grin. “She stole my dinner the other night at Hooplas. That’s how we met.”
Parker bursts out laughing. “She stole your dinner? And you didn’t have her arrested? She must be something special.”
“She is,” I admit, my smile fading slightly. “But it’s complicated.”
“Complicated how?” he presses, his tone more serious.
I hesitate again, then say, “Well, Vivian’s back.”
Parker’s grin vanishes. “Vivian? As in your ex-Vivian? The one who?—”
“Yep,” I cut him off, already anticipating the questions. “She’s working at the hospital as a traveling nurse.”
“Damn,” Parker mutters, leaning back against the couch. “That’s... not ideal. ”
“No kidding,” I reply, taking a long drink of my beer. “She’s already stirring up trouble, and I’m trying to figure out how to deal with it.”
Parker studies me for a moment, then says, “Look, man, you can’t let her mess with your head. If this Brooke girl is as great as you say, you owe it to yourself to see where it goes. Don’t let your past ruin your future.”
His words hit harder than I expect, and I nod slowly. “You’re right. I just... it’s been a while since I let myself think about something outside of work. Or someone.”
“Then it’s time to change that,” he says, clinking his bottle against mine. “Life’s too short, man. Take the chance.”
As Parker leaves, his words echo in my mind. I pick up my saxophone again, the melody shifting to something lighter, filled with hope. For the first time in a long while, I feel ready to take a step forward, and with Brooke in the picture, the future suddenly feels a lot brighter.
With each note, I make my decision. Brooke's face dances in my mind, and I know Parker's right. It's time to see where this thing goes, to let myself try again. The music swells, and for the first time in years, I feel truly alive.