He was there, sitting in the car when Simon was getting attacked.

He’d walked away, gotten lost, while Simon went to the hospital, while they told Simon how badly his hand had been damaged.

That he couldn’t operate again.

Simon saved lives.

Trevor fucked them up.

And he’d been a part of what had taken that away from Simon.

This whole time he thought as long as he kept on track, as long as he worked toward being a better man, everything would be okay. But it wouldn’t. Maybe he didn’t deserve for it to be okay, either. Maybe he’d gone too far, done too much, and it was only a matter of time until he hurt someone again.

He’d hurt more people than he’d ever realized.

Trevor jumped into his truck and drove away.

***

Simon didn’t move from his bed. He couldn’t. Their conversation replayed through his mind. Trevor’s admission, when he realized what was going on, the fear and shame in Trevor’s voice... The truth, the part he struggled to swallow, kept repeating in his head. Trevor was there, Trevor was there, Trevor was there.

He’d been drunk and high in front of Simon’s house while he watched his friend, the man he’d recently fucked, walk into Simon’s house.

And Trevor had left... disappeared, while the man had taken away the only thing Simon had ever loved.

But no...that wasn’t true, either. He’d loved his dad. He loved Heather. He loved Trevor.

But he didn’t know if he could forgive him. Simon shoved out of bed, but didn’t make it far. He slid to the ground, back against the bed, staring at his hand. The hand that he would probably never be able to use in surgery again.

No, right or wrong, he didn’t know if he could ever forgive Trevor for that.

But he did love him. And he didn’t want Trevor hurt. The thought of Trevor in pain rocked through him, a heavy anchor in his gut, weighing him down.

Simon’s hand shook as he grabbed his cell. Dialed. The phone rang before going to Trevor’s voicemail.

He hung up, and called again. And again. No answer. The anchor got heavier, the worry thicker with each call. The third time the voicemail picked up, he finally spoke. “Don’t...don’t do anything you’ll regret. Just...” Just what? Come back? Simon couldn’t ask him to come back. Not now, and maybe not ever, but he couldn’t handle thinking Trevor might risk everything he’d accomplished. The new life that meant so much to him. Trevor couldn’t relapse. Not after all this time. “Please, don’t do it. I really need you to be okay. Do you hear me, Trev? I need you to be okay. Your family needs you. Don’t do anything.”

Regardless of it all, Simon needed Trevor to be okay.

“Please,” he added again, and then he hung up the phone, before dialing again.

Blake answered on the second ring, “Rock Solid, this is Blake.”

“It’s Simon. I—”

“What’s wrong? Where’s Trev?”

He knew. That quickly, he knew. Simon closed his eyes at the pain in Blake’s voice. He felt the same ache inside himself. Knowing what happened would kill Trevor.  Simon knew that. “He left. I’m worried about him. We have to find him.”

“I’ll be right there,” Blake said and hung up the phone.

Simon got dressed and went outside. He was pacing the porch when Blake pulled up five minutes later.

“What happened?” Blake slammed the door of his truck, and the pain in Simon’s chest intensified. It felt like a betrayal in a way—both calling Blake and not believing in Trevor. But then, he’d rather be cautious, rather worry about Trevor than risk not doing what the man needed. Regardless, he would need his family.

“I don’t think he’ll use. I...he’s been doing so well. He wants to be sober. I see it in him every day, the determination. He wants this. He could have taken my pain pills and he didn’t.”

“You left them where he could get to them?” Blake bellowed. A vein pulsed in his forehead. He wanted to hit Simon. The way his hands fisted proved that.

“Yes. I fucked up. But Trevor didn’t. He didn’t take them. Can we not waste time with this shit? I need to know where he would go. If he’s upset, or hurt, or angry, where would he go?” He didn’t know. Simon should know that. Those were the kinds of things you found out about someone you loved. Why didn’t Simon try to find out more about him?

Blake’s eyes darkened. They were so close to the same color as Trevor’s, they looked almost identical, but they were different, too. His weren’t lighter close to the pupil, like Trevor’s. They didn’t make Simon feel the way that Trevor’s did.