Trent got in Mike’s face, which was a mistake, because he was immediately grabbed and yanked into a headlock. “I didn’t break off anything. She put me out,” Trent struggled to say.
“Why?” Mike grilled, controlling Trent with his big bicep.
“That’s none of your damn business,” Trent snarled. “Why do you have to act like a big kid all the time? Let me go!”
The more Trent tried to get out of the hold, the more Mike laughed. “That’s a big muscle in that arm, Trent. Don’t try to fight,” Mike teased as Trent used both hands in attempt to pry Mike’s off.
The front door opened, catching him off guard, and Bishop walked in with a laughing Edison behind him. “I can’t believe Bishop really did that.”
“Edison, your boyfriend did a lot of crazy stuff to entertain me sometimes,” a deep voice rumbled on the other side of the door.
Trent stumbled when Mike released him, and he had to lean against the table to catch his breath. He was still glaring and holding his throat when he got his first look at Wood. And that’s all he knew of the man too—Wood. Was that the guy’s first name? Middle name? A pet name, what? As tall as he was, maybe he was nicknamed after a Redwood. The man looming just inside the door was maybe a couple of inches shorter than Bishop’s six three with a kind of veiny, muscular physique that a man could only get from years of doing time.
Even though Wood was an imposing figure, that wasn’t what had Trent stunned stupid. It was Wood’s age or assumed age. If all the silver mixed in with the sprinkles of black hair was any indicator, the man had to be in his late sixties, Trent exaggerated. Bishop could’ve at least told him he’d be living with an old guy. His friend had refused to tell him even the most minute details, insisting he wanted him to get to know Wood for himself.
Well, shit. Trent thought Bishop was introducing him to someone he could go shoot pool with, go to the club, or catch an action flick at the cinema. But Wood didn’t look like a man who was into any of that. What could the two of them possibly have in common? Trent didn’t have an AARP membership to gripe about. They couldn’t exactly sit around and dish about the good ole days before Google, or where the fuck Chia Pets went. Trent wasn’t sure he was even born when Wood was growing up. Bishop should know that being ex-cons didn’t make anyone automatic friends.
“Wood, come on in. You can hang your coat on the hook right there next to Trent’s.” Bishop tossed his coat on the back of one of the dining chairs and led Trent’s new roommate toward where he and Mike stood leaning against the counter. “This is my dad, Mike. You spoke to him already.”
Wood’s gaze ricocheted back and forth as if he was surprised by the startling resemblances between Bishop and his father. “I think I could’ve figured out which one was your old man, Bishop.”
“Speaking of old men,” Trent murmured.
Wood cut his eyes over to him, and Trent thought he saw a slight quirk of his lips before he turned away. If Bishop or Mike heard his quip, neither bothered to acknowledge him and kept talking.
Mike shook Wood’s hand. “Man. You sounded younger on the phone. I feel like I should call you Mr. Wood.”
Wood laughed a deep, boisterous sound that made Trent’s eyes widen. “Don’t you dare call me that.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, how old are you, man? Bishop says you pulled seventeen years inside,” Mike said.
“I did. I went in in my late twenties. I’m forty-six.”
“No shit! You’re a year younger than me. You look older,” Mike said bluntly.
“Mike, geez. That was… frank,” Edison said as he slipped on an apron he kept on the inside of the pantry door. “No reason to flatter him so soon.”
“It’s all good.” Wood chuckled again. “I’m not that sensitive, Edison, especially about my looks. Prison has a way of aging a man. I guess the lack of sunscreen and moisturizer has its effects after a while.”
Mike and Bishop laughed as if the ice was broken and the tension was gone. But not for Trent. He had somehow worked himself into a tight wad of tension as he took in every inch of his new roomie. And there was plenty for him to see.
“And this is Trent, Wood. Y’all are gonna be sharing this place for a while. Or like you said, until you get on your feet.” Bishop gripped Trent hard on his shoulder, his dark eyes boring into his. “I didn’t tell him much about you, so if he seems a little surprised or caught—”
“He is standing right here, Bishop,” Trent bit out.
Mike rolled his eyes and got his third cold beer out of Trent’s six-pack. “Great. Here we go. As we continue with another dramatic episode of As Trent’s World Turns.”
“Fuck you, Mike. And stop drinking all my damn beer!”
“Be careful, Wood. Trent’s got some issues,” Mike continued, completely ignoring him. “Not all bad. Only a couple of them require a doctor with a dark office and a chaise lounge.”
“Still. Standing. Here.” Trent didn’t need anyone making him sound like an unapproachable dick. Sure, he’d been shocked by Wood’s arrival, but he didn’t want any new friends, especially of the senior variety.
“I’ve heard a lot about you. Lucky for you I don’t believe everything Bishop tells me,” Wood said instead of hello, nice to meet you.
Trent noticed Wood had his thick palm outstretched for him to shake, so he gripped it firmly and gave it an extra squeeze before he finally let go. Wood’s lips held a slight tilt, and he didn’t stop staring at him when he pulled his hand back and flexed his fingers.
Wood narrowed his dark eyes and smiled slyly at him, and Trent suddenly felt as if the oxygen had been sucked out of his lungs. “Bishop, I think Trent and I are going to get along just fine.”
And so it began.
Chapter Four
Wood
Well, well, well. What do I have here? Wood sat across from Trent at the small dining table while Mike went over some important particulars in his one-page lease. Wood knew he should be paying attention, but he liked the way he kept catching Trent trying to steal a glance in his direction. Of all the stories he’d heard of the hot-tempered, quick-to-whup-a-man’s-ass Trent, he didn’t picture him with thick, peach lips or piercing, warm brown eyes that he kept shielded by a slight frown.
He was fascinating.
Wood kinda wished Bishop would’ve told his family a little more about him instead of leaving them guessing… and eventually surprised. That meant they also didn’t know why the government thought he deserved to lose seventeen years of his life. Great.
“Wood, your room is already furnished. That’s your own space. The living room and kitchen you’ll both share. However you want to split the groceries is between you two. The second bathroom has some pipe problems, so you guys will have to share the bathroom in the hall until I can get it fixed. You’ll divide the utilities half and half, and the rent is due on the first of the month, it’s late on the tenth. Don’t make me hunt your asses down for my money either.” Mike spun the paper in Wood’s direction and pointed for him to sign under Trent’s name. “Everything seem copacetic?”