“I was worried about you,” Trevor admitted.
Chase tensed, and his head snapped up, eyes narrowed. “You were?”
“Um, yeah.” Why did he feel like he was about to be dragged over the rack for that?
“And you’re sorry.”
“Yes.” He really wished Chase would stop glaring at him.
“What are you sorry for?”
That glare seemed to be telling Trevor something, but Trevor had no idea what. He gulped, then managed, “For trying to fi—” Recalling what Jorge had said, he rephrased it: “For trying to desensitize you to touches.”
God, that sounded so awkward, and judging by the curl of Chase’s lip, it wasn’t the right thing anyway.
“I’m sorry for trying to fix you!” Trevor blurted.
The curl didn’t straighten. Or if it did, it was only to become a sharpened barb. “Get out.”
“But I—”
“Get. Out.”