“All right,” he said. “I’ll leave you be, but I’m here if you need to talk. And don’t forget, we’re doing a bonfire and having s’mores at sunset.”
Saying that last bit felt incredibly and foolishly optimistic. As if a bonfire could fix anything. As if s’mores could repair the crumpled heap that Blaze’s family’s betrayal had left him in.
Blaze’s reaction to his family’s betrayal, his lashing out at Gabe, hit Gabe more than Kurt’sFuck youever had. Gabe wasn’t pleased at how it had gone with Kurt, but it was easy to see that this wasn’t the right situation for Kurt. But it was for Blaze, surely it was.
The program had only been underway for a few days and already Blaze was stripping away layers of himself for all to see. Or maybe just for Gabe to see, as Blaze didn’t seem to talk like this when there were others around.
Or maybe Gabe was making things up in his own mind, being overwhelmed by the events of the day.
What if he’d not been watching Kurt at exactly that moment? What if he’d not been quick enough on his feet to slam into Blaze and send them both to the ground, out of harm’s way? Blaze could have been severely wounded, or even killed, and that blood would have been on Gabe’s hands.
And he did have blood on his hands, for as he looked down, opening and closing his fingers into a fist, he could see that he had Blaze’s blood on him, now dried, darkened to brown-red, flaking in spots.
He needed to wash up, and he needed to get his head on straight and stop intentionally pulling Blaze into private conversations. But how was he supposed to do that when Blaze trusted him enough to nearly come apart? He didn’t want Blaze coming to him like that. He wanted—
He shouldn’t be wanting any closeness with Blaze at all. That would be a huge mistake, given his authority over Blaze. And the last thing he would want to put Blaze through.
He straightened his shoulders and started for the facilities. There he would wash up, and look at himself in the mirror, and give himself a good talking to. Being anything other than the most straight-laced team lead he could possibly be would only lead to disaster.
Chapter11
Blaze
Blaze absorbed the sudden silence that Gabe’s departure left behind. The warmth of the sun on the canvas of the tent was going away, slowly, like a long goodbye, leaving Blaze shivering. The sunshine slicing into the tent felt like a glare, one he wanted to hide from.
Scrubbing at his eyes, he wondered how the hell,whythe hell, he’d told Gabe all of what he had.
Nearly every prison guard Blaze had ever encountered had lain in wait for an opportunity to learn something they could use as a weapon. That Blaze missed his family and didn’t think he’d ever get them back would have been a terrific addition to their arsenal. Like a fool, Blaze had handed this information to Gabe. The. Boss.
He heard voices among the trees, Tom coming this way, maybe, or Wayne walking aimlessly through the woods, chewing on his nails.
He grabbed his shower kit, the newly folded pair of towels he saw on his bed, a washcloth. A clean shirt. One of the red bandanas. Then he grabbed two tokens because, damn it, he was going to shower for a whole hour and fuck anyone who complained.
He marched through the woods to the facilities, picked a stall, stripped off his clothes, throwing them anyoldhow, and turned on the shower as hot as he could stand it. Then he stood under the stream, just stood there, and pretended he was standing in a rainstorm, wiping at his eyes even as water streamed over his face.
There was nobody guarding him. He could turn off the water, dry off, get dressed, and justgo. Except he had nowhere to go and no one waiting for him there.
There was no pretending his family gave a shit about him, let alone that they would visit. He was as alone as he’d ever been.
Not to mention, the parole program was turning into a shitstorm, and he doubted he would make it even one more day. Not with Gabe hassling him like he had.
Voices came closer, brought by the cool wind that whispered through the trees. Tom and Wayne came into the shower area, snickering over some joke between them.
“That you, man?” asked Tom’s voice.
“Yeah,” said Blaze, clearing the choke in his voice as best he could.
“How many tokens have you burned through?” asked Wayne.
“I’m using two,” said Blaze in hard tones, like he didn’t give a damn. “Two fucking tokens.”
There were murmurs of approval that vanished beneath two other showers being turned on.
They would all shower, dry off, dress, and go help build a bonfire. Then, like a troop of Boy Scouts, they would make s’mores. Like they were anyone other than the criminals they were. Like they were at summer camp with a bit of work thrown in.
It was all fake, wasn’t it. Even his feelings for Gabe, stray thoughts at all the wrong times, were fake. Surely Gabe’s, in return, if there were any, were fake, too.
Just like Tom had said,I can’t with this guy,in his attempt to express how very strange living like this was in contrast to being in prison, Blaze alsocould not with this guy. Gabe could not be as nice as he seemed to be. Could not be as steady and predictable and non-violent as he’d been. No way. No way. No way.
