If Blaze had blabbed about the almost-rape aspect of the attack, it wouldn’t have mattered that in less than twenty-four hours he’d be leaving prison for a summer spent digging post holes for future rich visitors. He wouldn’t have made it till then.
“There was no point,” he said, horrified when his voice wobbled on each and every word.
“No point,” said Gabe with a sigh, and maybe Blaze imagined it, but Gabe’s shoulders sagged as though he was attempting to take the weight of Blaze’s problems on his own shoulders. And sure, Gabe had broad shoulders, but that didn’t mean he deserved to get stuck with everything Blaze had been dragging behind him since he left prison, and even before that.
“Doesn’t matter,” he said, but his voice was still shaking, his teeth clicking together, feeling that if Gabe let go of his hand, he would have grabbed onto it all the harder.
“It does matter.” Gabe seemed quite sure about this and when he finally did let go of Blaze’s hand, his arm went around Blaze’s shoulder for a good warm squeeze before he finally dropped his arm. “Come back with me to my tent, then. I’ve got a second cot, and if you don’t mind that I snore—”
Blaze heard himself gasp, gratitude lacing his breath, the pounding in his heart settling below a hard pound to something less defined, and nodded as Gabe pointed the flashlight through the trees to where, now, Blaze could easily see the clump of trees, inside of which was his tent. Which had been right there all along.
“Let’s grab some things for you, okay?”
Again, Blaze nodded and followed Gabe, going in when Gabe went with him. He grabbed his sleep sweats, a t-shirt, his little toiletry bag, knowing that he was about to run out of his little tube of prison-issued toothpaste, which he’d been using instead of the name brand toothpaste the valley had given him, saving it for best, saving it for later, saving it—
“C’mon,” said Gabe, his voice softer now as he waited until Blaze had left the tent, then zipped it shut. “That’ll keep out the bugs.”
Then he led the way along the path between the clumps of trees to the bank of tents that would one day be occupied by the valley’s more permanent summer staff, but which currently only housed Gabe.
“This is me.”
Gabe unzipped the screen on his tent, then clicked off the flashlight as he turned on the overhead light. The tent was much like tent #4, though it had a power strip with a laptop plugged in and a charger for Gabe’s cellphone. It felt a little bigger than Blaze’s tent, better equipped, with a more luxurious feel to it.
“You’re living large,” said Blaze, trying for normal as he followed Gabe into his tent.
“It might be a bit much,” said Gabe. “But while future guests come here for what I call adult summer camp and want to stay comfortable, while roughing it, future staff won’t be expected to.” Gabe tucked his flashlight on the second shelf on the shelf between the beds, then made quote marks in the air. “With yoga, arts and crafts, archery, birdwatching, canoeing, fly-fishing, a little bit of nature walking, even horse rides, the whole thing reeks of summer camp for grownups.”
He turned, and Blaze was sorry that he’d not made it more than a foot inside to show how relaxed he was, how easy it was for him to adjust to sleeping in Gabe’s tent.
All of his wishes and desires werenotabout to come true, but tell his heart that, the warmth rising in his belly, overcoming with some tenacious power his earlier anxiety. There was such a mix running through him that he just about wanted to barf.
“You can have this cot.” Gabe bent to move some books from the cot to the shelf, and a small pile of folded laundry that looked like underwear and socks. When Gabe straightened up, his arms full of that laundry, all Blaze could do was blink.
“The light’s a little bright in here sometimes,” Gabe said. “I’ll light the lantern.”
Blaze had no idea what he meant, but he went to sit down on the now empty cot, feeling the luxurious thickness beneath his thighs, even though it was probably the same kind of cot and setup as Blaze had in his own tent.
He watched Gabe pull down a green lantern-looking thing from an overhead hook in a beam across the highest point of the ceiling. Then Gabe turned a knob, pumped a lever a bunch of times, then stuck the end of a red stick lighter into one of the slots near the bottom.
When a small yellow and orange flame exploded inside the glass, Blaze almost jumped out of his skin, but Gabe quickly turned one of the knobs, and the flame turned into a soft yellow glow, accompanied by a gentle and continuous low hiss. Gabe hung the lantern from the hook again and looked down at where Blaze was looking up at him.
“I like the way it smells,” he said, as if Blaze had asked him to explain himself. “I like the sound as background while I’m reading.”
Blaze looked at the lantern, which saidColemanon the side in red letters, thinking that he’d just uncovered another layer of Gabe-ness, though there was obviously more beneath that.
He wasn’t like anybody Blaze had ever met. Back at the carnival, most everyone Blaze knew was nice on the surface, and conniving below the surface, always on the lookout to screw the other guy over. Two layers, max.
Gabe had so many, all of them kind and decent, all Blaze wanted to do was dive into them.
“Now let me tend to those scratches,” said Gabe. He pulled out a little plastic box, snapped it open, and laid it on the bed beside Blaze. Of course, Gabe would have a mini first aid kit in his own tent. Ofcourse.
“I’m all right,” said Blaze, but he did not pull back when Gabe touched his fingers to Blaze’s chin, and dabbed at his cheek with a square of alcohol soaked gauze, patted his temple with it, along with other various spots that he examined with narrowed eyes.
The alcohol stung, but Gabe’s fingers were gentle, his manner unhurried, as if it bothered him not one whit that his bedtime ritual had been disturbed by finding in the forest a guy who was too stupid to bring his flashlight with him.
“Did you take a shower?” Blaze asked, unable to stop himself, because the little cotton robe Gabe was wearing had opened to reveal a loose white cotton tank top and a pair of enormous blue boxers that seemed to go halfway down Gabe’s thighs, almost to his knees. Short pajama bottoms, then.
“Yeah, I like to last thing at night.” Straightening up, Gabe threw the used gauze in a little plastic trash can at the end of the bed, then he returned the plastic box beneath the bed. Everything with a place, everything in its place. Except for Blaze.
