As to why he was doing this, only the barest realization simmered in the back of his brain, unconscious, an instinct.
The valley felt so new, so different from anywhere else he’d ever been, more like a fairy tale, a gentle wood that held sage-green tents, bits of cream-colored canvas peeking out from between the trees, like secret locations for summertime sleepovers. It couldn’t be real that he got to stay in such a place for a whole summer, and of course, within an hour of his arrival, everything had turned to shit.
From the second Kell had entered the tent, Wayne had been on the defensive, sticking out his chest, and saying mean things.You don’t belong here. This is my tent. Get out.Then he’d started pulling things from the two cardboard boxes Kell hadn’t even had a chance to look at yet, and throwing them all over the place.
When Kell had protested, trying to be cool about it, stepping up quiet and confident the way he’d imagined Bede would do, that’s when Wayne had started hitting him, as if Kell’s not very good imitation of Bede had infuriated him beyond the point of self-control. And then when Kell had tried scurrying around to get his things back in the cardboard boxes so maybe he could take them and just leave, Wayne had gotten more angry and it was so out of control in under a heartbeat that all Kell had wanted to do was hide under the bed or grab his backpack and simply start running. To wherever. To anywhere.
It hadn’t really taken that long after the shouting had started before someone had shown up to put a stop to it. And, just like in prison, where the guards would always say it was everybody’s fault and throw them all in solitary, the guy who had shown up, Marston, had looked at both Kell and Wayne with equal disdain.
This was when the seed for Kell’s instinct had been planted. Though Marston’s expression spoke volumes about his opinion of ex-cons, he didn’t start throwing his weight around, didn’t start slamming anyone against the wall.
Marston also didn’t swear. Didn’t raise his voice, not even a little. He just chilled the whole situation down by the tone of his voice, the fact that he made no bones about telling Gabe all about it, and then he made Wayne start cleaning up.
The only other person in Kell’s world to behave like that was Bede, the king of giving nothing away, the prince of chill. Marston was a big guy, but the way he stood there made it seem like he was completely unaware of how imposing he was, broad shoulders, long muscled legs beneath crisp blue jeans.
He had a tough jaw and hard cheekbones, and the most unsmiling blue-hazel eyes Kell had ever seen. Not a guy Kell would want to meet in a dead-end alley, just like Bede, if Kell hadn’t been introduced to him the way he had. In the prison yard, with Bede as his rescuer.
Marston was Kell’s rescuer, as well, though as he finished up his very short warning to Wayne, a glance in Kell’s direction told Kell that Marston considered him equally guilty of disturbing the peace and the only reason he wasn’t being hauled across the coals for it was because, perhaps, in a single glance, Marston had considered that Kell was beneath his notice. Not worth the time. Too insignificant to throw against the wall or lock up in solitary.
It was only the instinct that Marston was more like Bede than he was unlike him that gave Kell the courage to follow Marston through the woods, scrambling to keep up with that long, self-assured stride, tightening his chest to cover the fact that he was breathing too hard, both with a sense of growing panic, and the sharp-edged realization that coming to the valley was perhaps a mistake and he’d have been better off if he were still sharing a cell with Bede.
“This way,” said Marston, quite calmly, taking a left to go around the mess tent that Gabe had pointed out to Kell earlier.
Side by side stood two wooden buildings, a small square one and a longer rectangular one. Marston took Kell to the first one, painted white with a First Aid sign over the door. The interior was painted white, including the set of glass-fronted cupboards along the wall. In the middle of the room was a small metal table and a rolling stool. Beyond that was a cushioned exam bed, and a privacy curtain pulled back and fastened to the wall.
“Hop up,” said Marston.
When Kell hesitated, on the verge of protesting that he didn’t need any first aid, the bones along the side of his face gave a big throb as if demanding to be noticed. Marston gestured to the exam table like he couldn’t even imagine that Kell was going to disobey him.
So Kell hopped up or rather, slid up slowly, using his hands for leverage, wincing as his hip reminded him Wayne had given him a good, hard shove to the wooden platform, then stood over him like he was the boss of Kell’s world, punching down as he slammed his fist into Kell’s jaw.
All of this had happened so fast he’d shoved it to the side as he’d leapt to his feet to fight back, even if it was a lost cause from the very start.
“Let’s take a look,” said Marston, moving close, almost standing between Kell’s knees, but not quite. “Where’d he get you?”
Marston’s attention was focused on Kell’s face, his big hands gentle as he touched various spots, nodding when Kell winced and then he pulled away, like he’d seen enough and wouldn’t actually enjoy seeing Kell wince again.
“Here and here, too.” Marston nodded, the warmth of those fingers skating across Kell’s face one more time before Marston went to the cupboards and opened one of them.
“We don’t keep hard stuff here,” he said, pulling out a red and white bottle of Tylenol. “But we don’t lock it up either. All we ask is if you take something, write it on that clipboard by the door, so we can keep track.”
Kell blinked as Marston tipped up Kell’s palm and shook two white oblong tablets into it, then reached into the small, almost silent fridge below the white counter to bring out a bottle of water, which he handed to Kell.
“Take those,” he said. “Then I’m going to clean this up. It looks like only a small scratch, but better safe than sorry.”
Kell did as he was told, his dry throat more grateful for the ice cold water than he could even give voice to. Then he sat perfectly silent, the plastic water bottle balanced on his thigh as Marston tore open a pre-moistened disinfectant swab and, unsmiling, pressed it gently to places on Kell’s face that stung for a second, and then seemed extra sensitive to the cool air of the first aid hut.
“You want some ice for that jaw?” asked Marston, not looking at Kell as he threw away the swab and the wrapper. He moved back from Kell, his glance flicking over him, coming up wanting. “I’m going to get you some ice. Wait here.”
Kell could have disobeyed, could have gone back to his tent to change for dinner as Gabe had suggested, could have done any number of things.
But now that the fight with Wayne was over, at least for now, his whole body sagged, the Tylenol making the edges of him feel a little soft, the pounding of his jaw a little more faraway, in the distance, like an annoyance that could be ignored.
And it didn’t hurt to do as he was told, because it was good to sit still and not worry for a minute, taking sips of perfectly ice-cold water, and looking at the green of the woods through the open doorway.
Marston had left the door open, probably because he knew Kell wouldn’t dare run off. There was no point anyway. The only place he could go was home, so a definite no there, or back to prison, but they’d been so happy to get rid of him, he knew they wouldn’t take him back, even if he begged. So he was still sitting there when Marston came back with a soft towel around a plastic baggie of ice.
“Here,” he said, holding it out.
