“Got it.”
It was almost as bad as prison, being told what to do. How to act. But if he was going to get through this, he needed to buckle down and learn what the rules were. Abide by them. Then figure out what came next.
For a moment, the smile that brightened Galen’s eyes made him seem like a regular guy, rather than someone set on making Bede’s life difficult.
So far in the valley, it hadn’t been anywhere near hellish as prison. Far from it, in fact. Not to mention that the idea of a hot shower, especially the way Kell had described it to him, and the fact that Bede had seen the high-end luxury of those showers first-hand, made a very fine prospect.
“Maybe I will take that shower,” he said. After all, he owed this chance, this rustic interlude, to Kell and, for that reason, Bede was going to do his best not to cause another ruckus.
“Good idea,” said Marston.
“Hey!”
Marston’s lip curled and maybe he was laughing at Bede a little bit. “Just joking,” Marston said. “But as Kell would say, the showers are heavenly.”
A hand of peace, maybe? Well, Bede would take it.
“See you all at the fire pit,” said Galen, as if the quick talk was enough to settle the matter. And, unlike prison, it obviously was enough. There was no penalty, no threats of time in solitary, no black mark on his record.
A little dumbfounded, Bede, on his own, trundled through the woods, following the path that led to his tent.
Once there, he sat on his cot and pulled off the bbq-stained t-shirt. It was the same shirt he’d worn while in prison, part of his uniform there, along with the thin canvas slacks. Those damn slip-on sneakers.
Clutching the t-shirt, he held it to his nose. It smelled like sweat, the dank, cloying smell of prison soap, old onions. A prison smell. Not a valley smell. No wonder Marston had been up in arms about him. He smelled like bad news.
Well, he was bad news. A criminal with a hard background and the tattoos to prove it. A history of drug dealing. A rap sheet a mile long.
Compared to him, Kell must seem like a fawn in the grass, hiding for its life. Bede, the sharp-toothed wolf.
In prison, their relationship had served a purpose, but suppose he really meant it that Kell was like a brother to him? Well, maybe Kell was like a brother to him, even if only for a summer.
What would it hurt? Would anyone care if he started acting like a nice guy?
Probably not. Least of all Galen, who seemed to enjoy laughing at Bede’s very small jokes, and who seemed smart enough to see right through to the real Bede. Like he’d be easy to be with. Easy to trust.
It was too bad that Bede had to keep Galen at arm’s length because he had a great laugh, half snigger, half belly laugh. Like he blissed out when things got funny.
And the blush Galen had, pink as a rose. Soft as a petal, that skin of his. It must be. As if Galen had barely started shaving, though he was obviously old enough to be a team lead for a trio of ex-cons.
Bede needed to set his sights elsewhere, and pronto. Five years was long enough to go without affection, without sex, somaybe now that he was out from behind bars, was it time to pick up the slack? Sure, but with who?
Never mind. He’d figure it out eventually and, all the while, tell himself that it wasn’t scary as shit to take a risk with someone new.
First, a shower.
He gathered his shower things and managed to stumble through the woods like he had no sense of direction until he found the facilities.
Everything in the showers had looked rustic when Galen had taken them on a tour around the place, but Bede had been in enough five star hotels to know high quality when he saw it. The faucet handles at the sink gleamed low with expensive brushed nickel.
The shower heads in the stalls were quality too, and when he turned the shower on, it dispensed hot water right away. Steam roiled up, and he got undressed as fast as he could and stepped beneath the stream, almost rising on his bare toes to get that clean, hot water all over him.
Other than Winston, of all the things he’d missed while in prison, amidst the lack of privacy, the shitty food, the constant sounds all around, a good, hot shower had been at the top of the list.
This was his second moment alone in five years. The second time he’d experienced the lack of clatter in his ears, with only the soft sounds of the water swirling around him.
As he lathered himself all over, reveling in the clean smell of soap, a faint pine scented breeze came through the screened-in transom high up in the shower stall. It rocked him on his feet and he had to place his palm against the wall of the shower stall to hold himself steady.
On the evening before the disastrous drug deal gone wrong, Winston and he had taken a shower together, as they often did before sex, after sex, and during.
