“You’re high,” Galen said, his voice low, accusatory.
“That’s an understatement,” replied Bede, equally low. “But just sos you know, I don’t do it that often.”
He could move forward or he could stay where he was and draw Galen to him, but again, Galen surprised him.
“This is bullshit,” he said, and turned on his heel. “I’m going back to the movie. You can do what you want, but if you do join, change your shirt because now you smell like pot.”
Now Galen was gone and Bede was all alone. The high of pot, an elusive mistress, was fading by traces in his system, but the smile remained on his face.
Maybe in the morning, when he was fully sober, he might think differently, but as for right now, he knew he was right. He liked ‘em feisty and smart and high-minded. The sharp gray eyes didn’t hurt at all, not one bit. Or those long legs. That hair.
He’d confessed this to Beck. More importantly, he’d all but confessed it and to Galen.
There was no taking it back. He didn’t want to.
He had no idea how any of this would look come the morning, but in that moment, he was glad about the pot, so he could say what he thought.
He knew that Winston would have approved of Bede speaking his mind.
Winston was a moment-to-moment kind of guy, always striding into the future. He would have been disappointed in Bede if he let himself be held back by a memory of what was.
Yes, he could keep Winston in his heart as long as the memories lingered, but maybe it was time for a future of his own.
Chapter 16
Galen
Still smelling the reek of pot all around him, Galen made his way to the mess tent, but the movie was over, the night had gotten a little cooler, and everyone was headed to the campfire.
There, Blaze quickly built a fire, and nobody paid Galen much mind as he sat on one of the hay bales where he could see the reflection of dancing flames on the almost smooth, barely ruffled surface of the lake. There was no moon, so the stars were out, blinking overhead as they danced in the solar breeze.
Royce held court, sitting on a large hay bale near the fire. He read one of the ghost stories from a Foxfire book out loud, his voice dipping or rising, depending on how intense the story was.
Galen didn’t believe in ghosts and thought the idea of reading aloud to a gathering of grown men, half of whom were criminals, was perhaps a waste of time.
Still, being still, sitting there as the evening grew darker, allowed him to gather his thoughts. Or at least to attempt to gather them, as they were scattering like little bits of dust, refusing to come together.
On top of all of them, however, formed the image of Bede’s face, his eyes intense. As he’d moved closer to Galen in thatarea behind the first aid hut, his intention had been quite clear, though it was a bit of a muddle now. Had Bede been on the verge of kissing him?
Where on earth had Bede gotten the idea that Galen would ever, in a million years, want to hook up with him? To accept advances from an ex-con? There was no way. Simply no way.
He was shocked. But he was not made of stone, and something inside of his chest had responded when Bede had stepped closer, just about bursting through layers of muscle and bone.
He’d almost choked keeping it inside. It was as if that part of him, part of his heart, had taken on a life of its own.
And now, sitting by the campfire, he wanted nothing more than to be miles away so he wouldn’t have to deal with any of this. While his team-leading skills seemed to be getting better, he was wary. It might be a fluke.
Certainly after Bede had been bold enough to make a pass at his boss, whether or not Galen responded, it would probably go back downhill. Fast. Zipline fast.
Realizing he was slumped forward, like a drunk yet to come off a bender, Galen straightened up. He pretended he was very invested in the ghost story Royce was currently telling, something about a woman trapped in a well who died and pioneers who stayed in a haunted log cabin.
Galen felt Gabe’s attention on him and knew that he might have to fess up in their very first team meeting on Saturday about the fact that Bede had made a pass at him.
The ghost story ended, and a low, friendly discussion sprang up about whether or not ghosts existed. Galen used that time to make a hasty exit, without saying goodnight or anything.
He needed to be off by himself, so he took the path along the edge of the lake toward the dock.
He didn’t have his swimsuit with him, so maybe he would just take off all his clothes and use the dock as a jumping off point. Use the dark still waters of the lake, speckled by starlight, to wash himself clean and start anew.
