Bede waved Galen away, waved away Galen and the response his body was having, loopy from the mix of creams, the tenacity of the pain in his shoulder and neck, all of it.
“See you in the morning,” Bede said and then left the first aid hut as fast as he could.
He did not shower, as that would remove the pain cream. He was too wiped out, anyway, stiff against the pain, his heart dodging bullets of care.
Once in his tent, empty because Kell was with Marston at the campfire, no doubt, he tore off his work boots and socks, stripped off his jeans and, wearing only cotton boxers, lay on the top of the cotton blanket and sheet, the tail ends of his shirt trailing on his bare thighs. But at least he was cooler now.
Galen hadn’t been kidding about the fact that temperatures were going down in the valley. He could feel the breeze shift across his skin, as he covered his eyes with his forearm and simply willed the Tylenol to work.
If he wanted to, he could call any number of dealers in Wyoming and they would, forthwith, bring him what he needed. Sneaking through the dark woods with packets of cocaine.
He wasn’t going to do that. He wasn’t an addict, he was just in pain.
It was good to lie still, to simply breathe in and out and imagine the pain drifting away, even though it would pound to the surface of his skin, sinking down with some effort. Rising again.
There was no getting away from it. He should sleep, but it wasn’t coming, and within an hour he heard footsteps on the wooden platform.
Thinking it was Kell, he attempted to use his elbow to prop himself up, but it was Galen.
He came directly to Bede’s bedside, a bottle of water in one hand and a small, slender, amber colored prescription bottle in the other.
“What?” asked Bede, the word more a grunt as he sat up. Part of him wanted to draw the cotton sheet up to his waist. The other part of him wondered if Galen liked what he saw. The cottonboxers were summer weight, and the cloth felt like kisses on his skin.
“I brought you something,” said Galen. “Scoot over.”
Obediently, Bede moved to the tent side of the cot and watched as Galen sat down in the curve of Bede’s waist. Galen held out the bottle of water, and also the prescription bottle, but Bede had to sit up to take them both. He moved his legs to slither beside Galen’s legs.
“There’s, like, seven in there,” said Galen. “They should help.”
Bede blinked to focus on the prescription bottle.
“This iscodeine.” Bede shook the prescription bottle at Galen. “And who is this? Lance Greenway? Is this a stolen prescription? Are you dealing indrugsnow?”
“That’s Maddy’s husband,” said Galen with a little laugh. He grabbed Bede’s hand around the bottle, gripped it lightly, and shook the bottle right back at him.
“She’s the admin at the guest ranch. Lance had knee surgery a few months back, and doesn’t like pills. I remembered. Drove up there and asked if I could have them for you. She said, yes, and that I should take you to be looked at, and I said I’d keep an eye on you. Figured you could take one now and work your way through the others as needed.” With another low laugh, Galen grinned at him. “You might have been a cocaine dealer, but there’s nothing in your record that says you were an addict.”
“It’s really shady you giving me someone else’s drugs, you realize,” said Bede. He wasn’t really bothered by it, but the comment made Galen smile.
Bede looked at the pills. Within twenty minutes of taking one, the pain would be gone. Just like that. Which was, he knew, the reaction that addicts had upon buying even an ounce of cocaine. Flat out fastest escape from life known to man.
“Take one,” said Galen. “I’ll wait and watch and make sure of you.”
Doing as he was told, perhaps for the first time in his life, at least outside of Wyoming Correctional, Bede tapped out the tiny white pill, placed it on his tongue, and took a nice swig of water.
He watched Galen watching him. Swallowed slowly, unsure about the rush of pleasure as he watched Galen’s eyes widen.
The flirtation, however small, made something twist in his heart.
Their two lives were not the same. It could never happen between them and, besides, the end of summer loomed.
“Thank you,” he said.
“Drink the rest of it,” said Galen, a bit bossily. “You need to stay hydrated.”
“Yes, sir.”
It was a term Bede had used often when he responded to prison guards over the last five years, sometimes sarcastic, sometimes in jest, sometimes to fly below the radar by seeming to be the most obedient prisoner who ever existed.
