“Aren’t there five empty tents?” asked Zeke as they stood in the bright sunshine in front of the mess tent.
“There are,” said Gabe slowly, as if considering the idea that Zeke had not yet presented.
“Might be good to spread them out a little,” said Zeke. “At least,” he amended, “in this case. Maybe some of the parolees like to share?”
“They seem to, all except for Wayne.” Gabe smiled at this. “But sure. What do you have in mind?”
Zeke had seen the empty tents when Galen had taken him on a tour. The following summer, the tents would be occupied by those high paying guests who wanted to experience a plush and comfortable version of summer camp, complete with archery, canoeing, horseback riding, and singalongs around the campfire. They’d enjoy bunking up together so they could giggle in the glow of a flashlight and pretend they were kids again. But for now, there was plenty of extra room, so why not take advantage of that?
“Thought I’d move him to tent number seven. Give him some space to figure himself out.”
Sometimes a horse needed that, to be alone awhile, to heal from whatever it had gone through. Just a private little bit of pasture, some grass to nibble at, with no other horses to pester it. Maybe this wouldn’t be what Cal needed in the end, but Zeke was going to build on what he knew, and that was horses.
“Sure,” said Gabe. “Do you need some help moving the boxes?”
Zeke thought to say no, and then he said yes, and was glad he had, because the boxes required several trips to cart to the empty tent. There, Zeke made up the cot with new sheets, and arranged the boxes on the other cot, tidy and neat, all in preparation for Cal’s arrival.
After that, he was at the parking lot, sitting on the large rock in the shade that Galen had told him about, and not checking his phone for any updates on where the prison van was. The driver would get there when he got there, and there was nothing Zeke needed to do but wait.
Chapter 6
Cal
While he’d been in prison, Cal’d had plenty of time to go over every single detail of his relationship with Preston. Every conversation. Every sly manipulation. Every touch. Every smack down.
But it was only during his time in prison that he’d been able to see everything for what it was. That Preston thought he owned Cal, pure and simple, and that any resistance on Cal’s part was an outright rebellion that needed to be squashed.
During the trip to the location of the Farthingdale Valley Fresh Start Program, Cal had been focusing on the past so hard that he only realized they were nearly there.
The driver of the white van started going down a series of switchbacks, which went along a dirt and gravel road. The edges of the van almost scraped against the tall pine trees that grew thickly along the side of the road.
Between the tree trunks, Cal saw glimmers of blue, and he didn’t know if that was a river or a lake or what, but the light hit his eyes, making him blink.
At the bottom of the switchbacks, the van trundled through a dense wood and came out on the other side to a circular parking lot made of gravel. The parking lot was surrounded by more trees, putting it in partial shadow. Which made it hard to clearly see that a man who was sitting on a large boulder, waiting in the shade.
That’s when Cal’s heart began to race. It wasn’t quite the Oh-shit-Preston’s-mad kind of race, but it picked up fast enough to make Cal’s breath catch in his throat.
“Everything all right, kid?” asked the driver as he turned off the engine and grabbed a metal clipboard from the passenger seat.
“I’m not a kid,” said Cal, because after all, he was twenty-four years old and he was not a kid.
Sure, he’d made some dumb shit mistakes, like hooking up with Preston in the first place, a move made entirely of desperation and loneliness. And sure, he’d underestimated how much his time in prison would take out of him, but?—
He took a deep breath to stop his mind from racing. He had bigger problems now, and they were in front of him, looming. Like the fact that Preston was quite able to find out that Cal could have visitors starting from the very first Sunday, not three weeks out like he’d said. And when that happened, Preston wouldn’t be simply pissed, he’d befurious.
The other, more immediate, problem was the man walking over to the van just as the driver hopped out and slid open the van door. Fresh air swirled around Cal, drying the sweat on the back of his neck.
As he got out, the places where Preston had grabbed him twinged and whined in protest. He’d have visible bruises soon, so he’d need to be aware and keep them covered. Preston never liked it when anyone asked about his treatment of Cal, and Cal had learned early on to be coy about it.
But it was hard to be coy as he took in the man, how tall and strong he seemed. How handsome he was. How his slight limp as he approached Cal seemed to tell a story of a rugged, manly past—all of which almost took Cal’s breath away.
“Hey,” said the man, his eyes glinting green from beneath his straw cowboy hat. “I’m Zeke Malloy and is this my?—”
Zeke paused and took the clipboard that the driver held out, looking it over carefully before signing it with a pen and handing it back.
“Is this my teammate?” asked Zeke, finishing up.
Cal couldn’t be sure. Maybe Zeke had been about to sayIs this my prisonerorIs this my parolee, but perhaps he’d changed his mind, using a different term for who Cal was, and all for reasons known only to Zeke Malloy.
