He slid his right foot forward, and I thought he was going to scream with the way his face flushed red. “No. I got it.”
I backed off until I was standing near the driver’s seat and crossed my arms. He met my gaze and snapped his teeth like a rabid animal as he forced his left leg forward. The connection that sizzled between us had my heart jerking as he sank to the floor with a moan. He curled up and put his head on his arms. Instantly I was glad it was me here and not someone else. Wettekin would have dragged him off this bus as a behavior problem and dropped his ass on the ground, and I could tell this man was in pain, even though I had no clue how much.
It wasn’t often I felt bad for someone, but I was seriously worried about him, and the cons in TFC weren’t even brutal ones by prison standards. I let him breathe for a few minutes to gather himself together, then walked over. “Okay there?” I crouched and gently settled a hand on his shoulder. His muscles turned to rock under my grip. “Let me help you.”
He swiped his hand at me but wasn’t looking, and I easily scooted back away from him. “Fucking hurts.”
I smacked my fists on my thighs in frustration, and he glanced up. I didn’t miss the fear in his honey-brown eyes, and I felt like an asshole. I stared too long before I made my tongue move to ask, “Why didn’t you let me help you to begin with?”
He pushed himself up on his knees, grimacing as he went. “I don’t need your help.”
“Not the case from where I’m standing.”
His frown went from pained to downright sour and he shook his head. Maybe he didn’t think he deserved my help? That was a feeling I was intimately familiar with. I stood and offered my hand to him.
He shook his head.
“It’s just a boost off the floor.”
He chuckled. “That’s how it starts. Nice. Nice. Smashed in the face. Same old riddle.”
I sighed. “This is purely self-serving. They’re going to want this bus back eventually, so I need to get you off it. I’m not helping you, I’m helping me.”
He nodded and slapped his hand into mine. I was surprised by how chilled his palm was, and it registered that the bus was the same temp as outside. He must have been out here for a while. “Is the chair ready? My back and legs….”
“Yeah, it’s good to go. Just focus on getting up.”
The man nodded. I felt terrible as I hoisted him to his feet. It was obvious I was causing him pain, and I didn’t know if I was making things better or worse, or if it was a wash either way. I did some cheap acrobatics and jumped over a couple of seats. “Sorry. Don’t know a better way.” I got behind him and slid my arms under both of his to support him, and he sucked in a deep breath as he nodded. I was surprised at how well we fit together, but I tried not to dwell on it too much.
He let me support him to the front, and when we reached the stairs, he shook his head. I leaned around to get a good look at his face and sweat beaded on his forehead in spite of the cold. Without words we decided he’d sit his ass down on the top step, by virtue of his knees giving out, and I helped him, as much as I could, work his way down.
This was awful, but if I complained, no one would give a rat’s ass. When he was on the bottom step, he was able to put his feet on the ground, and I helped him up again. He pivoted and leaned against the bus, and I dragged the chair closer. With something that resembled a smile, he let out a relieved sound and sank onto the black padded seat. I bent to put his feet on the footrests, and he shoved at me. Stumbling back, I banged my shoulder off the bus.
“I can do it.”
“You might want to holster that shit.” I pushed myself upright and glowered at him, but he didn’t seem to care. “I’m about the only person in this place who won’t knock your lights out for doing something like that. I could give you a shot for it. Write you up,” I clarified when he sent me a confused glare.
“ ’M fine. I can do it.”
He struggled and pulled his feet up, one at a time, onto the footrests, but when he started to mess around with the wheels, I’d had enough.
“Can I push you? Please? They want you processed, and I know the others have already started. The coordinator, Lon Wiseback, will be shitting kittens.”
He leaned back, and I was startled when he locked his gaze with mine. His intensity was unnerving. “Sounds like a messy personal problem.”
With a snort, I fought back a smile. “I’m pushing you inside. You hit me again, I’m writing you up for behavioral issues. End of story.”
He pursed his lips and crossed his arms. “Be my fuckin’ guest.”
So, I pushed the too-handsome man in a worn-in old suit toward the doorway to the building to give him his first taste of TFC. Wettekin opened the door. He must have been waiting, which pissed me off because he could have helped. “Lon says to just take this man to E block. Your name’s Gaffin, right?”
“Yeah,” Gaffin, apparently, grunted out. It made me strangely happy that he didn’t sound nearly as interested in talking to Wettekin as he had with me.
“The only cell left with a low sink is there.” Wettekin directed that last bit at me.
“You know, that’s a ways from the mess hall—”
Wettekin shook his head, and snow caught in his red hair as it began to spit on us from the sky. “Just do what Lon says. He’s in a bad mood, and I don’t care, besides. The orders didn’t come from me. Someone will bring him his paperwork at his cell and switch his clothes out.”
