17. Bede

Chapter 17

Bede

S weating like he was trapped in hell's fiery inferno, Bede leaned on the end of his shovel and watched Gabe and Galen converse in boss-speak.

Were they talking about him? He didn't know. He was close enough to see their expressions, but too far away to hear what they were saying.

Maybe Galen was complaining that Bede had been smoking pot and had been relaxed enough to almost kiss his boss. Which was true.

And, standing behind the mess tent in that haze-induced state, it had seemed to Bede as if Galen almost welcomed it, because he'd risen up on his toes, an expectant expression in his lovely gray eyes.

Bede had no idea who the hell Beck was or how he fit into the valley, or even how he'd snuck an illegal substance into the valley.

Other than a sound scolding that would have done a governess proud, however, Galen didn't seem to bother himself much about it. And when Beck went off, duffle in hand, saying Sparks flew, man , Galen had blushed hard, then turned his attention on Bede, feathers flying as he explained the dangers of smoking and forest fires.

Galen's ire only made him prettier. Just about irresistible, but when Galen had departed to go back to movie night, all of the air seemed to leave Bede's body.

He had no right to even dream of getting together with someone like that. Couldn't imagine that Galen wouldn't tell someone what he knew about Bede. All his secrets.

Later, in the dark, in his pot-hazed state, looking down at his boots once more, he had felt the ghost of Winston all around him.

He'd really wanted to get rid of those boots, and he'd attempted to do so. Had gone down to the lake, and taken off the boots.

Sitting on his ass, feet in the grass, absorbing the earth's energy, he stared at the lake and imagined those depths and let the marijuana rocket through him, fading, then intensifying with every heartbeat.

He must have sat there for ages, because just as it was getting dark, Galen came up to him and demanded to know what the hell was going on.

Bede would have risen to the challenge, but as he got to his feet, Galen didn't back down, and it was either cry or laugh himself sick, but he was too tired for either.

When Galen had learned what Bede meant to do with the boots, he given Bede a piece of his mind. Coming right up to Bede, chest thrust out, his eyes blazing.

In fact, Galen was less afraid of Bede than anyone he'd ever met.

His cronies had always quivered in fear that they'd piss him off. The prison guards had, for the most part, not messed with him.

Even Kell had been leery, at least at the beginning.

But Galen? He looked ready to come at Bede with everything he had, and if that didn't make Bede fall for him all the more, he didn't know what would.

In the end, he'd done what Galen told him to do, which was to put his boots back on and go back to his tent.

Once there, as Kell watched, he'd silently wiped them down, and now those boots would be ready for the next time he wanted to wear them. After a quick shower, he'd flopped on top of his cot and basically passed out.

Now, the next morning, it was hot, but to his surprise, Galen dismissed them early, and led the way to an early lunch.

In the mess tent, both the misters and fans were going, making the mess tent a blissful oasis from the heat.

Standing in the line for the buffet, Bede was pleased, if a little surprised, to see Beck already sitting at one of the long tables.

He was digging into his cheeseburger and fries, and Bede grabbed his food and made a beeline to sit across from Beck. Galen sat next to him, with Toby and Owen bringing up the edges.

After a silent minute as they all began to eat, Bede wiped his mouth with his napkin, and said, "I'm sorry, Beck, but I don't know who you are. You're not a team lead and you're not one of the parolees, so?—"

"I'm neither," said Beck, nonchalant, as he dipped a fry in the puddle of ketchup on his plate. "I'm Jonah's best friend and we made an arrangement for me to come up on the weekends. Which I do. Most weekends."

"Where do you stay?" asked Bede. Bede knew that Jonah was one of the parolees, but he'd not interacted with him much.

"Tent number ten." Beck made a gesture with his hand, shaping it like a pistol, shot it, and then blew away a cloud of imaginary smoke. "Closest to the facilities."

"But if you're Jonah's friend," asked Toby. "Where is he?"

They all looked around, but Jonah was absent.

"He and Royce are so fucking lovey dovey this weekend, I can't get a word in edge-wise." Beck made a broad gesture in the air as if to signal how done he was with Jonah's absence.

"Sorry. Lovey dovey?" asked Bede. Galen's eyebrows rose as he looked at Bede, the same question plain on his face. "Are they together ?"

"Are they together?" Beck rolled his eyes. "They're fucking attached at the hip . But then, so are most of these guys."

"What are you talking about?" Galen's voice rose in a way that drew attention to him, so he hunkered down. "Am I blind? I never even noticed them together."

"Who's attached at the hip now?" asked Toby.

"Everybody."

"Is everybody fucking?" Bede asked out loud, guffawing.

Galen spit out his iced tea and had to dry his face off with his napkin.

Bede found himself staring hard at Beck, as if this would get Beck to spill all of his secrets. A little silence fell among the group, and nobody was eating. Four pairs of eyes drilled into Beck until he finally he broke.

"Okay," he said. "You wanna know? Here's the rundown. Gabe is fucking Blaze. Loudly. Every night." He gestured in the couple's direction. "Royce and Jonah are going through so much lube, from the sounds of it, that they ought to buy stock. They're probably off buying it now. And as for Marston and Kell?—"

"I don't want to know," said Bede. "No details, please." He had no wish to find out something so intimate about Kell, let alone Marston.

"They are the cutest couple you have ever laid eyes on," said Beck primly, leaving the rest of the details to their imaginations.

"They are pretty cute," said Galen with a nod to affirm this fact.

"As for the rest of the parolees," said Beck, taking a look around the mess tent like he was keeping an eye out for enemy fire. "They might be fucking, but who's to say. They're a little more secretive about it, maybe."

The only thing on Bede's mind was not that this was going on, because guys in prison tended to hook up all the time.

Here, in the valley, it seemed like fraternization was allowed. Or maybe it wasn't disallowed , but nobody seemed bothered. If they had been, then all of this would have been called to a halt.

He couldn't stop himself from casting a glance in Galen's direction. Galen was studiously eating, keeping his eyes down. As if the whole conversation, Beck's big reveal, hadn't happened at all.

"Who are you fucking?" Toby asked Beck, because he had no filter whatsoever.

"He's not a parolee, dummy," said Owen, giving Toby a good jab with his elbow.

"Hey, I just want to know." Toby spread his hands wide to show his good intentions.

"Well, me and Gordy hook up sometimes," said Beck with a grin. "But I don't think he's in love with my tattoos."

As Toby and Owen began to grill Beck about his tattoos, a small silence fell between Bede and Galen. Galen was now looking at Bede cautiously, as if from around a corner, his eyes a little dark.

If what seemed to be growing between them was not forbidden, at least not by the rules of the valley, then what was holding them back was more personal than that.

As for himself, Bede didn't figure Galen would be the least bit interested. But then, if that was so, why did Galen keep looking and looking, like he was assaying the risk of reaching for a forbidden treat?

Bede wanted to find out. He very much wanted to find out, but he wasn't sure how.

In prison, he'd held himself back, so it'd been five long years without the touch of another human hand. Discounting the guards' casually rough treatment, that is.

The surge of want inside of him felt strange, foreign. A clawed, winged animal with nowhere to land.

He wanted to land, he very much did. But as he watched Galen looking away, he wasn't sure he'd get the chance.