You're Always in the Last Place You Look (2 page)

I blinked at him, surprised he remembered my name, then I recalled why I was here, and bent down to hear him better.

“Fa-fridge...b-butter k-keeper...shots,” he rasped, managing to point towards the kitchen. His jaw was swelling now, and his neck was deep red. He gurgled trying to swallow, and I raced to the kitchen, yanking open the fridge. There, in the butter keeper, was a black pouch with a medical emblem emblazoned on the side. I grabbed it, and hurried back. Crouching down, I noticed he was damp and growing pale—well, more pale than he had been this morning anyway.

He gestured for me to open the bag. Dumping the contents on the floor, his finger ticked one of the bottles, and then he pointed to a line on a syringe. I picked up the syringe and vial. Just like giving a cow a shot—except we used an injector gun and couldn’t slaughter him if things went foul. Removing the syringe from the wrapping, I drew out the clear liquid, tapped the needle, then dispensed the air.

Zane let out a squeaky breath, drawing my eyes from my task. One of the fat plastic tubes from the bag stuck out of his thigh. His hand shook as he held the tube for several seconds before removing it, and letting it drop to the floor. I caught the word EpiPen as it rolled, then came to rest against the baseboard.

He pulled his shirt up, exposing a lithe muscled stomach. Zane might be thin, but dang was he fit. He gestured to his side, just above his hipbone. I hovered, the needle over his skin.
Just like giving a cow a shot
.
Quick, no hesitation
. Only...damnit, I was scared. What if I hit something or nicked a vein? I didn’t even know if this was an intramuscular or subcutaneous medication. Zane grasped my hand, slamming both our hands and the needle down against his skin. Okay. Pay attention. Dying boy here. I thumbed the plunger down, and pulled the needle out.

That bit of effort seemed to be the last thing he could handle. Zane curled into a ball, his hand slapping limply onto the wood floor.
Now what
?

Chapter Two

After returning the black bag to the fridge, then laying the used syringe on the counter, I found an afghan on the couch, and covered Zane with it. He didn’t flinch or even open an eye. I wasn’t sure if he had fallen asleep or passed out. Either way, I didn’t like the shallow, wet sound of his breathing. If the truth be told I was feeling a little sick about the whole affair. What if it was too late? I’d have to live with killing the boy who had already suffered so much.

I pulled out my phone, but rather than dialing 911 like I had intended, I heard my Dad’s voice on the line.

“Dad, I’m at the Cormley’s with their nephew—”

“That’s wonderful, Gabriel. He could use some guidance—”

“Dad! Listen, he was stung by a bee and he’s allergic. I gave him a shot of something, but I don’t think it’s helping. The Cormley’s aren’t home, and I don’t know what to do. Maybe you could call them?” My voice cracked more in ten seconds than it had my whole fourteenth year.

“Calm down, son. How long ago did you give him the shot, and where on his body?”

I took a breath, taking my dad’s calm voice as a sign Zane wasn’t about to die. He was always good in a crisis, seeming to be right more than wrong when it came to emergency situations.

“I don’t know, two-three-five minutes max. He wanted it in his side, so that’s where he got it.” I wrinkled my nose. “About the same spot Mrs. Olsen gives herself insulin shots.” Mrs. Olsen was an old widower, whose husband died several years ago of a heart attack while tilling their north field. Now, I swear her only joy was grossing everyone out by giving herself her shots in public. Even Sunday services didn’t stop her. A shiver traveled down my spine at the image of her abundant stretch-marked flesh.

“I know it can take a few minutes for an epinephrine shot to work. I’m not a doctor, but all the Rudeck’s kids are allergic to bees, and they get stung haying all the time. If I recall, they are usually back working within ten minutes. I can’t come right now, Marice’s son is missing again, but if you have any doubt call 911.” My father was still drawling like this wasn’t a big deal. For some reason, the uneasy feeling hung on.
Damn Josie
. Stupid kid was always wandering away and getting lost.

“I think he gave himself the epin—whatever. It was something else he had me give him.”

“Could have been a steroid. Just watch him, and call 911 if he doesn’t come around soon.”

“Thanks, Dad. I don’t know, he sounds a tiny bit better. I’ll give him another few minute. See you at dinner.” I hung up, not waiting for his response, and kneeled down in front of Zane.

He
did
sound a little better. His breathing wasn’t as rattley. He still shivered though. His hair was draped across his face, tickling the side of his nose. That would have driven me nuts, yet he didn’t seem to notice—or didn’t care. Maybe when you have long hair you get used to those sorts of things. I’d never know the answer myself, since my hair was curly, and when it grew too long I looked like I had stuck my finger in a light socket, so I kept it short.

Zane’s black hair was straight, shiny, and softly curved on the ends where it seemed to always lie along his high cheekbones. Looking at him, I realized he was as pretty as those Calvin Klein models in Mom’s magazines. Well, if not for the tattoo that trailed down the side of his face that is. The bleeding vine really was exquisite, and did appear alive. Nothing like the tats you could get around here. They were always smudgy along the edges, not crisp like Zane’s. Chad’s John Deere tractor was almost unrecognizable for what it was. It looked more like a semi cab.

I leaned closer, noticing there were five drops of blood. I wondered if they represented his lost family. My eyes traveled to his hands.
Kilz
lay flat on the parquet flooring while his other was fisted beneath his chin. I felt a pang in my chest when I saw
Love
scrawled below the knuckles. The tattoos were done so Zane could read them at a glance; as if he had them as a reminder to himself. My mother came out in me then. Poor Zane, to have lost so much, so quickly. The thought of losing my whole family in one fateful accident would leave even my heart forever jaded.

“What the fuck are you looking at,” Zane croaked, peering at me from under black lashes.

“Thank God! Are you okay?”

“God doesn’t exist. I know this for—”

The front door opened, and we both turned our heads as Zane’s aunt walked in. She assessed the scene, loosing her bags of groceries about two feet above the floor, sending apples and cans rolling every which way across the entry.

“Oh, Zane, what happened?” She was looking at me when she asked this.

Mrs. Cormley dropped onto her jean-clad knees, and felt her nephews head while I shuffled out of the way.

Zane lifted his eyes to her. “Bee. I’m going to die here you know.”

She frowned. “For some reason they seem to like you don’t they?” She sighed heavily. “How are your muscles?”

“Sore.” When her face scrunched up, he added. “I’m okay. Just tired.”

Mrs. Cormley bowed her head, nodding slowly. I glanced at Zane, his face was drawn, his blue eyes wrinkled with emotional pain. I had no idea what possessed me, but I reached out and squeezed his calf. His eyes widened slightly as he sucked in his lip ring, toying with the silver loop between his lips. Then his face hardened, and he pulled his leg away at the same time I came to my senses, and yanked my hand back.

“I, ah, should go.” I stood up, eyes riveted on the door, unable to look at Zane. Something about him brought out the sensitive side in me, and I wasn’t very happy about that. I doubted he would care jack-shit about me in a similar situation.

Mrs. Cormley followed me up. “Thank you, Gabriel.” She offered me a pensive smile.

I shrugged. “No problem. I wasn’t going to leave him out there to die in Henry’s field.”

“I appreciate it nonetheless, and I’m sure Zane does too, even if he won’t say it.”

I nodded, turned towards the door, and almost tripped over a can of chili. Bending down, I righted her grocery bags, setting them against the wall. I straightened, and took one last peek at Zane. He had rolled over, the burgundy afghan bundled tightly around him. He needed to get off the hardwood floor, and onto the couch, or at least carpet. As I stepped into the yellow bug infested late afternoon I thought;
why do I care
?
The guy doesn’t even like me.
Yet for some crazy reason I felt the gravity of compassion.

I turned right, and headed down the sidewalk towards home. My mind twitched over the fact I cared about someone I didn’t want to even think about.
It’s not as if we would ever be friends
. I had two friends, Lily and Tye, and it wasn’t as if Zane fit in with either one of them.

“Damn,” I muttered looking down at the softball rolling away from my leg. I rubbed my calf where it had pelted me, and tried to glare at the girl who was running over.

“Sorry,” the little red-head said, twisting her hands nervously.

I shook my head, and smiled at her. “No problem. Didn’t even hurt.” I picked up the ball, and tossed it to her. I was definitely a chump. I supposed that was the reason my decision to go to seminary school instead of college hadn’t surprised anyone. Other than my father, that is. He told me he felt God had a different plan for me. When I asked him why he thought that, he only said to trust him on this, that time would reveal my true purpose. He still refused to give me a hint as to why he believed this. God wasn’t talking either (not that I expected him to), so I ignored them both, and enrolled into the religious studies program in Boise.

It wasn’t as if I had received the calling or anything. More like I couldn’t think of what else I wanted to do. And, well, it was comfortable. A life I had grown up in, and didn’t a lot of sons follow in their father’s footsteps?

*

Mom set down a plate of hamburgers causing Dad and I to blink at each other in surprise. We both knew she had given the last of our steer to Mrs. Mallory and her five kids over the weekend. I had actually been supportive of this endeavor since Mrs. Mallory and her kids looked like refugees right now. The woman tried. She really did. She cleaned houses, did laundry, painted, and even mended fences when someone would hire her. Unfortunately that wasn’t often enough. Most people didn’t appreciate her four-year-old twin boys having to accompany her everywhere. They were boys, and they were four, and saying they were mischievous was putting it nicely.

Dad kept sending questing looks to Mom all through dinner. She knew he was doing it, and let out a little “
mmm
” now and then, accompanied by a lip smack for good measure. My father rarely questioned anything in life, figuring it was
God’s will
— and my mother knew this. Yet, she adored playing on his silent curiosity. I would have asked the question hanging over the dinner table if Mom wasn’t having such a good time teasing him.

Dad sighed, slightly annoyed with her lack of explanation, and turned to me. “You haven’t mentioned if the Cormley’s nephew survived his ordeal.”

I raised my eyebrows.
Ordeal
? Zane almost died, and he was calling it an ordeal as if he had been caught shoplifting, or taunting Mr. Garrison’s bulls.

“He survived, although for a few minutes I was worried he wouldn’t. It was kinda scary—”

“Good. The Cormley’s have been through enough of late. That boy has just added to their grief.” My father got up from the table, and headed to the sink while I stared at his back, stunned by his callousness.

It wasn’t like my father to be uncaring, however that was exactly the tone he was emanating. I watched him, expecting him to smile and say something like; I’m glad he’s okay, or, I’ll add him to my prayers. But he didn’t. Instead he gave me the oddest sidelong glance before turning towards his office. The room he claimed as his office had actually been the cold storage back in the day. Constructed of thick slabs of concrete, it resembled a bunker more than an office.

“I’m going to work on my sermon. I won’t be too long.”

“All right, dear.” Mom took my plate, and stacked it with hers, adjusting the silverware into a row on the top plate. “So, you had some excitement with the Cormley’s nephew tod—”

“He has a name,” I cut in. For some reason it irked me that neither of them bothered to recall his name.

“Of course he does...Zane right?”

I nodded. “It wasn’t all that exciting. He was stung. I helped him home, gave him a shot. No biggy.”

She gave me a small smile. “Well, God must have been watching out for him, for you to have been there.” She rose, taking the plates to the sink.

I was about to tell her if God had truly been watching out he never would have been stung when the phone rang. I went to answer it, but Dad got to it first, and called from his office. “Gabe, its Lily.”

Chapter Three

I scrambled to the family room, and grabbed the cordless. “Got it,” I yelled. “Hey, how was Seattle?”

“You know most people start with
hello
. It rained the whole time we were there. Rather fitting for a funeral I guess. God am I glad to be home. Mom barely even knew her cousin, but she cried almost the whole trip.” Lily groaned loudly, making me smile. Her mom was a bit of a drama queen, crying at bible study, through every movie, over commercials—especially the ASPCA ones—and God forbid anyone die—whether she knew them or not.

“Hello, I’m fine, thanks for asking. I saved the new kid’s life today.”

“You’re such a dork. You mean the kid from Chicago? I heard he’s really wicked looking, and all sullen, and shit. Marcy has this major crush on him already.”

“You called Marcy before calling me?” I hated to admit it, but that hurt. Lily and I had been friends years longer than she and Marcy; ever since I took her out during dodge-ball in the fifth grade, and she marched over and bitch-slapped me. Marcy didn’t come around until the summer after eighth grade, and she only tolerated me because she knew Lily would choose me over her if push came to shove. We kinda hated each other, and thankfully she went to the private school in Hailey, so we rarely had to see the other.

“Quit being jealous, it doesn’t become you, and no I didn’t. She called me.”

I smiled, dropping onto the sofa and feeling surprisingly relieved over that. “You know darn well I look good in green.”

“You realize green also means horny?”

Leave it to Lily to twist a conversation towards sex. “That’s only in M&Ms. How did we get off the subject of your trip, and my saving the hot new boy?”
Cr-aap
. Now I’d done it. I really needed a filter when talking to her.

“Ha! You have a crush on him too.”

“I do not,” I retorted, then added adamantly for the hundredth time. “I’m
not
gay. Just
stop
, okay.” Flopping my head back against the cushions, I growled into the receiver. She’d been on this kick for three years now. It was annoying. What was I talking about? It had past annoying long ago, and was well into pissing me off. I closed my eyes—then not liking the movie playing, I opened them again. Just because Zane was on my mind—I was not gay. I didn’t want to be gay.

She laughed, she always laughed. “Think about it. Your best friend is a girl, you are too damn pretty on a horse, you dress way too well for a country boy, and in all these years you have never made a pass at me. If that isn’t gay...”

“I’ve never made a pass because I value my nuts, and know you would string me up by them if I did. As for my riding style, I prefer not to have to chiropract my horse after every roping. Would you like someone pounding on your back all the time? And I am only friends with you because no one else wants to hang with me.” I sighed, realizing I had released one of my insecurities into the air between us.

“Okay, we’re in agreement on your balls. I still think you ride like one of those gay dressage riders, all namby-pamby and correct. As for the last thing...if you hadn’t told your dad about Chuck smoking pot back in the eighth grade and gotten him in trouble, I know things would have been different for you,” she said matter-of-factly, and all in one breath. How did she do that without passing out?

“Thanks for bringing up that rather painful memory.” When I told my father about Chuck I had expected him to add a ditty into his sermon about the effects of using drugs, but instead he had called Chuck’s parents. I became a leprous traitor, and my social life went from moderate to nil overnight—and has remained as such to this very day.

“What are best friends for, if not to remind us of our idiotic moments in life?”

“Yeah? Well I could have done without the reminder.” I was suddenly tired. Or maybe just weary of getting berated
again
for something I kept trying to forget. “I’m gonna go. I didn’t ride AJ today, so I’m going to get up early and ride while it’s cool.”

“Gabe, don’t be that way. Besides you haven’t told me about saving the hot new kid.”

“I’m not being any way. I’m just tired, is all. I’ll talk to you at lunch tomorrow.” I hung up before she became whiny. I loved Lily, but every now and then she could make me feel like a pile of cowshit. And she did it without effort, or any realization for that matter.

*

Zane had been absent from school since that first day, which meant Lily had been deprived of the chance to ogle him for a whole four days, and was becoming down right exasperated about that. Personally, I wasn’t minding the absence one bit. He was just one more student that would ignore me, or worse, make fun of me.

*

I glanced at the deep blue peeking through the branches as I loped AJ along the creek before school Friday. I had a feeling this summer would be hot enough to break a few records. AJ leapt sideways, shying into the bushes. I snatched the horn, settling my butt back in the saddle.

“Whoa.” Reining him to a stop, he set his haunches, sliding in the dewy grass. I sat back, barely preventing the saddle horn from crushing my nuts. Snorting, he shook his head. I chuckled, stroking under his copper mane. “You smell that at every jackpot, you dummy.”

The skunky scent of pot trickled across the trail, seeming to be coming from the direction of the creek. Laughter suddenly broke the quiet. AJ wheeled around, taking a few nervous hops sideways as two guys came crashing through the brush onto the trail. Zane and Chuck jerked to a stop when they saw me.

“Uh-oh. Were in trouble now.” Chuck laughed. “God Boy’ll tattle on you, man.” He elbowed Zane just as Zane took a draw on a joint, causing him to cough.

Realizing the scary thing had only been two stupid kids, AJ dropped his head and began chewing on his bit. Zane smiled slowly, and sauntered over.

“You wouldn’t tell on me, would you, Gabe?” He leaned his chest against my leg, wrapping his hand around my boot. I held AJ in place, but he was more concerned with the tender rye grass barely out of his reach than with the stranger leaning against him.

Zane offered up his joint, and I shook my head.

He shrugged. “Suit yourself.” His head tipped as his hand ran up my calf, and past the shaft of my boot. My fingers flexed on the reins. “No, you won’t tattle on me will you,” he cajoled, settling his hazy eyes on mine. I felt his chest rise and fall against my knee.

Zane licked his lips, watching me as he slid his hand behind my knee. I felt my lungs shrink, pulse thrum, and an unfamiliar discomfort riot through my groin. I jerked AJ away from him, and he chuckled as he turned away. Shaking his head slowly at Chuck, Zane handed him the joint, pulling a lighter out of his jeans pocket, and lighting the stub for him. Chuck drew deep, narrowing his eyes at me in warning.

Zane looked over at me, blinked lazily, then managed to harden his expression despite being high. “What the fuck are you still doing here? Scram.” He flicked his fingers as if dismissing a child.

“Whatever.” I reined AJ around, more than willing to leave what had turned into a distressing situation.

I heard Zane comment, “What a nice ass.”

“Damn horse is psycho though. God Boy’s the only one who can ride him,” Chuck retorted. I didn’t stick around to hear anymore, squeezing AJ into a lope.

After turning out of sight, I reached down, and coughed, choked, gagged, at what I confirmed. I was hard.

It was morning right? Guys were always bragging about morning wood, not that I ever really had
that
problem. I could probably count the number of times
that
had happened to me on one hand. Not to mention I had been in a halo of pot smoke. Maybe I had inadvertently inhaled some? That had to be it, it had to be. My calf tingled where he had squeezed it before letting go.
Dammit
! Damn him for touching me, for smelling so good, for being...just...

I leaned forward, intent on ignoring the waning hardness that had sprung from
nowhere
, and jabbed AJ with my spurs. He threw a crowhop before surging forth.

*

I scurried into science lab, panting heavily, a minute before the bell rang. I glared at Zane huddled up with a few of the jocks. Dirk, who only five days ago had called him an asshole, was laughing over something Zane had just said. Cattle, every one of them, and I doubted they had an individual brain cell among them.

Stupid city kid
. If it hadn’t been for Zane, I wouldn’t have had to run all the way to school. In all fairness I had been the one pushing AJ all the way home, but it was because of Zane touching me the way he did that caused me to do so. After hosing AJ off, it had taken twenty minutes of walking him before he was cool enough to eat his breakfast. I, on the other hand, didn’t get any breakfast.

I dropped my backpack on the work station, and plopped onto the stool, all the while grumbling about why someone else couldn’t have saved him from the killer bumble bee. I wasn’t normally a pettish person, but I didn’t appreciate the way Zane seemed to affect me.

“Move your ass over.” Zane slid my backpack towards the window as he set his down.

I glanced up, and scowled. “Eff you, sit somewhere else.”

“Oohh, someone’s a cranky bitch this morning.
Move
.”

“Fuck off.” I shoved his bag onto the floor, and slid mine back over in front of me.

He didn’t pick his up, instead he placed his hands on the worktable, and leaned over. “You kiss your mom with that mouth?” he asked next to my ear.

Ignoring the shiver down my spine, I moved away, glaring at him with as much menace as I could. “As a matter of fact I do.”

He smirked, then retrieved his bag from the floor. When he straightened his expression changed, becoming drawn.

His face scrunched up as he fumbled with the hasp on his bag. “Listen, I had to take these pills this morning, and sometimes they make me sick.” He stopped and looked at me, his eyes begging for understanding.

For once my genetics failed me, and I snapped, “Go sit next to Patty.” I thrust my chin towards Patty Malory, who, at this particular moment, was discretely picking her nose—and eating it.
Blech
. Even though I tried not to judge her—since I remembered doing that very thing when I was around
five
—figuring she never grew out of the intrigue of finding big slimy goobers, it still turned my stomach and gave me the willies. I mean, come on, I never saw her with a Kleenex, so where did she stash the ones she didn’t ingest?

He kept his blue eyes on me. “I’d rather sit next to you.”

“Well, I’d rather you didn’t.”

He chucked his bag over mine as he scooted behind me. “Too bad, and if I puke on you it’s your own fault.”

We didn’t say another word to each other. Zane drew while I tried to ignore how close he was, how I could feel his body heat, how his knee kept bumping against mine. I tried, instead, to pay attention to Mr. Taylor’s discussion about how the Earth’s layers could be likened to the core of a computer system. It was a rather pathetic attempt at symbolism.

By the end of class I swore I was about to have a panic attack. I was dizzy from the sensory overload having him so near had caused. Why did he have to smell so dang intoxicating anyway?

The bell pealed and I grabbed my bag, bolting out of the Zane cloud and into the normal, slightly acerbic scent of teenagers. I took several deep breaths, clearing him from my senses as I made my way to Language Arts. I guess I should be thankful he hadn’t thrown up on me. Except I wasn’t sure that wouldn’t have been better. At least I wouldn’t have been stuck sitting next to him wondering why he affected me the way he did.

*

I wasn’t in the best of moods when school rolled back around on Monday. Tye had missed his heel catch both days, knocking us down in the yearly standings a whopping five spots. It happened to even the best ropers, but that didn’t stop me from grumbling about it, and demanding he come over and practice every night this week on our Hot Heels. There were four more high school rodeos in the season, and if we roped well, we might be able to finish in the top five. That is if we were lucky, and a few teams missed their catches.

Last year we had made it to the finals handily, but this year we were struggling, and over the weekend we had both watched our chance slip away along with Tye’s rope. He tried to blame Gator, his heeling horse, but we both knew the gelding had put him where he needed to be. Personally, I felt he was spending too much time with Jamie, his girlfriend, and not enough time practicing. Sunday I found them in his trailer
celebrating
her pole bending win when he should have been warming up his horse rather than his girlfriend.

Zane came into first period, and settled next to me, leaning his head against the window without a word. I glanced at him and wrinkled my nose at the strong remnants of his obvious earlier activity.

“Don’t fucking judge me, God Boy.” He closed his eyes as his jaw clenched, and I saw the muscles contract around his temple. He must not have had a good weekend either. I didn’t say anything, and Mr. Taylor chose to leave him alone too, despite Zane not opening his eyes once during class.