Something Like Winter (6 page)

Mostly she was just as
happy and dumb as the doe he first pictured her as. Like today,
when he hadn’t been in the mood for company. Instead of driving to
school, he had walked. He forgot to tell her until the end of the
day. When he mentioned he was jogging home, she didn’t mind having
to find a ride. Carla would have chewed his head off, but Krista
simply went with the flow.

Tim was starting to realize
she was safe. As he ran along the bike path on the way home, the
fabric of his shorts feeling good against his package as it bounced
around, Tim considered taking things further with her. He couldn’t
be celibate his whole life, just because of what happened in
Kansas. Krista didn’t seem the type to spread lies. With his
parents out of town for the next two weeks, now was the perfect
opportunity to get—

Boom!

Weight slammed into Tim
from behind, knocking him off the path. Unfortunately, this
particular path ran along a drainage ditch, a deep ravine which
left him nowhere to go but down. Tim tumbled, rolling over and
over, thankful that the ditch was grass and dirt and not hard
concrete—until he skipped into the air at the end and landed on one
leg with a crunch.

Pain! It seared up from his
leg and into the rest of his body, his brain burning as he swore
out loud. He managed to roll off the leg, easing his suffering, and
raised the limb into the air. Blood covered one shin. As bad as
that hurt, the source of the worst pain throbbed from further
down.

Tim carefully lowered his
leg, putting pressure on it. A fresh wave of hurt washed over him.
This wasn’t good.

“
Oh, god! I’m sorry. I’m
sorry!” Someone slid down into the drainage ditch with him. Whoever
it was, they were to blame!

“
What the hell happened?”
Tim spat.

“
I don’t—I’m just a
klutz.”

The guy acted like he was
going to pick Tim up and carry him to safety, which was ridiculous
because he was so scrawny that Krista could probably take him in a
fight. In fact, he looked familiar. They went to the same school,
if Tim wasn’t mistaken.

“
Is your leg
broken?”

“
Leg’s fine,” Tim looked
back at it. “It’s my ankle that’s jacked.”

The guy dropped to his
knees to examine it, like he could fix it with a little tape and
glue. Tim stared. Now he recognized him! Benjamin Bentley,
shameless homosexual and brave glarer at Bryce. He had inline
skates on his feet, which presumably had propelled him into
Tim.

“
We have to get you to a
doctor,” Ben said. “Can you walk?”

Tim tried putting weight on
his leg. Even though the worst of the pain had receded, walking on
it now would bring it all back again. “You’re going to have to help
me.”

“
Wait.” Ben flopped on to
his rump and started undoing his skates.

Tim watched him work. There
wasn’t really anything feminine about him. Aside from being a
little small he looked just like any other guy. Except apparently
he couldn’t skate without leaving behind a wake of destruction.
With the skates finally off, Ben dug in his backpack and pulled out
a pair of shoes. Jesus, how long was this going to take?

“
Right.” Finally dressed
for the occasion, Ben stood. “How do we do this?”

Tim looked up the hill he
had fallen down. “You pull me up there, I guess.”

“
Pull you how?”

Ugh! Tim would die down
here before he got this guy to do anything. “Just grab me under the
arms and pull. I’ll help as much as I can.”

Ben scuttled behind him,
and Tim lifted his arms. After another uncertain pause, Ben’s arms
hooked beneath his and pulled. Tim moved half an inch. Maybe. Now
he was sure Krista could win that brawl. Ben pulled again, and this
time Tim kicked with his good foot. Now they were getting
somewhere! After some grunting and no doubt a ton of grass stains
on his backside, they made it to the top.

They both panted from the
effort before Tim asked for help standing up. Ben handled this much
better. Soon Tim had an arm draped over Ben’s shoulder for support.
His ankle was still too sensitive for any pressure. Tim could kind
of hop along with assistance, but it was slow going.

“
Okay.” Tim sighed. “I
guess we make it to the nearest house and have them drive me
home.”

“
Your house is really close
if we cut through the trees there.”

Tim tensed. What the hell
was that supposed to mean? If Ben had only known his name, Tim
wouldn’t have been surprised. That was one of the perks of being
popular. But how could Ben know where he lived?

“
Let’s go, then,” Tim said.
The sooner he got home, the sooner he could forget this had
happened.

Ben held tightly to him as
they made their way through the trees, and for a moment Tim
imagined himself being led to some pit dug in the woods where no
one would see him again. Instead they reached a privacy fence. Left
and right, that’s all there was—one long row of fences.

“
Fuck,” Tim swore. “How
much further would it be if this fence wasn’t here?”

Ben looked away, ashamed at
having been called out. “Half a block.”

Tim hopped toward the fence
and grabbed its top. If they couldn’t get around it, they would go
through it. “Support me,” he said. Tim yanked on the plank, muscles
flexing with effort. Ben grabbed him just as the board came loose.
Cheaply built, the fence only had two nails holding it in place.
The plank fell to one side, so he worked another free, and then a
third. Now they had plenty of room to squeeze through. If the
owners saw them and came running, at least they could give Tim a
ride the rest of the way home.

As it turned out, the place
was empty, not having been lived in yet. They were close to his
neighborhood, all right. In fact, when they made it to the street,
Tim saw they were just a few houses away.

“
Which one is yours?” Ben
asked.

“
You tell me,” Tim snapped.
A little late to play coy, stalker boy. He glared at Ben, who was
staring at the ground, cheeks red. The rest of his skin had a nice
tan, the edges of his blond hair bleached platinum from the sun.
Tim’s hair never changed color like that. A sheen of sweat covered
Ben’s upper lip, either from the heat or the exertion of supporting
him. Was it the pain that rendered everything in such stark detail?
Maybe they should head to the studio instead. Tim watched in
fascination as Ben’s mouth formed a sentence.

“
Is anyone
home?”

“
No.”

“
Then shouldn’t we drive
straight to the hospital?”

Which would involve his
parents being called, and them being angry with him, like last
time. Tim turned his attention back to the goal. “I just need to
take the weight off my leg.”

The front door was
unlocked, the cold air inside already feeling good on his ankle.
Thank god for air conditioning! Tim had left the curtains closed
last night to keep the house cool. By this time of year, Kansas was
usually dropping hints about fall, but summer seemed to reign
eternal in Texas.

He flipped a light switch
and headed for the couch in his mother’s living room. That’s how he
thought of it, since it was just as flowery and dainty as his
father’s den was masculine. After lowering himself to the couch,
wincing with every inch, he told Ben to fetch a washcloth and first
aid kit from the bathroom. Once he got his leg cleaned up, it
should be a lot easier to see the damage.

“
Are you sure we shouldn’t
go to the hospital?” Ben held out a washcloth and a little first
aid kit. “Or call a doctor at least?”

“
No need. Same thing
happened to me freshman year.” And that was the other reason Tim
wasn’t interested in football. “I still have a brace upstairs. A
couple of days with that on, and I’ll be fine.”

Ben was staring at him with
saucer-sized eyes overflowing with guilt. “It’s just—”

Tim cut him off. “Thanks
for helping me get home.” Ben took the hint. Well, first he
apologized about ten more times, but then he finally headed for the
door. Tim was about to sigh in relief when Ben turned
around.

“
Are you sure you’re going
to be all right? When do your parents get back?”

“
In about two weeks.
They’re in Switzerland.” Tim worked on wrapping a cloth bandage
around his shin. He made sure not to look up again until he heard
the front door close. Then he leaned back on the couch and
sighed.

What a weirdo.

Tim sat there, breathing
deeply and forcing himself to remain calm. The pain receded a
little, but seemed to have reached its minimum level, which
unfortunately still hurt like hell. Last time the doctor gave him
pills that not only killed the pain but made him feel drunk. Some
of those would be good about now.

Tim sat upright. The movers
had packed absolutely everything. Maybe that included old
prescriptions. Unless things had changed, his mother kept those in
a kitchen cabinet. Tim considered several ways he could get there.
Finally he sat on the floor and used his three good limbs to move
himself backward. That way his leg could drag along the floor
without getting hurt. In theory. His ankle still bumped against
things and made him suffer for it, but Tim got to the kitchen,
pulled himself up on one of the counters, and opened cabinet after
cabinet.

His reward was a vintage
bottle of pills from 1993. After grabbing a Coke from the fridge,
he doubled the recommended dose, chugged them down with half the
soda, and started back to the couch. It was that or lay on the
kitchen floor. When he made it to the living room, he noticed the
clock. He had spent half an hour doing what would normally take a
minute. Those pills better work miracles, or he was royally
screwed.

In a way, they sort of did.
Soon Tim was feeling pretty damn good. His body thrummed with
pleasure, even though the pain was still there below the surface.
Trying to stand brought the pain back with a vengeance and had him
shrieking until he sat down again. Then the opiate haze resumed,
soothing him, but he clearly needed help. Tim lay on the couch,
wondering what to do and zoning out occasionally until the doorbell
rang.

Help had come! He heard the
front door open before someone said, “Hello?”

Crap. It sounded like Ben.
Then again, help was help. “Hey,” he shouted. “Come in!”

Sure enough, Ben came in
the room, still looking guilt-ridden. “Good that you’re here,” Tim
said, hoping to bolster his spirits. He needed action, not more
apologies “The ankle might be worse than I thought.”

“
Yeah.” Ben held up a thick
tome with a diagram of human anatomy on the cover. “I think you
have a third-degree sprain. Either that or it’s broken. You really
need to get to a hospital.”

Tim didn’t need a book to
tell him that. He kept a straight face and said as solemnly as
possible, “Probably should.”

“
Er, I know this is a
really stupid question, but are you all right?”

“
Yeah. After you left I
dragged my ass into the kitchen and remembered some pills from last
time. They’ve got me feeling…” Floaty? Cosmic? Rainbow flowery? “Oh
man,” he said instead.

“
I’ll call an
ambulance.”

“
No, fuck that. I’m not
dying or anything. We’ll take my car. You can drive,
right?”

“
Um… Yes?”

“
Well, get me up and we’ll
be on our way.”

Setting aside the book and
approaching the couch, Ben wrapped an arm around his back. He was
still warm from being outside, and his touch felt good on Tim’s
cold skin. Lying on the couch for so long in his jogging clothes
probably hadn’t been the best idea, but soon they were standing
outside in the heat.

“
Actually,” Tim said when
he saw his beloved car, “just get me seated and I’ll
drive.”

“
With one foot?”

“
Yes,” Tim said slowly.
“That’s usually how it’s done.”

Ben shook his head. “You’re
too doped up.”

“
And you can’t rollerblade
without killing someone,” he countered.

“
You’re not dead yet,” Ben
said defiantly.

Tim laughed. This guy
really was crazy. “All right, fine. You can drive. But be careful.”
He wasn’t laughing for long. As soon as he was in the passenger
seat, Tim braced himself for disaster. He even flinched when Ben
jammed the key into the ignition, as if he could make the car
explode just by doing this. Instead, the engine growled like it
always did.

Tim relaxed into the seat,
but his repose didn’t last for long. Ben drove like he was in a
dream, Tim suffering the experience like a nightmare. Ben made
casual conversation, twisting the wheel at the last second to avoid
bikers, pedestrians, or oncoming traffic. Maybe an ambulance would
be taking him to the hospital after all, but only after Ben wrecked
his car. Now it was all too clear how he had managed to crash into
Tim while rollerblading.

By some miracle, they
reached the hospital without creating extra victims to bring with
them. Ben pulled up to the emergency entrance, where he jumped out
of the car and snagged a wheelchair. That was a welcome
convenience. Once inside, Tim expected a team of concerned doctors
and nurses to rush him down hallways on a gurney, like they do in
the movies. Instead they sat in a waiting room with other
despondent souls and struggled with paperwork.