Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 132512 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 663(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132512 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 663(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
His breath quickened, and he curled his shoulders in an attempt to submerge fully, but with the size of the tub, it was a lost battle.
Cole exhaled in relief, even though Ned still trembled, and his gaze remained wary, following movement only he could see. “Isn’t that better?” Cole asked, rolling up his other sleeve.
He stalled halfway through when it occurred to him he could avoid touching Ned by convincing him to use the soap himself, but the wretch shouldn’t be trusted with such things, considering the state he’d brought himself and the house to.
Or Cole was just being a pathetic lecher, but no one needed to know that.
Ned looked up at him, and for once the green eyes seemed more lucid. “I’m still cold, but a glass of gin might help. I have a real good bottle in the kitchen. How about we share? For old time’s sake?”
Any warm feelings Cole might have harbored in that moment were gone. “I’m not giving you any liquor, you damned drunk.”
“Come on, Coley-pie… I won’t tell Lars.”
White flashed in front of Cole’s eyes, and he slapped Ned’s face. “Shut up,” he mumbled and grabbed his own soap from the mantelpiece, since they hadn’t found any around the homestead. Figured.
Ned grumbled and the sweet begging in his eyes turned into a glare. “Never got any of your pie.”
Cole’s fist flew before he could have thought about it, knocking the back of Ned’s head against the edge of the tub, but this was yet another reminder of that one night in a hotel tub, when Ned hadn’t yet revealed himself as a heartless monster and held Cole in his arms, whispering gentle things into his ear.
Many times, he’d wondered why he hadn’t chosen to let Ned have him that night, when he’d trusted him with shameful secrets and had felt so safe in his arms. Would that have been an experience to treasure or another thing to be ashamed of? It was for the better that he’d never find out.
“Shut your mouth.”
For once, Ned did as he was told. He gathered some water into his hands and washed his face, rubbing away the dirt and grime while his massive beard soaked up the moisture like a sponge.
Cole got too distracted watching the expanse of Ned’s muscular back to wash him just yet, and almost missed it when Ned raised his hand.
“I’m gonna be sick!” he choked out, already gagging.
Cole dropped the soap and grabbed a bucket in time to hold it by the edge of the tub. This wasn’t how he’d imagined proving his supremacy over Ned O’Leary, but reality didn’t care for his opinion on the matter. Once Ned was done, he rinsed his mouth into the bucket a few times, and Cole didn’t know when his own hand found its way to the tangled mane Ned had for hair. But there he was, cooing to the helpless bastard while trying to keep down the contents of his own stomach.
He took the bucket outside and spent a good minute breathing in the fresh night air to calm down, but when he came back, Ned wasn’t up to his mad mischief. He just laid in the bath with his eyes closed, taking deep, shaky breaths. Cole recalled that state from a few terrible hangovers and knew that expecting Ned to clean himself now would have only turned the night into even more of a nuisance.
So he got on with it.
The soap killed the stink that had clung to Ned from the moment they’d met again, and once Cole got used to the concept of touching him, it became as easy as skinning a deer. He didn’t get any joy from it but was thorough in lathering up Ned’s hair, beard, limbs, and even his privates, because that was what taking care of an invalid was about.
Time stretched as Cole washed Ned’s teeth for him and gave him water to help with the dehydration made obvious by the cracks in his lips. He cut tangles from Ned’s hair, and shortened the beard that had been neglected beyond saving, with the same scissors Cole used for regular upkeep of his own tidy whiskers.
By the time he was done, the water had turned an unpleasant shade of gray, but Ned’s skin was once again rosy, and he smelled like a civilized man should.
Too weak to stand on his own, Ned needed to be helped out of the water, which ended up with Cole’s own clothes getting soaked, but once Ned was dressed in Cole’s spare union suit and clean socks, he resembled a person again.
Which created a new problem—it was much harder to feel revulsion in his presence. The stink had been a useful deterrent and reminded Cole what a piece of shit Ned was, but now, even though he still wasn’t the old Ned, he resembled him much more. When Cole had noticed Ned was missing a little toe, instead of feeling dark satisfaction over Ned’s deserved suffering, he wanted to give him another pair of socks and wrap him in three blankets.