One of them was filled with Ned’s powerful form, gloriously naked in black and white.
Their eyes met over the carnage, and each made a dash for it.
“Then you don’t get to keep me either!” Ned cried, and they butted heads, grabbing the picture at the same time. It ripped when they pulled, sending them to their rears with half the photograph each.
It was like a punch, and while seeing the photograph in pieces filled Cole’s throat with gravel, he leaned forward and slapped Ned’s face hard. The loud smack it produced offered no relief to his aching heart.
“I hate you! You wreck everything I hold dear!”
This time Ned didn’t hit back and got up without looking at Cole.
Gavin cleared his throat nearby and stepped closer. “It’s all good, old chap, I can make another copy.” But even he kept his voice to a whisper, as if Cole were thin glass that could be shattered by sound.
Cole was glad no one else spoke, but he could sense all the hot gazes on him, ripping his clothes to shreds, and then tearing at his flesh until they all could see the ashes and still-burning ruins left in his heart. He gathered all the pictures, including the top half of the torn one, and rose, walking off into the darkness, away from everyone. Away from their presumptions, judgments, and even the kind words they might have offered. They would have meant nothing. He couldn’t change anymore. And nothing in the world could heal him.
He was glad to hear that Ned hadn’t followed him, because he was done talking, explaining, or fighting. He’d been alone from the day the man he loved had betrayed him, and it was time to accept that this would be his life.
He’d fantasized about spending one more night with Ned, but it would have only prolonged both their agony. Just like he’d put a bullet in Thunder’s head himself, he should have taken Tommy and ended whatever he’d had with Ned instead of letting the man burrow into him like a maggot.
Tomorrow, they would finally part. Cole wouldn’t tell Ned where he was headed, and whatever Ned decided to do with his life from then on, wouldn’t be Cole’s problem.
It would be as if they’d never met.
Chapter 22
Cole’s head drummed with barrel fever to the point where he needed to soak his handkerchief with some mint oil in order to settle his stomach for the ride ahead. This morning’s goodbyes had been reserved, which was no wonder, considering the scene he and Ned had made last night. Shame was a constant presence at the back of Cole’s mind when he shook hands and exchanged nods prior to their departure, but even out of his friends’ sight, their disapproval weighed heavily on his shoulders.
After the violent exchange between him and Ned, liquor had been the only solace that wouldn’t offer advice or judge him, so he drank until he’d fallen asleep under one of the wagons and woke chilled to the bone. His throat felt raw, as if he’d been screaming at the top of his lungs, but whatever he’d done when drunk hadn’t been mentioned.
Now he only needed to bear the final hours in Ned’s presence. Once Tommy was safe in the orphanage, he and Ned would go their separate ways, and with the issue of Butcher Tom’s death and Ned’s past betrayal settled, he’d be free to no longer think about either of those things. He’d be truly free to go and do as he pleased.
On his own.
With a blank slate to fill with anything and anyone he desired.
Ned must have borrowed the brocade vest from one of the performers, because he was back to his usual outfit consisting of a brown vest worn over a shirt. And the jacket, which Cole had feared would be left behind in a gesture befitting a scorned lover. But while Ned had bags under the eyes, and hadn’t shaved, he didn’t stink of booze.
Cole was too proud to ask him where he’d slept last night. That wasn’t his problem anymore. Ned could do as he pleased. Get a job, or not. Sleep with Terje, or not.
One thing was certain—Ned would never again make a scene that shamed Cole to the bone, and judging by his sunken shoulders, he realized that he’d crossed the line, and there was no way back.
They didn’t talk beyond grunting directions, or mentioning the mundane, but they both made a bit of effort for Tommy’s sake, so the boy wouldn’t feel as if a funeral procession was taking him to his new life. He must have picked up on the bad mood either way, because he mostly kept to himself and didn’t look into their eyes much.
They’d asked around where the orphanage was, and when the imposing facade of red brick emerged from between old trees on the right side of the sandy road, Cole knew they’d arrived at their destination. St. Nicolas of Myra’s Home for Orphaned Children was only a couple of years old and, when it came to taking care of children, way more civilized than alms houses and poor farms.
It was run by nuns, which meant the Catholic Church would ensure Tommy didn’t go hungry and that he’d learn a trade. What more could an orphan with nothing to his name and no family ask for?
Perhaps the care of someone who wasn’t a stranger, but Cole had been in Tommy’s shoes, and the life he’d led with the Gotham Boys wasn’t meant for someone so young. He had nothing to offer the boy but a bedroll and hard ground to sleep on. All he knew was shooting, killing, and hard manual work, and Ned was even more useless, so despite the growing dullness in his chest, it would be for the best if they left Tommy behind.
Vast grounds surrounded the orphanage, offering space where the children could play, and as they rode along the iron bars of the fence around it, Cole spotted a vegetable garden where several boys worked under the supervision of women in dark veils.
Dust rose from under Nugget’s hooves with the horse’s every step, but while this area wasn’t as peaceful as the countryside, the homes across from St. Nicolas’ had a decent enough appearance, with laundry hung outside of windows and girls in clean clothes playing in one of the backyards. A statue of the institution’s patron saint stood on the left side of the entrance, close to a cart filled with produce offered by a young woman in a somber dress that looked similar to those worn by the nuns. Her hair, however, had been left uncovered, so perhaps she was one of the orphanage's older wards, selling whatever grew in the massive gardens.
It was a day like any other. Sunny. Peaceful. Their last.
Only that there wasn’t even a them since last evening’s fight. Ned’s words had sliced Cole open, and if he wanted to heal, he’d ride away.
Ned was the first to dismount, and he went over to help Tommy off Zeb’s horse. Tommy had gotten into the habit of riding with Dog, who was still healing from the amputation, so the beast would usually come off first.
Tommy didn’t make a sound, or sign, but Ned still spoke to him as if he had.
“Maybe I’ll ask if they can let you keep him,” he said, removing Dog from a nest of sorts he’d fashioned at the front of Tommy’s saddle.
Cole’s mood, which had been dreadful before, reached a new low. Dog had been Ned’s only friend for years. Without him, he’d still have Nugget, but while the horse might have been a wonderful companion, he couldn’t always be by Ned’s side.
Cole dismounted and hurriedly hitched Carol to a post by the orphanage’s gate, casting a glance at the grand building with two wings. The place was big enough to house two hundred parentless children.