he was surprised to find the other man smiling. Gabriel’s hair was tousled from Joey’s grip and his eyes had a slightly unfocused look, as if he, too, had reached his destination.
“Not another man in Wentworth would get so rough with me,” Gabriel panted. “Never been fucked that way, not in the whole of my life.”
Joey felt a slow grin dawning. He enjoyed the effect he had on Gabriel. Enjoyed seeing the other man grow softer – his gaze, the set of his mouth, the timbre of his voice. “Did you …?”
“Oh, aye. But leaving a stain on the carpet is an invitation for trouble.” Gabriel showed Joey the wadded handkerchief in his right hand. “And I’ll not risk splattering books, not even the bad ones.”
More than an hour of common time remained, but Gabriel wasn’t interested in any of the card games in progress, so they walked back to their unlocked cell. Joey took a pen and a sheet of writing paper to his bunk, determined to progress beyond the salutation Dear Julia .
Since first reading Julia’s letter, Joey had revisited it several times, each time with a greater realization of what it must have cost her to write it. Julia valued loyalty above all other qualities, with the exception of honesty. To be caught between those two traits – to want freedom, want it desperately, while hating herself for it, must have been agony. Joey thought if he could find the correct words – not sanctimonious, not overly cool, not uncomfortably warm – he might be able to help. To give her permission, so to speak, and lessen her guilt when she thought of him behind bars at Wentworth. After that first terrible rush of anguish and self-pity, Joey had been genuinely glad of Julia’s decision. He just didn’t know how to tell her in a way that wouldn’t injure her all over again.
Gabriel sat down at the small table with a book and a smoke. He wasn’t at either for more than a minute before McCrory and Buckland appeared.
“MacKenna.” Buckland made a show of rapping on the bars, not entering until Gabriel waved him inside. For every Hess, who lived to put inmates on report, there was a guard like Buckland, mild and easy and willing to permit even criminals their dignity. Joey liked Buckland far better than McCrory, who spoke only to Gabriel and barely met Joey’s eyes at all. Even when they passed in the hall, McCrory physically shrank away, increasing the distance between himself and Joey whenever possible.
“Is that a fresh deck?” Gabriel asked, pointing at the cards in Buckland’s hand. Joey knew Gabriel well enough to know when the other man was feigning interest. After work detail, supper and their library rendezvous, Gabriel wanted only to read for a time, then sleep. But when the guards asked for a game, he never said no.
Joey watched for a while, but this game of five-card draw soon went just like the others. Buckland started strong, grew overconfident, and declined to fold once too often, losing an enormous pot to Gabriel. McCrory plodded along with exquisite care, sometimes gaining an excellent hand, only to be disappointed by how quickly Gabriel and Buckland folded. At other times, McCrory would sit up proudly, nodding and smiling, only to have Gabriel instantly call, revealing that McCrory held a pair of deuces or worse.
“Right. I’m off to G-block,” Buckland sighed, rising. “Wish they’d let us play you cons for real coin. I’d play better for real coin.” He left, but McCrory made no move to follow.
“I don’t understand.” McCrory sounded so peeved, Joey looked up from his letter, which had progressed no farther than, Dear Julia, I can’t possibly think how to begin …
“I’ve read three books on poker. I understand the game top to bottom. It’s not possible I should lose so often.” McCrory frowned at Gabriel. “I know Bucky wouldn’t cheat. You’re not cheating, are you, Gabe?”
Gabriel snorted. “Don’t have to. Go read another book. Try me again in the
“Not another man in Wentworth would get so rough with me,” Gabriel panted. “Never been fucked that way, not in the whole of my life.”
Joey felt a slow grin dawning. He enjoyed the effect he had on Gabriel. Enjoyed seeing the other man grow softer – his gaze, the set of his mouth, the timbre of his voice. “Did you …?”
“Oh, aye. But leaving a stain on the carpet is an invitation for trouble.” Gabriel showed Joey the wadded handkerchief in his right hand. “And I’ll not risk splattering books, not even the bad ones.”
More than an hour of common time remained, but Gabriel wasn’t interested in any of the card games in progress, so they walked back to their unlocked cell. Joey took a pen and a sheet of writing paper to his bunk, determined to progress beyond the salutation Dear Julia .
Since first reading Julia’s letter, Joey had revisited it several times, each time with a greater realization of what it must have cost her to write it. Julia valued loyalty above all other qualities, with the exception of honesty. To be caught between those two traits – to want freedom, want it desperately, while hating herself for it, must have been agony. Joey thought if he could find the correct words – not sanctimonious, not overly cool, not uncomfortably warm – he might be able to help. To give her permission, so to speak, and lessen her guilt when she thought of him behind bars at Wentworth. After that first terrible rush of anguish and self-pity, Joey had been genuinely glad of Julia’s decision. He just didn’t know how to tell her in a way that wouldn’t injure her all over again.
Gabriel sat down at the small table with a book and a smoke. He wasn’t at either for more than a minute before McCrory and Buckland appeared.
“MacKenna.” Buckland made a show of rapping on the bars, not entering until Gabriel waved him inside. For every Hess, who lived to put inmates on report, there was a guard like Buckland, mild and easy and willing to permit even criminals their dignity. Joey liked Buckland far better than McCrory, who spoke only to Gabriel and barely met Joey’s eyes at all. Even when they passed in the hall, McCrory physically shrank away, increasing the distance between himself and Joey whenever possible.
“Is that a fresh deck?” Gabriel asked, pointing at the cards in Buckland’s hand. Joey knew Gabriel well enough to know when the other man was feigning interest. After work detail, supper and their library rendezvous, Gabriel wanted only to read for a time, then sleep. But when the guards asked for a game, he never said no.
Joey watched for a while, but this game of five-card draw soon went just like the others. Buckland started strong, grew overconfident, and declined to fold once too often, losing an enormous pot to Gabriel. McCrory plodded along with exquisite care, sometimes gaining an excellent hand, only to be disappointed by how quickly Gabriel and Buckland folded. At other times, McCrory would sit up proudly, nodding and smiling, only to have Gabriel instantly call, revealing that McCrory held a pair of deuces or worse.
“Right. I’m off to G-block,” Buckland sighed, rising. “Wish they’d let us play you cons for real coin. I’d play better for real coin.” He left, but McCrory made no move to follow.
“I don’t understand.” McCrory sounded so peeved, Joey looked up from his letter, which had progressed no farther than, Dear Julia, I can’t possibly think how to begin …
“I’ve read three books on poker. I understand the game top to bottom. It’s not possible I should lose so often.” McCrory frowned at Gabriel. “I know Bucky wouldn’t cheat. You’re not cheating, are you, Gabe?”
Gabriel snorted. “Don’t have to. Go read another book. Try me again in the
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