Page 55 of On the Land, We Shoot Straight
“Didn’t think to grab your horse?”
Cole put the glass down. He leveled Grady with a look that made all that boyish charm disappear; he looked in that moment like he’d lived through hell and made it to the other side not only a man, but a really pissed-off man.
“She was already gone.”
Grady held his gaze. Cole was looking at him like he was daring him to ask a follow-up and telling him he wasn’t going to like the view if he did. Grady sipped his drink and then pulled out his cigarettes. He tilted the packet to Cole. Cole kept those steely eyes on him. He took a cigarette and leaned forward so Grady could light it. He sat back, blew out the smoke, and it was like he’d become that young man in front of Grady’s very eyes, right there in the kitchen over an old Irish bottle of whiskey. The events had transpired long before, but it was like he’d finally allowed them to settle on his shoulders. He smoked that cigarette, watched Grady, and Grady lit his own cigarette and regarded him in return. They didn’t speak, just smoked, the swirls of gray twirling and circling in the air between them. Cole knocked his boot against Grady’s, and the moment was gone.
“Reckon the beer’s cold now if you wanna try one,” Grady said.
Cole butted out the cigarette. “I’ll get it.”
He got up, and Grady drained the whiskey.
“What’s so special about these, anyway?” Cole said as he staggered back to the table with a longneck.
“You all right there?” Grady laughed and steadied him with a hand on his hip.
Cole grinned. “Feelin’ it.”
“Lightweight.”
Cole giggled, cheeks ruddy from the alcohol, eyes glassy. He went to open the bottle and then seemed confused when it wouldn’t twist open.
“Sit,” Grady said. He leaned forward, cracked the seal on the edge of the table, and poured them both a glass.
“We can’t all be heavyweights,” Cole replied a few moments too late, his mind several paces behind the play.
“Who’s a heavyweight?” Grady handed Cole the beer. “And it’s special ’cause my daddy brewed it. Family recipe.”
He clinked his glass with Cole’s, and Cole squinted at him.
“You’re right.” Cole sat up and drank the beer. “Not a heavyweight, more like…” He leaned his head in his hand and studied Grady openly. Grady would call it checking him out, something he was not used to being on the receiving end of with another man. He didn’t mind it one bit. Probably because it was Cole, and more likely because it was Cole drunk.
“Like one of them old-school Hollywood fellas.”
“Hollywood?” Grady kicked Cole’s foot and leaned back in his chair.
“Yeah, you know, all tanned and manly and shit with those eyes.” He waved his hand at Grady’s face as if that explained it.
“I got eyes?” Grady said before he could stop himself. He must’ve been drunker than he thought. “You lookin’ in the mirror lately?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m a pretty boy, blah, blah, blah.” Cole sounded drunk and pissed off. Like he’d heard it a million times, and not in a nice way.
“No.” Grady shook his head. He measured his words. “They pretty, yeah,” he said slowly.
Cole narrowed those eyes at him; the little drunk sharpening up under the impending insult.
“But they’re deep too. A man could get lost in ’em.”
Cole’s eyes widened, and his previous ire fell away.
“Shit, I’m drunk,” Grady said to cover that slip, and Cole cleared his throat and said, “Me too.”
“We should eat somethin’,” Grady said and got up.
He heard Cole slump behind him, his glass clinking on the table.
Grady opened the fridge, pulled out all the leftover containers Bonnie had sent, and set about putting them on the table. He set out the plates, watched as Cole picked out all the best portions and snorted a laugh.
