The Farmer's Son

Chapter 21 The Story of Joel

"Good lord," Ray said, pulling away at the strong breath of alcohol and fanning it away with his hand. "Did you drink it or swim in it?"

Alan laughed loudly, and Ray clapped a hand over his mouth, casting a quick glance towards the end of the hall. There was no way he would be able to get Alan up to his room and keep him quiet, so Ray grabbed him by the front of his shirt and pulled him over the threshold.

"Rough! At least buy me a drink first," Alan said, tripping in and falling onto the bed with another loud laugh. "Oh, now I remember!"

Glancing towards the staircase again, where all was still quiet, Ray quickly closed the door, locking in all of Alan's noise. He turned, then stopped and blinked at what seemed to be an empty bedroom. "Alan?" he called, wondering for a brief, panic stricken moment if the young man had gone out the open window.

Then the muffled sound of victory led him to the space between the wall and the bed, where Alan lay flat on the floor, legs sticking out from underneath the bed. Ray didn't know whether to laugh or help him as Alan wriggled backward, whiskey bottle in hand.

"I used to hide beer in here all the time," Alan said. Dropping down on the edge of the bed, he twisted off the top and put it to his head for a deep gulp.

"Okay," Ray said, taking hold of the bottle and pulling it down, making some trickle down Alan's chin. "I think that might be enough for tonight."

"I'm still thirsty," Alan said, wiping his chin as Ray took the bottle away.

"Then I'll get you some water," Ray said, putting the cap back on.

"I don't want water," Alan said, rising and making a grab for the bottle.

"Then some coffee," Ray said, pushing him back down on the bed. "Sober you up some."

Alan's eyebrows drew together in a dark, petulant frown. With a sharp exhale he stood. "I don't need you to baby me," he said, reaching around Ray for the bottle. "If I want to drink, I'm gonna drink!"

"Oh, yeah?" Ray said, holding the bottle out of reach and holding Alan back with his body. "Then how about we go wake your Pa and have a drink with him?"

Instead of subduing him, the mention of his father only seemed to spur Alan on, and he lunged forwards, jostling Ray from behind. Caught off balance by the solid body bumping into him, Ray stumbled into the bedframe, and together him and Alan fell to the bed, Alan on top. The bottle of whiskey bounced off the bed to land on the floor with a thunk and slosh.

At any other time it would not have mattered, but to Ray's not quite mended ribs, Alan's weight was murder, and he cried out as sharp, stabbing pains shot through his torso. It stole his breath and left him seeing stars.

"Sorry!" Alan immediately pushed himself up. "Oh, god, Ray," he said, bracing his hands on the bed. "Are you okay?"

Arms wrapped around his torso and knees pulled up, he lay still, eyes closed, taking short, shallow breaths, unable to answer.

"Let me take a look," Alan said. "Move your hands."

Settling on his back, Ray slowly moved his arms away, and still half leaning over him, Alan placed a hand on the t-shirt clad torso. Sliding first to the right, then the left, his fingers gently pressing through the toned muscles to the bone beneath, he felt nothing broken.

Ray, breathing coming back to normal, opened his eyes and looked down at Alan. "All good, doc?"

Alan glanced up into the hooded blue eyes. "Yeah," he said. "All good."

Ray nodded, closing his eyes once more and taking slow breaths through his mouth.

Lifting his hand reluctantly away, his fingers curling in on themselves, Alan withdrew and shifted to the bed beside Ray, his own heart beating fast. "Sorry," he murmured.