Gary drove. Apart from casting glances in Drake’s direction, he remained silent, letting Drake stare blindly into the night. Would Drake notice if Gary opened a window? Usually so pristine, Drake’s deterioration hung around him, but the smell wasn’t of someone who hadn’t washed, so much as a scent of anguish, sadness, and despair—sour, indeed. The nursing home might be a good one, and better than a hospital, but Gary hated the smell of sick rooms. Hardly much of a character flaw when his reaction was natural enough, but he was glad of the occasional whiff of the deodorant Drake used—an odour he’d come to like and wanted to roll around in. He wanted to roll around on Drake, but that had to wait.
Selfish bastard.
Gary admitted to the self-interest, accepting the emotion came from fear that
