Chapter Eight
Ernest
“They kicked me out.” Ernest’s life as he knew it was over.
He had never felt so defeated in his whole life.
Breaking up with Pierre had been bad enough.
Being physically removed from the hospital had wounded Ernest beyond repair.
He stared up at Rick, realizing he made a pathetic picture—he was beyond caring.
He was sitting in the middle of his ruined paddock. Bottles of booze—every bottle of alcohol Ernest had had in the house—strewn around him, providing a frame for his despair.
“It took four of them,” he said, his voice choking with tears. “They didn’t listen to me when I said Toby was my mate. They said he wasn’t claimed, had no mark, and I wasn’t his next of kin, so they couldn’t let me see him.
“And when I yelled—I mean, you would yell, right? Because I was really upset, and no one was fucking listening to a word I said. But when I started yelling, those four uniformed brutes came out of nowhere, tackling me to the ground and dragging me out by my arms and legs as if I couldn’t walk under my own steam. ”
Ernest felt the anger and humiliation all over again.
“I kicked at a couple of them, but that didn’t help.
Those bastards must have been made of concrete.
Not that it made any difference. They wouldn’t let me in to see him.
I was the one who saved him. It was me who took him to the hospital in the first place.
They wouldn’t even tell me his last name.
How can I find him if I don’t even know his last name? ”
“Is this pity party going to go on for much longer?” Rick questioned dryly.
“Only there’s the little matter of trying to get this paddock straightened up, to consider.
Are we going to try re-sowing it? Putting in some new seeds?
We still have plenty. We could try to recoup some of our losses.
Thanks to your quick work, directing the balloon clients to the edges of the paddock when you did, we at least only lost half of the paddock, not the full field. ”
“I don’t know what to do anymore.” Sitting on the ground, his arms draped over his knees, still wearing his ripped shirt and dirty pants from being dragged into the hospital parking lot, Ernest shook his head.
“You might as well just bury me in this damn field.
Four hours I waited—four hours I waited outside the front of that hospital, hoping to catch sight of Toby when he was released.
“And then, when he didn’t come, I stayed even longer, waiting for the staff to change shifts. I even tried to smarten myself up before I went back in to inquire about him. But they said there was no Toby at the hospital. He’d already gone.
“I don’t know how, and I don’t know where. The nurse just said his next of kin had been with him and would make sure he would get safely home. But I don’t know where that home is.” Ernest was rapidly blinking—if he started crying, he couldn’t stop.
“I’m not saying that it’s not extremely traumatic to have found and lost a mate all in one day,” Rick muttered, looking perplexed as he should. “But tomorrow morning, you are going to be kicking yourself for another reason if you don’t follow up on this business with Pierre and the wrecked field.
“We have time to re-sow this mess. The original seeds have only been in two weeks. Provided we don’t get a heavy frost, we can at least recoup this half of the field that was so badly damaged. Is that something you want to try?”
Ernest understood what Rick was doing, except asking him to decide about anything that wasn’t Toby was beyond the limits of his exhausted brain.
He’d one tiny speck of happiness…no, not even that.
Holding Toby in his arms when he was unconscious hardly counted for anything, did it?
Especially if the man didn’t know he was doing it.
From the moment Ernest had arrived at the hospital, well-meaning staff had tried to take Toby out of his arms. Toby needed to be assessed.
There was concern because he was a shifter who still wasn’t waking up…
Ernest understood they needed to do their job, but he was arguing hard with an elephant who at least wanted to see Toby wake up before he let him go.
But no… concern for Toby won out. A mate’s duty was to care for his mate, even if it meant handing that mate over to other people with medical experience.
If only Toby had regained consciousness before he was whisked away into a room they wouldn’t let Ernest into. Maybe if he had been awake, his animal side would have told him about me, too…
“Ernest, for fuck’s sake. Stop dwelling on what you can’t change. Did you want to hear about how it was a right bastard getting that balloon and basket out of this field, and that’s without Pierre clinging to the deflated balloon, refusing to let it go.”
“Did the police confiscate that damn thing?” That’s what Ernest wanted to have happen. It wasn’t going to make him feel any better, but if he could ruin Pierre’s day, that was a tiny spark of light in a shit day.
“They did,” Rick said smugly. “They had a truck and one of those car trailers, and they bundled it up the moment the balloon was fully deflated. The officers all got together to lift it over the field as best they could, with Pierre screaming that they were stealing his livelihood as they did it. There was no sign of the chase crew, which the police thought was odd. Did you have anything to do with that?”
“The bastards were trying to break in my front gate. So yeah, I had something to do with that.” Ernest’s lip curled at the memory.
“I’d have done them a lot more damage, but I was too busy worrying about getting Toby the help he needed at the time.
The bastards were blocking the driveway, and I needed to get out. ”
“I know, I know, having a mate is important. We will track him down, but in the meantime, what sort of charges are you laying against Pierre? I told the officer about the damage, but did you want anything else included?”
“You mean aside from assault and damage to my mate with his stupid landing move? Is that a criminal offense? Because if it’s not, it should be.
” Ernest let out a long sigh. “Breaching his trespass order, wrecking the paddock, endangering people and goods, fricking coming onto me like he thought he had a right. Sleazy bastard.”
Rick chuckled. “That’s not exactly a criminal offence. And for the record, he tried it with me after you’d left as well, rubbing up against my arm until I needed a shower.”
“You’re fucking kidding me.” Ernest looked at his friend in shock. “I still remember when you told him the next time you saw him, you were going to throw him in the nearest pond. You’ve hated him since the first time I met him, and I don’t remember that changing when he left.”
“Yeah, I know. It seems that Pierre will happily suck the dick of anybody at all if he thinks he can get out of trouble. It didn’t work. The day I resort to those methods, I’d rather risk splinters by fucking a tree.”
“Me too.” Ernest looked around at the damage in his paddock.
The big dent where the balloon had landed.
The secondary dent, not quite as deep, was where the basket had fallen over.
Scrape marks across the dirt showed where the police vehicle had arrived to pick it up.
It was a mess. Not unsalvageable, but it was still a mess.
“I know I promised you I wouldn’t let the needs of my dick interfere with the season,” he said, looking up at his friend. “But it’s really, really difficult to think about anything except looking for Toby. I’ve taken in his scent. I’m aching, I want to find him so badly.”
“You do have a contact for that,” Rick said, glancing up at the low hanging sun. “Admittedly, Bucket List Buddies is probably closed at the moment, but there’s no reason why you can’t be on the phone to them first thing Monday morning.
“You’ve got a perfectly good reason to talk to them regarding what Pierre has done in the field.
I’m not seeing the harm if you can casually mention you’re enquiring about the young man who was hurt.
You can say you couldn’t remember his name, but maybe that Remy, who runs the place, will give it to you.
It should be easy to chase him up from there. ”
“Monday morning?” Ernest felt like he wanted to cry all over again. “That’s a whole day and a half away.”
“A day and a half where we could fix this field and plant new seeds.”
Ernest glared at his friend, although there wasn’t any heat behind it. “You don’t normally work weekends. Why are you offering now?”
“Probably because I don’t want to see you making a fool of yourself, rampaging around in your elephant form, looking for a man you don’t even know the surname of.
That’s not going to help your reputation or that of this farm.
It makes more sense to me for you to keep busy doing something constructive at least until Monday morning rolls around. What do you say?”
“It’s not like I’ve got any other options.” Ernest wrinkled his nose at the empty bottles strewn around. “Getting drunk’s not working. Sometimes, this being a shifter business really sucks.”
“At least it’s the day and the lack of being drunk, yeah, that sucks. Imagine if you’d still been tied up with Pierre when you met the sweet Toby. Now that would really suck.”
Ernest shuddered, pushing himself off the ground and brushing off his pants. “That would be an absolute shitshow.” Huffing, he added, “Let’s get some food so I can soak up this useless booze and then work out the best way to fix this mess. Did you get photos of the damage?”
“Yep, and so did the police.” Rick patted his shoulder. “It will work out, my friend. The Fates are never wrong, they just have a weird way of encouraging things to work out at times. Who knows, maybe this Toby will start looking for you.”
Ernest managed a quick smile, but he didn’t take any heart from Rick’s words. How could Toby find him, when he had no idea who Ernest was? Because of Ernest’s worry and confusion, the only lead Toby had was a trace of scent on his clothing, and that was a maybe at best.
My poor mate had a head injury. He might not even realize he's found and lost his mate at all. My gods, I hope he’s all right. That was more important to Ernest than anything else.
“Steak, stew, fried chicken, or pizza?” Rick had his phone out.
“All of them,” Ernest grumbled. That booze wasn’t doing his guts any good at all, and an elephant with a rumbly tummy was no joke.