Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Dillon heard his phone beep, and he shot up in bed, his legs still protesting any sudden movement. It was ridiculous, how two weeks after the damned accident with Adam’s rope he was still feeling the pain. It sucked to get old.
The text message window blinked at him, and he bounced, pushing the little buttons and getting to the text from Coke. It had to be from Coke.
Sure enough, there was a little admonishment to use his salve, which he had, and a ‘me too’, which meant Coke missed him.
His Coke. He’d definitely started thinking of the man as his.
Oh, he’d fallen asleep in the hot tub and missed his chance, but there would be another, and God knew he’d been hurting bad.
Something about little shaved off pieces of bone.
Dillon hadn’t mentioned the bone thing to Adam when Dillon’d called to kind of kick him in the ass about his guilt. Adam Taggart was the best safety man in the game, and it had been pure chance, that rope sawing around across the top of the cage in the center of the arena.
“So are you sleeping with Coke?” Adam had asked, and Dillon had sputtered.
“What? No. I mean, not for lack of trying, but it hasn’t come down the way I want it to.”
There was something about Adam that made everyone tell him the truth. Maybe it was because the man was so blunt about everything, not ashamed to admit he got around and did what he damned well wanted.
“Well, get with it, boy. Neither one of you is getting any younger.”
“I… Jeez, Adam. I’m on it, okay? After the break.”
He’d been pretty much told to take it easy until after the break, and they’d put some ridiculous Blues Brothers fakers in his place for the last show before everyone went home for a while. Dillon had been pissed as hell, maintaining that he’d do the show in a motorized wheelchair if he had to.
Of course, after that show, Ace had told him never to get hurt again. The crowd wanted him. Period.
Dillon hoped no one would think he was an asshole if he felt vindicated.
“I’ll hold you to it,” Adam had said. “I’m real sorry about your legs, Dill. You know that, yeah?”
“Don’t be any stupider than you have to be, Tag. I love you more than my luggage.”
Everything had been right with him and Adam after that.
He hoped to hell everything was right with Coke, too. The text message was a good sign, but it had been a rocky road so far. Maybe he needed to make a plan.
Nah. Dillon had already learned that he flew better by the seat of his pants.
pharris: hey cowboy. How’s you
brrlman: good. miss you. how’s blind and gimpy?
pharris: loud. glad im stayin with the kids
brrlman: LOL. it snowed a few days ago
pharris: no shit. like snow-snow
brrlman: three inches. bizzare-o land
pharris: only in yankeeland is three inches a good thing
brrlman: you’re kind of sick. i like it. has jason ridden any?
pharris: yeah. couple times. gotta keep his eyes open or he pukes.
brrlman: oh gross. poor jase. buy him a beer
pharris: bax sez no beer
brrlman: ominous. next time i come with you
pharris; really? Id like that. lots.
brrlman: yes. no more running off without me
pharris: its a deal. we should go have
pharris: ice cream
brrlman: burgers. sex
pharris: ok when soon
brrlman: one more week
pharris ok i guess i can wait *wink*
brrlman: see you then, babe
pharris: ok cowboy. be good.
brrlman: i’ll be as good as i can. wait for me, huh?
pharris: always. you got my word