Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
The rest of the show went by in a blur for Dillon. Luckily, the short go was usually a quiet time for him, because the brass believed firmly in letting the bulls and the riders be the stars.
Dillon had never been so damned grateful for that.
A handheld mic didn’t go well with his style, for one thing.
Of course, it made it easier not to pant into the microphone, which was good.
The downside was that his one arm was pretty much completely numb, so he had to make do with his one good arm for everything.
His ribs ached, his butt hurt and, worst of all, Coke wouldn’t look at him.
At all.
He hadn’t hurt so damned bad since that Boise football player had hit him at the all state championship his senior year. Considering that was nearly twenty years ago, that was a long time to go between hurting like this.
Once the check was presented, Dillon ducked right out of the gate, waiting for Coke and Nate, who were doing their little after the show prayer. He could see Coke’s hand, huge and black, the fingers swollen all out of proportion, hanging over Nate’s shoulder, and it made him wince.
“Hey. Let’s take you to the back, get you checked out, huh?” Jonesy’s hand circled his upper arm, leading him back to Sports Medicine.
“Wait. Jonesy. I need to talk to Coke.” He tried to pull away, but Mr. Numb All Night Arm started screaming.
“Uh-uh. You come on. Now. Doc! Dillon’s shoulder’s dislocated, I think.” Everybody in the back stopped, staring at him.
He saw Coke, who was coming around the chutes, stop, see him and go purely gray. “Oh, sweet Jesus.”
Troy and Ace were right behind Coke and Nate and he heard the chute boss, clear as a bell. “Jesus fucking Christ, Pharris. Don’t we pay you to make sure he doesn’t get hurt? You know how much he’s worth?”
Ace slapped Troy on the shoulder. “Lord, the rate we’re losing guys, we’re going to have to start docking their pay per injury.”
Dillon swayed a little. “It’s not his fault, damn it. I’m the one who got in the way. What’s the first rule of the clown, guys?”
Everyone but Coke chuckled, and there was a chorus of, “Stay in the barrel, stupid.”
“Come on, Dillon. Let’s get you fixed up.” Jonesy smiled at him, winked. “Let the bosses growl at the bullfighters. Coop’s out for at least six weeks. He’ll be able to go home to that new baby.”
“Oh, well good for him. So Fred will be back up, huh?” He was babbling. He knew he was, but he couldn’t… Wait. “Coke needs his hand looked at, Jonesy. It’s all black.”
“Coke knows whether he’s hurt or not, man. Besides, if he doesn’t want to come back, Nate will just run interference, and they’ll both bolt.”
Snapping out of his haze, Dillon set his jaw and pulled away, managing to do it this time. “So I don’t get the luxury of knowing how I feel? You going to baby me, Jonesy?”
One eyebrow went up, Jonesy’s lips twisting.
“Look, Dillon. We can do this one of two ways. You can be an asshole, I can get Doc, and we can make a scene and be unpleasant. Or you can remember that you’re under contract tighter than anyone here but me and Doc, come and be nice, and we’ll get your shoulder fixed. ”
“I just need to see Coke, Jonesy. Just for two seconds. Okay? Then I’ll go quietly.” Damn it, he wasn’t asking too much, was he? He needed to see if Coke was okay, and apologize for fucking up.
“Ace has him, Dillon.” Nate came over, rolling his shoulders, all exhausted. “Coop’s hurt pretty bad. They’re shipping Coke to Montana with me in the morning to work the big show. Ace is doing the arrangement thing.”
He stared at Nate, trying not to scream like the damned diva they all accused him of being on occasion. Cooper was hurt. That should mean more than his own desperate need to make sure Coke was good, that they were good. Sighing, he turned to Jonesy.
“Let’s go. Quicker we get this done, the sooner I can make some calls.”
“You know it. Night, Nate.”
Nate nodded to Jonesy. “Night, man.”
“Night, Nate. Get some rest, yeah?” Dillon followed Jonesy to sports medicine, where ninety percent of the guys once again stared at him like he’d grown two heads.
David was there, right after he got settled, eyes dark and warm, concerned. “Lord, Lonnie. My heart stopped when I saw you. How’re you doing?”
“Huh? Oh, I’m okay. My arm doesn’t work.” He grinned and did an Igor kind of shuffle walk, letting his bad arm dangle. Gross, but cool.
“Shit. God, don’t do that. It’s freaky.” David helped him up onto the table and pulled out a handkerchief. “For your face. You and your damned makeup.”
The tease was familiar, making them both smile.
“Hey, I used to do it for tradition. These days it hides the wrinkles.” The grease paint came off easier than usual. He must be sweating up a storm.
Jonesy came over with a cupful of pills and a syringe. “Take the pills, and then we’ll get you this muscle relaxant.”
“What kind of pills?” Pills could make him pretty goofy. He did stupid things. Like climb out on a fourth story balcony and sing You Light Up My Life to people who broke up with him.
“Percocet and Levaquin. You’ll need ’em, Walsh.” Doc came over, shaking his head. “This’ll hurt. You done X-rays yet, Jonesy?”
“No sir. Fixin’ to.”
“Wait. X-rays?” He stared at David, starting to get a little panicky.
“Easy, Lonnie. Easy. What’s up, Doc?”
Doc smiled a little. “No big thing. I just want to make one hundred percent sure it’s just dislocated and exactly where things are. That way we pop it in quick and easy.”
“Well, that sounds reasonable.”
David’s buttery voice soothed him, calmed him down a little, even if he wished Coke was there. Maybe that meant he was well and truly over David, and one hundred percent in love with Coke.
In fact, he was pretty sure that was it.
“Take the pills, Dillon.” Jonesy touched his hand. “The X-rays will take two minutes.”
“Oh. Sure.” Man, he wasn’t good at cowboy up, was he? The guys were all determinedly not staring at him now, so he sucked the pills down and put on his show face. “Ready.”
“Good man.”
The little portable X-ray machine was wheeled over, David and everybody stepping back.
It was weird, how the X-rays didn’t hurt like they had the time he’d broken his ankle ice skating. Dillon could see now how the guys could ride with a shoulder out. Oh, it wasn’t pleasant, it hurt. A lot. But he made it through without screaming or passing out. Heck, he didn’t even make a sound.
“Good deal. Now. I’ll give you this shot, and we’ll put things back.” The injection happened damn fast, and the rush of dopey hit about the time he realized scissors were slicing through his shirt.
“Shit! You could have taken it off!” His sponsors would shit a brick.
“You have more than one.”
He was going to whack Jonesy with a shovel.
“You have any idea how much… Uh. Jonesy? Is the world supposed to be blue?”
Dude.
“Yeah, Walsh. That’s normal. David, you’re driving him to the hotel, right?”
“I am.” David nodded, coming to stand in his line of sight. “I’ll get him settled. Y’all just have to decide when he can travel home.”
“He’s going to…” Jonesy glanced at the X-rays, then handed them to Doc. “He’s gonna be sick and sore tomorrow. Can you keep him in a room for two more days? Then he’ll be feeling like traveling.”
Doc made clucking noises, staring at the X-rays against the bright lights. “You’re going to want to stay as still as possible, for sure, but nothing is cracked. Where else hurts?”
“My butt. And uh, my ribs, but they’re not broken. I promise. Been there.”
“Good deal. You’re sure?”
“I am.” That he could tell. He was sore as hell, but there wasn’t that grinding horror when he tried to breathe.
Jonesy nodded, took hold of his arm. “If you’re sure, that’s good enough for me. Ready?”
“Ready.” One last look at Jonesy, and Dillon closed his eyes, waiting for the big ow. It came, but it wasn’t nearly as earth-shattering as he’d thought, more like his heart stopped and his head exploded then it was better and his hand woke up.
“Wow. Evil hand.” He flexed it, glad to see his little sausage-swollen fingers wiggle. “Man, Ace and Sandy would have my ass if I’d killed it.”
“No killing it. Let’s wrap you up.” Jonesy’s touch was gentle now, careful.
“You’re good at that Jonesy. I can see why the guys like you better than Doc. Or Shaun.” He’d seen Shaun stitching Beau up once. It had been a scene of unimaginable gore.
“They like me because I make them take the good drugs.”
“That, too.” Man, he was going to have to get David to get him some food on the way back to the hotel. He was getting queasy as hell. “Has anyone seen Coke yet?”
“Ace has him, remember?” David’s smile was gentle. “He’s a tough old man, Lonnie. He’ll see you at the hotel, I’m sure.”
“Okay.” Soon enough, Dillon was wrapped up like a mummy, including ice and plastic wrap on his ribs. “Can I go now?”
“If you can walk. David?”
“I’ll get your gear, man, and we’ll go. You hungry?”
“I could eat a little something.” He stuck his tongue out at AJ, who he hadn’t noticed sitting across from him, laughing like a loon at the way his knees didn’t want to work. They were all wobbly and stuff, his joints going all over with bad angles.
“You heading back to the room, man?” AJ asked. “I’ll let Coke know.”
“I am. I think I might melt otherwise. Dribble right through the floor.” He still had enough strength to flip Donnie off when he made blub-blub noises, though. “Happy Meal, here I come.”
He headed out, swaying a little, David’s lean body right there to lead him out so he could wait for Coke.