Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
“Will you quit it!” Bax snarled at Momma, feeling like an idiot for making her look like that, for making Jack stare him down. The fact was, he didn’t want to go. He just didn’t. It hadn’t even been two weeks since Jason had got hurt, and he wasn’t in any place to go ride.
Momma stopped fluttering around with his duffel bag and went to the kitchen, shoulders stiff, and Bax sighed, rolling his neck.
“Shit.”
“You got your stuff together, buddy?” Jason was leaning on the door frame, eyes looking like he could see. The doctor’d said it could be days, years, never. Hell, he’d said there might be days that Jason’d see stuff and days Mini couldn’t.
“Mostly. I’ll be back Monday, early as I can.” He was flying instead of driving, not willing to leave Jason that long.
“Tell the guys I’m recovering, yeah? Nothing else.” Shit, as if Coke and AJ were gonna handle that. Fucking Coke’d been on the phone two times a day for two weeks, Jason refusing to talk to anybody.
“I’ll tell them. They’ll pester me.” Shit, they’d hold him down and beat him. “You do what the doc says, okay?”
“Yeah, Bax. You keep your mind in the middle and your ass on them bulls.”
“I will.” It was bullshit, but he’d try. He needed the money. If he could earn enough to sit out a couple of events, all the better.
“Good. Don’t let Momma give you shit; you just go on. I’m managing.”
“She wasn’t giving the man shit. She was trying to help, and you boys ought to be a bit nicer to her,” Jack said, eyeing them both.
Only Jase couldn’t see it, so it was up to Bax to hang his head.
Jason, though, he just snarled. “If she’s miserable having me here, she can just come on and tell me.”
Well, shit.
“Come on, Jason. Walk me to the truck.” Hefting one bag and rolling the other, Bax nodded at Jack, who had puffed all up, but was deflating now. They all knew how damned hard this was, and Jason could be a bear when he was hurt.
He waited until they got outside before stopping, letting his bags drop. “It’ll be three days, man. I’ll be back. And you know your momma’s not wanting you gone. She’s just scared.”
“I know. I’ll be here.” Jason sighed, squeezed his arm. Fuck, this sucked. “Good ride, man.”
“Thanks, Mini.” The urge to kiss the man goodbye shocked him, and Bax settled for a quick, hard hug before he backed off. “You got the path back in okay?”
“Yeah.” Jason waved once, then turned around, moving slow and careful, looking old all of the sudden.
Goddamn it all.
Bax tossed his shit in the truck, punching the back bumper hard, cussing under his breath. He didn’t want to leave Jason behind. Not one bit. But he had to ride.
The drive to the airport and all the shit to get his gear through security passed in a blur and Bax slept all the way to North Carolina, determined to stop thinking, even if for just a few hours.
And it was just his fucking luck to meet up with Nate and Coke and AJ in the line for the hotel shuttle.
“Andy!” Coke grabbed his arm, frowning up at him. “What the fuck is going on with Jason?”
Asshole, thinking he could just get to know because… Oh, hell. Coke thought Mini fucking hung the moon.
“He’s banged up, man. Needs a few weeks off.” There. That was all he was allowed to tell. Officially.
“Uh-huh.” Coke’s lips twisted, those gray eyes staring him down. “You tell him that if he needs anything, anything at all, call, yeah?”
AJ nodded, bouncing like a jack in the box. “You know it, Andy. We got y’all’s backs.”
“Hey, you.”
Oh, yay. The gang was all here.
Nate chuckled, clapping him on the back. “I bet you’re sick of people asking, huh?”
He just shook his head. “I just want him back on tour.”
He got three somber nods, then another couple of guys coming over, worried and offering help. Jesus, it was good to know and deeply fucked, all at once.
Bax finally broke free of everyone but Coke at the hotel, smiling and nodding until he figured his face might crack. Damn.
“C’mon, cowboy. I’ll buy you a beer. You look like you need one.”
“You gonna badger me about Jason?” He wanted that beer, but he sure couldn’t take anymore hard poking. He stared right into Coke’s eyes, serious as a heart attack.
“Nope. I’m gonna gossip with you about Kynan and them Brazilian boys and possibly tell you a terrible joke we heard last week.” That rough hand took his elbow, Coke moving careful-like toward the bar.
“How’re you, old man? I hear you took a Hell of a shot in Orlando.” Coke was the oldest bullfighter on tour. And the best. Like Old Faithful.
“Shee-it. I look like I went forty-two rounds with Mike Tyson. Good thing I got high-necked shirts.” Gramps couldn’t turn his head, his neck’d been broken so many times.
“Yeah. I hear you. My shoulder felt like it was gonna pop right out when I got on a couple practice bulls Tuesday.” ‘Course, he’d slid right past his own appointment with Doc.
“Hell gettin’ old, Andy.” Coke settled down, motioned to the bartender. “Still, it’s better than the alternative. You hear that Houston Rogers is out for the season? He popped his hip.”
“No shit?” Man, the bulls were getting stronger every damned year. And they were getting hammered by the big monsters. “Man, he wasn’t in the money, but he wasn’t fixin’ to get sent down or nothin’.”
Coke nodded, his whole upper body moving as he did. “And his woman’s expecting.”
“Lord.” Well, they’d do some sort of relief auction for him. Hell, he’d bet Beau Lafitte, the current world champ, would donate a vest or something, make Houston a chunk of change.
“Yeah. He’ll be back next year, right as rain. Rookie’s got Bell’s luck, you know?” No shit—Sam Bell couldn’t get a good run for love or money.
“How’d they do last week? Sam and Beau?” Jason and Beau had been tight for a long while but had gone their separate ways for whatever reason. Bax never asked.
“Beau rode for a ninety-three pointer on Greenhorn in the short go. Sam won a little money in round two, so it wasn’t all bad for him.”
They got their beers, both drinking deep.
“Oh, that’s hitting the spot,” Bax said, smiling over. Coke was quiet, easy. Not so chatty that Bax wanted to take his teeth out.
“Yep. You wantin’ food, man? They got bar stuff. I’m wantin’ a burger.”
“I’d kill for a steak. I’ve had beans and cornbread ‘til I cain’t.” Bless Momma’s heart. She must have stock in pork products.
“Missus Scott is known for that, man.” Coke raised a hand. “Honey, I need a menu and another round.”
Bax almost turned down the beer, but he didn’t have to ride until tomorrow at eight, and God knew he could get over anything by then.
They set to talking shop—bullshitting about bulls and riders, about the contractors and the new bonus money coming down the pike. Normal shit. Shit that made it normal and easy. They ordered steaks and salads and potatoes.
Bax sucked down his third beer, leaning his elbows on the table after the little gal took the salad plate away. “You know, this is the best I’ve felt in a couple weeks.”
“I bet. It’s weird, being off the circuit like that.”
“Oh, I’m okay. I mean, for me. It’s Jase I’m missing. He’s got me worried.” Somewhere in the back of his head he knew he wasn’t supposed to talk on this shit, but Coke would find out. He always did.
“What can I do, Andy? You know y’all are dear to me.”
“I don’t know. We’ll just have to see how he heals up.” If Jason healed up. Bax didn’t even want to think what would happen if the man never could see again.
“You just let me know. He’s… His head’s okay, ain’t it? He ain’t…broke-broke.”
“He cain’t see, Coke.” Half whispering, Bax rested his cheek on his palm, shuddering just to think of it. “He’s got some kind of pressure.”
“Oh, shit.” Coke closed his eyes a second, the look pure hurt. “Oh, Jesus, Andy. Is it… I mean, is it all gone?”
“They say his eyes are fine. Like workable.” Sipping his beer, Bax stared at the table. “But he’s got this thing. It could come back tomorrow. It might never.”
“Don’t you tell anybody, Andy. Not a soul until after the season’s over.” Coke’s hand landed on his wrist, gnarled fingers hard as hell. “Those sponsors’ll leave him like rats off a sinking ship, and he just signed that soda pop one.”
“I know that. Hell, I wasn’t even supposed to tell you, and you like him. But you always know.” Bax blinked, looking at his fourth empty. “You’d best walk me to my room.”
“Yeah, okay. You don’t worry ‘bout telling me, Andy. Shit, you can’t shoulder your shit and Jason’s all alone. Man needs friends.”
“I’m glad he’s got you.” He stood, swaying, remembering all the damned Dramamine he’d taken. “Think I might be sick, Coke. Watch your boots.”
“Easy. Easy, now. Gimme your key.” A bottle of cold water was pushed in his hand, seemingly out of nowhere.
“Thanks.” Fumbling, he hauled out his key, handing it over. Shit, drunk like a cheap floozie on Mad Dog or something. He was getting old.
“Drink the water.” Those strong old arms muscled him into the room just like they’d pushed him out of bulls’ ways, around arenas.
“I will. Promise.” If he could get it open. This was what happened when Jase wasn’t around to take care of him.
Coke wasn’t near as good at it, but the man managed, getting him naked and watered and in the bed, the TV on for light. “Sleep, Andy. We’re having breakfast at nine-thirty. You come down.”
“I will,” he mumbled, curling into the comforter. “Need to call Jase.”
“Mmmhmm.” That rough hand rubbed his back a second. “Lay your burden down, Andy. I’ll carry it for one night.”
“You’re the savior, man. In or out of the arena.” Bax settled in, letting the water fix his drunken brain, and he was asleep before he even knew whether Coke stayed or went. Bax was ready to let it go. Just for one night.