Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Dillon stood behind the cage in the center of the arena, bouncing from foot to foot.
Three rides left. Three. They’d had a little concert at intermission, had a bunch of high eighty-point rides. The crowd was rockin’, their memories way shorter than the guys on tour.
That was good, though. No one wanted to pay money to be depressed. Adam Taggart’s horse was almost right behind him—Dillon could feel the rush of hot breath. Was it time to play? He checked with David, raising his palms.
David nodded once, rustling papers before giving him the thumbs-up.
Dillon turned around and squeaked, backpedaling as if he was surprised to find Smoke right in his face. Adam twitched the reins, and Smoke bobbed his head, looking for all the world like he was laughing.
“Dude! Horse breath! This guy, he’s always throwing his horsepower around.” The crowd laughed, even though it sounded lame to Dillon. Not even his B game.
Adam looked like they all felt, gray and tense under the Stetson. Still, they had a job to do, and Adam had Smoke dance around. Dillon clapped, getting the crowd into it, and the sound man got with it, and soon enough, they were ready for the next ride. Two more, then Beau.
Assuming Beau hadn’t just had a total temper tantrum and left. The man’d been promised the chance to go first, but between sponsors and the network, well… Nobody got what they wanted.
Sandy had been purple with rage, which made Dillon like him more than he ever had.
Kynan got a score. A ninety. Damn, that was gonna be hard to beat, though really Beau just needed to stay in the middle and make a score.
Still, what mattered was that Sam’d won the event, right? Was still alive.
In a coma.
In the hospital.
Jesus.
Nausea threatened to take him over, so he pasted on a smile and did a flip instead.
The crowd went crazy, then Raul, that new boy from Brazil, was up.
The cowboy had been riding like a madman, covering bull after bull after bull.
Rhymes with Snot whirled around and Raul spurred hard, the bullfighters flanking him.
He rode a lot like Balta Silva. Pure strength and a very spare style.
Dillon stayed quiet, dancing idly to the music.
Raul made the ride, easy as you please, then hopped off.
The bull headed for Nate, who slapped it aside.
Thank God, because just catching Raul had knocked Coke into a gate, and Dillon could see him turn pale.
His feet wanted to go over, but his brain told him that Coke wouldn’t thank him. He had to wait.
Beau was next.
Coke was at the gate, talking hard. Blood dripped from that one poor hand, staining Coke’s arm.
Balta pulled Beau’s rope, that pretty mouth moving fast, too. Beau wouldn’t care if the words were Portuguese. Dillon knew the man just needed to suspend thought.
One ride. Please God. Let the man ride so he could go.
The noise level rose to the point where Dillon could barely hear David in his earpiece. The crowd was just as ready as everyone. “Okay, Lonnie. One more ride. This is it. Shake it.”
Dillon was going to kill him.
Dillon shook it, though, the music swelling to cover the sound of the men down at the chutes.
He prayed hard, knowing Coke wouldn’t have the chance.
He saw the familiar hat brim dip and the gate opened, the little black bull spinning quick.
Beau’s chin was down, the expression on the cowboy’s face pure fury.
Dillon got it. He was pretty rage-y himself. Damn.
Six. Seven. Eight. Bingo.
Beau got off, landing damn near in Coke’s arms. The man barely waved at the crowd, which was going wild.
That had been the best damned ride of a season of amazing rides. Lord above, that was what they all needed.
He barely heard the announcement of the scores, what with David telling him to get Beau the trophy and the big check.
Jogging across the arena, he watched Balta jump down off the chutes and pick Beau up, tears streaming down the big Brazilian’s face. Dillon’s eyes stung some, too, but he blamed the dust. Coke and the others were already gone, disappeared into the back.
Ace met him at the front of the chutes with the trophy, and Sandy brought the buckle. Beau was about ready to explode.
“Joa’s got the truck pulled up. I will get your gear.” That was Balta.
“Thanks, Balta.” Beau shook hands with the man, then smiled once for the camera. Then the little man was gone. Boom. Running for the back without a single fucking word.
Both David and the TV announcer, John Keane, started talking fast, explaining how Beau’d got beat up the night before, how his best friend and traveling partner was real hurt. They got Raul out there to get his buckle as reserve champion.
Dillon did all the smiling and nodding that he could, then he had to go. He was on fucking break, damn it.
Jonesy was waiting for him, Doc’s right-hand man and the cowboy’s answer to everything that didn’t need a surgeon standing firm. “I need to see Coke, Dillon.”
“I know, Jonesy, but not when Doc is back there.”
“Doc’s already headed back to the hospital. Sports medicine is empty.”
“Okay. Give me five.” He would drag Coke kicking and screaming if he had to.
He saw Nate heading out, head down, bag on his back. “Going home, friend. Taking the wife and kids away from this.”
“I hear you, Nate. Travel safe.” Who could blame him? Dillon found Coke in the locker room. “Babe. See Jonesy for five minutes.”
“I need to go see Sam, cowboy.”
“If you go into the hospital like this, they’ll admit you.” Then all hell would break loose.
“Like what?” Coke didn’t do innocent worth a fuck.
“Babe, your hand is dripping blood.” He wasn’t gonna be a screaming harpy this time. He wasn’t. Not to mention the one cheek that was pure hamburger and the shoulder Coke was holding so careful.
“Yeah, that’s a little gross, huh?”
“Yeah. Please, babe. They won’t let us in to see Sam like this anyway. You’re a walking germ.” There. That ought to appeal to Coke’s sense of responsibility.
“Well, I was gonna shower, cowboy.” Oh, thank God. That was a grin.
“Shower and bandage. Then we go.” It was working. Coke was following him to the med room.
Jonesy was right there, and he smiled at Coke, the expression almost gentle.
“Mr. Pharris. It’s just the three of us.
Let me get that hand cleaned up? How’s your shoulder?
It looks vicious. We’ll ice it.” Jonesy started talking and moving, getting Coke eased down on a bed.
“Can I give you something to ease the muscles?”
“Not if it’s gonna make me stupid.”
“Doc gave him some kind of natural muscle relaxant last time, Jonesy. It was a pill. Right, Coke? He liked those. I can drive, so he just needs to be awake and aware.”
“A natural… Cool. I’ll check the file.”
Coke leaned back as soon as the ice hit that shoulder, Jonesy wrapping it all in plastic. Better. Dillon saw a ton of lines ease around the sides of Coke’s mouth.
“Here, Coke. Take this, huh?” That wasn’t any herbal thing that Jonesy gave Coke, but no one said anything.
“You want to go get showered and cleaned up, Dillon? I’m going to be a few minutes on this. He needs a stitch or two and some butterflies on his cheek.”
“Coke?” He would stay if Coke needed him. Hell, Coke would need help in the shower.
Coke glanced over at him, gave him a sad little smile. “I’m okay. Just don’t let anyone lock up before I get my gear.”
“I promise.” He touched Coke’s good arm before slipping away. He went to their makeshift locker room, smiling and waving off the maintenance guy. “Still two of us coming. Sorry.”
Then he went and stood under the shower for, like, an hour.
At least that was what it felt like. And if he bawled some while he was in there, well, there was no one to see, and the water washed it all away.
Then, when he was about done, a solid mass of body came in behind him, pulled him close, one hand held up and away from the spray.
Dillon turned, wrapping his arms around Coke’s broad chest, offering support at the same time he leaned. “Coke.”
“Hey, cowboy. I locked the door, barred it.” Coke leaned hard. “Called the Cajun. No news. He’s still under. Gonna be for a few days.”
Squeezing, he nodded against Coke’s breastbone. “Then I say we rest. He’ll be swamped with guys for a few days. When he’ll need us is, like, Wednesday, eh?”
“Yeah. We need to figure our shit out, I guess. We’re supposed to pick the pups up tomorrow.”
“I know. We may have to switch hotels.” Dillon knew Ace had fixed the whole trashed-room thing with a few quiet words to the manager, but they might balk at two loud bassets.
“No, I talked to them. We’re moving to Beau’s suite, keeping it for if we can get him to rest.”
Right. Like that was going to happen.
Still, it was a suite, and they could use it as a command center. That worked for him. “Cool. Let’s get you clean so you can soak in the hot tub when we get back.” He started running his hands gently over Coke’s body.
“I tried to get to them, Dillon. I swear to God.”
“I know.” They swayed a little, just like little kids who needed comforting. “I know, babe. You all try so hard. Sometimes it just happens, though.”
That sucked, but there it was.
Coke’s face twisted, and he stared up into the water, and Dillon knew he was trying to hold it together.
They finished up and dried off, and Dillon thought about giving Coke a blow job just to release tension, but he honestly wasn’t sure if that big body could take it.
“Can you drive?” Coke’s pupils were huge.
“I can. I’m good.” Poor baby. Definitely a blow job, but later, when they were at the hotel. Then Coke would sleep. “Come on. I got you.”
“You sure about the hospital? You sure Beau won’t mind?” Coke asked.
He privately didn’t think Beau would so much as notice.
“He’ll call us when he needs us, Coke.” He got towels, leading Coke out of the shower.
“I hope so.” Coke was a nice shade of bruised, really.
Wow.