Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
There was no fucking way Jason was riding again. The son of a bitch had puked all goddamn night, he was barely walking straight—and he’d already missed the first round today. It was over.
“I’m riding in the short go, Bax.”
Coke nodded. “He has to, to clench the championship. He don’t have to ride good, but he has to ride. He does the eight, and it’s all she wrote.”
“But—”
“Statistically, Kynan or Raul could still edge him out, Andy.” That was Dillon, who had been an accountant and knew his numbers. “But not if he rides.”
“Goddammit!” Bax hit the rail with one hand.
“I’m riding.”
“You cain’t.”
Jason’s lips firmed, his chin lifting. “Watch me. We didn’t risk all this for second place.”
“Mini.”
“Stop it,” Dillon snapped. “People are noticing, and the cameras won’t be far behind.”
Jason wasn’t ready to ride. Bax just wanted to scream with frustration.
“My last ride, Bax. I need you behind me.”
Jesus, that was blackmail. He wanted to just walk away and say he was sitting his ass in the locker room until this was over. But he couldn’t do that.
“You know I’m right here, Mini. You know I am. But I ain’t got to like it.”
“Nope. Some things are out of our hands.”
Jase stood there and waited. He was the last to go, and damn if Raul didn’t ride for an eighty-nine, overtaking Jason in the standings.
“Goddamn it.”
“It’s going to be all right, Bax.” Jase was pure-D gray.
“Sure it is.” His jaw hurt from clenching it so hard. Kynan was up next, and that son of a bitch was a clutch rider. The bigger the pressure, the better he did.
The little shit did what he said he would too. Eight seconds, spurring and solid, and Bax would be damned if he didn’t ride for a ninety-three-eight. “Motherfucker.”
“All you got to do is ride. Just make the eight,” Dillon said in their ears, and Jason nodded, wincing as he did, and Bax thought he saw a tear on those white-blond eyelashes.
He was gonna lose his shit.
Jason turned those blank eyes to him. “Pull my rope?”
“I’m right here. I got you.” How the fuck could he say no? Jason had pulled a big, rawboned bull named Chiggergrass, and that damn animal was a chute buster. He would try to bash Jason against the bar.
“Good deal.”
Beau was there, and so was Sammy—and Sammy knew this. That rattled Texan could talk. “…and we go to the water and have a beer together. We fish the big uns and we make Beau laugh. You make this cow a bitch, and you ride him so hard he cain’t breathe no more…”
Bax was glad Sam was taking the talking, because when Jason climbed over the top rail and started to lower his knees down, Chigger went nuts, bucking back and forth in the chute like one of those old spring-loaded ducks in the playground, head down, then up.
“Please,” he prayed, and he had no goddamn idea what he was praying for.
“Motherfuck!” Jason’s hand got slammed against the chute, and they damn near lost him under the bull’s hooves.
“Jesus!” That was Dillon in a rare moment of blasphemy. “Get that bull set!”
Bax knew he was talking to Coke. Gramps and Nate moved in to make the bull stand, and Bax held Jason up in the air, just dangling.
“I got you,” he bit out. “I got you, Mini.”
“I trust you.” And Jason had, over and over. No question.
God, he wanted to tell Jason to quit. Now. But Jason was trusting him. Was basically begging him to keep his head on straight and get them through this. So Bax held on for dear life, then helped Jason settle on the bull again.
They would do this. They would do this and, God help him, they would go pick out their places in the world.
The bull finally stood, snorting and blowing snot, but waiting. Jason slid down on his back and tied his hand into the rope, Bax pulling it down tight like he knew Jason needed, with his wrist as weak as it still was.
“You do it, Jason. You do this and make it all right.” Sammy just kept yammering.
Bax got the rope tight enough, Jason wrapped it, and he knew it was time. His gut churned, nausea rising when he saw Jason settling himself, finding his balance.
He leaned down past Sammy’s protective arm, his lips close to Jason’s ear. “Don’t let go, Mini. Don’t let go.”
“You got my word.” Jason nodded his head and spun out, his lips tight and eyes wide open.
Everyone screamed and stomped, encouraging Mini to hold on, but Bax couldn’t even breathe. Sam whooped in his ear, and he could hear the Brazilians screaming wildly, but he watched Jason silently, willing his man to stay up and stay on for eight.
The first five were easy, but Mini started to sway before the six, and suddenly Bax found his voice. “Don’t you fucking let go, Jason! You ride that goddamn bull!”
Jason’s chin lifted, and Bax would be damned if he didn’t make the correction and hit the eight.
His knees buckled.
Praise Jesus, Mini had done it. It was over.
He watched Jason try to find the get off, but then he could hear Dillon shouting in his ear, and things started to slide.
“No! Jason. Go to your right. Jump off to your right.”
Nattie’s familiar, “Hey, hey, hey!” sounded, and Bax knew Coke was on the other side where he couldn’t see, waiting to catch and carry Jase if he had to.
Jason turned the wrong way and walked right into the side of the bull, just bang! Coke cried out and ran to grab him, and Bax would be damned if they both didn’t hit the bull’s shoulder.
Coke caught the horn and went flying, while Mini stood there like he was stunned.
“Goddamn it, Scott!” Nate bellowed. “Move!”
Mini didn’t—or he couldn’t—and Bax didn’t know which one, but he wasn’t fucking standing there to find out. He jumped over the fence and onto the arena.
Adam Taggart zoomed past him, his rope swinging.
Bax dug in, getting some momentum going, and he plowed into Jason, carrying him along. They were gonna go down on the arena floor, but Adam was roping that bull. He could hear David Donaldson’s play by play.
“Coke!” Dillon’s cry snapped out—huge, because it was in his ear, in the air, and he heard the groan of the crowd, then the whump of Coke’s body hitting the ground next to them.
Jason moved then, and so did he, covering Coke with their bodies, protecting the man who had saved them a hundred times in a thousand different ways.
The stomp of hooves next to his ear gave him flashbacks to his worst fucking wrecks, but he wasn’t leaving Coke and Jason, no sir—not until someone told him it was safe.
“Adam Taggart has a second rope on that bull, folks, and his brother Brian is moving in!”
Nate was screaming at the bull, and the Aussie accent of Fred was right there too, everyone working to get that damn demon bull away from them. It went on forever, and probably lasted all of half a minute.
No one knew better than Bax how fast a whole fucking life could change.
This was enough.
Bull riding had taken as much, maybe more, than it had given him, and he was fucking done. “Gonna take you to the beach,” he bit out.
All Mini said was, “Yes.”
Nate finally came and laid hands on him. “Get up, Andy. Come on. We need to get Coke to Doc. Jason too.” Nate tugged at his arms.
He climbed to his feet, feeling something wet on his shirt, right at his ribs.
“Damn it. You too, mate,” Fred said. “You’re bleeding. Kicked you good, he did.”
“Nate got kicked?” Bax didn’t understand. “Someone needs to get Coke on a stretcher.”
Dillon was wailing in his ear, trying desperately to wake Coke up.
“No, mate, you got kicked. That’s not someone else’s blood.”
“I’ll be okay. Jason, where are you hurt?” Bax pulled away from Fred.
“Get him out of here.” He looked over at Ace, who was right there in the arena, hissing the words out. “What the fuck have you assholes done? Get him in the back before the cameras see his eyes.”
Bax nodded, stumbling over his own feet to get to Jason. “Mini. Come on. Eyes down. AJ will bring your glasses.” Was Jason hurt or was he just stunned? What if his brain was all swole? He took Jason’s arm, flicking out his earpiece so he couldn’t hear Dillon shouting shit.
“Coming. Eyes down. I got knocked winding.” Jase was talking sense. Praise God.
“Come on. We got to get off the floor. They need room to get Coke out.”
“Gramps? What happened to him?” Jason let him walk them out. “What happened to Gramps?”
“Quiet. You fucking walk, you stupid little shit.”
Jason pulled off his helmet, spinning across to smack Ace right in the chest. “What did you say to me, asshole?”
Ace puffed up and got up in Jason’s face. “You just get your ass to the back. You’re gonna be lucky if I don’t strip you of every fucking event win you’ve had this season.”
“You try it. I didn’t cheat. I didn’t break one single fucking rule. You fucking try it, and I will sue you and the league until you glow in the dark.”
“Come on.” Bax said it to both of them, because this was not the time or the place. “Damn it, Coke is hurt, Ace. Get him help.”
“It’s your fault he’s hurt.”
“Get out of the way.” Doc zoomed by him, the EMTs carrying a stretcher.
“I—” Ace started.
“You listen to me. We get Coke out. You walk out there with me and we have the big check for the cameras. I will then announce my retirement. Otherwise I walk straight out of here to the media. Fair?”
Jesus, when had Jason gotten so goddamn fierce?
Bax reckoned when he’d decided he needed to do this and make their life off it.
“Fuck.” Ace stalked ahead of them, and Bax tugged Jason along.
“Your glasses, Jase,” AJ said.
“You stay with Gramps, Bax. I’ll be right back.” Jason took his glasses. “I got this.”
“Yeah.” What the hell? He wanted to be with Jason, but Doc chugged back with Coke, and he could hear Dillon talking to the crowd. They still had the damn show to end.
Right. Stick with Coke. Sammy was out there, but he saw Beau running to him.
“Come on. Sports medicine.”
“Okay. I— What’s Jason doing?” He let Beau turn him, guiding him away. Damn it, he wanted to help somehow. Someone.
“Accepting his check. Cowing Ace. Sam’s got him. You need to get your belly cleaned up.”