Chapter 30 #2
“Sim.” Balta closed his eyes for a moment.
“No one else will have called. They will all think I did.” He tugged out his phone and dialed.
Balta never flinched from the hard things, for all his drama.
The words flew fast and vicious for a few minutes, Balta explaining that yes, they were heading to the hospital, and yes, they knew where Joa was, and yes, as soon as he got there, he would call back, and no, he hadn’t talked to Doc.
“Nao, mai,” Balta said. “They took him in the ambulance and I had to stay to ride. You know how it is. One of us needed to get paid. He made his ride, though, sim? That’s good.”
It had been a decent ride—not enough for the short go, but a decent ride. He pulled into the hospital parking lot and started hunting a parking spot. Raul pulled in next to a pick up that seemed familiar, hoping against hope that someone else was there to sit with Joa.
There would be someone. Everyone liked Joa—even the ones who didn’t like the rest of them.
He killed the engine, before both of them exited the truck, Balta still talking fast and hard to Joa’s mother.
When they got to the information desk, though, Raul’s English failed him. The bright-eyed elderly volunteer kept smiling, blinking hard. He finally poked Balta hard in the ribs.
“Huh? Oh. Mai, I need to go. I will call.” Balta smiled, sliding his phone into his pocket. “Joaquim Lima. He was brought by ambulance.”
“Oh, yes. He’s in surgery prep. You can go to the waiting room on the third floor.”
Balta held up three fingers and took off to the elevators. “Surgery. They must let us see him.”
Raul doubted it, but he didn’t bother to argue. Sometimes Balta could be stupidly optimistic. He never believed anyone would stand in his way, really. American doctors, though, they could be cold and there were so many rules, so many papers and bills and things.
They made it to the surgery waiting room, and there was a familiar face attached to Jonesy, a member of the sports medicine team, and always a friendly smile and a helping hand.
“Silva. ‘Bout time. Hey, Raul. Hank came with me. He’s wandered off to grab coffee. Sit.”
“I want to see him,” Balta growled and Jonesy shrugged, completely unmoved.
“People in hell want ice water. He’s already heading for surgery. Broken femur. Compound. Not pretty, but not the worst news I’ve heard lately. I saw him—he was awake, aware, knew where he was, what happened. Told me to give you his gear. Said his chaps were new.”
“They are.” Raul grinned, remembering making Joa try them on for them. Over nothing else.
“Well, I got all his stuff. Quit scowling, Silva.”
“Has anyone from bills been in?” Balta asked. “I have his medical power thing. I can talk to them.”
“Yeah. The Relief folks have already started their part. It’ll just be a process.” Jonesy clapped Balta on the shoulder. “It’s going to suck for a few months, but they hope to just set the bone. If not, they’ll screw him together.”
“That’s good, yes?”
Jonesy shrugged again. “Good and bad. He’ll have to be in the hospital for a bit. They might be able to let him move closer to home, but he’s gonna be stuck.”
“Mierda.” Balta glared at Raul, who understood. It was not personal. Balta needed to growl and grumble. “We’ll get him closer to home. Texas, at least so his mai can be with him. Joaquim is strong. He’ll be walking in a day.”
“Probably, yeah. They’ll try and have him up and moving unless there’s traction.”
“Hey, Balta. You and Raul want coffee?” Hank joined them, drawing stares from the few other inhabitants of the waiting room.
The leggy rider had broken his nose tonight, his face black and purple, the cut over his upper lip lurid.
He still wore his riding clothes, which were covered with mud and manure.
“Tell me you didn’t stir it with your finger,” Jonesy said, winking at Raul.
“Hey! I washed up. Mostly. And I didn’t stir in nothin’. I got all the sugar and shit, though.” Jonesy brandished a bag of things to put in coffee.
The doors whooshed open and Landon Gaudet rushed in, his nut-brown face creased with concern. “How’s Joa?”
Everyone blinked, because this one was so new and poor he might as well have been a first-year Brazilian.
“He’s on his way to surgery,” Jonesy said. That was how it was when one of them got hurt. The endless questions, the sight of cowboys standing in the halls, hats in their hands, heads down, praying.
“Is he gonna be good? I mean, he didn’t crack his noggin’.”
“His leg,” Raul told the kid. Surely the man had noticed, right? He’d never seen anything quite so clear.
Landon nodded. “I was just worried after Mr. Bell and all.”
Balta shook his head. “No. Jonesy said he talked, he knew where he was.”
Which meant he knew how much pain he was in. Raul swallowed the bile rising at that. Such injuries were never easy. Never. They made it seem easy, bull-riders, rising and hopping out of the arena, even when their necks were broken, but the pain was very real.
A doctor popped out of the door leading to the surgery area. “Joa Lima?”
Balta stepped forward. “I have his medical power of attorney, Doctor.”
“Ah. Good.” The doctor led Balta away a few feet, and Raul strained to hear what was said. That was the way when you loved men, nao? You had to act like you were no one, just another friend.
“Ey, Raul,” Landon said, putting a hand on his arm. “Need some sugar, me. You or Balta want anything more than coffee?”
“Snickers?” Balta loved those. He handed Landon a five-dollar bill. “Is this enough for all three?”
“Yeppers. I’ll be right back.” Landon scurried off, and Raul smiled. Nice kid. He was a mediocre rider, but a nice kid.
Balta came to him. “It’s not good. The damage was bad in the leg. They want to put a metal bone in the middle of his leg and piece it back together. The muscles are torn in the back of the leg, bad.”
“Did you tell them yes?”
Balta nodded. “They must fix it, make it right.”
Raul touched Balta’s arm. “You did the right thing. When can we see him?”
Balta’s mouth flattened into a hard line. “Hours. We should find a hotel here by the hospital, see about moving our things.”
“Yes. We have to get Joa’s truck, too.” They’d left it at the hotel, since Nate had rented a huge, fancy Suburban and everyone had wanted a ride. “Do you want to…?”
He frowned, trying to figure out if they should call Nate or just take the Suburban back to the hotel when Coke and Nate came running in, Coke running straight to Balta.
“How is he? What did the doctor say? Is Doc Madden here yet?” Coke’s questions shot out, sharp and worried.
“Not yet. Doc, I mean. The surgeon is putting a rod in his leg.”
Doc Madden charged straight in. “Who’s in charge? Sorry, Kynan popped a hip pointer.”
“Come, Doc. Please. Hurry.” Balta took Doc Madden by the arm and headed back into the hospital. “Doctor! Doctor, wait!”
The nurses flooded around them, and Raul winced, but damned if Doc Madden didn’t get admitted to the back.
“You okay, man? You look a tad pale,” Coke asked him and he nodded, but no. No, he wasn’t. Raul staggered, and Nate grabbed his arm, propelling him back to a seat.
“I got you your chocolate, buddy.” That was the little man, eyes bright like a bird’s.
“Good job, Landon.”
Landon glanced around. “Gettin’ crowded, non? Can I do anything?”
Nate nodded and held out his hand to Raul. “Gimme my keys, man.”
“I have to get Joa’s truck.” He handed the keys over easily.
“Landon can do that. Take Coop back with my Suburban, Landon. Get all their gear and Joa’s truck.” Nate poked Raul. “Room keys.”
“Yes, sir.” He handed those over too, insanely grateful that someone was taking over.
“Okay, kid. Go gather up everything. Coop will drive my truck back—you get Joa’s. Nothing leaves that hotel room but the bags, you got it?”
“I ain’t no thief.” Deus, Landon could frown, almost as well as Balta.
“That ain’t what he means,” Coke murmured, coming to stand with them while Balta talked to a lady with a clipboard. “He means this is Wyoming and there’s only one hotel room, comprends?”
“Oh. Oh!” Landon’s eyes went wide. “Oui. Oui. I do.”
“Go on, now.”
Landon nodded and trotted off, meeting Coop at the door. Coop turned and walked back out with Landon, and Raul sat back, taking off his hat.
“Troy needs to take that bull off the rotation,” Pharris was saying, the head bullfighter’s cheeks bright red. “He’s hurt eight out of ten. I don’t like it.”
Nate just nodded. “I bet Doc tears him a new one. Bruiser will be gone next event.”
“He’d better be, or we’ll stage a sick out. I hate this shit. Joa’s people watched that on the TV, for fuck’s sake!”
Raul swallowed hard. Sim. Mai and Papai. That wasn’t right. He closed his eyes, his throat working.
“Eat your Snickers bar.” The words were Brazilian and it was Eduardo’s face he saw when he opened his eyes. “It will help with the shock.” Eduardo picked up the candy from the seat next to him where Landon had left it.
“The other is for Balta,” Raul said.
“Good. He likes his doces.”
He nodded, then they all waited, a group of them standing around—Brazilian and American, Mexican and Australian and Canadian. There were so many, in fact, that a nurse in scrubs offered them a private waiting room.
Raul looked down at the half-melted candy bar he gripped, and Balta walked over to squat in front of him. “Where is the bear who growled at me about this?”
He chuckled softly. “That was for you, the advice, Balta.”
Still, his lover was right. He needed to relax and believe. Joa was healthy, young, and the medicine was good here.
“The other waiting room is quieter.” Balta tugged him up, leading him to their new waiting room. “I want you to eat something. You’re not as fond of sweets. What can we get you?”
“This is good. There are peanuts.”
“Then eat it.” Balta squeezed his shoulder with one hand. “Please. I need you with me.”
“Sempre.” Always. “What did Doc Madding say?”
“He said he will oversee the surgery. The surgeon is a man he trusts. Then he wants to move Joa to Dallas where he can work with him.”
“Dallas. Dallas is Texas, at least. His mother will be pleased.”
“Sim. I will get her a hotel room. Coop got us one. A block away.”
Raul blinked. Had so much time passed?
That was the hospital. Time moved differently in here, swelling and shrinking. Raul felt numb, his hands clenched and his butt asleep. He wanted… Well, he wanted all sorts of things, including to take Balta away and hold onto him until Joa got out of surgery.
That they couldn’t do. Once they saw Joa after, once they knew Joa was awake and aware, then they would sleep, hold each other.
Balta knew what he was thinking. Raul saw it in those dark demon eyes. “Later,” Balta said, then nodded at Eduardo, breaking off to go explain something to someone. Always looking out for the other riders.
He closed his eyes and began to pray—for Joa, for Joa’s family, for Balta and him and the doctors. That was all he could do right now, but Raul was good at praying.