Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
Balta dozed, sitting in the hard metal and leatherette chair next to Raul. He liked being close to Raul while they waited, close enough to smell the hint of citrus left over from his cologne. They both needed a shower, but even worse, they needed to see Joa, who had been out of surgery for an hour.
Cowboys slept all over—in chairs and on the floor, a few talking quietly, Coke and Nate playing cards obsessively.
“Mr. Silva?” The sound of his name made him jolt awake, eyes flying open.
“Sim. That’s me.”
He stood, heading over to see the nurse, Raul trailing right behind.
“He’s awake now, and he’s asking for you. He can have two visitors at a time, and I know you’re listed as next of kin for now.”
“Sim. Come, Raul. Let’s see him. It went well?”
“It looks good, sir. Very good.”
“Thank God.” Raul smiled for the first time in hours, and Balta could see him putting on his happy face for Joa.
Good man.
Their lover was dark and tiny in the sea of white, leg up, wrapped in masses of bandages and hanks of metal. Joa blinked over, eyes rolling as they tried to focus on him.
“Joa.” He let his voice sharpen Joa’s field of vision. “You had a good ride.”
“Til the end. The end, it was bad.”
“Nao,” Raul said. “That was after the buzzer.”
Balta chuckled at the old joke, which they all used from time to time, no matter where they came from.
“Is it bad, my leg? Can I ride next weekend?”
He and Raul glanced at one another. “Oh, doce. It’s broken. You’ll be out at least a month.” That was a terrible lie, but better than telling Joa this was a season-ending injury, which it was.
He wasn’t convinced it wasn’t career-ending right this second.
Raul moved to stand next to Joa’s bed, touching his arm. “Do you hurt? Do you need anything?”
“I don’t feel anything. My throat hurts.”
Raul stepped out, and Balta heard him murmuring to the nurse.
Joa stared at him, eyes bruised and tired. “Tell me the truth, Baltazar.”
“It’s bad, Namorado. They put a metal rod in your leg.”
“Oh. Can I go home soon? I don’t want to stay here.”
“Doc wants you to go to Dallas for two, three weeks. Then you can go back to the ranch. We’ve already gotten your mai a long stay hotel.”
“Weeks?” The sweet dark eyes seemed so confused and the monitors began to speed, the beeping and booping tumbling over themselves.
“Shh. Shh.” He stroked Joa’s arm. “It will be fine, doce.”
He grabbed a chair, tugged it over, and sat. “You must breathe, hmm? You have broken bones before.”
“Not like this.”
“No, this one was done right.”
Joa gave him a ghost of a smile. “That’s not funny, Balta. What am I going to do?”
“Heal,” Raul said, striding back in with a big cup in his hand, a long straw sticking up. “Water.”
“Thank you.” Joa sipped, then took a deeper drink, throat working hard.
“Not too much.” Balta remembered that from surgery on his arm. “It will make you sick.”
“We don’t want that.” Raul backed the straw away, chuckling as Joa chased the glass. “Eager.”
“So sore.”
“The anesthesia makes you dry.” Balta dared to stroke Joa’s hair.
“Sim. The tube down your throat. You’d think I’d be used to that, huh?”
He and Raul both laughed, Raul’s hip crowding his shoulder. “You should,” Raul said. “That is way more fun.”
“Sim. Sim, this sucks in the bad way.” Joa sighed, stretching his shoulders. Balta thought of how Joa always massaged his back when he was laid up, and he wanted to help, damn it.
“Will y’all be here tomorrow?” Joa asked, so young, so sweet that Balta was tempted to smack him for being stupid.
“Of course,” Raul murmured. “We will stay until we have to leave for California.”
Balta nodded, though he thought he might take a bye. He had a few coming to him, thanks to winning two events in May.
He couldn’t leave Joa here. How could he?
Raul was at the top of his career, Balta was…not fading. Never fading. But he’d won all the awards, all the money. What did he have to ride for? He had nothing left to prove but that he loved Joa?
No, he would stay until they took Joa to Texas. He could put Joa in the back of the truck or rent one of those fifth wheels.
Perhaps a van.
Yes, a van with room in the back, something that would make Joa embarrassed with his jokes. Oh, or something like the Suburban Nate had rented. Raul could take Joa’s truck on the road.
Balta grinned when Joa poked him, the arm he extended all full of tubes. “Pay attention, Balta.”
“I am! I was thinking about things.”
“It is hard for him, Joa,” Raul teased. “He is an old man.”
He smacked Raul’s ass, since it was right there. “I can still best you.”
Raul chuckled softly, bared his teeth. “Perhaps, but not two out of three.”
Joa shook his head. “Hush, you two. I’m tired.”
“Do you want us to go?” Balta asked, frowning.
“No. Never. No fighting. Roosters, the both of you.”
“Aww, our baby chick is growing up.” Balta winked, but he was certain now that he would stay. Joa needed him more than the tour.
“I’m the same age as Raul, Balta.”
“Not in your soul, doce.” No, deep within there was an innocence, a goodness to Joaquim, something that he couldn’t have inside him, so he was drawn to it.
Joa snorted, blinking long and slow. He was fading, the drugs and the pain taking their toll.
“Stay a little longer. Just a minute.” Joa’s eyes found Raul, him. “Both of you.”
“Shh. We’ll be right here.” They would stay until they moved Joa to a room. Then they would go rest together, and he would tell Raul of his decision.
Raul would not be happy and neither would Ace, but it needed to be done. How could he stay with Sam Bell and leave his beloved namorado behind to fend on his own?
They stayed until Joa slept, then tiptoed out, shooed by a nurse. Balta’s back throbbed, his kidneys letting him know that so much stress was bad. That and too much coffee.
They were all waiting for him—the bullfighters, the riders, everyone with worried eyes.
“He will be fine. Hurting, but fine.”
Balta saw them all relax, to a man. Sim. They had lost too much in one year. They all needed better news.
Poor Raul, he looked so tired, and Balta found himself wanting to help, to care for his Raul as he would Joa.
“He is sleeping. We should go rest. I will come back tomorrow.”
Raul blinked at him, mouth opening, but Coke broke in. “Y’all go get sleep. I’ll take a turn hanging out, call you if anything changes.”
“You’re sure?”
Coke nodded. “Me and Nattie are playing cards, anyway.”
Balta didn’t point out that, if the clown were here, Dillon would be all frowns. Where was Dillon, anyway? Usually he was in the thick of things…
Raul put a hand on his arm. “That sounds good, Coke. Thank you.”
Listen to that English. Pride swelled in his chest. Raul was coming into his own. Deus, his lovers made him proud. “We’ll go to the hotel, then. Call me. Tell Joa I have my phone.”
“I will. I bet he sleeps hard. This shit’s hard on a body.”
“You should know, huh?” He chuckled. Coke had been injured more than almost anyone but Balta.
“You know it. I’ll call if anything happens, Silva. You have my word.”
And that was good enough for him. He grabbed Joa’s stuff, reminding himself he needed to bring back pajamas and a kit bag. They would give Joa baths, but that never felt as nice as having your own grooming stuff, especially as picky as Joa could be.
They got outside to Joa’s truck, Raul automatically going to the driver’s seat. “Should we get food?” Raul asked.
“Sim. Sim, is there anywhere here open? Anywhere?” Cheyenne was tiny and seemed to roll up the streets at dark.
“That Arby’s might still be open.” Raul had a fondness for the weird, thick meat at Arby’s.
“Let’s do it.” It wasn’t mortadella, but it wasn’t bad.
Raul nodded, heading out toward the drive through. They got sandwiches and curly fries to take back to the hotel, and they were parked before Raul spoke again. “We should fly out of Denver, no? To go to California?”
“You’ll take Joa’s truck, sim? I’m going to rent something bigger to move him.” Balta pondered. “Fly from Denver to LAX, then back and drive to Dallas. We have two weeks off them and we’ll get Joa home.”
Raul turned to stare at him. “You are not coming to California?”
“No. No, I will stay. Joa needs one of us and you could win the season.” It made sense.
Shock colored those bright, light eyes. “Balta. You are in number six right now. You could be in the top five this season.”
He shrugged. “I could. I could get hurt. I will stay in the top twenty whether or not I ride again until the Finals.”
“But—”
“Let’s go inside.” He said it gently, but used a tone that brooked no argument. “I need some privacy with you.”
Raul didn’t understand, but he was still hungry, still young and fresh and eager to reach for the ripe fruit. Him? He’d eaten his fill, again and again. He was a legend. He was Balta Silva. No one could erase that.
Putting his feet down hard, Raul stomped to the hotel room carrying the food and letting Balta get the drinks. The set of those wide shoulders told Balta he was in for a fight, and he almost looked forward to it.
They could use it, just to clear the air and let them both rest.
Raul set the bags down before turning on him, rattling at him in their mother tongue.
“This is stupid, Balta. You can’t just throw away a good season.
I love Joa, you know that, but he doesn’t need you to coddle him when we can both afford to fly to events.
We’d only leave him a couple of days at a time! ”
“He needs us right now, needs me. Don’t you think he’d stay with me?”
Raul’s cheeks went red. “Of course I do. But—”
“So you feel guilty. But you do not need to. I am old, Raul, at least for bull-riding. I have won my seasons. You go win yours now and I will take care of Joa. He needs me.” He winked, trying to lighten the mood.
“Besides, without me, you have a chance to win. With me so high in the rankings, it would never happen.”