Chapter 6
6
Colt Bishop
L ou’s Diner is busier than I expected for a Saturday afternoon. Everybody who came to the arena for the free clinic must have had the same idea about grabbing lunch after because it appears all of Copper Lake is inside this small establishment. It takes about twenty minutes, but we’re eventually sat in a booth in the back of the restaurant, near the kitchen. William looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here, and I can’t help but chuckle to myself.
When my dad told me about the volunteer opportunity, I was already interested. Getting out of the house and being around people will be good for me. I know from watching my dad go through it when I was a kid how easily it can be to slip into a dark place with an injury, so it truly didn’t take much convincing. But knowing William was going to be there, and that I could get under his skin, was definitely a nice, shiny added bonus.
There was nothing quite like walking through the front doors this morning and seeing Dr. Hottie grab a couple of doughnuts, looking way too damn good for that early in the morning. Knowing I was going to get to ogle him all day while in his element made me even more excited than I already was.
Our server comes, dropping off our drinks before taking our food order. As soon as she steps away, William glances at me from across the table, his lips pressed into a thin line and his brows furrowed. “Listen, Colt,” he starts. “I think we should…talk.”
Breathing out a laugh, I bring the glass up to my lips and let the cold water fill my mouth, swallowing and setting it back down on the table slowly before responding. “I’m listening.”
“About that night…” He pauses, looking positively uncomfortable as his jaw flexes. “I think we can both agree it was a mistake that never should’ve happened and can never happen again.”
Okay, ouch. Not what I was hoping he’d say, but not exactly a shock either. Relaxing into the booth, I shrug it off. “I don’t think it was a mistake,” I say. “We had fun, like two consenting adults.”
William huffs, as if he thinks I’m ridiculous. “Colt, I’m your father’s friend. You must know what we did wasn’t right.”
Arching a brow, I ask, “You’re saying you didn’t have fun that night?”
His nostrils flare as he exhales heavily, and it’s taking everything in me to not laugh. “I did not say that.”
“So, you did?”
“Colt, that’s not really the point.” He sighs, exasperated. “The point is, it can never happen again. Do you understand me?”
A smirk splits my face. “Kind of like it when you go all growly on me, Doc.”
“Colt. ”
“Relax, would you? I’m teasing. Yes, I understand you,” I murmur. “I don’t agree, but I understand.”
William’s shoulders relax marginally. “Okay, good.”
“That doesn’t mean we can’t be friends, right?”
“I don’t think that’s the best idea,” he mutters, taking a drink from his water.
“Why not?” I ask innocently.
I’m realizing how much I enjoy the idea of riling him up. William is this ultra-put together, distinguished doctor, and something about knowing that I can make him squirm does it for me. It shouldn’t, but it does.
Nostrils flaring on an exhale, he meets my gaze from across the table. “Colt, I have been friends with your father since before you were born. Hell, I held you when you were a baby. A friendship of any sort is severely inappropriate. You must know that.”
A smirk tugs on my lips as I watch him from beneath my lashes. “Yeah, but I’m a big boy now, Doc. You must know that,” I drawl, throwing his words back at him, insinuation clear as day. “Besides, we’re going to be seeing each other at least twice a month at the free clinic,” I add. “I don’t think it’s too out there to suggest being friends.”
Brow furrowed and lips pressed into a thin line, William looks thoroughly unamused, which only makes me beam. “Something tells me you’re highly incapable of being just friends with anybody.”
Clutching my chest in mock offense, I gasp. “Are you insinuating that I’m a slut, Doctor Andino?”
“Don’t call me that,” he scoffs. “And I said no such thing.”
I arch a brow. “Why not? You are a doctor. What would you rather I call you, then? Daddy William? ”
He nearly chokes on the sip of his water he just took, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to hide my laughter. His eyes narrow as he glowers at me from the other side of the table. “Will is just fine.”
“Well, that’s no fun.” I pout as his glare intensifies. His face is turning a shade of red, and I swear I see steam billowing out of his ears.
Our server drops off our food, and despite how annoyed he seemed just a moment ago, it’s an oddly comfortable silence while we eat. The food, as always, is incredible. Screw fine dining; some of the best food I’ve ever eaten has been in this small-town diner.
As if reading my mind, William groans as he takes a bite. “I forgot how good this place is.”
“I bet there’s some incredible food in Seattle, though, too.”
He nods, wiping his mouth with the napkin he keeps in his lap. “There is. I typically cook and eat at home for the most part, but there were some great restaurants I enjoyed going to from time to time.”
“Do you miss living there?” I ask in between bites.
“There are aspects that I miss, like the coffee,” he says with a deep chuckle. “But Copper Lake is home, and even though I never saw myself moving back, now that I’m here, I’m glad I did.”
“Why did you?” I ask. “Move back, that is.”
William is quiet for a moment, and I can’t help but wonder what’s going through his mind. Finally, he says quietly, “The older my father gets, the harder things are for him. His hips are bad, so it pains him to be on his feet for long hours, and he’s overall moving a lot slower than he used to. I flew from Seattle to visit him for his birthday a few months ago, and he was in a lot worse shape than he had led on. I knew it was time for him to retire, and he needed somebody around the house to help out with things.”
My respect for William just increased tenfold. I’ve always known he was a good man, but this is admirable. It should be an absolute no-brainer to help your parents when they get older. It’s just what you should do, but the reality isn’t always that black and white. Sometimes people don’t have the means to, or sometimes they just don’t care enough. For him to pack up his entire life—a life he’d built for himself over the last however many years—to move back here, seemingly no questions asked, to care for his father and take over the business is almost a rarity in today’s world. At least in this country.
“I’m sure he appreciates you being back,” I murmur.
William laughs, the sound deep and throaty. “That’s debatable,” he replies. “Roger Andino is a stubborn, independent man, almost to a fault. It’s how his father was, it’s how I am. It’s the Andino blood; we’re a bunch of hard-headed bastards. It took a lot of convincing and a whole hell of a lot of arguments to talk him into this. He’s griped about something or other since I’ve been back.”
I chuckle, imagining William getting bitched at by his father. I’ve known Roger my entire life. He was my doctor up until he retired, and he’s the sweetest, most caring man, at least to his patients, so hearing about this side of him is amusing. I’d love to see it for myself, even though that’ll probably never happen.
“Even if he sucks at accepting help and doesn’t admit it out loud, I’ll bet he probably still appreciates having you back.”
Popping a French fry in his mouth, William says, “Enough about me. How are you feeling about the injury and the rodeo?”
I bite down on my molars while I drag in a few deep breaths through my nose before I respond. It’s almost impressive how quickly that one small question can sour my entire mood.
“Honestly? I’m angry,” I reply.
“That makes sense.” He nods, looking at me sympathetically. “This injury has affected your ability to compete. I think anybody in your shoes would feel angry.”
“I’ve worked my ass off to get where I am. I’m constantly compared to my father, which is whatever, it’s fine. He’s a legend in our world, but I’ve worked really fucking hard to make my own name for myself outside of the Bishop legacy, only to be forced out of my season because of an injury, like he was.”
The words come out in a rush, and I’m surprised at myself for opening up. I’ve never voiced my feelings about my dad’s legacy and what that meant for me as a professional bull rider out loud. I’ve never wanted to seem ungrateful when that’s the furthest thing from the truth, but I have always, always wanted to be known as a legend and one of the greats because of me and what I’ve done, not because of the way my father paved for me. It can be hard to be taken seriously sometimes in this world, coming from such a big name. I know my buddy, Shooter, a world champ bronc rider, understands where I’m coming from. He also comes from a legacy family, and he’s struggled with the weight of that as well. I never want people to think I’ve gotten to where I’m at because of strings my father pulled for me.
“Colt, your injury and your dad’s injuries are nothing alike,” William says softly, zero judgement in his tone. “You can come back from this. This doesn’t have to define you or your career.”
Heaving a sigh, I reply, “Logically, I know this, but my father’s injury and speculations that I’ll end up just like him have been a hot topic since I first went pro. It feels an awful lot like everyone’s predictions of me are coming true, and it’s easy to look past logic and wallow in self-pity when I’ve got nothing but time on my hands.”
It’s not until the words leave my mouth that I realize where the root of my anger comes from. I’ve been so caught up feeling sorry for myself while also being pissed at myself to really analyze why . I have always strived for perfection; it’s both a positive and negative trait I possess, and knowing that I can’t rush my recovery, can’t put one foot in front of the other and get back on that bull, is fucking hard. I’m angry at myself for getting bucked off that bull. I’m angry at the universe for allowing this to happen. I’m angry at everything because I can’t control this situation. I can’t fix it with the snap of my fingers.
“Injuries are very common in the rodeo world, especially with bull riders,” William states. “You know this, I know this. It’s a fact. It could’ve happened to anybody.”
The raw vulnerability I feel talking about this with anybody, let alone someone like William, who is so close to my father, is like being stripped of every layer of clothing I have, and not in a fun way.
“I’ve spent my entire career, both pro and otherwise, telling myself that I would never end up like my father. I’d convinced myself I was invincible, and then this happened, proving I was very much not , and it’s been a tough fucking pill to swallow.”
His eyes meet mine, face unreadable. “I can understand that, but again, you can come back from this. This doesn’t have to be a career-ending injury if you don’t let it. This situation isn’t like what happened to your dad.”
Again, logically, I know he’s right, but all of my logic seems to be clouded by anger. I don’t know how to clear it or move past it. Still, as we finish up our meal, I can’t help but feel lighter than I have since the injury. Getting those thoughts off my chest and having someone listen seems to help. My mom has asked me half a dozen times this week alone how I’m feeling, but I always tell her I’m fine. I don’t want to worry her any more than I already have. Not only that, but I also just kind of suck at talking about my feelings, and I don’t even know why. It’s not like I come from a home where feelings are looked down upon, but I’ve always been the fun guy. The carefree one who people go to, to have a good time and forget about their responsibilities. I’ve always kept my shit to myself because I never wanted to ruin that image.
I don’t know what it is about William, be it his age and maturity or the simple fact that he’s not one of my friends so I don’t feel the need to wear the ‘fun’ mask, but it felt okay to share that with him. And it felt good to get it off my chest.
The conversation drifts, and we get back to eating, but I can’t help but smirk as I glance up at William. “You know, for somebody who claims they don’t want to be my friend, this feels suspiciously like we’re walking into friendship territory, Doc.”
With blue eyes narrowing on me from across the table, he stuffs another fry into his mouth, but says nothing.
Yeah, he’s full of shit. We both know it.