Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
Seamus watched the terrible wreck on the arena floor, reaching over to grab his dad’s arm as they both gasped. It looked awful, the bull just crunching that young man, Deuce, up against the rails, the sound graphic and fearsome.
Before Deuce even hit the arena floor, Sterling was up, starting to move, and he caught him by the arm of his shirt. “Holler if there's something I can do. Please.”
“I will. I’m going to the hospital with him. I’ll make sure I call his dad.”
Nick popped up like a jack-in-the-box. “I’ll go with you. I mean, no, we’re not friends or anything, but I’m a medical guy, I can talk to doctors, and I know your doc has to stay here work with all of the other cowboys.”
“I don’t have time to argue.” Sterling was on the run, and Seamus found himself just sitting there staring at his dad. He stared back.
“Well, this was unexpected.”
He stared at his pop for half a second and moved to get up. “I can’t just stay here.”
Dad just hauled his ass down. “I’m afraid, lad, you don’t have much of a choice. What are you going to do at the hospital? Kick people with your boot? You’re not a doctor. You don’t even play one on TV.”
“I have to be able to do something.” He watched Dawson, nervous now.
The team wasn’t used to working with Ranger.
“We’ll provide rides for people when they need it. Think of all the people we can fit in that big-ass stretch Hummer they gave us.”
“You have a point,” he admitted, taking a deep breath. It was damn good to see his dad. There was something about him that made Seamus feel settled in his soul.
Mom set him off, creatively, her energy pure fire, but Dad was a deep ocean.
Dad nodded to him. “I know. That’s sort of my job. So, we’ll do what we do best, which is provide transportation and support.”
It didn’t seem like anything really helpful—not in the long-term or even the short-term. God, he wanted to take action that meant something in times like this.
“I know you want to do something, son, but we need to wait until your man tells us what he needs. That’s what you’re here for, is to support him, right?” His dad laid a hand on his shoulder, and it was a big, warm, firm hand, like when he was a kid. So Seamus took a breath and nodded.
“No, you’re right.” He stared down at Dawson as if that would keep his lover safe, as if the force of his will would do the job.
Once the event was over, he knew Dawson would connect with him, even if it was just on the phone, and tell him what he wanted Seamus to do.
He could tell that the bullfighters were mad. It was this…it wasn’t the look on Dawson’s face, where it was easy to see the fury and frustration, but it was in the lines of their bodies, how they moved.
The bull fighters read way more like caged animals than they had before, like a dog who’d been poked one too many times and didn’t trust anymore.
The change made sense, but it fascinated him and he found himself studying it. The way the motions that they made were less like dancing and more like a man getting ready for a fight—deeper and more grounded to the dirt, less fluid and more aggressive.
Shoulders forward.
It was awful and fascinating all at the same time.
The crowd was tense too, and things went poorly for the rest of the event. Most of the riders bucked off. Nobody else got really hurt bad or anything, but there were a few close calls. He could tell Dawson and Davi were having a hard time gelling with Ranger.
His dad kept making these noises, like little hisses and wincing when things got really close. He could tell that this was not a normal event at all.
The bullfighters disappeared as soon as the short go was over, not even stopping to pray, and Seamus texted him immediately.
What do you need
A ride
We’re on it. Meet us in the back. We can take a lot
“Come on, Dad, let’s go to the car. We’re gonna pick up a bunch of cowboys and head to the hospital. Topher, you ready?”
Topher nodded once, smile almost a baring of teeth. “Yeah, there’s nothing I like better than a strange hospital in a major city with two primaries and a distracted boyfriend. It’s perfect.”
“Oh, he hasn’t changed a bit.”
Topher met Dad’s eyes, lips quirking in a familiar half-grin. “No, sir, not an iota.”
Dad grinned wide, shook his head. “Yeah. I still like him. Let’s get this show on the road, eh boyos? We have drovers to rescue.”
He and Dad moved as fast as they could with him in the boot—which was faster than with the crutches, at least. His hat and sunglasses kept him feeling a bit anonymous. Not enough, but a bit.
Les was already pulled up by the time they got there, and they still beat Dawson and his crew. But it wasn’t long before they came out from the back entrance, Dawson and Davi both carrying gear bags, while Ranger was in civies, hands in his pockets.
Dawson slid into the car next to him after flinging his bag into the back when Les opened it.
“Who else are we waiting for?” Seamus asked. He had a feeling they would be carrying at least three or four more guys to the hospital.
“Michael is going to be coming on his own because he has post-show stuff he has to do, so said he could use a ride share, but Kerry wants to come. Cort Branson said he could use the ride. They’ll both be out in just a few minutes.”
Dawson’s expression was incredibly grim, exhausted, deep lines carved in around his mouth.
Davi nodded at him, his eyes haunted.
He grabbed Dawson’s hand, not really ready to say anything yet because he knew Dawson would want to tell him what happened, but not in front of maybe everybody, he didn’t know.
He got a tired nod, not even really a half smile, and Dawson squeezed his hand. It felt like that was a thank you, and at least that way he felt like he was doing something, supporting Dawson in some way.
No less than five more cowboys piled into the car, most of them nodding and thanking him and his dad for the ride. It smelled like dirt and sweat and frankly, anger. Not that Seamus could blame them.
It was a shit situation, and he could tell there was an undercurrent of some sort of political angst within the organization here, but he didn’t understand it, not really.
He felt as if he would, soon enough.
At one point, Dawson’s phone buzzed, and he pulled it out of his pocket. His thumbs flying as he tapped out some kind of a text in return.
Dawes glanced in the eyes of every one of the cowboys, one at a time. “They’re saying he’s got a broken neck.”
“Ah fuck.”
One of the cowboys crossed himself, a couple bowed their heads to pray, and Davi stared.
“You need to call his dad. And Mr. Coke. They need to know, everyone, but you gotta call his dad.”
Dawson closed his eyes for a second, and Seamus didn’t know what to do. He could offer to call but what good would it do?
This was something awful that had to happen.
“I know. I’m gonna do it now. I just… Fuck.”
Seamus sat there trying to figure out what to say. The fact was, he didn’t know if there was anything he could do but be solid and throw money at the sticky parts and make them run.
Dawson knew he had to do what he had to do, but God it was killing him.
He squeezed his eyes closed, opened them, and then put in his earpiece. He’d start with Ace Porter. It was only fair, it was only right, and he wasn’t an asshole.
He glanced at Seamus, nodded once, and then found the man’s number and pushed the button.
“Ace Porter.”
“I need you to come to Oakland now.”
There wasn’t even a hesitation. “How bad?”
“Broken spine.” And it was a doozy, from Sterling’s hysterical text.
“All right, text me the information. Tell me what it—” There was a sudden silence, then, “No, I’ll figure that out when I get there. I’ll call Sandy. Thanks for letting me know. I need that information. Now.”
“Yes sir, I’m on it.” The line went dead with a click, and he was going to barf.
Seamus leaned forward and poured a tiny sliver of whiskey from one of the bottles in the limo bar—because a damn car needed a bar—and handed it over. “Not enough to feel, just enough to take the edge off,” he said.
“Yeah, I gotta call Coke.” He knocked back the shot.
Then Seamus offered the bottle around. “Anybody else want a sip? Not enough to get you stupid, but just enough to help the shock?”
One of the cowboys took a sliver, and so did Seamus’s dad.
He got on the phone, dialing Coke’s number with a shaking finger.
“Dawson, what’s wrong?”
He hated that, when he called, everybody assumed something was wrong.
“Gramps, Deuce got hurt bad. He broke his neck.”
“Fuck. All right, all right, where are you? Anaheim? Orlando?”
He chuckled softly. “Oakland.”
“Oakland. Okay, me and Dillon will be out there…let me see if I can get to Albuquerque in time for the ten o’clock flight. If not, it will be in the morning. We’ll work it out. We’ll be there as soon as we can. Is someone there with him?”
He nodded and chuckled. “Yeah, Sterling went to the hospital with him. I had to finish the event.”
“Yeah.” No one understood like Coke. “What do you need?”
He closed his eyes. “You know.”
“Okay, all right, son.” Coke took a deep breath.
“Our Lord in Heaven. Please put Your hand on Your man, Jameson Deuce Porter. Please mend him and give him the courage and the strength to rise up and return to the dirt, whole and ready to do Your work. Please God, help Dawson to understand that bad shit happens, and that this belongs to You, not him. This is Your will, not his, and that he has to trust that You have this in hand. We ask Your help in Jesus’ name. ”
With Coke, Dawes whispered “Amen.”
“All right son, I’ll be there as soon as I can. Me and Dillon will help everything, okay.”
“Thanks, Gramps. I’ll see you when you get here.”
“Just remember this isn’t on you, you got that?”
“Yessir.” They hung up, and Dawson was glad because he didn’t want to tell Coke what he was feeling, which was… It didn’t matter if it was on him or not. He felt like it was his job to keep Deuce safe, and he hadn’t.