“Think mine’s in my room,” Rick said absently as he checked the pockets on his ruck. “Guess I did bring it with me.” He woke his phone up and…fuck! It had been his. There were nineteen missed calls from Coop. Fuck. Maybe it wasn’t going to matter about FaceTime this weekend. Yes, they’d talked over the weekend about their availability and answering calls and messages. About not being able to answer all the time but nineteen calls? Yeah, Rick was in the doghouse after that many. Just as he was about to push his phone into his thigh pocket, it rang again.
“Please answer that, sir. We’re all tired of hearing a car revving its engine,” First Sergeant Withers said. Rick started to apologize and Withers waved him off. “Hope whoever is on the other end has something important for you.”
“Stanton,” Rick said as he hit answer, walking out of the tent to take the call.
“Ummmm, Rick?” Rick pulled the phone back and checked. Yup, the caller ID saidHot Wheels, but that wasn’t Coop’s voice.
“Who is this and why do you have Coop’s phone?” Rick demanded. The voice sounded vaguely familiar but he couldn’t place it.
“It’s Vick. He asked me to call you. Shit, this fucking sucks. I can’t…should’ve given Coop’s phone to Dane or Kevin. I wasn’t even supposed to be here today but I needed to pick up my truck and—”
Whatever was going on, he needed to know now rather than later. “Vick! Stop! Where’s Coop? Why did he ask you to call me?” Rick wasn’t going to lose his shit. Not yet. He heard Vick take a deep breath and exhale.
“He asked me to call and let you know that he’s in the hospital. Took a jump wrong. Went into a combination off. Hit his front tire first. Bike flipped over his head and landed on him…” Rick didn’t hear anything else Vick said. All he heard was a buzzing.
“Stanton!” Nelson yelled from above him. Huh, he was on his knees. Not sure how he’d gotten there. “Are you okay?”
Rick opened his mouth to answer but didn’t know what to say. “Rick! Are you there?” He pulled his phone away from his ear and stared at the screen.
Nelson grabbed his phone and demanded, “Who is this?” Rick watched as Nelson straightened and listened to Vick. What was he going to do without Coop in his life? How the fuck did military spouses or even spouses of first responders do this?
“Okay, I’ll have Stanton call you back when he knows what he can do, if anything. We’ve got exercises every day this week.” Nelson ended the call. “Stanton? Rick? You need to pull your shit together.”
Rick looked around. Several soldiers had come out of the command tent and were watching Nelson and him. Just fucking great. Witnesses to his meltdown. This was going to look amazing on his fitness report—not. He stood and started to brush at his ACUs, then realized it was pointless. He’d been crawling around on the ground all night. He held his hand out for his phone and motioned to Nelson to step to the side.
He stopped beside the tent and dropped his head, looking at the ground as he tried to calm himself. Replaying what Vick had said in his mind. Coop had asked Vick to call Rick. He was okayenough to ask Vick to call, so it couldn’t be that bad, right? After a minute, he met Nelson’s gaze.
“Okay, I’m back somewhat in control. What’s Coop’s status?” he asked quietly.
“The guy on the phone—” Rick interrupted.
“Vick,” he said.
“Vick said that Coop…your friend?” Rick nodded at that. Coop was more but he wasn’t offering details that would delay him knowing what happened to Coop.
“From what Vick said, Coop took a nasty fall on the track. The medics stabilized him before transporting him to the local hospital. He definitely has a concussion. They think he might have dislocated his shoulder or broken his collarbone. His wrist is either sprained or broken. They were taking him for X-rays, and they’re keeping him for observation. Maybe there for a few days?” Nelson finished.
Rick’s mind started running ten million miles an hour. Could he even leave? Head to the hospital? Coop wasn’t listed on any of Rick’s paperwork as a dependent. Rick didn’t think anyone knew he had someone in his life. Well, Nelson…ummm, Justin. Probably should think of Nelson by his first name now that he’d helped Rick deal with one of the hardest moments of his life. Fuck, he needed Drew.
Chapter Fourteen – Coop
Coop couldn’t be more pissed at himself. Okay, maybe he could if he wasn’t in so much pain. He pulled on his jeans with his good arm, holding up the one in the cast. How could getting dressed be so exhausting? He lay on the bed for a minute to catch his breath. “Fuck. Button my pants for me, man.”
“What the hell, man. I ain’t helping with that.” Vick’s expression was hilarious. “Do it yourself or wait for your man. I’m out.”
After a few minutes of finagling with Vick laughing at him while he managed, he got his pants zipped and buttoned. “I think I’m done for the day.” Thankfully, it was much easier to get a shirt on, which it wouldn’t have been if he had hurt that shoulder more. Turns out it wasn’t dislocated, sprained, or strained, or anything. It was bruised, along with his neck and back, but only bruises. Thank the dirt bike gods for protective gear. Of course, his head and wrist were a different story. The latter would keep him from racing. It was a fractured metacarpal on the right hand. That one worked the throttle, so until it healed, racing was a no-go. Looked like he would be out for the entire upcoming season. That hurt. Not only the basic—no racing—but it hurt financially as well. The team was giving him a stipend while he recovered, but it was nothing compared to what actual racing paid. The better you finished, the more money you received. The stipend wouldn’t touch what he could have been making.
“Hello?” The one person Cooper wanted to see popped his head in the door.
“Rick. Come in here. Please. Damn.” Coop reached out with grabby-hands. He needed his man closer.
Rick did not disappoint. He rushed over and kissed Cooper, long and slow.
“Ah, guys. Get a room,” Vick complained.
“Shut it.” Coop pointed at his friend. “You were exactly no help today. So I don’t want to hear it.”
“Help with what?” Rick asked.
