I closed the door behind us, then turned him toward the elevator. "If we can get them screaming at the PBR, then my - " I grunted, stopping myself. "Uh, if they're on board, then the PBR won't have any choice but to bring back the wolf pack."
"Your what?" he pressed, catching my slip up.
"I was going to say my plan," I lied, "but sounds to me like it's more yours this time."
He cast me a glance that proved he wasn't buying it, but he let me have it. He also pressed the button for the top floor of this place, not the bottom. I was confused right up until the doors opened into a rather elegant looking restaurant.
"Can I help you?" a young woman asked, turning to us with a smile.
I caught the way her eyes ran down Ty's body. Surprisingly, he acted like he didn't.
"We're meeting a friend. Peter. Might be under Ty? I'm not sure if he said anything."
"Oh, I know who you mean," she said. "Right this way."
As she led us to him, I couldn't help but notice the view. From up here, we could see all across downtown Nashville. Granted, it was all city and no country, but that had its own appeal. I was also getting used to it.
When the young lady stopped, gesturing to a table for us to claim, I recognized the man already sitting there. Confusion creased his brow as he looked from Ty to me, then back.
"Can I get you a drink?" the waitress asked.
"Coffee," I said, taking the closest open chair.
"Pepsi," Ty said. "Menus too, please? My treat this morning, guys."
"Good," Peter said, offering a weak little smile as he waited for the woman to leave. Then he leaned in. "I didn't realize this was going to be a group thing, Ty."
"Jake's the brains behind our strike," Ty explained. "He just got in, so I dragged him along. I'm taking the blame for this, he's making sure I don't screw up, and we need your damned help."
"Yeah..." I said, realizing there was one big problem with this. "And we appreciate what you're trying to do out there, but-"
Peter just lifted his hand, stopping me there. "But Casey died. He fucking died on my watch, Jake. I know it. All y'all know it too. Never mind that Sousa said we'd be covering for a few days, not the rest of the fucking season!"
"Really?" Ty asked. "So what do Stephen and Charlie think about this mess?"
"Shit," Peter grumbled. "They're convinced this is their big chance. Those idiots keep saying you fuckers need to be tuned in, the old group spoiled your asses, and you're all too fucking dumb to worry about anyway. A few kicks to the head might do some good." He grunted to show what he thought of that. "They also think this is a whole lot of money they're making."
"Bullfighting?" I asked incredulously.
Peter nodded. "Yeah. They haven't figured out how bad the living costs are eating into their profits. I've been doing the standby thing long enough to be the veteran of our group, which technically puts me in charge. The problem is, they don't agree, so neither of them will listen to me, and I'm too slow and busted up to be a one-man team."
"Yeah," I breathed, deciding I didn't hate this guy as much today as I had last weekend. "So what's the plan, Ty?"
"Peter," Ty said, "we need your dad to make some waves. Do you think he'd be willing?"
"Oh, I think he's pissed that y'all aren't riding. He finally got a bull who's a real contender, and he's worried he's going to fall down too far to earn any money from it."
"But we can't ride," Ty pointed out. "You get that, right? This isn't about you. It's about us."
"We've asked that either your team gets more training, or we get the wolf pack back," I added. "Either one works for us."
"No, Jake, it doesn't," Peter said. "I know you're trying to tiptoe around my feelings, but I'm not blind. Hell, I'm so busy chewing those fuckers out, telling them how to actually turn a bull that we can't even pick up ropes! Half the time, I'm too busy making sure they don't get horned to even see when the rope comes off, and they refuse to work together! They think it's a competition to see who's going to be the next Tanner Burns."
"Tanner should be the next Tanner Burns," Ty said.
Peter just nodded. "And I'm not going to last until finals. My knee?" He huffed a dry laugh. "I'm already limping all week. If I get hit? Flipped? I'll be out."
"And those two cannot work without you directing them," I realized. "They'd be useless on their own."
