Missy smiled on Benji, then AJ, eyes getting all teary. “He’s a good boy.”
“He is, huh? Okay, bub, time for bed.” AJ went and plucked Benji out of Jason’s lap, smiling down into that little face. He was a good daddy. Of course, that girl was right behind her man, looking on him like AJ was pure magic. It sort of blew Coke’s mind, but he reckoned there was someone for everyone.
“Y’all going back to the guest house, or am I gonna get to have one more beer with you?”
“Shit, Coke. We’ll have a beer. How’s things?”
He smiled at Jase, even if the man couldn’t see him. “Lord. Billy got himself a gal—one that ain’t his wife, mind you—knocked up, Kynan got real drunk in Cheyenne and picked a fight with a carny, got his nose broke…”
Bax and Jason both cracked up over that, and they talked for a bit, distracting him from his wandering thoughts and unruly body. Thank God.
By the time the beers were done, he was about ready to fall into the bed, crash like a lead balloon. “I’m off, y’all. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Night, Coke.” Bax went to help Jason up, both of them waving, Jason’s just a little off.
Coke nodded, wandering back to the green room to unload his pockets. His phone was blinking with one of them text-dealies, and he flipped the thing open, fumbling with it.
There was a little message on the screen once he got it open, the letters tiny enough that he had to play trombone to read them. They said, “Miss you. Boo. D.”
It took him a goddamn hour to reply. “Me too. Use your salve. Boo back. Night. Coke.”
Still, he hoped it made Dillon’s night better to hear from him, just like Dillon’s message had done for him.
Lord, Lord. Maybe there really was someone for everyone.
Chapter Seven
Dillon heard his phone beep, and he shot up in bed, his legs still protesting any sudden movement. It was ridiculous, how two weeks after the damned accident with Adam’s rope he was still feeling the pain. It sucked to get old.
The text message window blinked at him, and he bounced, pushing the little buttons and getting to the text from Coke. It had to be from Coke.
Sure enough, there was a little admonishment to use his salve, which he had, and a ‘me too’, which meant Coke missed him. His Coke. He’d definitely started thinking of the man as his. Oh, he’d fallen asleep in the hot tub and missed his chance, but there would be another, and God knew he’d been hurting bad. Something about little shaved off pieces of bone.
Dillon hadn’t mentioned the bone thing to Adam when Dillon’d called to kind of kick him in the ass about his guilt. Adam Taggart was the best safety man in the game, and it had been pure chance, that rope sawing around across the top of the cage in the center of the arena.
“So are you sleeping with Coke?” Adam had asked, and Dillon had sputtered.
“What? No. I mean, not for lack of trying, but it hasn’t come down the way I want it to.”
There was something about Adam that made everyone tell him the truth. Maybe it was because the man was so blunt about everything, not ashamed to admit he got around and did what he damned well wanted.
“Well, get with it, boy. Neither one of you is getting any younger.”
“I… Jeez, Adam. I’m on it, okay? After the break.”
He’d been pretty much told to take it easy until after the break, and they’d put some ridiculous Blues Brothers fakers in his place for the last show before everyone went home for a while. Dillon had been pissed as hell, maintaining that he’d do the show in a motorized wheelchair if he had to.
Of course, after that show, Ace had told him never to get hurt again. The crowd wanted him. Period.
Dillon hoped no one would think he was an asshole if he felt vindicated.
“I’ll hold you to it,” Adam had said. “I’m real sorry about your legs, Dill. You know that, yeah?”
“Don’t be any stupider than you have to be, Tag. I love you more than my luggage.”
Everything had been right with him and Adam after that.
He hoped to hell everything was right with Coke, too. The text message was a good sign, but it had been a rocky road so far. Maybe he needed to make a plan.
