“Coke.”
“I said no.” He was a grown man. He knew if his bones were broke.
“Nate? Will you talk to this stubborn asshole?” Doc threw his hands up, going to check Hank out, who was packed in a metric fuck ton of ice.
Nate just shook his head, letting Shaun wrap his bent up finger. “Cain’t tell the boss nothing.”
Coke rolled his eyes, winked. “I’m out of here.”
“You can’t drive. You cannotgo, damn it!”
“Nattie?” He didn’t need this shit.
“I got you, Hoss.” They played this game well, one of them running interference, the other running like hell.
Doc was trying to get back to him, and damned if it wasn’t Hank who saved the day, grabbing Doc’s arm and yelping like a big old hound. “Doc! Don’t leave me, man.”
He nodded once to Hank and skedaddled, bee-lining it for the dressing room and his bag.
He’d just about made it, too, when Dillon popped up beside him. “You okay, Coke? I haven’t been able to get back until now.”
“Yeah. I’m good.”In a hurry. Running from the doc. “You looked good tonight.”Hurry. Hurry.
“Thanks.” Tilting his head like a puppy hearing a whistle, Dillon grinned at him. “Doc’s coming. I’ll meet you at the truck?”
“Yes.” He tossed Dillon the keys. “By the big doors, huh?”
“You bet.” Good man. Dillon motivated out of there, heading out to get the truck, hustling like he did in the arena.
He didn’t check himself in the mirror, just grabbed his shit and boogied. He could change at the hotel.
AJ saw him in the hallway. “Nate says these are yours.”
A packet of pills landed in his hand, Doc’s scribbly handwriting on the paper. “If you cough blood, piss blood— Call.”
AJ looked pretty rough himself, a goose egg rising up, all purple and red.
“Thanks, buddy. You got a ride?”
“Yeah. I’m solid. You’d best get on, though. You know Jase’ll call to bitch.”
“No shit on that.” He waved and went, pulling out his phone and turning it off.
No interruptions. Hotel. Pool. Food. Shower.
The truck was right where it was supposed to be, Dillon behind the wheel, the big engine idling. The window slid down, the man himself giving Coke a smile. “You want to drive?”
“You can.” He slid in, real careful. “Stop in a drive-thru for food?”
“You bet. I was thinking roast beef sandwiches, huh? Less greasy and salty.”
Oh. Someone was thinking about his poor split lip.
“And a milkshake, honey. Please. Maybe two.”
“Sure.” Dillon patted his leg and pulled out, heading to the local Arby’s. He knew they’d passed one on the way from the hotel to the arena.
Coke closed his eyes, letting Dillon drive. As he chilled out, shit started hurting. For the most part, Dillon was quiet, too. He hummed with the radio, but didn’t ask a lot of questions or anything. Which was good.
