“Good man.” He patted Dillon and headed for Nate without looking back, his hand a ball of agony. “You okay, bud?”
Nate nodded, looking like he’d been run over by a bus. “I’m all right, Hoss. You ought to have Doc look at that hand.”
Out of the corner of his eye he could see Dillon head over to the announcer stand, getting suited up with a handheld mic.
“Shit, he sees it. You’re working without me and Coop.” He knew better than that. He couldn’t leave Nate on his own. “It’ll keep till after.”
“Yeah. Okay, yeah, boss. We don’t have an alternate anywhere closer than tomorrow.”
“Hey, you know what we need? We need you guys to get behind the next rider. Come on and pump it up!” Dillon was smiling, shouting, starting to jog around the arena.
Oh, good. Not hurt. Coke might beat the beautiful son of a bitch with a shovel.
The crowd began cheering, the music started playing again, and things started to get back to normal. Troy came walking over, clipboard in hand. “You boys ready?”
“Bring it on.” The sooner they started, the sooner the fucking short go would be over.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The rest of the show went by in a blur for Dillon. Luckily, the short go was usually a quiet time for him, because the brass believed firmly in letting the bulls and the riders be the stars.
Dillon had never been so damned grateful for that.
A handheld mic didn’t go well with his style, for one thing. Of course, it made it easier not to pant into the microphone, which was good. The downside was that his one arm was pretty much completely numb, so he had to make do with his one good arm for everything. His ribs ached, his butt hurt and, worst of all, Coke wouldn’t look at him.
At all.
He hadn’t hurt so damned bad since that Boise football player had hit him at the all state championship his senior year. Considering that was nearly twenty years ago, that was a long time to go between hurting like this.
Once the check was presented, Dillon ducked right out of the gate, waiting for Coke and Nate, who were doing their little after the show prayer. He could see Coke’s hand, hugeand black, the fingers swollen all out of proportion, hanging over Nate’s shoulder, and it made him wince.
“Hey. Let’s take you to the back, get you checked out, huh?” Jonesy’s hand circled his upper arm, leading him back to Sports Medicine.
“Wait. Jonesy. I need to talk to Coke.” He tried to pull away, but Mr. Numb All Night Arm started screaming.
“Uh-uh. You come on. Now. Doc! Dillon’s shoulder’s dislocated, I think.” Everybody in the back stopped, staring at him.
He saw Coke, who was coming around the chutes, stop, see him and go purely gray. “Oh, sweet Jesus.”
Troy and Ace were right behind Coke and Nate and he heard the chute boss, clear as a bell. “Jesus fucking Christ, Pharris. Don’t we pay you to make sure hedoesn’tget hurt? You know how much he’s worth?”
Ace slapped Troy on the shoulder. “Lord, the rate we’re losing guys, we’re going to have to start docking their pay per injury.”
Dillon swayed a little. “It’s not his fault, damn it. I’m the one who got in the way. What’s the first rule of the clown, guys?”
Everyone but Coke chuckled, and there was a chorus of, “Stay in the barrel, stupid.”
“Come on, Dillon. Let’s get you fixed up.” Jonesy smiled at him, winked. “Let the bosses growl at the bullfighters. Coop’s out for at least six weeks. He’ll be able to go home to that new baby.”
“Oh, well good for him. So Fred will be back up, huh?” He was babbling. He knew he was, but he couldn’t… Wait. “Coke needs his hand looked at, Jonesy. It’s all black.”
“Coke knows whether he’s hurt or not, man. Besides, if he doesn’t want to come back, Nate will just run interference, and they’ll both bolt.”
Snapping out of his haze, Dillon set his jaw and pulled away, managing to do it this time. “So I don’t get the luxury of knowing how I feel? You going to baby me, Jonesy?”
One eyebrow went up, Jonesy’s lips twisting. “Look, Dillon. We can do this one of two ways. You can be an asshole, I can get Doc, and we can make a scene and be unpleasant. Or you can remember that you’re under contract tighter than anyone herebutme and Doc, come and be nice, and we’ll get your shoulder fixed.”
“I just need to see Coke, Jonesy. Just for two seconds. Okay? Then I’ll go quietly.” Damn it, he wasn’t asking too much, was he? He needed to see if Coke was okay, and apologize for fucking up.
