“You have any idea how much… Uh. Jonesy? Is the world supposed to be blue?”
Dude.
“Yeah, Walsh. That’s normal. David, you’re driving him to the hotel, right?”
“I am.” David nodded, coming to stand in his line of sight. “I’ll get him settled. Y’all just have to decide when he can travel home.”
“He’s going to…” Jonesy glanced at the X-rays, then handed them to Doc. “He’s gonna be sick and sore tomorrow. Can you keep him in a room for two more days? Then he’ll be feeling like traveling.”
Doc made clucking noises, staring at the X-rays against the bright lights. “You’re going to want to stay as still as possible, for sure, but nothing is cracked. Where else hurts?”
“My butt. And uh, my ribs, but they’re not broken. I promise. Been there.”
“Good deal. You’re sure?”
“I am.” That he could tell. He was sore as hell, but there wasn’t that grinding horror when he tried to breathe.
Jonesy nodded, took hold of his arm. “If you’re sure, that’s good enough for me. Ready?”
“Ready.” One last look at Jonesy, and Dillon closed his eyes, waiting for the big ow. It came, but it wasn’t nearly as earth-shattering as he’d thought, more like his heart stopped and his head exploded then it was better and his hand woke up.
“Wow. Evil hand.” He flexed it, glad to see his little sausage-swollen fingers wiggle. “Man, Ace and Sandy would have my ass if I’d killed it.”
“No killing it. Let’s wrap you up.” Jonesy’s touch was gentle now, careful.
“You’re good at that Jonesy. I can see why the guys like you better than Doc. Or Shaun.” He’d seen Shaun stitching Beau up once. It had been a scene of unimaginable gore.
“They like me because I make them take the good drugs.”
“That, too.” Man, he was going to have to get David to get him some food on the way back to the hotel. He was getting queasy as hell. “Has anyone seen Coke yet?”
“Ace has him, remember?” David’s smile was gentle. “He’s a tough old man, Lonnie. He’ll see you at the hotel, I’m sure.”
“Okay.” Soon enough, Dillon was wrapped up like a mummy, including ice and plastic wrap on his ribs. “Can I go now?”
“If you can walk. David?”
“I’ll get your gear, man, and we’ll go. You hungry?”
“I could eat a little something.” He stuck his tongue out at AJ, who he hadn’t noticed sitting across from him, laughing like a loon at the way his knees didn’t want to work. Theywere all wobbly and stuff, his joints going all over with bad angles.
“You heading back to the room, man?” AJ asked. “I’ll let Coke know.”
“I am. I think I might melt otherwise. Dribble right through the floor.” He still had enough strength to flip Donnie off when he made blub-blub noises, though. “Happy Meal, here I come.”
He headed out, swaying a little, David’s lean body right there to lead him out so he could wait for Coke.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Man, you shoulda let someone fix your hand.”
“Hush, Nate. I got ten minutes to get my shit and talk with Dillon and tell him I’m sorry before we head to DFW. I’ll deal with it up north.”
His hand was so swole it didn’t hurt no more. Nothing did, except that place in him that said he’d fallen down on the job again, got someone hurt again. Fucked up again.
He handed his card key to Nate. “Help me, man.”
“You’re gonna play hell in a pressurized cabin.” Nate took the card, though, and opened the door, the room beyond dark and cool.
