“Okay. Good.” Beau squeezed his arm. “Sleepwalk, man. No tossing your cookies.”
“I swear.” He swayed, sighed. “This shit sucks, Beau.”
“It surely does.” Beau helped him around a corner, then eased him down on something cold and hard. Must be in sports medicine.
“That Bell again? Shit, can’t he stick for any time anymore?”
“Got his bell rung, for sure.”
Beau snarled. “Y’all shut the fuck up.”
“Must be nice to have the Champ stick up for you.”
“I will break your fucking face.” Beau shifted away, and Sam knew he really ought to move or something.
“What he can’t do it on his own?” Sam couldn’t focus to see who it was, but the asshole was gonna die. As soon as he could stand up.
“Because he’s gone and done what you do on every frickin’ Saturday night you make it into town.”
“Fuck you, Lafitte. Let that pussy stand up for himself.”
“Oh, fuck you!” He surged up and immediately crashed down.
“Stop it!” Jonesy’s voice thundered through the room. “Bywater, you get your ass out. See Doc in a week about the stitches. Lafitte, get Sam back on the gurney.”
Bywater. Bywater. Bywater. He’d remember that. He’d remember that fucking name.
Beau eased him back down, murmuring something in French.
“Gon’ kick his ass. Ain’t a pussy.” And he didn’t need Beau to fight his battles, either.
“I know that, dipshit. You’re just not in any shape.”
“Shut up, both of you. I will kick both your scrawny asses.” Jonesy sounded huffy.
“I’m going home. I ain’t staying here.”
“You’ll stay here until Doc sees you.”
Beau sighed, settling in next to him on a stool. “He’s got a point, Poot.”
“I’m fine. Better all the time.”
“Uh-huh. When are you going to stop getting off head first, son?” That was Doc. Fucker.
“When the bulls stop acting like diving boards.” He thought that was pretty smart considering his ears was still ringing.
“Oh, good one. Gonna shine a light in your eyes. Don’t puke.”
Jesus. A guy hurled once.
The nausea rose in him, and Beau squeezed his hand, holding on. He kept thinking about his dogs, about the puppies waiting for him. The horses and the cattle and the fence. All the good stuff.
“Poot? Talk to me.”
“Thinking ‘bout the pups.” Ten of ‘em.
Ten.
