Beau sighed. “Yeah. What if it’s Coke, or if Balta needs help or something? They would call you.”
“Don’t go off, now.” He pulled his phone out and flipped it open, pleased to see Dillon Walsh’s name. “Clownboy! How are things?”
“Hey, man. I just needed to vent. Got a minute?” Dillon sounded like he had a head fill of steam.
“You know it. I’m just pottering. Talk to me.” He gave Beau the wide eyes.
Beau grinned, shaking his head. He started pulling chicken out to toss in the holy trinity. God, he did love the smell of bell pepper, celery, and onion.
“Okay, so I swear, some people are mad at me for something that happened, and it didn’t even happen. And I was pretty drugged up anyway!”
“All right. Okay. I been telling folks all is well, man. You know I believe in you.” And that was no lie. Dillon was good, balls to bones.
“I know you do, and so does Coke, now that I’ve explained. But dammit, I need this shit to stop if I’m going to help anyone.” Dill was always wanting to help. And Sam had a feeling Dillon meant Jason, as far as assistance.
“It’s just that everyone’s psycho protective of Gramps, buddy. You dealt with Nate yet?” That was the real deal. Nate had to be the one still mad.
“No.” Dillon sighed. “I mean, ostensibly I have, but no. He’s a dick.”
“Yeah. You want me to have Beau call him and give him what for? I will.”
Beau shot him the wiggly eyebrows, and he winked and nodded.
“No. I might need some advice, though. I was just—” Dillon blew out another hard breath. “For the first time since I signed on, I was in that charmed circle, you know? And now I feel like I’ve been kicked out again.”
“No. No, Coke won’t let that happen, and neither will you. It was a stupid mistake, and not even a you mistake.” Sam got that, balls to bones.”
“You think so?” Now Dillon was starting to sound hopeful. Lord he was easy. Really, the man had a sunny disposition.
“Hell yes. Man, you’re too hard on yourself. Punch Nate in the nose, tell Coke to be up front wit Jason, and it’ll all be fixed. Trust me.”
“I believe you. How are you feeling?” Dillon was humming now, and Sam would bet he was shaking his ass.
“Good. Good, I’m home. I’m happy. Things are…better. I’m ready to finish out the year. You? How’s the shoulder?”
“I’m cleared for all the things with Doc. And it’s not sore all the time now. Just if I overdo it.” Dillon had separated the damn shoulder trying to help out Gramps in the arena, which was so not his job, and had been back at work a bit, but shoulders were tricky.
“I miss your face.”
“I miss yours.”
He believed it. Dillon was one of his best friends on the circuit, and he knew it.
“We’ll see you again this weekend.” Sam chuckled. “We’ll go out to eat.”
“Sounds good. I’ll be there.”
“Will Gramps?” He wanted to see Coke, but the man wasn’t all back to work yet, he knew.
“He’s determined to be out there on the dirt, my friend” Dillon chuckled, the sound warm and fond, if a little frustrated. “I want him to wait, but you know him. He’s a bullfighter, to the bone.”
“Sure, of course.” He waved at Beau, who came to take the phone. “Beau wants to say hi.”
“Cool.”
“Hey, Dill.” Beau took over, and Sam slumped against the counter. Lord, that was awkward. He heated it when people he loved were at odds, and he hated that so many folks he caredabout had been hurt recently and were still not at full health, just like him. Being laid up sucked.
But that was how it worked this late in the season, though. It wasn’t ‘if’, it was ‘when’.
