“Cajun!” Coke barreled into the room, eyes wild. Nate and Coop were right behind him, then Dillon.
Beau tried to stand up, but the room went all swimmy, and he reached out blindly, trying to catch himself. “Hey, cher…”
Balta caught one side, Coke the other. “We got you. Tell me.”
“He’s in surgery. Doc said it was bad, cher. But he can come back, It’s his speech center or something.” He gagged, thinking of the gaping piece of skin.
“Balta, has Doc seen him?” That was Nate.
“Sim. Sim,he looked Lafitte over. He’s got a concussion.” Balta said that word like cone-cushion. It made Beau chuckle, feeling a little crazy.
“He won the round, the event average, I think.” Coop sighed, rubbed the back of his neck. “He’d be tickled ‘bout that.”
“He will.” Beau said it fiercely. Sam would wake up and be tickled, Goddamn it.
Coke’s hand landed over his, the bullfighter nodded. “He will, Cajun. He’ll be tickled as shit.”
Dillon just stood there, watching him with hurt eyes. There was no accusation, really, just pain and fear. Dillon looked like Beau felt.
Beau held out the hand Coke wasn’t holding onto. “Hey, Dill-weed.” He knew Dillon was one of Sam’s best friends, even if he didn’t always get it.
“Beau.” Dillon held on, eyes moving from Coke to him and back to Coke. “What can we do?”
“I don’t know. He’s in surgery.” Had he said that? “We won’t know nothin’ until they know how much pressure there is. Doc is…” Christ, Coke looked raw and bruised. “Cher, you need to see Doc.”
“I’m good.” Coke squeezed his hand. “I swear to God, Beau. We tried to get to him.”
Hell, he knew that. He could see it—Coke looked like his cheek’d been put on a meat grinder and Nate had butterfly stitches above one eye. Coop had two fingers taped together and a split lip that was vicious.
“Y’all did your best. Balta told me. Thank you.” What the hell else could he say?
Coke sighed, held onto him.
“Yeah.” He’d cried his bit back in the bathroom. Now he felt drained. Tired. “Y’all should get some rest, too.”
“We can’t leave you here like this.”
“Bullshit you can’t. You boys have work to do tomorrow.” Troy’s voice rang right out.
Beau nodded. “Troy’s right. You have to be the angels out there.”
“Some fucking angel I was tonight.”
Troy reached out, whapped Coke hard on the back of the head. “Stop it.”
Dillon squawked, but Troy just growled at him. “This was no one’s fault. He did what he did, and we gotta respect that. You three need to heal up as much as you can tonight and work that short go tomorrow.”
“We cain’t leave Beau here alone.” Coke had the stubborn face on.
Nate nudged Coke. “Hoss, the big boss is coming.”
Sure as shit, Sandy and Ace came through the doors.
“I can stay.” Dillon squeezed Beau’s hand, then moved to sit next to him. “I can sleep anywhere, and with the make up, no one will see bags under my eyes.”
“Go. Go on. Sandy’ll piss y’all off, sure as shit.” Troy grinned, nodded. “Nate, take Pharris to the hotel. Now.”
“Yessir.” Natty grabbed Coke’s arm, and Dillon murmured something to the man when he would have argued. It worked.
