“Who the fuck knows, man? Those assholes are fucking nuts.”
“I know.” His leg started to bounce, his boot heel tapping the floor.
“You want to take a walk, Beau?” Ace actually made him smile. The old-school son of a bitch was offering to let him have a go at him, King of the Cowboys or not.
“I do.” He might not punch anyone, but he could walk with Ace. He needed that kind of solidity, and Balta and Dillon could handle the guys who were coming in and milling around.
They got up, headed outside. It was chilly, the wind blowing, and Ace offered him a pack of Camels.
“Thanks.” He lit up quick, sucking down half a cigarette in, like, five seconds.
“Anytime.” Ace lit up, too, sighing and blowing out a long stream of smoke. “He’s a brave son of a bitch.”
“He is. Stupid, too.” Sammy always thought Beau was so much better than him. Worth more. God knew that was bullshit.
“He’s a bullrideranda roper, after all.” Ace gave him that quicksilver grin.
“No shit.” Sam was never gonna get on another bull, far as Beau was concerned, so he’d best learn to love the roping more. “I really got to go tomorrow, huh?”
“I’m real sorry, but the fans’ll have a fit. Like I said. You ride first, someone brings you right back, no autographs.”
“Okay.” Yeah. Somehow he could hear Sam telling him this was his third championship, and in his head he knew it was the last. He’d do for the fans and come back to Sammy.
“Thank you.” Ace took another puff, then his phone rang and he answered. “Whut. Huh? Shit, okay. We’re coming.”
Serious eyes met his. “Doc says he’s out of surgery, says the surgeon’s wanting to talk.”
Beau swallowed, wiping his hands on his jeans. “You’ll come with me?”
“You know it. Let’s hasta, buddy.” Ace flicked the butt and started jogging, boots clacking on the sidewalk.
Beau went in, hunting Doc. There were lots of guys there now, but Balta and Dillon waved them over, ushering him into a small waiting room that was labeled “Family Only.”
Doc was there with this teeny, tiny little round man with hands like a doll’s. Doc glanced up. “Lafitte. Come on in.”
“Thanks. Doc, you know Ace. Sir.” He nodded at the little man, scared to death.
“Doctor MacMillian. Have a seat.”
Beau sat. Ace stood. “How is he?”
“Stable, but critical.” The doctor didn’t smile. “We’ve removed a piece of skull to relieve the pressure and chemically induced a coma so that he’s not in pain. He’s on a ventilator, right now his lungs are clear, healthy.”
That was all scary as shit. “I’m sorry, sir. What does that mean? Is he gonna wake up?”
“We hope so. It’s simply too early to tell. If he doesn’t get pneumonia, if he doesn’t get an infection, if the swelling recedes—he should.”
If, if, if. Beau clenched his hands, wanting to go back and beat Ace up now. “When can I see him?”
“You can see him now. The ICU nurses will walk you through procedures for disinfecting. He’s not awake, not responsive, you understand, yes?”
Ace had to nudge him with a sharp boot toe before he could shape words. “I got it. Yes, sir. Thank you. You know when he’ll be up? Awake?”
“Could be days, could be weeks. There’s no way to answer that.”
“Is he gonna ride again?” That was Ace.
“Part of his skull is missing, sir. If his brain recovers enough that he can speak, walk, I would not suggest anything that endangers his skull. There were dozens of hairline cracks—old and new. It would be suicidal.”
