Then she hooked up his wires and monitors and walked off, saying the magic words. “You can come in now, Mr. Lafitte.”
He glared at Beau, telling his cowboy how damn tired he was of this shit and how bad he wanted to go home. Now. He was better and nobody was even letting him walk or take a piss!
“Hey, Poot.” Beau grinned, looking like the only person on earth happy to hear him talk even if he wasn’t making any sense. “Doing better today, huh? Not so raspy from that damned tube.”
He nodded, wincing as his head hurt. Sam just wanted to go home. He didn’t like… wherever the fuck they were.
“You got to watch that nodding. They just put your lid back on.” Beau settled in next to the bed, the chair there covered in pillows and weird blankets and shit.
Sam stared over, staring at Beau. How could he be so calm? How thefuck?
Beau reached out to touch his arm. “I know, Poot. I know. You got to remember, though, I thought you was gonna die.”
Nonsense. He was too mean to die.
He let himself just hold Beau’s hand a minute. Rest. Then his eyes popped open. The Finals. They’d been at the Finals. Beau needed to ride.
“I got you. You can sleep if you need to, Poot.” Beau rubbed the back of his hand with a scarred thumb.
Sam started asking questions, trying his damnedest to get Beau to understand. He needed to know if Beau’d taken the championship, what the deal was.
“Okay, Sammy. Baby. You ain’t making sense.” Beau had told him how Doc had talked about his words, how they’d be all mixed up for a bit. Jesus, it was frustrating. “Is it about your body? You hurting?”
Beau would start this list of questions, let him nod or squeeze or blink... He shook his head, then squeezed Beau’s finger. No.
“Okay.” Beau grinned. “You need me to get milk and lube.”
He blinked, then started laughing, big, hearty belly laughs that felt good for about a minute before the room started spinning and his brains tried to leak out his ears. Still, it was worth it.
“Shh. Shh, I got you.” Beau put a hand on his chest, anchoring him, letting him remember how to breathe. “You want to know how the finals ended up?”
He squeezed twice. Yes. Yes.
“Ah. Well…” Beau shrugged a little. “I won the year. You won the average.”
No shit? He beamed, so damn proud of his cowboy.
“Yeah. I went back the day after you— The next day. I rode Wipeout for ninety.” Beau laughed a little. “I was so mad.”
He applauded, grinned. His brilliant fucking bullrider.
“You might need to know something else, baby. I don’t want you to hear it from Balta or Dillon.” Beau got all serious. Shit. Had someone else got hurt?
He grabbed for Beau’s hand. He’d seen Coke, hadn’t he? He thought he had. Right. Jason hadn’t ridden.
“Now, don’t get all worried. It’s just… I announced my retirement, Poot. I’m going out a winner, but I’m going out.”
Sam looked at Beau, shook his head.
Wait.
No.
Not Beau. Beau was the champ.
“I did.” Beau petted his arm, his hand. “I just— I’m done.” Beau swallowed hard. “There’s more.”
He arched one eyebrow. Stared hard, and then let Beau know exactly what he thought of all this weirdness and drama.
