“Joa’s got the truck pulled up. I will get your gear.” That was Balta.
“Thanks, Balta.” Beau shook hands with the man, then smiled once for the camera. Then the little man was gone. Boom. Running for the back without a single fucking word.
Both David and the TV announcer, John Keane, started talking fast, explaining how Beau’d got beat up the night before, how his best friend and traveling partner was real hurt. They got Raul out there to get his buckle as reserve champion.
Dillon did all the smiling and nodding that he could, then he had to go. He was on fucking break, damn it.
Jonesy was waiting for him, Doc’s right-hand man and the cowboy’s answer to everything that didn’t need a surgeon standing firm. “I need to see Coke, Dillon.”
“I know, Jonesy, but not when Doc is back there.”
“Doc’s already headed back to the hospital. Sports medicine is empty.”
“Okay. Give me five.” He would drag Coke kicking and screaming if he had to.
He saw Nate heading out, head down, bag on his back. “Going home, friend. Taking the wife and kids away from this.”
“I hear you, Nate. Travel safe.” Who could blame him? Dillon found Coke in the locker room. “Babe. See Jonesy for five minutes.”
“I need to go see Sam, cowboy.”
“If you go into the hospital like this, they’ll admit you.” Then all hell would break loose.
“Like what?” Coke didn’t do innocent worth a fuck.
“Babe, your hand is dripping blood.” He wasn’t gonna be a screaming harpy this time. He wasn’t. Not to mention the one cheek that was pure hamburger and the shoulder Coke was holding so careful.
“Yeah, that’s a little gross, huh?”
“Yeah. Please, babe. They won’t let us in to see Sam like this anyway. You’re a walking germ.” There. That ought to appeal to Coke’s sense of responsibility.
“Well, I was gonnashower, cowboy.” Oh, thank God. That was a grin.
“Shower and bandage. Then we go.” It was working. Coke was following him to the med room.
Jonesy was right there, and he smiled at Coke, the expression almost gentle. “Mr. Pharris. It’s just the three of us. Let me get that hand cleaned up? How’s your shoulder? It looks vicious. We’ll ice it.” Jonesy started talking and moving, getting Coke eased down on a bed. “Can I give you something to ease the muscles?”
“Not if it’s gonna make me stupid.”
“Doc gave him some kind of natural muscle relaxant last time, Jonesy. It was a pill. Right, Coke? He liked those. I can drive, so he just needs to be awake and aware.”
“A natural… Cool. I’ll check the file.”
Coke leaned back as soon as the ice hit that shoulder, Jonesy wrapping it all in plastic. Better. Dillon saw a ton of lines ease around the sides of Coke’s mouth.
“Here, Coke. Take this, huh?” That wasn’t any herbal thing that Jonesy gave Coke, but no one said anything.
“You want to go get showered and cleaned up, Dillon? I’m going to be a few minutes on this. He needs a stitch or two and some butterflies on his cheek.”
“Coke?” He would stay if Coke needed him. Hell, Coke would need help in the shower.
Coke glanced over at him, gave him a sad little smile. “I’m okay. Just don’t let anyone lock up before I get my gear.”
“I promise.” He touched Coke’s good arm before slipping away. He went to their makeshift locker room, smiling and waving off the maintenance guy. “Still two of us coming. Sorry.”
Then he went and stood under the shower for, like, an hour. At least that was what it felt like. And if he bawled some while he was in there, well, there was no one to see, and the water washed it all away. Then, when he was about done, a solid mass of bodycame in behind him, pulled him close, one hand held up and away from the spray.
Dillon turned, wrapping his arms around Coke’s broad chest, offering support at the same time he leaned. “Coke.”
