Coke grabbed his phone and headed out of the room to the weird overlook deal inside the hotel, easing his sore ass down onto a chair that was way less comfortable than it ought to be.
Beau answered on the second ring when Coke called, voice hushed. “Hey, cher.”
“Hey stranger.” He sounded about as rough as a cob himself. “How goes it?”
“It goes. Am I keeping you up?”
“Not a bit. You holding up okay?”Talk to me, Cajun.
“He keeps kicking and moaning, cher. It’s killing me.” Beau sounded like he’d been swallowing glass.
“Yeah. I seen that with Ole Rusty. You ’member him?”
“Oh, Lord. That man was the king of landing on his damn head,” Beau said.
“Yeah, that was back before the league, before the money and the big show, when we was all just ridin’ rodeo like regular Joes.” Sometimes Coke missed that a little—the tiny arenas and the sun beating on you and melting your makeup. He missed being able to go home for weeks in between rodeos.
Beau snorted. “We were all fumbling around like fools. I’d give up all the titles and the money to have him safe and well, Coke. Every bit.”
“Me too, but that ain’t how it works, huh? The good Lord makes His choices.” Even though Coke wished He would remember to keep more of the good ones safe.
“I reckon.” Beau sighed, the sound a puff of air, really. “How’s your clown holding up?”
“He’s sleeping some. You know that he loves Sammy half to death. We all do, but Dillon… I think Sammy’s special to him.” Coke shook his head, a dull pain near cracking his chest open, so he clenched his hand, the agony there distracting him. “I’m sorry we didn’t get in there fast enough, Beau. We tried, but…”
Sometimes they didn’t do it, even when they put their best into it.
“Yep. Just like I’m sorry Sammy doesn’t think before he leaps.” A rough chuckle bucked him up some. “You did all you could, cher. Never doubt that for one slim minute.”
“Eh, Sammy loves you more than life. I know it don’t feel like it right now, but that’s a blessing.” He hoped it was. That’s what it was with Dillon and him. He’d lay down his soul for his cowboy.
“Yeah. Y’all think you could bring me a bag of sausage biscuits and hash brown thingies when you come later this morning? I’m so sick of the cafeteria already.”
“Of course. I’ll bring good coffee, too. Won’t be but a few hours. You… You think you might could close your eyes, Cajun? Rest?”
“I’ll try.” Beau was lying, and Coke heard it plain as day, but they both chose to let it go. “Goodnight, cher. Love you.”
“Love you, Cajun. I’ll be there with bells on.” He hung up with a sigh, his head feeling like a bowling ball on the end of his neck. Fuck a doodle doo.
Coke slipped back inside the hotel room, locking the deadbolt as quiet as he could.
Dillon was little more than a lump in the middle of the big bed, covered up with blankets. It was frigid in the room, but it always was. Dillon slept cold. Coke sat over by the window, staring out at the mountains. Man, it was pretty out here. Little weird, with most of the cowboys gone, but pretty.
He heard a rustle, and the pad of feet that were not basset-shaped. “Babe? You okay?”
Coke thought about his answer some. “No.”
“Yeah.” Dillon sighed, leaning up against his back.
“I didn’t mean to wake you up.” He was glad Dillon was up, though. Glad for the warmth pressing against him.
One lean hand came down to stroke his belly, just above his sweatpants. “How’s Beau?”
“Scared. Sam ain’t woke up yet, but he’s hurting.”
“Well, I’m gonna choose to think of that as good.”
He could see that, maybe. If Sam wasn’t in there, he wouldn’t be showing pain.
