“Jail time?” Dillon blinked again, feeling as though someone had hit him upside the head. “Can you give me a minute? I-I need to try calling him again.”
“Sure, Dill. I’m going to go… I don’t know. Stand somewhere.”
“Nate.” He caught Nate’s sleeve. “You know it doesn’t matter to me, right? You know I would never think badly of him.” Dillon needed Nate to tell him he knew that.
“Shit, I know that. I think that Hoss knows that. Hoss is ashamed and that does things to a man, twists him”
“It does.” Dillon wondered if he would ever understand Coke’s guilt response. “Thank you, Nate.”
“Hopefully he just went home.” Nate didn’t sound too sure of that, though.
“I’ll leave a message there, too.” Normally he would say Coke would run to Nate or Tag. Both were here.
Once Nate left him, he called Coke again.
The phone didn’t even ring—it just went to voicemail.
“Coke, please call me, babe. I know I messed up, and I’m worried about you. Love you.” He hung up, then got up and began packing his bags. Wherever Coke was running, he intended to follow and fix this.
That was the one certainty in his life right now. Dillon needed his Fearless Pharris.
Coke droveuntil the truck was on empty, then he filled up and kept going. He didn’t turn the radio on. He didn’t turn the phone on. He didn’t think.
He drove.
Nine and a half hours later Coke was on the coast, sitting in the camp he owned with Beau and Tag, head in his hands. He didn’t know what to do.
So, he didn’t do anything. He sat, maybe he slept, then he started to clean.
Lord, how long had it been since any of them had been here? The place hadn’t been broken into, thank God, but the critters were trying to take over and he wouldn’t be surprised if there was a gator living in the bedroom.
He got the hot water heater percolating, the propane tanks in the back still mostly full. He needed to wash out the sinks and the shower, make sure there were no cottonmouths in there. He didn’t even want to consider what the hell the fridge looked like.
A mental shopping list began to form. Hot dogs. Bleach cloths. Beans and rice. Some bait. Beer. Milk and Cheerios.
Coke closed his eyes because he wanted Dillon on his list, too.
Dillon knew everything, knew all about Anthony, him. It was on the Internet. Aaron Bell was on the internet.
How could he ever look Dillon in the eye again? He came from bad stock. Hell, he’d done hard time. Wasn’t no soft country club juvenile facility where Coke came from.
God, what if Ace knew?
What if the rest of the team knew?
What if random people found out? Fans. Riders.
His chest started to hurt, the pain deep, squeezing at him. Coke doubled over, the past riding him, overwhelming his good sense.
He gulped, fighting to get a solid breath, a single bit of air.
Pure panic took him like it hadn’t since he was a kid on his first day in jail, leaving his real life behind.
He threw his head back and roared, letting the sound tear out of him, the pure agony too much to bear. After there was no voice left in him, he landed right there on the floor and that was where he stayed.
Light was comingin the windows when a firm hand shook his shoulder. “Come on, old man. Police called and said you was here.”
There was the scent of coffee and pastry on the air, the blue-blue eyes of his favorite Cajun staring at him.
