Chapter Eleven
“Damn it, Tag! Get your fucking head on.” Nattie screamed at him as the bull flashed by, Coke Pharris’ right-hand man meaning business. Adam could understand why—he was roping with his head up his ass, and had been for a few weeks.
He swung his loop, finally catching the bull by the horns, pushing the big booger of an animal out of the gate.
Not a goddamn thing was going right. Not anywhere. The whole world was made of sandpaper, and it was grating him like cheese. He gritted his teeth, letting go of the rope as it slid over the gate, turning his mare back into the arena.
“Sorry, Nate,” he murmured on the way by.
Nate grunted, and he felt Coke’s eyes on him. The man hadn’t said a word about the night Landon had left. Not one word. Not even when Landon hadn’t shown for three events in a row.
Or the fourth event right in Lake Charles, Louisiana. If the kid didn’t show up at the bayou events, he wasn’t coming anywhere near Adam again.
Adam hated that Beau and Sam weren’t talking to him, and he missed Coke’s easy friendship. The worst part, though, was that he missed Landon so much it was an ache in his belly.
Him and Brian had barely spoken over the last month. His brother had apologized, sort of, but it was clear the man didn’t think Landon was good enough for them. Him.
Whatever.
Adam knew better, and he was damned ashamed of himself. Landon would have fought wildcats for him. Why couldn’t he have opened his stupid mouth and defended Landon?
The next three bulls went, up and down, easy as pie. The arena was huge, giving him too much to do to be this distracted. Adam worried he was gonna get someone killed, so he gritted his teeth and got to work, and didn’t let Landon creep back into his thoughts until the go-round was over.
As soon as the bulls were in, he was out of the arena, hopping down to walk his girl out. That he could do without thinking, taking care of his horses. That was the one thing that made sense. Pretty soon a second set of boots joined him, a familiar set. Beau Lafitte. God damn it. The ex to beat all exes.
It was Beau’s invitational, so Adam’d known the man would be here. Still. He had a feeling this wasn’t purely a social call.
“Hey, Cajun.” He nodded at Beau, trying for nonchalant.
“Adam.” Beau gave him a long stare, then took a deep breath. “I got something to say to you, and I don’t know that you’ll like some of it, but you got to hear it.”
Oh, shit, here it came. He nodded. “Well, you never were one not to tell me what you’re thinking.”
“Landon’s momma died when the twins were born and their daddy ran off, which I suppose you know.”
He nodded; he did. Landon had told him more than once how their mom had died so they could live. It always made Adam feel lucky that his momma had survived triplets.
“Did you know their maw-maw died when they were twelve? That Landon has paid taxes on that land and kept the state from separating them since then? Fourteen years, he’s been working, every day. Roofing, roping, hunting, ’rassling ’gators, skinning nutria, climbing under houses to shore up foundations. I’ve seen him drive home with a broke foot from a rodeo and be in my barns the next day, shoeing horses.” Beau took a breath, sighed. “He ain’t educated, not like you, but the kid can read and write, he does his figures, and he’s as honest as the day is long. He told Sammy that he’d dreamed about you, man, since he could remember, and you… I don’t understand, Adam. You’re not a mean man. All he asked was that you back him up. Be there for him.”
“Well, don’t hold back, Bo-Bo.” Adam knew Beau was right, though. All up and down.
“I don’t intend to. You done some stupid shit in your time—why not try letting something good happen?”
“Maybe I’m not meant for anything good, Beau.” He stared right into Beau’s blue eyes, serious as a heart attack. “You ever think about that? That maybe that kid is better off without me?”
“How could he be?” Well, that was unexpected. “Shit, you’re fine, you’re decent, and he loves you. How the fuck is him living in that piece of shit house and scrabbling a living while he tears himself into trash be better for him, exactly?”
“I don’t know.” He didn’t know anything anymore. “I’m not ashamed of him, Beau. I’m ashamed of myself.”
“Mostly, yeah.” This time Beau didn’t let him look away. “But there’s part of you that doesn’t want him to be a bayou baby, and he is. He cain’t not be. That strong, that will—that’s bayou, but so’s the spirits and the hoodoo and the pride.”
“Since when do you talk so fucking much?” Beau had said maybe five words to him the whole time they’d been dating.
Beau shrugged. “Since my Sammy stopped. I don’t talk, there ain’t no noise.”
Adam reached out to touch Beau’s shoulder. It was weird, how for the first time since they’d broke up, all he felt for this man was deep, abiding friendship. “You still got him, though. That’s important.” He blew out a breath. “So, what do I do when he starts talking about stuff I just don’t know if I can believe in?”
“What did he do when you took him home? When you showed him those barns and horses worth more than he ever will be?” Beau spread his hands, staring at him.
