Still, that was between Jason Scott and God.
“If Coke says he can do it, he can do it. Pharris knows stuff, so does Balta. Balta is good at getting in the way of cameras and everyone’s used to it.”
Andy Baxter nodded. “I know. I’ll apologize to the man. It wasn’t on purpose. If it was up to me, we wouldn’t tell nobody, but this is all bigger than me now.”
“It is if you want this to actually happen.” Sometimes he wanted to just shout at Andy in Portuguese, but that wouldn’t do any good. He would feel better though because he could say all sorts of things, and the man wouldn’t understand him one bit. “I’m glad you’re going to apologize to Balta though. He’s torn up. He feels like Jason is his friend.”
Andy tilted his head. “Jason is his friend.”
“Then it’s you who ain’t?”
“What the hell are you talking about? We’re friends.” Andy’s fist clenched so hard they squeaked. “Get some sense, for fuck’s sake.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s supposed to mean what it means.” Andy’s eyes flashed. “You think when they figure out that we knew about Mini that we ain’t all going to pay for it? That we won’t get thrown off the tour? All of us? Up to and including Balta?”
Oh, Jesus.
“All of us got shit to lose here — the bullfighters and the clown most especially. You think they won’t get rid of you in a second? Your ass is fucking grass. They catch wind of this, and that y’all knew? Shit, Joa, we weren’t being mean. We were being friends.”
Joa hung his head, feeling bad for everything. He felt bad for Andy Baxter being in this position. He felt awful for Jason losing everything and trying to get it back in any way he could. He knew Balta wouldn’t care about the risks, not one bit. Balta had been a champion. He could lose bull riding and still have his life.
Of course, if he lost bull riding, he had his ranch, he had his parents, he had Balta.
He was a cowboy. No matter what.
Joa held out one hand to Andy Baxter. “You have our word, we will help you and we will stand up for Jason.”
The cigarette in Andy Baxter’s fingers trembled, the ash falling off. Andy grabbed his hand, shook it. “Thank you, Joa. You’ll tell Balta, won’t you? I didn’t mean to hurt his feelings none, just… This is a lot, and I’m trying so damn hard, and then there’s, Sam and, shit man — Mini gets blind, I break my leg, Coke breaks his neck and his hand twice. Dillon fucked up his shoulder and Sammy — fuck me— poor Sammy, so fast, just in six months, so fast.”
Tears stung Joa’s eyes. “So much. It is so much that’s bull riding.” No, it was always one damn thing after another. “We have your back and Jason’s. Balta believes in Sam. Things will get better.”
They had to have faith. That was the only thing that got people through sometimes.
It was the only answer.
Faith, hope, and love.
“You want a smoke, Joa?”
He nodded, even though he didn’t. He knew this was friendship, and he would take it even if it tasted like ashes.
Then he would wash out his mouth, go hold Balta, and pray.
