WRECKER: A Bad Boy Cowboy Romance (A steamy billionaire romance story) (13 page)

I
get
to the rodeo late. I’m walking so gingerly now, but still glad I can walk. Still, everything takes longer than I think it will. I pay for my ticket and the girl in the box office says to me, “You know it’s almost over, right?” in an almost indecipherable drawl.

“I know,” I say. “Has Kanen ridden yet?”

“I don’t know,” she answers, then leans back and yells. “Has the Wrecker ridden?”

“I think he just went down,” says the disembodied voice beside her. “There’s something wrong.”

I panic, grab the ticket, and damn my feet, I run to the stands. There he is, looking so small on the ground. It’s a different bull this time. He’s a darker brown, and he looks angry—circling and running at Kanen, the dust flying, making it hard to see. The bull’s hooves seem to be dangerously close to Kanen’s head, and I can’t tell but I don’t think he’s conscious! How can he stay out of the bull’s way if he’s out like a light? I look around frantically. Where are the damn clowns? Aren’t they supposed to be distracting the bull from Kanen?

Then I see one, and he’s not even looking at the field. I push through the throng of screaming people, all yelling, seemingly for blood. Are they excited that Kanen’s in danger? Monsters! I try to make my way through them to the clowns, ready to scream at them to protect my man.

Finally one makes it on the field, his brightly colored clothes temporarily distracting the giant creature who seems crazed.

The crowd roars and I look back at Kanen. His body is stirring on the ground. He seems to be trying to move his leg with his hands.

“Kanen,” I yell, but my voice is swallowed in the din of the audience, as they hoot and holler their excitement at what is looking to be my tragedy. I’m stuck and can’t move, two inches away from a man’s plaid shirt, trying to look past him.

“That bull’s gon’ get him,” says the man in front of me.

“Yup, he’s gonna die,” says his friend.

“He is NOT going to die!” I cry out. But they’re not impressed.

“What are you, his little girlfriend or something?” asks the second man.

“What’s it to you?”

“Well you better say goodbye, because I think the Wrecker got wrecked today,” he laughs to himself, and his friend joins in. I’m furious.

“You just be quiet,” I say to the man, silently willing Kanen to get up off the ground as the bull charges him one more time. It’s close, it’s so close, I want to cry but my body is electric, trying my best to keep Kanen alive through sheer force of will.

The clown does a little dance which makes the bull turn his head but only for a second before he turns back to Kanen. Amazingly I hear someone yell, “Get that featherhead!” And I wonder if it means what I think it does. I try to locate the source of such a thing, and then I see him. The man who was in the restaurant that day.

Did Kanen hear that racist comment? He looks angry—his teeth are gritted but perhaps in pain. He’s pulled his useless leg closer to his body, and at the last second he rolls out of the charge. I’m not sure if the bull missed him completely though. He seems to be writhing on the ground. I see the rodeo clown once more, and then another. The second pulls Kanen out of the arena as the crowd roars again, making the bull crazy. Finally Kanen is safe, and despite my pain I tumble through the bodies, forcing my way down to his side.

“Kanen,” I say. “It’s me. Are you all right?” I kick myself. There’s a trainer at his side. Of course he’s not all right. He’s not all right at all.

His leg seems twisted, and there’s blood on his forehead, along with a smear of dirt.

“Give him room, lady,” snaps the trainer. He and another man bring him back through the doors to the staging area.

I’m taken aback. I don’t think I should just be “lady.” I’ve been at his house for the last week. He knows my body better than anyone on this earth.

“He knows me,” I say. “He’s... he’s...” I don’t know how to finish this. My boyfriend? No. My husband, definitely no. “Mine!” I finally yell. “He’s mine.”

Kanen opens his eyes. “Canada, what are you doing here?” he asks, his voice rough as gravel.

“Hey,” I say, brushing his hair out of his face.

“What did we say, lady?!” snaps one of the men.

“You can let her stay,” Kanen says, “I want her with me.”

“Whatever you say, Wrecker,” the first trainer answers. “Just let’s get him in here and assessed!”

“Right.”

I hold Kanen’s hand, desperately, as the men go over every inch of him.

“Broken bone,” one says as Kanen flinches. “Toe seems crushed,” the other answers.

“Why wasn’t he protected?” I ask. “Where were the rodeo clowns when he was thrown? That bull was crazy.”

Nobody seems too interested in answering me, so I stop talking until Kanen pipes up. “Not crazy,” he says. “Drugged.”

I
t’s all
a haze of movement around me whenever I open my eyes, so I try to keep them closed. As much as I want to see Canada’s face, it’s easier to see it without closing my eyes. Her beautiful dark eyes, her dark hair. But now someone’s forcing my eye open and shining a light in it.

“Pupil dilation slightly abnormal,” he says. “There might be a concussion.”

“Might be. Too bad cowboy hats aren’t helmets,” says the other voice.

Too bad indeed. This old melon has had its share of hits, but no throws like that animal gave me. The thing wasn’t itself. I can’t blame that bull. But I don’t feel good.

“Canada,” I say softly.

“What’s he talking about?” the trainer asks.

“He keeps talking about Canada. Maybe he wants to move,” says the other.

Then I hear her voice again.

“That’s me,” she says.

“What?”

“I’m Canada,” she says softly. Then her voice is right by my ear. “What is it Kanen?”

I want to say something to her but what? I don’t have much energy. I don’t know if I’m going to come out of this. So much pain. “I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.” Her voice kills the pain in a way no drug ever could.

“I love you,” I say.

“Oh Kanen,” she says. “I love you too.”

She loves me. She doesn’t want to leave me. She’s here. I open my eyes again, to the burning brightness and painful movement, just to try to look in her eyes.

“Baby, just rest,” she says.

“Okay.” There’s no fighting. All my fight went into that bull. Now I have to fight for him, but I have nothing left.

* * *

“
M
ama
, what’s wrong?” I say. She’s crying in the corner of the darkened room. “Why are the shades drawn in the middle of the day?”

“Oh Kanen, you know I love you, boy,” says my mama. “Even if you’re a no-good moron.”

“I know Mama.” I do, I do know. I run over to her, and look her in the eyes, not sure if I’m going see my mother looking out or not. “Are you okay?”

“Oh Kanen, no matter what happens to me, you know you have to look out for yourself, right, boy?” I look down. My dirty old Keds are tracking mud in. She’d yell at me for it if she were in her right mind.

“I’ll try, Mama.”

“You need to do better than just try.” Her voice is adamant, but at the same time weak and shaking. “You’re the only one of our family left, and I want you to be successful.”

“I promise,” I say, but what is successful? Why am I the only one left? What about Daddy? Where is he? Is he coming back?

She undoes the rubber band around her arm, and her head sinks back into the chair. She’s passed out. I watch her, but I don’t dare shake her. Mama wouldn’t take too kindly to me waking her up when she’s trying to sleep.

I put the needle that’s hanging out of her arm on the table beside her, and put out the cigarette she was smoking in the ashtray. Not before taking a quick puff, just to see what it’s like, and having a coughing fit.

No matter, I can do what I want now. Mama’s not going to yell for at least a few hours. I think I’ll go skateboarding.

I’m flying through the air, up and down the ramp, the best skateboarder in the neighborhood. None of the other kids will try any of these tricks. They’re satisfied with ollies, but I’m going to be free on my board. I’m going to be able to do anything I want, and nobody will be able to stop me.

* * *

I
open my eyes
, just a little. It’s so bright. So terribly bright.

“Canada,” I croak, and someone puts some ice chips into my dry mouth. I don’t know why the ice chips. A little water would be good. “Canada are you there?”

“I’m here Kanen,” she says. “I’m here. I’m right beside you, I haven’t left.” Her voice is soft and cool like water. I’m so thirsty.

I try to turn to her but I’m so tired. I guess I’m drugged too. Is this what Mama felt like? When she was high? It feels nice to be free of pain. But I’m so tired. And it’s bright. I need to close my eyes.

“Everything’s going to be okay, Kanen,” she says. “You’re going to be okay. Just rest.”

And I do.

I
t’s been
three days that I’ve been at Kanen’s side. He’s going to be fine, but since he’s one of the rodeo’s star athletes, they’re doing just about everything they can. Every possible precaution is being taken to ensure that their investment is protected. That’s what it sounds like anyhow. I’ve overheard some things since I’ve been sitting in the corner of the room. I’m so quiet I guess they sometimes forget that I’m here, and end up talking a bit more openly than they should about what’s happening to him. It’s heartbreaking to realize how many people don’t even see him as anything more than an investment opportunity.

I decide to wash his face. The nurse on this shift is kind, but she sure seems busy. Grabbing a basin and a washcloth from the bathroom, I gently go over the angles of Kanen’s beautiful face with the wet cloth, being careful not to touch the wounds that are slowly being covered by scabs and new skin.

I feel like I should be talking to him, babbling about my childhood or something, just to keep his brain engaged and let him know someone’s here for him, but the only thing I can think of to talk about is what happened with Jeffrey and the baby. So I do.

“When I was in Canada,” I begin, and gently wash his face, “and in high school, I met a man named Jeffrey.” Only the beginning, I tell him everything. How we got married, how I realized we weren’t really in love, and how he and the baby died the same day. I’m not too proud to say I cried while I was telling him. When I finally finish my story, he opens his eyes.

“Canada,” he says. “I love you.”

“I love you, Kanen,” I answer. How, or why, I don’t know. But when he was on the ground of the arena, all I wanted to do was to be with him, to fight off that bull, or those fans, or that stupid man from the restaurant who seemed so happy that Kanen was on the ground, in danger of death. I felt the same way I felt when I thought I might lose my baby. That I would do anything in the world to change things and make it all okay, to make him live. And that’s how I know I love Kanen, because I would never doubt my love for that little child in my womb in a million years.

Kanen goes back to sleep, and I catch a nap on the chair beside him.

When I wake up, there are some cowboys at the door of his room.

“Howdy there, ma’am,” says the first. “We’re uh, Wrecker’s—I mean Kanen’s—friends and colleagues from the rodeo. My name’s Bill.” He stretches out a large, callused hand. Mine disappears into it.

“I’m Chastity,” I say.

“Nice to meet you. Is it okay if we visit with Kanen?” he asks.

“Sure.” I take the opportunity to leave the room, maybe get something to eat at the cafeteria, wash my face. As long as someone who cares about Kanen is with him. I don’t want him to be all alone.

* * *

I
stroll back
down the hall to Kanen’s room.

“Next time we’ll bring you some fine women to cheer you up!” I hear one yell and then the rest of them laugh heartily.

“How about that one that was sitting on his lap? Kanen, did you break your dick?”

“Well I bet she could fix it!”

“We’ll I’m sure she’d try. Over and over again!”

“With that magic pussy!”

They all laugh again, loudly, unapologetically. Who are these people? I guess I shouldn’t imagine rodeo cowboys to be paragons of virtue, but who was sitting on his lap? Oh man. Maybe it’s time for me to go home and get a shower and some sleep. And have a think about this whole situation.

I can’t forget my own issues. Possibly being kicked out of a country is not exactly a good thing. Or something you can ignore because your lover has cracked his head open. But I caught a ride here to the hospital in the ambulance, so my car is still at the rodeo. Wonderful. I call Lacey.

“Hey, are you working? Can you come pick me up?”