Page 16 of Drunk Dialing

Angie had the good grace to look embarrassed. “This isn’t my call, man. I swear to God. Please order some breakfast; I feel bad.”

“No, I’m not hungry. Thank you though.” He could feel the tension across his upper lip, like somebody had a string attached to either side, and it was drawn up through the middle and pulled on tight. That same string was leading right up through the bridge of his nose and between his eyes, the headache starting damn near immediately.

He tossed back his coffee and put the cup down, forcing himself not to slam it so hard that the handle broke off. “You know what? I got to go. I can’t wait for your breakfast. I hope you have a good day, ma’am.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. I’ll talk to you later. You have a good life.” He stood up and walked away, feeling her eyes on his back. What was he gonna do? What the hell was he supposed to do now? Sponsors were the only way he could pay his entry fees.

The air was cold and crisp outside, and he kind of hunkered in his jacket. San Antonio wasn’t cold much and it wasn’t cold long, but this was the time of year for it.

Spring was close though, he could tell. Spring happened at Valentine’s Day in Texas.

He just walked blindly, right into the stock show area, the chickens and ducks and geese all lined up in cages, clucking and quacking.

He almost texted Treat to tell him not to come, but he knew that wasn’t going to work. That would just make Treat want to know what the hell was going on, what’s wrong, what’s the matter? He wasn’t ready to tell that story yet.

So he wandered.

He couldn’t even say he was really thinking because he wasn’t. He’d start up again. This sort of thing was like getting hit in the face with a horn. It took a while before the real hurting began, and he knew when it happened, man, it was gonna be a bitch. So a man just kind of took that few minutes—or if he was lucky, hours—of total numb.

Because when the pain started, it was gonna steal his breath and his focus.

This was God’s way of letting it be okay for a second.

“Jake? Jake Greenbriar, that you?”

He glanced over, seeing Troy Martin over across the expo floor, coming toward him. The man was the chute boss with the rodeo company. A good man for the most part, unless he’d been drinking.

Of course, Jake said that about a lot of folks.

“Hey, man, what’s up?”

“I heard you got dropped.” The old man’s face was sort of like a hound dog’s—all, oh so sorry, but mostly it wasn’t real.

“Damn, good news travels fast, doesn’t it?”

“No shit on that.” Troy shrugged, slapping the sheaf of papers he held on one skinny thigh. “I was wondering. I got three guys dropped out of the bull riding tonight. You wanna take a spot, get yourself a ride done there early? That way you’d at least know what your standings are.”

What his standings were?

Like he was even going to make the short go.

He’d have to have like a ninety-four point ride.

Still, he might get into the money for the round, and then he’d be able to go.

Just go, because obviously everybody knew what he’d been surprised to find out.

Sponsorships were like marriages. There was always some asshole who didn’t know that he was being cheated on. Somehow, he was always that asshole.

“Sure, sounds good.” Jake didn’t see any reason why not. It was as good a time now as later.

Shit or get off the pot, he supposed. Hell. If he was lucky, he’d get a couple more days with Treat.

“Good deal. I’m glad to hear it.”

“Thank you, sir. I’ll see you this evening.”

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