Let It Go (19 page)

“Why are you telling me all this, Randy?” Creed looked at his hands; the scars he carried twinged. He closed his hand into a fist. Useless. Completely useless, that’s how he felt right now. He didn’t want to know all this. Especially if Eli didn’t want him to know.

“So that I don’t go out and hunt that bastard down and kill him,” Randy said quietly, his gaze on the back of the triage nurse who disappeared inside the ER doors. “Because Owen Mason needs to be shot. And I want to be the one to do it. Because you look like you understand.”

“Why? Because I’m sitting here in a rage just chomping at the bit for revenge?” Creed snorted and looked up at the television hanging in a corner of the ceiling. There was no sound; images of a flood somewhere in Europe that he hadn’t heard about.

“Because you have the same soulless eyes that Eli had for a long time,” Randy whispered, his lips pulling into a hard, thin line, anger in his eyes. “If you’re just fucking him over, I’ll hurt you. His uncle fucked him over—”

“Gee, Deputy, I didn’t take you for a cocksucker.” Creed squeezed his hands into fists waiting for the fireworks to begin. Men like Randy Buchanan didn’t scare him. “Does Eli know you’re carrying a torch for him?”

“You pissant. Because you get down on your knees for him doesn’t mean—”

Judge Buchanan walked up; a quick, throat-clearing warning had Randy jumping to his feet, but Creed wasn’t ready to relax. Not until he knew Eli was safe.

“Well, he’s awake. Head as hard as his will be hard to crack, but the doctors are pretty sure he’s concussed. Face is a little swollen, ribs sore, mad as hell. He’ll be fine.” The judge looked between them with a sigh. Creed glanced up to see the almost murderous expression that Randy tried to hide. “Randy, call in an APB on Owen Mason, Eli confirmed that his uncle entered his stable unannounced and went ballistic without provocation.”

“Yes, sir. It would help to know what he’s driving.” Randy’s voice was tight, his lips barely moving as he spoke.

“White four-door Dodge pickup with Louisiana plates,” Creed answered, rattling off the tag number. “Can I see him?”

“As soon as he’s settled in a room.” Tom’s expression relaxed for the first time since he came through the door. “The doctors are concerned about the amount of concussions he’s had over the years and don’t want to take any chances. I know of three now. His head might be hard but the brains inside are soft.”

Randy took out his cell phone and called in the APB while the judge sat beside Creed, his hands on his knees much the same way Randy had sat just a few moments before.

“I’ll have a warrant ready as soon as I get to my office,” Tom said to Randy as he relayed details of the attack on Eli by his uncle. “Owen hasn’t come back to Florida since Eli was nineteen. I know they’ve had some dealings as their paths crossed once Eli went back to riding; he doesn’t tell me much. Owen was never what one would call a nice person. He was seriously jealous of Ben all of his life. Ben was in high school when he was born and Owen wanted to be just like him; he resented him for leaving to go to school, and he resented him for inheriting most of their grandparents’ estate even though that was settled before Owen was even born. It’s a mess. If Ben had thought to leave a will, if he’d made me the boys’ legal guardian in the event…” The judge seemed to be talking more to himself than to either Creed or Randy. “I want him in jail tonight.”

“Working on it, Dad. The Highway Patrol has been notified to be on the lookout in case he heads out of the area. We’re still going to need an official statement from both Creed and Eli—” Randy said, stopping when a second deputy joined them in the waiting room. “Speak of the devil.”

And for the next couple of hours Creed sat through one questioning after another. There was still no word about Eli. The doctors came and went; the judge went and came back. Someone brought food but he was too tied up in knots to eat much. His feet were cold in the hospital atmosphere. The dried blood on his shirt reeked. Panic clawed at the back of his brain. Too many people, the hospital, cops. Too many damned cops. Guns and needles and drugs not far away. He gnawed on the skin around his thumbs as he tried to keep the panic from consuming him. But it consumed him anyway. Waiting. Waiting to know if Eli was okay, if Eli was angry with him, but worst of all waiting to face Owen Mason again. He couldn’t face Owen Mason again. This afternoon had shown him that much.

Cops came out of the ER followed by a doctor, which seemed to be the cue for everyone milling around him to take their leave, and it was Creed and the Buchanans left in the waiting room. “He’s going upstairs for the night,” the doctor said as he approached the judge, hand extended. Creed was sure they knew each other. Small town, of course they knew each other. And Creed was nothing here. Just some bum passing through who warmed Eli’s bed while he was in town. But they didn’t need to know that. They didn’t need to know anything about him. And that’s how Creed wanted to keep it. Staying with Eli would be a mistake. Staying anywhere Owen Mason could happen up at any time would be the death of him.

He watched as the doctor and the judge talked. Tom looked over at Creed a couple of times, but he didn’t catch what was said. And then the three of them were winding their way into the building and finally to Eli’s room, a double that was thankfully only occupied by Eli. The television blared overhead as it flipped from one station to the next and finally settled on a football game.

“Who’s playing?” Randy sat down beside the bed with a grunt and a flick of his chin toward the television.

“Looks like FSU and Miami. I forgot that was this weekend,” Eli replied, his voice muffled and harsh. “Where’s Creed? You better not have locked him up, Randy, I’ll kick—”

“Don’t get your chaps in a bunch, your boyfriend is around here somewhere.” Randy sighed a resigned sound. “He ran Owen off with the bullwhip. Saved your miserable life. Can’t drive worth fuck.”

Creed didn’t know what to do; the judge pushed him past the curtain that separated Eli’s half of the room from the front and all he could do was stand and stare stupidly. Owen’s large hands had left a ring of bruises around Eli’s neck. The lower half of his face was indeed swollen, his lips puffy; he was scraped and cut and Creed wanted to climb into the bed with him and hold him tight. But he wouldn’t in front of the Buchanans.

“Hey,” Creed said, tucking his hands in his pockets. Eli’s gaze raked him from top to bottom, lingering at the blood that covered his shirt.

“Hey, yourself,” Eli tried to smile, wincing at the movement. “I told you to get rid of the damned bullwhip.”

“Well, I didn’t,” Creed said as he moved around to the far side of the bed and sat in the only other available seat. This he could handle. Eli being Eli. Not some gushing boyfriend. Not that he knew what that entailed, nor could he imagine Eli gushing.

“How many damned deputies did it take to get a statement anyway? Three? Come on, Randy, what’s up with that? It’s been hours, why isn’t he in jail? Did you contact Alabama and get them on the—”

“Eli, shut the fuck up and let me do my job,” Randy growled over Eli’s agitation. “Yes, Alabama State Troopers have been alerted, as well as Georgia and Mississippi. And we just wanted to make sure your story held. No one has seen Owen in nearly ten years. That he would just drop in and beat the holy hell out of you is sort of hard to swallow. And I’m too close to you, Dad is too close, we have to make sure this is all handled with care or it could blow up in our faces. That’s why we kept Creed in the waiting room.”

“To see if one of us ratted out the other. Jesus, Randy, once we figured out a better way to take out our frustrations—”

“Oh, hell no, I don’t want to know, man, really. I’m better with trying to beat the shit out of each other. I don’t need a play-by-play.”

Creed watched the first crack in Randy’s armor then. He smiled, but only a small, barely perceptible lift of his lips that held in his eyes. Eli tried to laugh, but it came out as a strangled bark instead. “Damn, my throat hurts, fucker tried to choke me to death. He held me off the ground with one hand. Fuck.”

Eli’s hand lay on the bed, fingers twitching; he seemed so tired. Creed wanted to reassure him. He reached out to touch but found his fingers linked with Eli’s. Randy glanced away, as did the judge. “Well, okay, it’s getting late. I should probably escort Creed out to the ranch and—”

“He stays with me,” Eli said, startling them. “I mean, I don’t want him out there alone. What if Owen didn’t go too far? I…” Eli’s eyes filled with a fear so cold Creed shivered.

“I wasn’t too keen on staying out there by myself; your place spooks the hell out of me. Insane uncle or not, the tree frogs, man, the tree frogs. Just no.” Creed squeezed his hand, hoping Eli knew how much he understood.

“All right then, it’s settled. Randy and I are going to head home, dinner is probably cold,” Tom said, rocking on his toes while Randy made his way out into the hall. “Creed, I was going to give you this tomorrow; I figured you could probably use it now, there’s extra if you want to get something to eat. Eli, I’ll see you tomorrow. There’s a deputy outside watching the room if you need him. Owen—well, don’t worry about him, okay? Rest tonight.”

Tom clapped Creed’s shoulder after handing him an envelope. Eli just nodded a good night and then they were alone, or as alone as anyone could be in a hospital. “Is that my blood on your shirt?” Eli whispered, his attention on the muted game on the TV.

“Yeah.” Creed moved the chair closer and propped his feet on the bed, his hand still linked with Eli’s.

“Did you really take the whip to him?”

“Yeah. After I stopped being a damned ice sculpture. I’m sorry about that. I just didn’t expect, I didn’t know what to do, I didn’t—”

“It’s okay, Creed, it’s over. He’s a homophobic asshole. Always was.”

“Are you hurting? They wouldn’t tell me anything. Concussion?”

“Yeah, the drugs are good. I don’t feel too much. Head hurts, mouth hurts, ribs ache. Nothing is broken. Doc wants to make sure I didn’t shake the gray matter up too much before he lets me go home.” Eli squeezed his hand tighter. “Have you eaten?”

“I had something. Don’t remember what it was. How about you?”

“Not hungry, probably couldn’t keep it down if I wanted to right now.”

“Yeah, me either.”

“Did you drive my truck?”

“Yeah.”

“You didn’t wreck it, did you?”

“No.”

“Where are the keys?”

“Randy took them just after they wheeled you inside.”

“If he impounded my truck you’re paying to get it out this time.”

“Deal.”

“What time is it?”

Creed pulled Eli’s phone out of his pocket and flipped it open. “Nearly nine. Who’s Pookie?”

“Aw man, did Pookie call me? He would wait until today to call back.”

“So Pookie is a guy?”

“Are you jealous?”

Was he? “Not the jealous type.”

“Creed, you are a very frustrating boyfriend, you know that, right?”

“I’m frustrating? I’m not trying to make you jealous with some guy named Pookie.” Creed yawned, the adrenaline that kept him going through the afternoon and early evening deserting him in a rush.

“Pookie is just a friend, not a boyfriend. He’s harmless.”

“If you say so.” Creed yawned again, looking up at the television. “What’s the score and who are we rooting for?”

“’Noles and they’re winning. Finally.”

“Good.” Creed leaned back against the seat, his eyes heavy. “Which ones are the ‘Noles?”

“Creed?”

Creed sat up straight, the pained sound in Eli’s voice jerking him out of sleep. “Yeah?”

Eli looked everywhere but at him. He flexed his fingers around Creed’s, squeezing tight. “I … will you hold me for a little while. Can’t stop shaking. Just want to hold you and kiss you, you know.”

“I know.” Creed climbed into the small bed with Eli, letting him wrap him in his arms. Head on his shoulder, he was so careful not to hurt him. Eli ran his hand through Creed’s hair and sighed. “Can you sleep? Should you sleep?”

“Don’t know,” Eli said, his voice calmer now. “Want to. It’s been a long damned day.”

“I know.” Creed ran his thumb over Eli’s abused face as softly as he possibly could. He didn’t want to risk kissing his already split lips. He didn’t want to hurt him. “Feel better?”

“Yeah.” Eli sighed the word, his eyes shimmered, his lashes wet. “Much better. Stay with me tonight.”

“Not going anywhere.” Creed yawned again; he lifted the blankets and pulled the covers over the both of them. “Going to catch a nap. Wake me if you need me.”

“Yeah,” Eli replied, his eyes closing as Creed watched. He smiled softly, grunted, and drifted off to sleep. Creed wasn’t far behind him.

Chapter 14

With the buckle safely hidden with the small stash of money he’d managed to save over the last few months, Creed stepped out into the Las Vegas night air. He’d be free soon. His old man couldn’t claim his winnings anymore. He kept more than he lost now. Paid his fair share of expenses and hid the rest. As long as Sly kept his mouth shut about the compartment in his dually then Creed could make his break. In six months, maybe a year, he would have enough to take Kip with him. He’d miss nights like this one. Best thing about the night was beating Eli Mason. Tweaked his stuck-up nose good on that last ride by one tenth of a point.

Creed pulled his hair back and secured it with a strip of leather. Maybe once he was free of his father he’d cut the mess off once and for all. Eli had yanked his braid loose with his bullshit after the award ceremony. Creed just avoided him like always. Eli wasn’t his uncle; avoiding Eli was child’s play.

Speaking of Eli’s uncle, a familiar RV sat parked behind the hotel. Cold sweat trickled down his back. No way it was him. Couldn’t possibly be the same RV. Eli hadn’t run the same circuit as his uncle for the last two years. Creed had learned to avoid Owen Mason by simple scheduling tricks. Wherever Eli went, Owen wouldn’t be. He didn’t know why but he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. But that was Owen Mason’s RV. Wild horses painted on the side made it look like a music star tour bus. No one else had an ego that large or the bankroll to indulge it.