Roustabout (The Traveling #3) (18 page)

“Tucker!”

I heard Tera scream, the sound coming from above, from her window.

“I called 911,” she shrieked. “The police are on their way.”

Immediately, the goons melted into the shadows and the Senator’s voice was a hoarse rattle by my ear.

“Touch her again and it
will
be your legs.”

Then he was gone.

I lay bleeding in the dirt, my whole body on fire.

Then I heard Tera’s voice as she skidded to a halt next to me, falling to her knees, her hands fluttering over me, afraid to touch.

“Oh my God! Oh my God! Tucker . . .”

I groaned and tried to sit up, cradling my useless arm.”

“W-what happened?”

I had less than a second to make a decision.

“Muggers,” I said, my voice strained. “Probably after the keys to the Duke.”

“Oh my God,” she said again, her eyes darting back and forth. “Look at your shoulder!”

“Dislocated,” I muttered with a grimace.”

“How do you know? Are you sure? It could be broken! Don’t try and move it!”

Her hands trembled as she tried to brush my hair out of my eyes.

“I don’t know where to touch you—you’re all hurt and bloody!”

I almost laughed, but my shoulder spasmed and I thought I was going to pass out.

“Oh God, Tucker! Don’t die!” Tera gripped my hand so hard, I groaned.

“I’m not dying, TC,” I grit out, “but I might if you cut off the blood supply to my hand.”

“Stop joking!” she cried out. “This is serious!”

Blood dripped down my forehead from a gash over my eye. I could feel my lip swelling and knew I’d look like Donald Duck. I hoped Tera liked the pouty look. Then I remembered that we weren’t together and never would be. Bile rose in my throat.

After a moment, she pulled a tissue out of her pocket and dabbed at the blood on my cheek.

“You’re such a mess,” she gulped, trying to swallow as the tears ran down her cheeks.

I was a mess—and in more ways than she meant. My body was a mass of pain, but seeing her tears, that was worse.

In the distance, I could hear the sound of the police and an ambulance, and after a moment blue lights turned the parking lot into an incident area. People were staring out their windows and a crowd began to gather, edging toward us.

The two police officers climbed out of the patrol car. One kept the crowd back, while the other cleared a path for the paramedics, an older guy and a girl who looked as if she’d just graduated high school—possibly.

“Got a dislocated shoulder,” I said helpfully. “Done it once before and it hurt the same.”

“We’ll just take a look,” said the guy, holding my arm at the elbow before he tried to touch me.

“How did this happen?” asked the police officer.

“Tripped,” I said, and at the same time Tera answered, “he was mugged.”

The police officer and paramedics exchanged a look while Tera gave me a hard stare.

They didn’t ask any more questions, but gave me a pillow to hold in the gap between the side of my body and my arm to support it. Then they looped a sling across my forearm to hold it in place across my chest. Fucking hurt, but I didn’t say anything.

They situated me on the gurney, my head already throbbing like a bitch, and my left eye was closing.

“Are you coming with him, miss?” the guy asked Tera.

She pressed her lips together then nodded abruptly.

I was surprised, but I shouldn’t have been—she had a big heart, even for a guy who’d just broken it.

The journey to ER was painful, and not just because my shoulder felt like someone was sticking knives in it and the tortured nerves kept sending electric shocks up my spine. I just about bit off my tongue trying not to yell. I could feel sweat breaking out all over my body but I felt cold, as well. I hoped I wasn’t going into shock.

Tera didn’t say a word. In fact she could hardly meet my eyes, but she didn’t stop staring at the cut on my head or my fucked up shoulder.

The bright lights of the ER made my head throb even worse. There wasn’t a part of me that didn’t hurt.

But I couldn’t tell Tera that her father did this; I’d hurt her enough already.

The police asked a lot of questions that I just laughed off or ignored: I hadn’t seen or heard anything; I couldn’t describe my attackers and had no idea what they wanted. No, I didn’t want to make a big deal of it. Tera stared at the wall behind me, her arms folded across her tits.

Then the doc waved them away while he glued my head and gave me some ice to hold against my cheek and lip. There wasn’t anything he could do for bruised ribs.

The police weren’t happy, but finally left, reminding me to call if I thought of anything else. I thanked them for their time, relieved that Tera hadn’t forced the issue. She told them that she saw four, maybe five men, but they’d run away when she’d shouted out. Which was all true.

When the doc took me away to x-ray my shoulder, my eyes met Tera’s, and I saw pain and disappointment mixed with longing. I sighed and turned away.

I sure as hell didn’t expect to see her when I got back, but she was still there—waiting through what seemed like hours. I began to feel like she was haunting me and I actually started to wish that she’d leave. I’d have told her go, but I knew that this was the last time I’d see her like this . . . when we could still acknowledge what we had between us, what we’d shared.

Instead, I saw a long future of meeting her at Kes’s parties or at the cabin and not being able to touch her. Worse still, maybe seeing her with some other man. It hurt like hell to lose her, even though she was still sitting a few feet away from me. I considered leaving the act, leaving Hawkins’ Daredevils, but then I’d be the nothing she already thought I was.

I tried to find the words to tell her how I felt, about how Renee had ambushed me, but my brain was all shook up and I was having difficulty focusing on any of the thoughts ricocheting around my head.

The doc gave me a mild sedation before they manipulated my arm back into place. While it was taking effect, some woman came by to collect my insurance information. I went to reach for the wallet in my back pocket and swore when pain lanced through me. I tried to reach it with my left hand, but Tera stood up and quietly worked it out of my pocket, then rifled through it until she found the details. When she was done, she pushed it back into my jeans. She didn’t speak once.

When the doc came to fix me up, she watched as he rotated my arm at the shoulder joint, grimacing as it dropped back into place. They debated x-raying it again, but in the end decided it looked good enough for me to be sent on my way in the morning.

“You’ll need to keep your arm in a sling for a few weeks,” said the doc. “And make an appointment with a physical therapist. You’ll need rehabilitation to strengthen your shoulder. He’ll show you a few exercises and . . .”

“I got this, Doc,” I said, still a little woozy. “I popped my shoulder out once before. It’s all good.”

He narrowed his eyes at me. “What is it you do for a living, Mr. McCoy?”

“I’m a roustabout, Doc. I work the carnivals.”

Tera interrupted, surprising us all, after her hours of silence.

“He’s lying: he’s really a motorcycle stunt rider. He’s quite famous.”

The doctor looked surprised, his gaze flicking between us.

I stared at Tera.

“What? Nothing to say? No jokes? No funny come back? I’m disappointed,” and she turned away again.

The doc ignored her outburst; I guess he was used to shit like that in his job.

“You won’t be able to ride a motorcycle for a while,” he said blandly. “In fact no driving at all—not even an automatic car—for two weeks. After that, you can resume most activities, but avoid heavy lifting and playing sports for three months . . . and motorcycle stunts.”

I nodded absently, already knowing the drill. I was pissed that I would be letting Kes and Zef down again. I hated not being able to pull my weight.

The doc gave us a professional smile and told me that a nurse would be by with some pain meds.

When we were alone, Tera finally looked at me.

“Are you going to tell me the truth now?”

I laughed uneasily. “Which one do you want?”

“What is that woman to you? Other than the mother of your child. Did you come back for her? Why, after all this time?”

I rubbed my forehead with my good hand.

“I didn’t know about Scotty, I swear. I wouldn’t have left her to . . . I wouldn’t have left.”

“Why should I believe you? If that’s true, why did you leave?”

Tera was still staring at me, waiting for an explanation. I didn’t want to share the ugliness with her. She was too fine, too clean, so much better than all this shit.

“Things were bad at home,” I said simply. “I didn’t know she was pregnant.”

Tera nodded slowly.

“So she told you and you came back.”

I looked down. “Not exactly.”

When she spoke again, her voice was soft and full of hurt, but the words cut deeply. “Don’t be shy, Tucker. After all, you’ve had your dick in my mouth and in my pussy—no secrets between old friends.”

Part of me wanted to remind her that she’d followed me here and I didn’t owe her jack shit. But another part hated that I was hurting her.

“Why did you come back?”

“Because of the funeral.”

Her eyes flicked up. “Is that true?”

I nodded.

She pressed her lips together and looked away briefly before her eyes darted away from me.

“Is there anything else I should know?”

I was still fixed on Renee and Scotty, so I shook my head.

I could see the disappointment in her eyes.

“I’ve been thinking about it,” she said quietly. “And I realized: the men who attacked you . . . they were wearing suits.”

I tried to shrug but pain lanced through me and I ended up cringing.

“Better class of mugger in that part of town,” I tried to joke.

It didn’t work.

“They were my father’s men.”

Her voice was flat and expressionless—and it wasn’t a question.

I didn’t answer.

“I’m right. I know I’m right,” she said. “I just don’t understand why you didn’t tell the police. I don’t understand why you didn’t tell me.”

She took a shuddering breath.

I shook my head. “The dude gets what he wants.”

“Is it because . . . did he pay you off? Did he pay you to walk away from me?”

The vulnerability in her voice hurt more than the Senator’s goons. I hated that she thought that about me, but I was letting her go and it was better that she hated me than hated her father.

“Did he offer?” she insisted.

I gave a bitter chuckle.

She straightened her shoulders, tossing her hair back as she did so.

“How much did it take? Ten thousand dollars? Five? Or maybe just one.”

She stood up and stared down at me. “I must be cheaper than I thought.”

And then she was the one walking away.

I wanted to call after her; I wanted to tell her that no amount of money would ever have bought me off. But maybe it was better this way. She’d leave and have no good memories of me—nothing to regret. I lay back in the hospital bed and let the pain wash through as my head thudded heavily against the hard pillow.

A few minutes later, a nurse approached with two small white pills and a cup of water, and helped me to sit up.

“These will help with the pain,” she said. “You’ll need to stay till morning, but then your girlfriend can . . .”

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” I said, interrupting her.

She glanced down the empty corridor and her eyes softened in sympathy.

“Keep your arm in a sling for at least two weeks, then speak to a physical therapist about gentle exercises to help build up the muscles again.” She smiled professionally, maybe even kindly. “And don’t be a guy about taking pain meds—they’re there to help you.”

I didn’t even have the energy to do more than give her a weak smile.

“Sure,” I said. “Thanks for everything.”

She nodded and patted me on my good shoulder.

“Be well, Mr. McCoy.”

Tucker

Tera walked away and didn’t look back, but that was the best thing for her. I’d brought nothing but trouble. She’d be better off without me.

Everything hurt until the pain pills kicked in, leaving me hazy and weak. The Duke was still at Tera’s hotel, not that I could ride it for a couple of weeks. Not that I had anywhere to go.

I stayed the night at the hospital, lying awake despite the pain and overwhelming tiredness. Nobody bothered me, but the friendly nurse brought me a cup of coffee as she was going off shift.

“Do you have somewhere to go?” she asked, handing me the scalding black liquid.

“Yeah, just not sure how I’ll get there with one wing clipped,” I said, forcing out a smile.

“I’ll take you to reception,” she offered helpfully. “You can call a cab from there.”

I nodded. “Thanks, I’ll do that.”

While we were talking, a nurse I hadn’t seen before arrived with my discharge notes and meds in a paper bag.

“Take two every four hours,” she said, scanning over the paperwork, “but no more than eight in a 24 hour period.”