“I’m staying here too. Figures. The trailer’s not far.” Parker led him to the bar, ordering two beers and two tequila shots.Asshole.Like Parker knew he’d drink that. “It used to be your poison, if I remember.”
“Always a good idea to know your competition, huh?” He swooped up a shot and threw it back, then picked up his beer and took a long swallow.
“You ain’t a bull rider, honey. I worry about you.” Parker lifted his shot glass. “To the champ.”
Did Sky make Parker call him that in bed?
“You’ve got it bad, Parker.”
Parker gave him a long, measured look. “Do you not have any friends? I mean, friends with penises.”
He shifted his eyes to his beer. “Tell me again how you never slept with him. I like that story. You’re the only one who tells it.”
“Wait. The only one?” Parker shook his head. “Did Sky ever say we had sex? I mean, beyond a single hysterical hand job in a barn when I was barely legal that ended in giggles?”
“No.” In fact, they’d never actually had a direct conversation about Parker at all. He had shouted something about it as Skyler was leaving the last time, but Sky had just given him a look and got into the truck. There was no discussion. “But I’m not blind, and people were talking.”
Parker snorted and ordered another shot. “Right. People were talking. Must’ve been your people. My people know that traveling partners are a thing.”
“Your people.”
That was another problem right there. Always his people and Sky’s people. His life and the rodeo. There was never anything that belonged to them.
He sipped his beer, looking anywhere but at Parker. He wasn’t going to apologize. Not today. It had been easy to put it all down to Sky leaving him for Parker. He could focus his frustration there, he could be angry, he could feel righteous. Hating Parker had made it simple.
Without that, the problems between him and Sky were complicated. Messy. He didn’t like that at all. He didn’t know how to sweep everything up and put the pieces back together.
“Yeah. People. He looked for you at every event until the last championship he won. He thought maybe you’d come see him ride again.” Parker shook his head. “We always said he was a stupid shit.”
Was. Everything was past tense. Sky wasn’t dead yet, for fuck’s sake.
“Is. Heisa stupid shit. He knew damn well I wasn’t going to come. It took the two of us to fuck this up, you know. It wasn’t just me.” He lifted the next shot as soon as the bartender set it down, and looked at it, deciding it was okay to get drunk tonight. “Next round is on me.”
“Fair enough.” Parker took his shot without a wince.
“You need to believe he’s going to pull through, Parker.” He swallowed his shot. “It’s like Doc told me. If you don’t believe it, and I don’t believe it, he won’t believe it.”
“He would have been better off gone.”
Surely he hadn’t heard that. Surely not.
He twisted on his bar stool and glared at Parker. “What? Why? Because he’s the champ? Because he won’t ride again? What the fuck is wrong with you? He’s not only a bull rider. There’s a man in there. And he’s only thirty-two.”
“What’s he going to do for the next fifty years, then?” Parker glared right back. “He can’t act, he can’t sing. He’s got no land, no livestock. He’s my friend, but the man can’t do a goddamn thing, not anything but ride.”
“Was this the plan all along, Parker? Ride until it killed him because he’s worthless at anything else? Some friend you are.” The tequila had him thinking maybe a bar fight wasn’t really a bad idea.
“I was praying he could show me something I couldn’t figure out myself. At least he has a couple million in the bank, right?”
He stared at Parker. The money wasn’t a surprise; he’d assumed it was there. He’d never understood why Sky kept at it with money in the bank. But he heard what Parker said, and everything suddenly made more sense. The infatuation Parker had with Sky wasn’t sexual, it was hero worship. Sky was an idol.
“You’ve learned everything you can from him about riding. But he has plenty ahead of him.”
Parker shook his head, but said, “Sure. He’s going to be great. Hell, he won the event. He rode that fucking bull for the eight.”
He laughed, the sound harsh and bitter. “He won, and then got trampled. I’m not sure I’d call that winning. Maybe you should retire, Parker. You’re losing perspective. Get out while you can.”
“Get out and go where? I stay with my mom in New Orleans these days. I’ll go until I can’t get up again.” Parker patted his hand, fingers lingering the barest bit too long. “Don’t worry on me.”