“That looks pretty bad.”
Miguel cursed too. “This isn’t how I wanted this night to go.” Hurting and not sure what the best move was, he sat there for a moment, deliberating. He and Hector were barely speaking. And Hector was making it pretty clear he didn’t want to be bothered by Miguel. He supposed he could have Leon take him home. But that pop he’d felt when he went down worried him. His ankle might be broken. Miguel hated to be so needy, but he wanted Hector by his side if he needed to get treated for an injury. With a sigh, he caved and pulled out his phone.
“Hello?”
“Hector, it’s Miguel.”
“What’s up?”
“Can you come get me?”
“Where are you?”
“The Gator Pit on Sixth Street.”
“Are you okay to stay where you are until I get there?”
“Yes.” Miguel tried not to read too much into the concern he detected in Hector’s tone and his immediate agreement to help him out. Hector was a cop, of course he would want to make sure his friend was safe.
“And is someone with you?”
“My friend Leon.”
“Stay with him. I’m there in twenty.”
Miguel said okay and hung up, his stomach flipping a little at the fact that Hector was coming to his rescue.
***
Hector parked his truck in the gravel parking lot across from the Gator Pit. There was no sidewalk, and he had to jump over a slight ditch to get to the street he needed to cross. Loud rock music poured out into the night. He was acquainted with this dive from work. It was a gay bar, full of the roughest characters around. He could line up five guests and guarantee three of them carried unlicensed guns while the other two held drugs. After flashing his ID at the leather-vest-wearing bouncer, Hector went inside to find Miguel. He saw him sitting on a barstool, his face tight and pale with pain. A tall black man hovered over him, looking worried. Hector immediately went over to them.
“What happened?”
“I fell and twisted my ankle pretty bad.”
After introducing himself to Miguel’s friend Leon, Hector squatted down to take a look. He pushed Miguel’s jeans up and tugged off his high-top tennis shoe. His ankle was huge, swollen all the way around with an ugly looking knot on the outside. Hector didn’t bother to ask if Miguel could move his foot. The emergency room doctors would do that. He stood, leaning back in to Miguel to make sure he’d hear him over the pounding bass of the music.
“Okay, we need to get you to the hospital and get it X-rayed.”
Miguel nodded.
The bartender came over. “If your boyfriend wants to pick fights he clearly can’t win, he doesn’t need to come back.”
Miguel twisted on the stool to glare at the man. “It wasn’t a fight, and I didn’t start it!”
“Whatever. Just keep your sweet ass out of my bar until you learn to play nice with others.”
Miguel didn’t respond to that, but frustrated tears shone in his dark eyes.
Hector stepped in. “Hey! He said he didn’t start it. Now back off him before I bring SWAT in here and bust all this shit up. I know you’ve got a lot more than drinking and dancing going on in this shit hole.” He flipped his badge out to show he wasn’t kidding.
The bartender blanched and held his hands up in surrender. “No disrespect, man. I just don’t want guys like your boyfriend in here causing trouble.”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” Hector said through gritted teeth. He turned his back on the bartender. Taking care of Miguel took precedence over arguing with a nobody. He slid one arm under Miguel’s legs and the other around his back. Miguel wrapped his arms around his neck as Hector scooped him up from the barstool.
“I can walk,” Miguel protested.
“There’s no way you can put any weight on that foot, and it’ll take too long for you to hop all the way to the truck.” He strode out of the bar with Miguel’s friend trailing behind him. He had to go the long way around to get to the parking lot, not wanting to jump that ditch with Miguel in his arms. When they reached the gravel, he turned to Miguel’s friend, who’d followed along when they left the bar. “Do you need a ride home?”