Take Me To The Beach

by K. L. Grayson, Karina Halle, A. L. Jackson, Marni Mann, Monica Murphy, Devney Perry, Kristen Proby, Rachel Van Dyken

  “Last chance,” I say, tossing a towel over my shoulder. Leaning against the bar, I give him my full attention. “Better make it good.”

  Squaring his shoulders, he sits up straight, only he isn’t straight at all. He’s leaning to the left, and I hope Cooper really did call an Uber for him.

  “Feel this shirt.” He gives me a lopsided smile, and I raise my eyebrows, waiting for the punch line. “Know what it’s made of?”

  I shake my head, and his smile widens.

  “Boyfriend material.”

  It takes everything I have not to laugh, and not because the pick-up line is funny or unique, because it’s not—it’s cheesy. But the look on his face… He looks like one of the dogs at my shelter, sitting at my feet, waiting for a treat. But I’ve mastered the ability to deal with drunk, horny men, and I’m able to stifle my giggle.

  Shrugging, I frown.

  “Fuuuck.” Dropping his head to his hands, he groans.

  “Jace, dude, what was that?” Cooper asks, giving him a perplexed look.

  Jace! That’s his name.

  “Don’t tell me you actually use that line on women.”

  “If you think that was lame, you should’ve heard the first four,” I mumble.

  Cooper slaps Jace on the back and laughs.

  His head rolls to the side toward Cooper. “All I had to do was make her laugh and she said she’d consider going out with me.”

  “And you had five chances,” I add.

  “I did.” His head nods like a damn bobblehead. “I failed five times. Can you believe it? This angel here could’ve been my new girlfriend.” He waves his arm toward me. “I would’ve given her the world. I would’ve given you the world,” he repeats, facing me.

  “Maybe you can try again next time,” I offer.

  “Come on, let’s get you out of here.” Cooper grips Jace’s arm to help him up, but Jace shrugs him off.

  “Not yet. I can’t go home before Rhett’s bonus ride.”

  “Fine.” Cooper holds out his hand. “But no more drinks, and I’m going to need your keys.”

  “Done.” Digging in his pocket, Jace retrieves his keys and tosses them to Coop, who tosses them to me.

  I drop the keys in the cash drawer and rush to fill another order. That’s when I hear the announcer on the TV.

  “Lucifer has what seems to be an insurmountable resume with twenty-one straight buck-offs, but tonight that could all change as three-time world champion Rhett Allen prepares for the ride of his life. That’s right, Mike, and if anyone can pull this off, it’s Rhett…”

  I glance between the TV and my customers as the announcer goes through a series of statistics, but when Rhett comes into view, I can’t help but stop and stare.

  Turns out the entire bar feels the same way.

  Scuffed-up cowboy boots, jeans, leather chaps, flannel shirt, and his trusty ol’ Stetson make Rhett Allen one of the most ruggedly handsome men I’ve ever seen. Dark brown hair curls out from under his hat, and his blue eyes shine bright under the spotlight.

  I’m proud of Rhett and his accomplishments, as is the entire town, but I can’t deny that part of me is bitter about the success he’s found. Maybe it’s because he chased his dream while mine slipped away, I think to myself. Or maybe it’s because his dream stopped including me when I so desperately wanted it to. Either way, it’s a feeling I hate and one I don’t have time to dwell on, so I quickly push the thoughts away.

  Cooper climbs up on the end of the bar with his cell phone in hand. He’s been known to videotape the crowd for Rhett. “Hey, everybody,” he yells, gathering the bar’s attention. “Say hi to Rhett.” A wave of hands goes up, and a few people shout out. When the camera makes its way across the sea of people to me, I smile and flip it off. Peeking at me from behind his phone, Coop winks. He redirects the camera toward the crowd as Rhett mounts the bull.

  I hold my breath the same way I do every time I watch Rhett give the nod. The gate opens, and Lucifer propels himself forward, bucking and whipping his back end from side to side as he tries his best to throw Rhett off.

  A sharp turn to the right causes Rhett to lose his balance, and I gasp as he slides precariously to the side. Somehow, by the grace of God, he’s able to hold on, but it doesn’t last long. Another high kick and sharp turn toss Rhett’s body like a ragdoll, catapulting him toward the harsh, unforgiving ground, and the entire room goes silent. Blood rushes through my ears, my heart drops to the pit of my stomach, and the only thing I can think of is getting to him. Talking to Rhett. Finding out if Rhett is okay.

  Adrenaline pushes me forward, and I jump over the bar and rush toward the TV as the crowd around me starts to bustle. All I can see is Rhett’s lifeless body lying on the ground as a team of people coax the bull out of the arena.

  Why aren’t you moving, Rhett?

  “Why isn’t he moving?” I ask, looking frantically around the room, as though someone here should be helping him. “He should be moving, right?” I turn back toward the TV. “Damnit, Rhett,” I growl. “I need you to move. Fucking move already. He’s so still. Why aren’t they helping? They need to do something.”

  The TV cuts to a commercial, and the room erupts in chatter.

  My eyes burn as the first tear falls, followed by several more. Desperate and wild, I turn toward the back of the bar. Cooper’s arms hang limp at his sides. The phone in his hand slips out of his grasp, landing on the bar at his feet, and I rush toward him.

  “Coop,” I cry. My heart is going crazy as every worst-case scenario flashes through my mind. My hands shake uncontrollably as I wait for him to look at me. “He’s going to be okay. He has to be.”

  Cooper’s eyes finally find mine. He climbs down off the bar, pulls me into his arms, and holds me. His heart beats wildly against my cheek, and when his phone rings, I pull back.

  With one arm still wrapped tight around my shoulders, he grabs his phone from the bar.

  “It’s my dad,” he whispers, bringing the phone to his ear.

  For the second time tonight I hold my breath.

  “Please tell me he’s alive,” Coop says as he answers.

  Rhett

  I blink heavily. It takes several seconds to adjust to the light, but when my vision comes into focus, there’s a pretty blond nurse messing with an IV at the side of my bed. I try to formulate some sort of pick-up line, but by the time she looks down at me, my eyelids are drifting shut.

  Next time I wake up, the pretty nurse is gone, and it’s my mother standing over my bed. Her eyes widen when she sees that I’m awake.

  “Hi, sweetheart.” She offers me a tremulous smile, and I take her hand as she sits on the bed.

  “I’m okay, Mom.” I choke the words out because my mouth is dry.

  She pats my hand. “I know, but that doesn’t make what happened any less scary.” Leaning forward, she presses her lips to my forehead and lingers there for a moment. When she pulls back, her eyes are clear with relief. “Let me go find the doctor.”

  She rushes out of the room, and I notice my twin brother, Cooper, sitting in a chair next to the window. He sits up and offers me one of those fake smiles. You know, the one where something horrible happened, but they don’t want to be the one to tell you.

  “Who died?” I ask.

  “There for a second I was worried you had.”

  I try to wave him off, but when I lift my left arm, I end up groaning in pain. “I feel like I got run over by a train.”

  “Close. You got run over by a bull.”

  I nod, wincing when my head throbs. “I remember. How long was I out?”

  “Three days.”

  Hmmm. Not bad. “Last time it was four. I’m improving.”

  Cooper frowns at my poor attempt at a joke.

  “Too soon?”

  “Just a little.” Pushing up from his chair, he walks to the side of my bed. “You gave us one hell of a scare.”

  “Not the first time, won’t be the last. What’s the
verdict?” I do a quick inventory. Rhett Thomas Allen, three-time world champion bull rider. Check. Nice deep breath. Check. Wiggle my fingers and toes. Check. “When can I get back to work?”

  Furrowing his brow, Coop shakes his head. “I’ll never understand why you choose to get on those bulls night after night, knowing one of these days you could end up dead.”

  “It’s not your job to understand.”

  “Doesn’t matter if it’s my job; you’re my brother.” He looks at me for a moment, stuffs his hands in his pockets, and turns toward the door. “Trevor, Adley, and Dad went down for coffee. We’ve had Beau on standby. I’ll let them know you’re awake.”

  The solemn look on his face doesn’t sit well with me. I’m not one to worry about what anyone else thinks of my profession, but Coop isn’t just anyone.

  “Coop?”

  “Yeah?” he replies, looking over his shoulder.

  “I’m okay.” I don’t know what else to say. I can’t promise I’ll never get hurt again or that a bull might not someday claim my life, and I won’t apologize for loving my profession.

  He nods and walks out.

  Blowing out a breath, I look around the room. Flowers and balloons are scattered over the table and windowsill, and there are a few cards propped up on my bedside table. I reach for one, but my arm is too damn sore, and I give up at the same time a man in a crisp, white coat walks into the room, followed by my parents, Coop, Trevor, and my sister, Adley. My oldest brother, Beau, is traveling around the world, but I know he’d get here if I needed him.

  The doctor walks toward me and reaches out. It takes longer than I’d like, but I manage to shake his hand.

  “Mr. Allen, it’s a pleasure to meet you. My name is Dr. Simpson, and I’ve been in charge of your care since your admission the other night.” With a warm smile, he glances at my family. “We’ve got a lot to talk about, and I need to check you over. Would you like your family to step out or—”

  I shake my head. “They’re good. They can stay. I’m just anxious to find out how much damage I caused.”

  “Surprisingly, not much. You suffered a grade 3 concussion and lost consciousness. Most patients with a grade 3 concussion don’t stay out as long as you did, but you had quite a bit of swelling in your brain. I watched the video of your accident, and after you were thrown from the bull, you were kicked in the head, which is what I presume caused the swelling. It wasn’t a direct hit, otherwise the injuries would’ve been much different. We did a scan and ran several tests, and everything came back normal, so we were confident you’d wake up once the swelling subsided.”

  “Will I have any permanent damage?”

  He shakes his head and pulls out a pen light. “I hope not, but your chart tells me this isn’t your first concussion, so we’re going to watch you for a few more days.” He shines the light in my left eye and then my right. “Squeeze my fingers,” he says, holding out two fingers on each hand. “I need to check your grip.”

  I squeeze his fingers, noticing that my left hand feels weaker than the right. If he notices it too, he doesn’t show it. Instead he does a series of movements with both of my arms and moves his way down my body, checking the strength of my legs. Once he’s done, he folds his hands in front of his body.

  “Now for the not-so-good news.”

  Damn. I had a feeling that was coming. “Okay. I’m listening.”

  “The concussion wasn’t your only injury.” Dr. Simpson looks at my family and back at me. “After watching the video, I was concerned about a possible shoulder injury, and it was confirmed by the MRI. You’ve strained the rotator cuff of your left shoulder, and there’s a partial tear. It’s small, but it’s there.”

  Closing my eyes, I grimace. A rotator cuff injury can be hell on a bull rider’s career. If surgery is required, it can mean months out of work, and you’re still not guaranteed to come back at full capacity.

  I run the fingers of my right hand along my forehead and look up at the doctor. “What does that mean? Will I need surgery? How long will I be out of work?” I try to pull up a mental calendar of the all the events I have left this season.

  Dr. Simpson shakes his head. “Don’t get too far ahead of yourself. It’s a small tear, barely visible. My hope is that we can rehab it without surgery.”

  “So what does that mean? Physical therapy?”

  He nods. “That’s where we’ll start. I’ll give you some medication to help with inflammation and pain, and we’ll get you going with physical therapy. You’re young and healthy, and so I’m hopeful you can get through this without surgery. But I do want you to follow up with Dr. Wong. He’s an orthopedic surgeon, and I’ll let him make the final decision.”

  “Okay.” That doesn’t sound so bad. “I can do that. When can I go home?”

  He chuckles. “Like I said, I want to keep you for a few more days so we can be sure there’s nothing else wrong neurologically. Maybe we can get Dr. Wong to come in and see you before you’re discharged. Until then, I want you to be thinking about where you’re going to go when you leave here.”

  “What do you mean? I’m going home.”

  “Do you have a spouse or roommate? Or do you live alone?”

  I shake my head. “It’s just me.”

  “He can stay with us,” my mom interjects.

  Hell no. I love my mom to death, but she’ll drive me up the wall. “No. It’s not necessary. I’ll stay at my house.”

  Dr. Simpson frowns. “I highly encourage you not to go home alone—at least for a few weeks. You need to rest your shoulder as much as possible, and since you’re left-hand dominant, that’s going to be difficult. You’re going to want to do things yourself, but it won’t be easy, and if you want this to heal without surgery, you cannot strain it any further.”

  Damn. The last thing I want to do is go back to Heaven, but asking my family to commute an hour and a half each way to come help me doesn’t seem fair.

  Sighing, I look at my brother, Coop. “Can I stay with you for a few weeks?”

  “You don’t even have to ask,” he says.

  Shit. My dogs. “What about Duke and Diesel?”

  Coop holds up a hand. “Already taken care of. They’re in good hands.”

  Dr. Simpson gives me a tight smile. “I also think you need to evaluate your return to bull riding.” I open my mouth to protest, but he holds up a hand. “I’m not saying you can’t return or that you won’t, but look at your history, Rhett. You’ve had several concussions—this one being the worst—and those injuries eventually add up. You have a lot of life left inside of you, son, and it’s my job to make sure you live long enough to enjoy it.”

  He pats my leg. “Just some food for thought. I’ve got to get going, but I’ll have the nurses get you something to eat, and we’ll make sure you’re able to shower tonight. Just remember to take it easy. You’re going to be sore.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Simpson.”

  He nods, gives my family a polite goodbye, and slips out the door.

  “Seriously.” I look at Coop’s jacked-up Chevy and lift an eyebrow. “You couldn’t have brought your car?”

  “Yes, that’s exactly what I was thinking when I saw you get trampled by a bull and rushed to the hospital. Let me go home and get my car in case my gimp brother has to come home with me.”

  “Get me out of this damn wheelchair.”

  The nurse steadies the wheelchair while Dad helps me into Coop’s truck. Mom hands Coop my discharge paperwork, and finally—almost six days after I arrived at this hospital—we’re on our way home.

  Well, not my home, but close enough.

  “Thank God,” I mumble once we’re actually moving. I lay my head back on the seat rest. “I wasn’t sure how much longer I could stand that place.”

  “At least your nurse was hot.”

  I look over at Coop, and he shrugs. “What? She was. You should’ve requested a sponge bath before you left.”

  I smile and close my eyes. “Next t
ime.”

  “Let’s hope there isn’t a next time.”

  “Coop.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Shut up so I can get some sleep.”

  With my eyes closed, I replay my ride with Lucifer in my head and try to figure out what I did wrong. Somewhere along the way I must fall asleep, because next thing I know, Coop is nudging me in the side.

  “Rhett. Wake up.”

  Every bone in my body throbs as I prepare to climb out of the truck. I’m not as sore as I was when I first woke up in the hospital—thanks to the physical therapist—but I still ache.

  “I’m getting too damn old for this.”

  “You’re not even thirty,” Coop reminds me.

  With a hand under my good arm, he helps me down from his truck, and I brace myself for Duke and Diesel’s attack when he opens the front door.

  When it doesn’t come, I follow him into the house. “Where are my boys?”

  Coop drops his keys on the counter and picks up a stack of mail. “They’re at Animal Haven.”

  “You took my dogs to an animal rescue?” I nearly shout, grabbing the keys he just dropped on the counter.

  “Chill out. They’re being boarded, not sold.”

  That doesn’t make me feel better. “Since when does Animal Haven board animals?” I’ve known Phil Gallagher my whole life. I remember when he opened Animal Haven, and not once do I remember him boarding animals for the public.

  Coop thumbs through his mail and tosses it on the counter. “They don’t. It’s a special situation, and they’re being nice, helping out.”

  Shaking my head, I turn toward the door.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “To get my damn dogs.” I respect Phil—he’s one hell of a guy—but my dogs are my babies, and they belong with me.

  “Are you supposed to be driving?”

  “Ask me if I care.”

  Coop beats me to the door. “We should probably talk before you leave.”

  “About what?”