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“Hey,” I say, brushing his hair out of his face.
“What did we say, lady?!” snaps one of the men.
“You can let her stay,” Kanen says, “I want her with me.”
“Whatever you say, Wrecker,” the first trainer answers. “Just let’s get him in here and assessed!”
“Right.”
I hold Kanen’s hand, desperately, as the men go over every inch of him.
“Broken bone,” one says as Kanen flinches. “Toe seems crushed,” the other answers.
“Why wasn’t he protected?” I ask. “Where were the rodeo clowns when he was thrown? That bull was crazy.”
Nobody seems too interested in answering me, so I stop talking until Kanen pipes up. “Not crazy,” he says. “Drugged.”
Twenty-Six
Kanen
It’s all a haze of movement around me whenever I open my eyes, so I try to keep them closed. As much as I want to see Canada’s face, it’s easier to see it without closing my eyes. Her beautiful dark eyes, her dark hair. But now someone’s forcing my eye open and shining a light in it.
“Pupil dilation slightly abnormal,” he says. “There might be a concussion.”
“Might be. Too bad cowboy hats aren’t helmets,” says the other voice.
Too bad indeed. This old melon has had its share of hits, but no throws like that animal gave me. The thing wasn’t itself. I can’t blame that bull. But I don’t feel good.
“Canada,” I say softly.
“What’s he talking about?” the trainer asks.
“He keeps talking about Canada. Maybe he wants to move,” says the other.
Then I hear her voice again.
“That’s me,” she says.
“What?”
“I’m Canada,” she says softly. Then her voice is right by my ear.
“What is it Kanen?”
I want to say something to her but what? I don’t have much energy. I don’t know if I’m going to come out of this. So much pain. “I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.” Her voice kills the pain in a way no drug ever could.
“I love you,” I say.
“Oh Kanen,” she says. “I love you too.”
She loves me. She doesn’t want to leave me. She’s here. I open my eyes again, to the burning brightness and painful movement, just to try to look in her eyes.
“Baby, just rest,” she says.
“Okay.” There’s no fighting. All my fight went into that bull. Now I have to fight for him, but I have nothing left.
“Mama, what’s wrong?” I say. She’s crying in the corner of the darkened room. “Why are the shades drawn in the middle of the day?”
