Page 4 of Down in Flames

He waited for an answer, but Michael just blew out a long, slow breath and said, “I’ll give you one question, and then it’s my turn. Are you sure that’s what you want to ask?”

“Yes—no. My head hurts too much for this,” West muttered, shoving the compress against his swollen nose. But it had been so long since they’d had a real conversation, and he only wanted to know one thing. “How are you? How’s Abigail?”

Michael leaned back against the Ford and shoved his hands deep into his pockets, hanging his head like he was struggling to hang on to his temper. He’d always been a patient man, and West felt a flash of shame that he’d been the one to provoke him into losing it.

“Abby’s fine,” Michael said after a small hesitation. “She’s turned her new bedroom into a wild animal sanctuary.”

It hurt to smile, but West couldn’t help himself. That little girl was the patron saint of anything with a beating heart.

“So, you must have finished construction on the house,” he said with satisfaction, but Michael was out of patience. He reached out and clamped one huge hand around the back of West’s neck, pinning him like a dog with a small animal clamped between its jaws.

“I said one question,” Michael reminded him. “Now it’s your turn to explain just what the hell you thought you were doing out there.”

“I’m good at it,” West said defensively.

“Sure didn’t look like it from where I was standing.”

Embarrassed heat crawled up West’s neck. He clenched his teeth and stared down at his boots, muttering, “I don’t care about winning.”

“So, what are you trying to prove? That you can take a beating?”

“Maybe.”

If anything, the response only made Michael angrier. There was something dark in his eyes when he snarled, “Ask Calvin Craig how well that worked out for him.”

West still remembered the way his father used to nod approvingly every time Cal's PBR stats came up on ESPN. “That kid has guts,” he used to say, oblivious to the son in the room with him. “He did what the rest of us sorry sacks only dream about.”

Cal had made it all the way to the World Finals where a wreck nearly killed him. Before he came limping home, broken in body and spirit, desperately searching for a reason to keep on living.

“Christ, I’ve been compared with that guy my whole damn life,” West muttered. He stalked around the side of the truck and began digging for the sleeping bag he’d tucked under the seat. “If I do break my neck out there, you can put it on my tombstone. He was no Calvin Craig.”

For a big man, Michael could move shockingly fast when he wanted. He was on West in a hot second, spinning him around so quickly that his head whirled.

“You listen to me,” he growled, pinning West’s battered face between two rough hands. “Don’t ever joke about something like that. Not while I’m around. You and I both know that all it takes is one bad fall.”

The embers of West’s temper had begun to glow, but Michael’s white-hot anger was like a bucket of cold water.. His irritation sizzled and died, leaving him sorry and sick to the stomach.

“Michael,” he said, reaching up and clasping the thick wrists where Michael still pinned his head. “Michael, I’m sorry.”

All of a sudden, it was Michael who couldn’t meet his eyes. He pulled back, leaving West suddenly cold. West leaned forward and ducked his head, hoping to catch his gaze. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, and the weight of it sat on his chest and left him winded. “I didn’t mean to remind you of Mary.”

Michael shook his head, but he still wouldn’t look at him. He stared down at the lazy serpent of cars, and his throat worked as if he were struggling to keep down his last meal.

West hated seeing him like this. Maybe it was the age difference between them, but he’d always seemed so cool, so confident. Sure of himself in a way every man hoped he’d become and so few ever did. A man who could handle anything…except the idea of losing someone else he cared about.

Somehow, West was lucky enough to be counted in that select group, and yet he was destroying it all because he was selfish enough to want more. To want everything.

“You weren’t supposed to find out. I wouldn’t do this to you on purpose,” he said with a sigh.

“Is that why you’ve been avoiding me for months?”

“What? No!” And then, like a dumbass, West realized he’d just been handed a perfect excuse. “Yes! I mean…yes.”

Michael’s eyes turned sharp. He studied West for a long, silent moment before shaking his head and stepping back. They both drew a deep, calming breath. West turned and finally retrieved his sleeping bag from under the seat, just to relieve some of the tension.

“You’re sleeping here?” Michael asked.

“I don’t have the cash to waste on a motel,” West said with a shrug. “Don’t matter. The nights aren’t too cold yet.”

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