Losers Weepers by Nicole Williams
The boys’ faces couldn’t have gotten any more relieved.
The older one slid his napkin in front of me. “I’m learning how to ride bulls too. My dad’s teaching me.”
I focused on signing my name. “Yeah, my dad taught me too.” I kept to myself all the other lessons he’d tried to teach me by example.
“He says if I keep practicing, I’ll be able to start competing next summer.” The boy stood a little taller, almost able to meet my eyes, unlike the little one who could only grin and bounce in place.
“It sounds like you’re working hard. Good for you.” I started signing my name on the second napkin. “Just don’t let anyone tell you spending a bunch of time working the weights or a balance ball or something else is worth your time. The only way you become a better bull rider is by actually riding bulls.”
A serious look fell over the boy’s face as he nodded, like he was carefully filing away every word. “Yes, sir.”
The younger one, not wanting to be left out, stuck out his chest and hitched his thumbs through the loops of his jeans. “I ride too.”
“Yeah? Well, good for you. I started when I was about your age too.”
The older boy rolled his eyes. “You ride sheep, Colby. Not bulls like I do.”
The little boy gave who I guessed was his brother a shove. “You don’t ride bulls either. You ride steers.”
Both of their cheeks reddened from being called out by the other, so I leaned forward. “You’ve got to start somewhere, right? What do you think would happen if you just hopped up on a monster-sized brahma the first time?”
“You’d probably hurt yourself real good,” the older one said.
“Or die,” the little one added.
“Start small. Practice hard. Ride big.” When I handed them their napkins, the older one pulled a phone from his back pocket.
“Could we, you know, get a picture with you?” He swallowed.
Josie was smiling beside me, obviously much more content with this brand of fan than the bra-flouting ones.
“That’ll be another hundred,” I said before motioning them closer. “Of course you can. Just make sure you return the favor when you two are famous bull riders.”
“We will, sir,” they said in unison.
“Here, I’ll take it.” Josie pushed out of her seat and came around to the boys. “You guys go stand on either side of Garth.”
I started to wheel back from the table so their photo wouldn’t feature a sixteen-ounce strip steak, and that was they halted, their eyes drifting to what I was sitting in. Both of their brows drew so tightly together it was almost funny . . . until I realized the reason for their confounded looks.
“What happened?” the young one asked, his gape on full display.
I tilted my head, not anticipating having to explain what had happened to the people in my hometown since I’d assumed everyone knew everyone else’s business about two minutes after said business went down. That two boys who were fans had yet to hear what had happened to me wasn’t what I’d expected to find at dinner. The staring and whispering I’d expected; the utter shock and dismay of finding out what had happened I hadn’t.
“I took my attention off the bull for one fraction of a second, and I got thrown good and hard. I landed on my head, and I’m probably lucky I didn’t break it open.” I kept my voice calm, trying to explain as logically as I could.
The boys stared at me as if they’d just born witness to their hero being thwarted by the villain.
“Did you break your legs?” one of them asked. “How long will you be in the wheelchair?”
If only I’d broken my legs. At least I’d have the reassurance that bones would heal when spinal nerve damage might not. “No, I’m paralyzed.” When Josie’s hand went to her hip, I added, “At least for now, I’m paralyzed. How long I’ll be in the wheelchair depends on if I stay this way for a while or forever.”
The younger one’s mouth fell open. “You might be in a wheelchair forever? You might never ride again?”
Josie cleared her throat and gave the boys a look that would have made me shrivel. “Do you want your picture or not?”
The older boy took the phone from her and started backing away. His younger brother followed.
“That’s okay.” The older boy’s gaze was zeroed in on my wheelchair, as if that were all he could see now. The man he’d so clearly idolized before noticing it was now defined by it. “Thanks though. Sorry to bother you.” Grabbing his brother’s arm, he pulled him away from our table and headed back to where they’d come from.
Josie watched them, both of her hands on her hips.
When she started after them, I spoke up. “Not worth it, Joze.”
“So worth it.” She thrust her hand in their direction. “Their mama clearly didn’t teach them any manners, so I think I’ll take a whack at it. While I’m whacking the backs of their heads.”
“Joze,” I said when she started their way.
Something in my voice must have gotten her attention because she stopped and looked back at me. What she saw on my face must have been enough to get her to forget about the boys momentarily because she turned around and crouched beside me.
“I’ve had a rough enough night without you going all crazy girlfriend on a couple of young boys for not wanting a picture with me after seeing me in this thing.”
She chewed on the inside of her cheek, holding back all of the things she wanted to say.
“Between Colt Mason suggesting I couldn’t protect you anymore, having every eye on me as I rolled through this place, and spilling wine down your mom’s friend’s shirt . . .” I shook my head, hoping future outings would go more smoothly. “Please don’t go and draw even more attention to us by giving what-for to a couple of boys.”
She blew out a breath. “They deserve it.”
“Maybe, but I’m not sure I can handle any more tonight.” I rolled back to the table and rested my hand over hers, which was clutching the table as if she might break it.
“Fine. I won’t go make a scene for your benefit. But not for those little shitheads’.” She glared at the spot the boys had disappeared from for a moment longer before making her way back to her chair.
I could see how upset she was over what had happened, and the truth was that I was probably just as upset, but I had to stay calm to keep her from blowing her lid. If she knew I’d been as affected by those boys as she had, I’d have no way of keeping her from chasing after them and giving them what-for.
After a casual inspection of the restaurant, I found a good quarter of the tables varying between occasionally glancing my way and unapologetically staring with a blend of pity and revulsion in their eyes. The steak that had looked and smelled amazing now seemed unpalatable as I lifted my fork and knife.
“Here they come.” Josie lifted her head toward Jesse and Rowen making their way back to the table.
“Rowen looks like crap,” I said under my breath. Her face looked extra pale and like every part of her was in pain. “Jesse looks worse,” I added. “That’s it. I’m just going to ask them both, point blank, what the hell is going on. I can’t take it anymore. They’re our best friends, and what’s bothering them bothers me. I can’t sit here and keep pretending everything’s okay.” I took a drink of my Coke and settled into my wheelchair for what would surely be an uncomfortable conversation. “What do you think’s going on?”
Josie wasn’t quite gaping at me, but she was close. “I know what’s going on with them. It’s pretty obvious. What isn’t obvious is why you can’t seem to figure it out.”
“You know?” I twisted toward her and hissed, “Tell me.”
“Tell you what?” Rowen asked with an arm draped around her stomach as Jesse helped her into her chair.
Josie lifted a pointed brow at me, keeping her lips sealed.
I shot her a smirk before facing Jesse and Rowen. Taking a breath, I looked at Rowen, since Jesse was too preoccupied with watching her as if
Rowen sighed at my impressive prose.
“Yeah, come on,” Josie said, pushing her plate away. “How much longer are you going to keep us in suspense?”
Rowen and Jesse exchanged a look. Rowen shrugged—Jesse sighed.
“I didn’t realize ordering a Sprite, being moody, exhausted, and sprinting for the bathroom was keeping you in suspense,” she said, indicating the empty soda glass in front of her.
I blinked at everyone around the table. “What is everyone talking about, for Christ’s sake?”
Josie shook her head and groaned like I was hopeless.
Rowen threw the back of her hand into Jesse’s chest. “Jesse knocked me up.” Jesse winced. “So there you have it. The suspense is no longer.”
I sat frozen for a minute, replaying what she’d just said. Jesse had done what? That meant Rowen was what? That meant they’d be what soon? Of all the things I’d considered going on between them, Rowen having a bun in the oven hadn’t been one of them.
“What?” I said, although it came out as a whisper and was covered by Josie’s squeals as she smacked the table repeatedly in her excitement.
“I knew it!” she shrieked, alerting half the restaurant. “I knew it. I could tell the moment I saw you guys.”
“It was this putrid shade of green I radiate, right?” Rowen circled her finger around her face. “Or was it the dark circles under my eyes from not being able to sleep, despite spending the whole day exhausted? Or was it the paunch already starting to pop out of my not-so-skinny jeans?” She patted her tummy, making my gaze move there.
A baby was inside her stomach. Growing. A little Jesse or Rowen would be born into the world in what . . . six months? Twelve? How long did a baby take before being born? I knew it was somewhere in the six- to twelve-month range, but for the way this was all hitting me, little Sterling-Walker might as well have been born tomorrow.
Josie waved. “Whatever. You look amazing. I don’t know, it was just something in your eyes. Something in Jesse’s. That mix of ‘I’m terrified and thrilled at the same time.’ You might as well have been carrying a sign announcing you were preggers.”
Rowen sniffed then, her nose curling right before her gaze landed on the creamed spinach in front of me. Before I could do anything, Jesse stole it and carried it back to the kitchen. I grumbled, stealing some of his mashed potatoes.
“Well, we might not have fooled you, but I’d say we definitely gave Garth the shock of his life.” Rowen smiled at me in my still-stunned silence as she cut into her steak.
“For being such a worldly, street-smart guy, you’d think he wouldn’t be so oblivious about these kinds of things, right?” Josie was still bouncing in her seat. “God, I’m so excited for you guys. A baby? Seriously, I think I might pee my pants right now.”
“If you do, make sure not to change yourself in the last stall, because I’ve barfed in that one twice already and the vomit smell is definitely lingering.” As if she hadn’t been talking about throw up, Rowen stuffed a bite of steak into her mouth and swallowed with a small moan. She’d never been much of a meat eater—she was more like a vegetarian who ate chicken or fish on occasion—but right now, she acted like she wanted to make love to that slab of steak. I supposed that was the Jesse part of the baby in her—a rancher’s child craved good red meat even in the womb.
“Um, ew, but thanks for the tip.” Josie reached for my hand and gave it an impressive squeeze.
Seeing her so happy couldn’t help but rub off on me. It was contagious. Actually, most of her emotions were. Whatever she felt somehow translated into what I felt.
“So how far along are you? How’s it been so far? When are you due? Do you know what it is yet? Have you thought of names? Have you put together a registry yet? Can I do the baby shower? Can I babysit? Can I make myself available to you whenever and wherever you need a hand with the baby?”
Rowen had to cut her off. “Whoa there, Inquisitive. Take it easy. Along with my energy and stomach hardiness, this little gremlin is sucking away my brainpower. One question at a time, please. Two max.”
Josie’s hand kept squeezing mine. She was going to cut off my circulation soon if she didn’t let up. “When are you due?”
“November 30th,” she answered instantly, as if the date were on the tip of her tongue at all times.
“So that would make you . . .” Josie tipped her head from side to side. “Three months along?”
“Twelve weeks almost to the date.”
“So I guess asking how you’re feeling is kind of pointless since you just admitted to feeling like crap, right?” Josie frowned as she patted one of Rowen’s hands. “But that’s supposed to pass after the first trimester, right? You should start feeling better soon.”
Rowen looked away, focusing on cutting another chunk from her steak. “Yeah, I should. Hopefully.” She shifted in her seat.
Just as Josie looked ready to break into her next question, Jesse showed back up, having successfully deprived me of my creamed spinach. “Most women feel better after the first trimester,” he said as he took his seat and glanced at Rowen, again with that nervous edge in his expression. He’d always been attentive to her, in a tuned in a way that bordered on protective, but this was something else. This was almost like he was trying to make sure she hadn’t disappeared. Like he was worried she would be taken from him any moment.
“What do you mean ‘most women,’ Jess?” My first words to them probably should have been something along the lines of congrats, but I knew something was wrong. Something besides Rowen being knocked up.
If Josie had noticed how Jesse was behaving or what I’d just asked, it wasn’t hitting her the way it was me. “Pregnant in your twenties.” She laughed, shaking her head. “And you accused me of being small-town.”
Rowen twirled her fork in the air. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. We were on about every form of birth control I could get my hands on, but it appears sexual dynamo here”—she stuck her thumb in Jesse’s chest—“broke right through every one.”
Josie gave him a look that made him shift in his seat. “Jesse, you tiger, you.”
I mouthed, “Sorry” at him, but he was still too busy breaking out in a cold sweat from watching Rowen.
“So are you more excited or more shitting your pants?” Josie asked, waving at the waiter and motioning at Rowen’s empty Sprite.
He took it to refill it, and Rowen smiled her thanks at both him and Josie.
“When I’m not hurling into some form of porcelain, I’m starting to get excited,” Rowen answered, covering her stomach with one of her hands. Jesse slid his hand over hers, weaving his fingers together with hers. “He’s shitting his pants.”
Josie gaped at Jesse. “Why?” She shook her head, clearly stumped. “You’ll be, like, one of the best dads ever. Second to you, baby.” She leaned in to kiss the corner of my mouth.
My stomach twisted into several dozen knots at Josie mentioning me becoming a dad, and not in the way it used to when I thought of what kind of dad I’d had and the opposite of an example he’d left me with. No, this stomach churning was brought on by the whiplash realization that I could never father a child in my current condition. I was the one breaking out in a cold sweat now.
I mean, I’d realized that with everything south of my waist being immobile, I couldn’t get it up, but I’d only been focused on one aspect of that major inconvenience. I’d been too busy struggling with that sad realization to move on to the next logical conclusion—the children part. I might have been a long way off from contemplating rugrats, but I knew somewhere deep inside me was buried the desire to have kids. To prove the Black name wasn’t synonymous with shitty fathers and champion drinkers. I wanted children one day . . . but now that day might never come.
The room started to close in around me, the air growing so thin I felt close to gasping.
Across the table, Jesse cleared his throat and finally tore his stare from Rowen. He scrubbed his face with one hand, keeping his other firmly planted on Rowen’s stomach. I couldn’t tell who he was trying to protect more—her or the baby inside her. “There was a reason we were using so many different forms of birth control.” He looked between Josie and me as though he was waiting for us to get it.
Josie shrugged. “Because you didn’t want to knock up your fertile young bride so soon?”
Jesse exhaled, and with a one shake of his head, I got it. I got where the dread and hovering and bordering-on-unhealthy protective streak were coming from. His words nearly mirrored my thoughts.
“Because it isn’t safe for Rowen to have children.”
Rowen sighed but didn’t offer any argument. Josie picked up where I’d left off on the frozen-in-her-seat thing.
“What do you mean it isn’t safe for her?” I swallowed. “As in growing a little human in her stomach then attempting to push it out something seemingly way too small? Because that doesn’t sound really all that safe for any woman.”
My attempt to lighten the mood failed. Instead, the table seemed to grow more silent.
“No, I mean not safe in that her heart might not be able to tolerate the strain of pregnancy and delivery.” As Jesse finished his words, his face seemed about to break, but he kept it together. He’d always been so strong, a pillar among tough, work-hardened men, but having to face this was just too much. Every man had a breaking point, and the thought of losing his wife and unborn child was Jesse Walker’s.
“What do you mean her heart might not be able to tolerate it?” Josie asked, the heaviness of the situation settling around her.
Jesse sucked in a breath, but Rowen saved him the explanation. “What he means is that about a year ago, I went to my doctor because I felt faint and out of breath whenever I tried exercising hard. Yeah, I know. Me and exercise—never saw that one coming, right? Seattle’s health craze has a way of rubbing off on you.” Rowen’s attempt at lightness didn’t work either. When the waiter set a fresh glass of Sprite in front of her, she took a sip like she was stalling. “Anyway, she diagnosed me with something called aortic stenosis. It’s a heart condition that basically means I don’t tolerate physical stress to my body as well as the next person. I’ve probably had it my whole life but didn’t notice it until I started pushing my body to its upper limits.”