from the back of the tent. I glance over my shoulder, and see Charlie struggling to sit up.
“Charlie, stay there. Don’t move. Are you alright?”
“Yeah…yeah. I think.” He lets out a pained breath and favors an arm around his ribs. His eyes meet mine and then flit to Jack. He blinks back something. “Is he…?”
“He’s fine.”
He’s fine. Fine. F.I.N.E. Spelling it in my head is not calming me down. I don’t want to leave Jack at all, but he dropped his camera bag around here. He might have a water bottle stashed inside.
Just as I start climbing to my feet, his eyes begin to flutter.
I crouch back down. “Jack,” I whisper, panicked desperation coating my voice. I kneel next to him, sliding a hand over his head.
He blinks awake slowly. “Os?” He tries to sit up, palm bracing his weight on the floor.
“Relax,” I say. “You hit your head pretty bad there, Arizona. Do you know what day it is?”
“September 17th.” He leans back against the bumper car, and his eyes sink into mine. Concern envelop them. “Your face.”
I barely feel the pain in my cheekbone. One guy landed a single punch that my dad would have laughed at, but knuckles are knuckles and I’m sure there’s a welt.
A fist connected with Jack’s jaw too, but I’m more concerned about the blunt force against the pole.
Does he even remember we were in a fight? Maybe he’s concussed. “Do you remember what happened?”
He gathers his bearings. “Yeah, of course, I just didn’t see you get hit.” He glances over at my client who’s lifting up his button-down to inspect the deep bruises forming along his ribs. “Charlie, you okay?”
He nods once.
I reach for my radio to call the med team, then I remember it’s mangled.
Good job, Oliveira. Look what my anger got me.
Jack eases forward. “I’m alright.” His lips, kid you not, curve into a smile. “Who would have thought my first fight would end with me knocked out by a pole?”
“Not me,” I say honestly. “You vs. Pole. I’m putting all my money on you.”
He smiles a little wider. “Here’s the thing, Os, you’d put all your money on me no matter what.” He stretches out his legs. “You’re the president of my fan club.”
“True,” I say and eye that smile. “You sure you’re feeling alright?”
He nods strongly. “Yeah.” He rubs the back of his head.
I climb to my feet and hold out my palm. Helping Jack to a stance, I keep a hand on his shoulder, and I wait for a couple seconds. He’s steady. Alert, even. But still, I ask, “Alright?”
“Yeah.” His hand falls into mine and he squeezes before dropping it completely. His attention veers to his broken camera equipment on the ground, and my focus realigns to my client.
I squat next to Charlie. “Can you stand?”
“Maybe.”
I help him up too, and as soon as his feet hit the floor, he careens into the nearest bumper car. Fuck. I support him around the waist before he falls.
I thought his ribs were the worst, but he might have actually fucked his leg again. “Hold on,” he groans as he sits on the hood of a bumper car. “Let me take a breath.” He winces as he inhales.
“What happened?” I ask the question I’ve been avoiding. I’m not sure I’m going to like the answer.
“They said they had weed.” Charlie cringes. “They didn’t. They robbed me.” He nods a chin at a wallet on the ground. The wallet that I made that fucker give me before I let him go.
No. I bend down and pick it up. Immediately, I recognize the leather. Maybe I was too panicked before to comprehend the familiarity. But I flip it open and see Charlie’s license. Fucking shit, I can’t believe I made this mistake.
No ID of the threats.
They all escaped.
I’m going to get hell for this one. I pocket Charlie’s wallet.
Jack scoops up his broken camera. “Charlie, why would you follow them without a bodyguard?”
“Yeah, Charlie, why would you do that?” I say mockingly, already knowing the answer.
He rolls his eyes. “I took the risk.”
Because he doesn’t give a shit if he gets hurt. Pain, right? It’s greater than the frustration he feels on a daily basis. I don’t know how to help him other than making sure he keeps talking to his dad.
All I can do is try to protect him, even if he doesn’t want it.
I bend down to the graveyard of camera pieces, helping Jack pick up what’s left. “Can