Jesus Christ. Man up. Bull splashed some cold water onto his face to try to pull himself together. If Fox decided to stay with his team and had to go back and forth to work, Bull hoped it didn’t take him long to get used to the sinking feeling in his gut. The crippling anxiety knowing his life was at risk. Now he knew what Fox was saying about his past lovers enjoying the excitement and power of a SWAT officer, but soon realizing the thrill didn’t trump the fear.
And what Bull had seen on television tonight—the small amount anyway—was as real and dangerous as it got.
He went downstairs, not bothering to turn on any lights as he made his way through the family room towards the kitchen. The sound of voices coming from the den almost made him trip over one of the dining room chairs. He went around the corner and saw Dale was asleep, cramped on the couch, his socked feet hanging over the end. Bull turned off the television. Once it was silent, he took the quilt Amelia kept in a basket by her chair and slung it over his good friend. He’d never forget what Dale had done for him tonight, bringing Mercy to him. And he couldn’t be happier that Dale had Rid now. After all he’d been through, he deserved someone who would worship him.
Bull poured himself a large glass of milk and downed it fast, hoping the faux-full feeling in his stomach would help him get to sleep. He had a busy day ahead of him in a few measly hours, regardless that all he really wanted was to drive to Atlanta and barge into the police station and drag Fox away the same way they’d done to him. But Bull wasn’t insane, and he’d promised Fox he’d be there for him no matter his decision. And Bull was nothing if not a man of his word.
The last time Bull remembered checking the time on his phone—or for a missed text from Fox—it read 4:32 a.m. Now it was six, and the sound of cabinets banging downstairs and the smell of bacon frying told him that was as much sleep as he was going to get.
Bull trudged through what he used to think was a simple morning routine and made it downstairs just before Amelia was about to shout his name. He smiled down at her, hoping she’d think he’d rested well and was prepared for another great day. But the way her face twisted into a look of utter pity let him know he hadn’t fooled her at all.
“Are you okay, honey?” she asked, following close behind him into the kitchen. “Have you heard from Fox?”
Bull’s head felt like the weight of a bowling ball as he nodded painfully. “Yes, he texted last night. He was in a meeting until late, so…” Bull cleared his throat. “What time did Dale leave?”
“Early,” his father answered. He flipped a page of his newspaper, trying not to be obvious as he measured him carefully.
“I’m good, Pop,” Bull rumbled. “I fell asleep late is all.”
“I was just wondering if I should show you this.”
“Show me what?” Bull swiped a piece of bacon from the platter, then came and stood by his dad.
His father turned to the front page and jabbed his finger at the bold headline over a grainy surveillance photo of him and Fox leaving the Rusty Spur the other night and dragging Newt with them. The huge block lettering read: The mysterious Fox is still on the hunt, taking down next, the criminally elusive Newt Thompson.
“Oh my god,” Bull said, taking the paper and reading the full-page article. There were witness statements, one from the waitress and one from the burly bartender who’d told them to get out, both of them making Fox sound like an absolute badass.
Newt had turned himself in and confessed to his vandalism of nearby farms and slandering the Walker Ranch as he’d been instructed. But he’d gone a step further to add that Bull had been a decent man and shown him leniency when he could’ve pressed charges and insisted Newt do jail time, causing him to possibly lose the little he still had. He said Fox’s punishment was swift but fair.
His dad raised an inquisitive brow. “I thought you fellas said you were going out to grab a beer?”
“We were, and then we got sidetracked.” Bull kept his eyes on the paper, rereading his favorite parts.
“It says in there that the council is thinking of asking him to run in old Sheriff Thompson’s place next year,” Amelia added. “Wouldn’t that be somethin’? The women in town are so jealous of me.” She giggled, doing a little twist as she stirred the large pot of grits and red-eye gravy. “I’m always stopped and asked about you two.”