Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
“Coke, I need to take you for X-rays on those ribs, man.” Doc tugged on Coke’s arm and he shook his head, growling as that made his stitches pull.
“Nope.”
“Coke.”
“I said no.” He was a grown man. He knew if his bones were broke.
“Nate? Will you talk to this stubborn asshole?” Doc threw his hands up, going to check Hank out, who was packed in a metric fuck ton of ice.
Nate just shook his head, letting Shaun wrap his bent up finger. “Cain’t tell the boss nothing.”
Coke rolled his eyes, winked. “I’m out of here.”
“You can’t drive. You cannot go, damn it!”
“Nattie?” He didn’t need this shit.
“I got you, Hoss.” They played this game well, one of them running interference, the other running like hell.
Doc was trying to get back to him, and damned if it wasn’t Hank who saved the day, grabbing Doc’s arm and yelping like a big old hound. “Doc! Don’t leave me, man.”
He nodded once to Hank and skedaddled, bee-lining it for the dressing room and his bag.
He’d just about made it, too, when Dillon popped up beside him. “You okay, Coke? I haven’t been able to get back until now.”
“Yeah. I’m good.” In a hurry. Running from the doc. “You looked good tonight.” Hurry. Hurry.
“Thanks.” Tilting his head like a puppy hearing a whistle, Dillon grinned at him. “Doc’s coming. I’ll meet you at the truck?”
“Yes.” He tossed Dillon the keys. “By the big doors, huh?”
“You bet.” Good man. Dillon motivated out of there, heading out to get the truck, hustling like he did in the arena.
He didn’t check himself in the mirror, just grabbed his shit and boogied. He could change at the hotel.
AJ saw him in the hallway. “Nate says these are yours.”
A packet of pills landed in his hand, Doc’s scribbly handwriting on the paper. “If you cough blood, piss blood— Call.”
AJ looked pretty rough himself, a goose egg rising up, all purple and red.
“Thanks, buddy. You got a ride?”
“Yeah. I’m solid. You’d best get on, though. You know Jase’ll call to bitch.”
“No shit on that.” He waved and went, pulling out his phone and turning it off.
No interruptions. Hotel. Pool. Food. Shower.
The truck was right where it was supposed to be, Dillon behind the wheel, the big engine idling. The window slid down, the man himself giving Coke a smile. “You want to drive?”
“You can.” He slid in, real careful. “Stop in a drive-thru for food?”
“You bet. I was thinking roast beef sandwiches, huh? Less greasy and salty.”
Oh. Someone was thinking about his poor split lip.
“And a milkshake, honey. Please. Maybe two.”
“Sure.” Dillon patted his leg and pulled out, heading to the local Arby’s. He knew they’d passed one on the way from the hotel to the arena.
Coke closed his eyes, letting Dillon drive. As he chilled out, shit started hurting. For the most part, Dillon was quiet, too. He hummed with the radio, but didn’t ask a lot of questions or anything. Which was good.
Food. Drinks. Shakes. And all of the sudden they were parking, and he was thinking maybe he’d just sleep here in the truck rather than move.
“Don’t you fall asleep on me. I can’t carry you.” Dillon hopping out, grabbed all of the crap, and came around, standing like a crutch to help him down.
“I’ll hump my stuff. I will.” He reached for his duffle.
“No. You’ll take the food. Come on.”
“I will?” He did.
Okay.
It was the longest walk he’d had since he’d walked into Miz Scott’s house and seen little Jason, blind.
“Almost there, Coke.” They were upstairs, the open elevator doors making him blink. He didn’t even remember going up.
“Jesus. I ain’t even took them pills yet.” Lord, he was reverting into AJ. The thought made him chuckle.
“Well, just think how well you’ll sleep when you do. Uh. What room are you in?” Somehow they’d booked him up with Nate, even though he and Dillon had tried to get them a room together.
“Three something.” He stopped, closed his eyes a second. Shit. Nate had the working key and he needed a little fortification before he faced that harpy at the front desk again. “Tell you what, man. I’ll just sit down there in the lobby for a few, eat.”
“Shit, no. Come on. I’m in three-oh-eight.” Dillon took him down the hall, leading the way and letting him in to a blessedly dark, quiet room. “Ta-da.”
“Oh, thank God.” There was a chair, a place to sit and he stumbled over, getting the food onto the little table before he crashed down.
“Shit, Coke. Are you sure nothing’s broken?” Dillon turned on the smallest lamp so it wouldn’t blind his happy ass and came to help him get his shoes off.
“Pretty sure. I liked the new bit with the booty shaking.” His shoes popped off and he curled his toes.
“That was pure panic. I was worried as heck about you.” There was no real heat in it, no accusation. Just the truth, and a touch of warm concern.
“Yeah, I sorta lost it. Asshole bull.” He reached out, cupped Dillon’s face a little. “Hey.”
“Hey.” Dillon smiled, searching his eyes for a moment. “You hungry?”
“I am.” He nodded, thumb moving, petting some. “Guess we oughta eat, huh?”
“We ought. Before you fall over.” Dillon pressed a soft kiss to his thumb. “Not that I want to rush you.”
“I just want to be at the house, in the hot tub, with you.” Did he say that out loud?
“Man, that sounds so good. We have two weekends off coming down the pike.” Dillon got up and gave him a soft kiss, bustling around after to get the table set, get him a hot washcloth… Taking care.
“Come back with me?” He took one of the pills that Doc’d given him, washing it down with some milkshake.
“You know it. I kinda already asked someone to watch my place. Figured it would be easier than not, if you asked.” This whole thing between them was so new that they were both afraid to ask, sometimes.
“Yeah? Good deal. I’ll have to trade off with you, next break.” Maybe. Or not. Whatever Dillon wanted.
“Sure. You’d love fishing up by me, eh?” Sandwich, fries, the other shake, they were all set right by his hand.
“I do like fishing. I got a little bass boat for the pond. Nothing fancy.”
“I’ll take you fly fishing.” Warm fingers found his shirt, pulling and tugging until Dillon got it off him.
“Ain’t never done that.” He glanced down at the bruises. Damn.
“You want some ice, too?” Dillon was staring at his chest.
“I’ll be okay, honey. No worries.” He tried to flex, but damn.
“Well…” Looking skeptical, Dillon went ahead and ate, stealing peeks at him every few seconds.
He managed the shake and a bit of the sandwich before he gave up. “Can I borrow your shower?”
“You want me to come with you?” Popping up like a jack in the box, Dillon came over to help him up.
“I’d love that.” He nodded, took Dillon’s hand, feeling about ten thousand years old. “Remind me why I take on them bulls again?”
“Because you love your job, you’re good at it and sometimes you get stubborn.” A tug and a smile, and Dillon led him to the bathroom, which seemed bright as hell once the light was on.
“Shit.” He saw himself in the mirror and winced. “Jesus, I look like Frankenstein. Turn the light off.”
“I’m blind as a bat, Coke. How about we compromise and turn that weird heat lamp thing on?” The soft red glow was better, even if it made the walls seem all bloody.
“You wear contacts?” He loved all the weird little details.
“I do, and my night vision is for shit.” That lean body appeared as Dillon stripped down.
He got the water going, then slipped his shorts off and stepped in.
“God, Coke.” Dillon touched him, gentle as anything, tracing around the bruises.
He nodded, head under the water. “Feels good, you touching and all.” It felt more than good. Hell, it was like magic.
“Then I’ll keep on keeping on.” Dillon moved even closer, hands sliding up and down his back, easing things.
His hands landed on Dillon’s hips—he loved the unexpectedly solid feel of the man, the heat of him.
Dillon guided him back under the water a little farther, getting it really falling on him.
Damn, but that un-kinked his muscles. He stretched, hearing things crack and pop.
Shit, he was getting old. Still, he reckoned it was better than the alternative.
“I got you. Here, turn around.” They shifted, Dillon moving him to get to his back, which was the least tore up. Then he got him a massage.
There was this sound that poured out of him, loud enough that it startled him.
“Is that bad?” Not that Dillon stopped. No, sir. Those hands kept moving, fingers digging in to make him feel like an overcooked noodle.
“No. Not bad. Jesus, honey, I’m fixin’ to have to keep you.”
“Oh, good.” Dillon really worked him over, and the hot water hit his chest and belly, and damned if his knees didn’t get weak.
“Don’t stop.” He wasn’t sure if he said it out loud, and it felt so good he didn’t care if he did. Those hands were pure magic.
“Not going to. You know I have stamina.” Little butthead. Dillon lived up to his claim, though, massaging him into a puddle.
“Shit. I’d like to see you carry my heavy ass.”
“Well, for all I said I couldn’t a while ago, I bet I could. Of course, right now you’re all slippery.” The water started to cool off a bit, and Dillon was right there, turning it off, getting a couple of towels.
He let Dillon help him climb out of the tub and they set to drying each other off.
“There. Come on, Coke. You still have some shake left, and then you can crash, huh?”
“Now, I could hold you for a bit, you know.”
He got a bright smile, Dillon tickled as anything. “I can do that, babe. I really can.”
That little nickname made his belly jump, his cheeks heat. “Sounds good.”
Babe.
Damn.
Dillon led him to the bed, letting him sink down and propping pillows behind him. Lord, it was like having a day at the spa. Only without all the strangers and wax and shit.
Coke got Dillon settled in close, tucked in nice and easy and handed over the remote. It was damn near perfect.
Even when Dillon turned on some Japanese game show called Ninja something or other. That boy could be plain weird.
Good thing Coke liked him.