Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
“Hey, Cajun. How’s Bell doin’?”
Jesus, he’d got his phone ringer turned off, and he’d missed about ten zillion phone calls, easy.
Coke shook his head, heading into the kitchen to feed the dogs while he chatted.
What was worse was he didn’t even really miss it.
He’d found the thing plugged in, though, in the guest room, and decided to call Beau Lafitte.
“He’s better every day. Stubborn. Tired.”
“I bet. How’re you holding up? Y’all gonna have your turkey dinner there?” Thanksgiving. Right. Coke needed to find out what all he was supposed to do. He needed to call Nattie, too, find out what to send the kids from Santa…
“Shit. The family is all ready to do us up.” Beau snorted, and Coke had to grin.
“You think he’ll be home come Christmas?”
“I sure as shit hope so. How are you, cher?”
“Real good, real good. Me and Dillon, we’re just taking it easy.”
Dillon’d got him a bunch of pillows, and this bed was as good as his.
“Good. You needed some rest.”
“Yeah, it was a long finals.” And he was getting older every day.
“Tell me about it. That last ride was harsh.” Beau chuckled.
“No shit on that, Cajun. No shit on that.”
“Anyway, Balta is planning on deep-frying a turkey in the hospital parking lot.”
“Good Lord and butter.” He hooted, tickled bone-deep. “I’d like to see that, I surely would.” Except that he didn’t want to miss Thanksgiving here, with Dillon.
“You got snow and all.” Beau sighed, and the sound was a touch sad, but Coke reckoned the man had the right to be down. Hospitals wore on folks. “We might here, too, but I ain’t got outside in days.”
“Is… Is he gonna be okay? For real?” He should have moved faster, got in there, helped save Sam as well as Beau.
“He is. I promise, cher. I have never lied to you, huh?”
“No. No, you ain’t. If you need me to call Bonner’s daddy about a truck, I can.”
“That would be good, Coke. I just don’t have it in me to look right now.”
“I’ll handle it. You know I will.” He sighed, rubbed the back of his neck. “Okay, cowboy. I gotta make some phone calls.”
Jason. Nattie. Bonner.
“Okay, cher. You take care. Give clown-boy a noogie for Sammy.”
“I will, you.” He hung up and made himself another pot of coffee, feeling like there was a weight on his shoulders. He really needed to call folks. He did.
“Hey, babe. What’s up?”
He blinked over, surprised, realized he was rubbing the back of his neck. “Talking to Beau. Sammy’s doing better.”
“Yeah? They having Thanksgiving at the hospital?” Dillon came over to help out.
“Yeah. You want some coffee? I missed, like, ten thousand phone calls.”
“I do, and I know. None of them were urgent.” Dillon started massaging his shoulders.
This groan tore out of him, damn near hurting, really. He hated the fucking phone, which surprised him to think it, but there it was.
“Let it go for a bit, babe.” Dillon rubbed harder, really digging in.
“I…” His knees buckled some. “Fuck, that’s good.”
He shouldn’t just… But he did, damn it. He needed this for a bit.
“I got you, babe. I would tell you if anyone needed you.” Yeah. Yeah, Dillon was a good guy.
“Uh-huh. I got a wicked headache, you know?”
“I can tell.” Dillon took him by the hand, sat him down at the table.
He went, leaned his head on his hands, trying to stretch out a little. “I made us coffee.”
“You rock.” Something went into the microwave, and before he knew it, he had a nice, hot neck pillow on his skin.
“Oh, damn.” Dillon made him feel so fucking good. Like he wasn’t eighty thousand years old and busted.
“Mmm.” Dillon stroked the back of his head. “Better?”
“Yeah. Yeah, sorry, cowboy. I got all…” Tense. Aggravated. Worried. “…caught up.”
“No need to apologize, babe. You love your people. I get the benefit of that.” Dillon kissed the top of his head.
“You’re my people.” Sometimes he thought that he ought to be guilty for having someone who loved him so good.
“I am. So yours.” Now the slippery man just slid between him and the table, landing in his lap.
That made him grin, made him happy where nothing else could. “Well, hello there.”
“Hey, babe.” He got him a peck on the lips. “You just need to focus.”
“Focus.” Coke leaned and took another of those kisses.
“Mmmhmm. You need to be one with the clown.” That came with a little wiggle that made his eyes cross.
“I can handle that, I think.” His hands found Dillon’s hips, rubbed a bit. “It snowing outside?”
“It is. Just a light dusting.” Those lips rubbed his cheek, Dillon’s ass moving on Coke’s lap.
“That’s good. We oughta take a walk tomorrow morning, explore some.”
“Sure.” Those clever fingers moved up his arms, then to his shoulders, digging in again.
Coke hummed, his forehead against Dillon’s. “You got the neatest eyes, honey. Clear as all get out.”
“Yeah? I like yours. Kinda hazel-y.” They rubbed noses, too.
He took a deep breath, relaxed some. “We’re basking, cowboy.” It felt pretty damn good, actually.
“We are. There is no bad there. I’m thinking of getting us a heat lamp.” That had him chuckling.
“Lizard boy.” He swatted Dillon’s butt playfully.
“Anything for you, babe.” Dillon wiggled harder, his breath coming fast.
“You okay?” He leaned in, lips brushing Dillon’s again.
“I am.” Hugging him tight, Dillon hummed. “I’m here with you.”
“Yeah. Damn, we’re fixin’ to have a holiday, you and me. It… Shit, Cowboy. Sometimes it’s so good you just can’t believe it.”
“I believe.” That smile told him how frickin’ happy Dillon was.
How real it was.
“Come on.” He grabbed hold and stood, bringing Dillon with him. “Let’s go channel surf and play tonsil hockey.”
He had them cuddled up on the couch before he remembered the coffee.