Chapter 19 #2
Christopher blinked at him as if coming out of something of a dream.
“I bet you do. You really are a protector at heart, just like me. Look, man. I know that you won’t always be right here, but it makes me happy to know that I’m going to have someone who really cares about Seamus to be on the lookout for him. ”
“You have my word on it.” Dawson thought this was time to shake hands again because it was like they were stealing a deal.
“Good man,” Topher grinned. “Well, now that we’ve solved all the problems of the world, you want another beer?”
He looked down at the beer bottle in his hands, surprised to find that it was two-thirds empty. “Yeah, I think I could really handle that.”
Topher got up, but he never made it to the fridge.
As predicted by Chris, Nick came flying into the kitchen, panic written all over his face.
“Christopher, Jesus, what is this?” He had his phone in his hand, and there was a picture of them from the restaurant, Dawson standing in between the freaks with the paint and Christopher standing between Dawson and Seamus and the ladies.
Somebody really had an amazing angle on that.
Christopher shared a glance with him, then set the beer aside and nodded at Dawes. “Come on babe, let’s go to the bedroom and I’ll tell you all about it. Night, Dawson.”
“Night, man. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Nick gave him a hard once-over, as if looking to make sure he wasn’t hurt. But then he took Christopher’s hand and dragged him out of the room.
He had to grin at that because he understood it was important to make sure the one you loved was okay. And he appreciated that Nick had had enough concern for him to check to see if he was fine.
He sat there for a firm minute with his warm beer, pondering getting another one, like Christopher had suggested, but then he decided he needed to go check on Seamus.
The man had crashed out so hard, but he’d taken a pill, and a lot of times that could wake a man up with some deep nausea and a funky head.
So he grabbed a couple of bottles of water, a bowl of fruit out of the fridge, and some cheese and sausages in a little tray for himself. Then he headed to the bedroom, wanting to put his eyes on Seamus. The need was deep-seated, and something he wasn’t going to fight.
Seamus lay on his stomach, his bad leg straight out on the bed.
His good one bent up at an angle, his head turned to one side as he snored lightly.
He wasn’t wearing any clothes, so he was insanely beautiful that way.
All that golden skin on display, that tight, hard ass in the air like an inchworm.
Dawson had the terrible urge to slap it ba-bam and see what would happen, but he knew better.
His lover needed his rest. He set the fruit and the water bottles aside on the bedside table, then crawled up in the other side of the bed and turned the TV on real low.
Seamus reached for him immediately. Automatically. “Darl, you okay?”
“Go back to sleep, baby. I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?” One bloodshot blue eye cracked open. “I’m so sorry about the restaurant.”
“Hey. You didn’t do it. If anything, Christopher promises me that that it was all your mom’s fault anyway.”
“Oh, absolutely.” Seamus rolled over, snuggling him.
Fuck, that boot was scratchy against his leg.
“I’m the least controversial human being alive.” Seamus chuckled softly. “I’m just a stupidly boring good guy.”
“I like good guys.”
“I love you, darl.” Seamus smiled at him.
And of course, of course his lover would be a goofy, happy stoner. Of course he would.
“You’re like one of the good guys. You’re my hero. Not like a fake one—you’re really a hero. So cool.” Seamus stared at him, eyes fighting to focus. “Man, why’d you decide to stop hating me?”
He blinked, stunned by the question. “Shay, I never hated you.”
“Oh nonsense. You thought I was a piece of shit. What made you change your mind?”
He didn’t want to have this discussion, but he couldn’t not respond. “Oh babe, it wasn’t that I thought you were a piece of shit. It’s that I was jealous.”
“Of my money?”
“No, the fact that you’re a really good man, and people like you.” Because that wasn’t a shitty thing to admit. Fuck. “Your parents like you. People like you. The fans like you. If you look about you up online, no one says anything ugly. Maybe about a movie, but not about you.”
Seamus shook his head, but didn’t say anything, just kept petting him.
“And I was jealous. My friend Sterling—you’ll meet him on the weekend—now he told me that I was being an idiot, and he was right.”
“Shhh. You’re not an idiot. And people like you.”
“Hmm.” He stroked Seamus’s hair. “People respect me, I reckon, but—”
“Nope.” Seamus raised up on one elbow, peering at him. “I like you. My team likes you. My mom likes you.” Seamus kissed his chest. “You can be grumpy and hard to get to know, but I’m not lying. You’re my bloody hero.”
Dawson found he was having trouble swallowing. His throat was dry, his lips parted on words that didn’t really want to come out. Because his first instinct was to naysay it, but there Seamus was telling him he loved him and that he was amazing. Who the hell was he to deny Seamus’s feelings?
So he carded his fingers through that glossy, honey-colored hair and smiled. “I love you too, baby.”
Seamus’s expression turned into this beaming smile. “Yeah, you do?”
“Of course I do. How could I not love you? You’re all that and a bag of chips, baby.”
“I love that.” Seamus kissed his chest, clearly not ready to do anything about it, he was so drugged up and hurting, but Dawson didn’t care.
He touched Seamus where he could and soothed him back towards sleep. “We can talk about the rest of it later, okay? I just want you to know that I never hated you. I just hated myself for being mad at you.”
“I’m glad you’re not mad at me anymore.” Seamus pressed against him, getting heavier and heavier as sleep took him back over, and Dawson let him go, humming a little to use the vibrations to get Seamus to drop off.
He still wasn’t sleepy, but he would watch over his lover now and keep him as safe as he possibly could because that was not a job for him, it was a fucking privilege.