“Oh.” Scooting over, he got where Coke didn’t have to turn to see him, holding on to that good hand so tight that he worried it might break, too.
“There you are.” His bullfighter stared at him. His. “Your shoulder. It’s better?”
“Mostly, yeah. It’s just sore now.” If he didn’t get to kiss Coke soon, he would explode.
“Good. I shoulda listened to you better. They had to fix my hand.” Coke kept staring at him, like he was the most amazing thing the man had ever seen.
“Well, it was all black.” Dillon couldn’t take it anymore. He leaned up and gently pressed his mouth to Coke’s, trying not to move that poor neck.
“Cowboy.” Coke moaned for him, soft and low. “I missed you so.”
“I missed you, too. Scared me, Coke. Please don’t do that to me again.” Not that he hadn’t been on the scare and guilt thing, too.
“Okay.” He got a smile, then a long, heavy-lidded look. “I don’t suppose you want a nap?”
“I could so go for a nap.” He was exhausted, and relief made him a little giddy. “You got a set up for your back in the bedroom?”
Coke tried to nod, stopped. “Adam got me a whole pully deal set up to help me.”
“Oh, wow.” Adam was a great guy. Mr. Rebound. Always there when some lovelorn fool needed him. Lord. “Come on. I’ll get that glass when we get up.”
“‘kay.” Coke scooted forward, ass sliding a little so he could lever himself up.
Dillon got them down the hall, sans glass, and got Coke settled before stripping off. “It’s hot here.”
“It’s July.” The ceiling fan was whirring, the little set of ropes and pulleys a little fascinating.
“Yeah, but I needed to bring more shorts.” He watched Coke maneuver into bed, waiting to crawl in, worried he’d hurt something. He didn’t want to hurt Coke anymore.
“We’ll get you more. C’mere.” That poor hurt hand was stretched out, arm offered to him.
Dillon slid into bed next to Coke, letting the cool sheets and the warm skin of Coke’s arm soothe him. He just needed to rest his bruises. So did Coke.
“Rest, now, huh? I’ve got you. Oh, and Coke?”
“What, honey?” Coke’s eyes were already closed, brace cradling the man’s head.
“Promise me you’ll never call me son again.”
Chapter Thirty-One
It took him about an hour to get from bedroom to bathroom to kitchen. It took another twenty minutes to sweep the glass into a pile.
Then Coke stood in the hallway, staring at the little splintery, shattery mess.
He hadn’t the foggiest fucking idea how he was going to get it up off the floor.
He leaned against the wall and slid down until his butt hit the ceramic tile. Then he propped his knee against the dustpan handle and used his good hand to sweep the glass in. Go him.
Except now he was down here.
With the glass.
On the floor.
Dillon was going to have a cat.
The thought of Dillon, sleeping in Coke’s bed where he belonged made him smile, eased hurts that went way deeper than something a surgeon could dig at.
