“I think he’s mostly tired.” Poor Coke was so wore out. “He and Natty and Coop all took a beating, though. Dillon just looks pissy.”
Sam chuckled, then met his eyes and spoke softly. “Dill. On. Cock. Yeah?”
“Yeah. You ready for me to let them in? This room you can have three or four folks at once.” He met those eyes. “I’ll be right here.”
Sam sighed again, but managed a wink.
“Be right back.” Beau poked his head out, smiling at Coke and Dillon, who stood just about six feet away in the hall. “Come on, y’all.”
They headed in, Coke going right to Sammy. “Hey, cowboy. God, it’s good to see you.”
Sam smiled, waved.
Dillon moved a little more slowly, taking it all in. Beau sat in the chair on the far side of the bed, watching.
“I thought we’d lost you, and that broke my heart.” Coke squeezed Sammy’s hand. “You’re the toughest bastard I know, that’s not a bullfighter, of course.”
Sammy snorted, whacked Coke playfully. Beau was tickled to see the strength returning to Sam’s limbs. They’d have him walking in no time.
Dillon came over, a grin wavering on his lips. “Hey, bud.”
“Nate. Running good to see you.” Sammy’s eyes cut over to him, checking in. It was getting better—Sam was figuring shit.
Dillon and Coke looked to him, too, and Beau just nodded like one of them silly toys. “It’s good.”
“Good.” Sammy took another deep breath. “Good to see y’all.”
Coke grinned. “Man, I bet you’re frustrated as all hell, having to talk slow. You almost sound like Will Lemont, all West Texas-y.”
Sammy hooted, the sound loud and chicken-y, just like always. Beau grinned, and even Dillon unbent a little.
Coke nodded. “You and him could get together, start talking.”
“Gon’ beat.”
“Yeah. You beat them, baby. Hard.” Beau just laughed until he was a little silly with it.
Dillon stared at him, eyes wide, and Sammy pinked, grinned. Beau sat up a little in his chair. He could call Sam baby if he wanted. He was through hiding. Through.
Coke smiled. “Will y’all be home in time for the holidays, do you think?”
“I think so.” God, Beau hoped so. “Sam has to spend some time at a therapy place, but they say he’s making great leaps and shit.”
Sammy frowned, shook his head, the wince still there. “I walk to go home. You don’t to go to the barn in Baton Rouge. I tell Boug. You, too. Home.”
Dillon bounced a little. “Yeah. I get that. We’re—we’re gonna go home after this, Sammy. I’m taking Coke to my place.”
“Good.” That was sure. Sammy smiled at Dillon. “Good, Dill. Dill. Dill. On.”
“There you go. Good Dill.” Dillon winked, and Sam took a swipe at him, too.
“You sure y’all don’t need us, Beau?”
“We’re good. I promise, if we need anything, we’ll call Dillon.” Dillon nodded, and he knew that had been the right thing to say.
“You’re sure?”
At his agreement, Coke’s shoulders relaxed. “The bassets are ready to get out of the hotel room.”
