Sammy chuckled. No, he wouldn’t. Adam couldn’t be good for love or money.
Beau laughed with him. “Yeah, okay maybe not. Still, they’re all gonna help me drive home, so we’ll put up with ‘em.”
“He…” Sam nodded, trying to find the right words. “He loves you real good, Boug. But he ain’t me.”
“He’s not, and that’s the truth.” Blinking real hard, Beau nodded. “You’re it for me.”
“I know.” His finger traced the little scar at Beau’s lip.
“Good.” Beau kissed his finger. “Your control is getting better, baby. Go you.”
“Gotta. Want loving someday.”
“Hell, yes.” That smile went nuclear hot, and he was relieved that Beau still wanted him, still needed him.
He grinned, a tightness easing in his chest. His Boug.
They rubbed noses a second before Beau climbed to his feet. “I got some paperwork to do. You ought to rest up some more so we can move you tonight.”
He was tired of resting, tired of being in here.
Still, he nodded. He just had to get out of here, then all these fucking rules would ease off.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Beau was going to kill Sammy.
That was a shame, considering all they’d done to save the stupid fool’s life. Damn the man. Beau sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Baby, please. You have to lie down.”
“Been lying over for a orange days.” Sammy was so tired the man was making less and less sense.
They’d been on the road for nearly twenty hours of a thirty-five hour trip. Sam had been trying to get up and do shit, from going out to the McDonald’s when they’d parked to trying to repack his duffel so shit fit better. They’d tied it up good when Sam wouldn’t wear the crash helmet thingee to go outside.
“Poot, I know you’re wanting to get up and get on, but you get an infection and they’ll put you back in the hospital.”
“I got all bugs, Beau!” Sammy stared at him, chest rising and falling, hands clenched into fists.
Poor Sam. Beau knew what it was like the day after you got out of the hospital. You went a little nuts. “You want me to read to you?”
“No. No. I.” Sam shook his head, obviously agitated as fuck, scratching. “Bugs, Boug. I cain’t.”
“No. There aren’t any bugs, baby.” Sam must be itchy. That came from all the needles and tape and shit. That and the rattled brain and moving vehicle. “You’re good. Come with me.”
He was surprised when Sammy followed him, hand latching on to his, but Sam did.
Beau eased them down on the bed, which was covered with pillows and shit, all with little sterile pad covers. The Taggarts had gone a little crazy at the pharmacy. Sammy kept a hold of him, all the way down. He cradled that tore-up head all the way down, making sure nothing bumped.
“I got you, baby. Shit, I missed this.” He had. He’d missed holding Sam so bad.
Sam made this noise—damn near like a sob—then the man curled in close, legs twining with his.
“Shh. Shh.” Hell, Sammy was way more tactile than him, needed the touching more than he did. Poor baby had to be crazy.
“Boug…” Sammy was just shaking but good and Beau held on, making those nonsense noises. He let his hands move, let himself touch and soothe and all, thanking God for every bit of skin. Stupid ass had damn near died saving him. Fuck, Beau loved him.
“It’s okay, Poot. It’s okay. We just need to rest a bit. Been a long couple of weeks, huh?”
“Yeah. I miss for your winning. I don’t never missed that before.”
