“Yeah, yeah. I want tile floors and a decent kitchen, but it’s got good bones.”
“And a better sofa. Something less…” Coke waved one hand.
“Swamp thing?” Dillon said. “Yeah. I expect crawdads to come out when bacon is cooking.”
“Mostly nutria nests.”
He stared at Beau, eyes huge, and Sammy began to laugh, just hooting like an owl.
Beau chuckled. “Eat, y’all. Sammy and I will hit the road after. You’ll come see us for spring break, right?”
Coke nodded. “We will. We’ll need some time off by then.”
“There you go.” Sammy looked so pleased that Dillon nodded.
“You got it. We’ll bring some large animal to roast.”
“Bacon,” Coke said. “Please. I got a hole in the center of my belly.”
“Hey, I didn’t make the coffee,” Beau said, making them all crack up again.
The pancakes sure hit the spot, Coke adding a ton of Mrs. Butterworth’s.
Soon they were huggingSam and Beau goodbye, the guys towing Tag’s truck behind the big trailer. “He’ll make Sammy nuts, but he’ll come get it,” Beau said.
“Thanks, Cajun,” Coke said. “I appreciate it.”
“Any time, cher.”
The quiet once Beau had left was super weird. Not awkward, just Cajun-less. Dillon had the urge to do a round off or something.
Coke finished up the last of the dishes and started locking the cabinets up. “You about ready to head home?”
“I am.” God, he was grateful Beau had offered to take Tag’s truck. He had Coke for nine hours.
Trapped in the truck. All to himself.
It was like the offer of heaven in a Ford F150.
The dogs were ready, too. As soon as they packed the truck, the babies were in their back seat nest, their seatbelts ready in case traffic got bad. Coke was in the passenger seat and Dillon had the satellite radio tuned in to Willie and Waylon.
They could sing. Chat. Stop for weird roadside food.
“You got your neck pillow, babe?” Dillon asked.
“I do.” Coke reached over as they pulled out of the camp. “I’m sorry about all this mess, you know. I wish you’d never found out about…all of the things.”
“Hey, stop it.” He took Coke’s hand, glad they had an automatic. “I needed to know.”
“I just… I have a lot of regrets. I wanted to be a good man.”
“You are.” Dillon was really trying not to be frustrated. “You know that Tag, Beau and Nate all said you’re the best of us? We all mean it, too.”
Coke nodded, but the expression of worry was still there. That belief—that guilt and concern right there was going to get Coke killed one day, damn it. It was going to push him one bull too far, one rescue too many, and his Coke would be gone. Because somehow the man’s parents had implanted in the damn fool’s head that it was his job to rescue everyone, especially the sick fuck that had shared uterine space with the best person of any of them.
Dillon didn’t think any amount of talking would change it, either, though he would try. He needed Coke in his life.
“You know, I don’t love you in spite of all this, right?”
