“I don’t think the good Lord Himself could make us not people, Dillon. He could call one of us home, but you’ll always be one of mine.”
Dillon squeezed his leg, not saying much, but the singing got a little watery.
Coke leaned back, eyelids getting heavy. “We staying in Utah tonight, or driving straight through?”
He wasn’t too used to snow-driving, but he’d sure try.
“We’ll stay in Salt Lake, babe. I got us a room at the Radisson. It has a pool and hot tub.”
“I do like me a hot tub.” He took one breath, then another and another, feeling lighter with each one.
“I know. I like you liking. And hey, my legs haven’t met Adam’s rope in ages.”
“Thank you, God.” Those poor legs had been just brutalized.
“Yeah. Tag is still apologizing.” Dillon chuckled. The man loved to tease Adam Taggart.
“I told you that you were lucky he’s talking to you again already.”
“I know.” Dillon hummed along with another song, this one that Brad kid. Something with cloth last name, right?
“What did you want for Christmas?”
“Huh?” Dillon kinda stared at him for a moment before turning back to the road. “Uh. Oh, I don’t know. What about you?”
He thought about it, really thought. “I want to rest and laugh and drink coffee and watch Christmas specials. Normal stuff. With you.” Coke hadn’t ever done that, not quiet and home and all.
“Oh.” Dillon laughed and whacked the steering wheel. “That sounds great, eh? Rudolph and Frosty.”
“The Grinch andWhite Christmas.”
“Oh, yeah.” Dillon rubbed his leg a little. “I almost forgot Christmas was coming.”
“Yeah. This thing with Sammy just sucks.”
“It does. But he’s gonna be fine.” Dillon was back to drumming again, this time on Coke’s leg.
“If he can figure out I’m not Nattie…” Sam couldn’t get his words right for love or money. That scrambled brain was all about the speech center, according to Doc.
“He knows. His mouth just doesn’t anymore.”
“Yeah.” Thank God it wasn’t Dillon. That man needed his words.
“You okay, babe? Need me to get food or drinks or something?” There’d be stretches of highway with nothing where they were going, and Dillon was always thinking about him.
“I’m a go-baby. I’m good.”
“’Kay. Well, you let me know if you want to stop.” Dillon hummed some more, than sang, and sooner than not it had his head nodding, his eyes heavy.
His phone woke him, and he blinked awake, scrabbling with his good hand, trying to figure out where he was, who was calling.
He fumbled for his phone, but Dillon got it first, and the sound suddenly cut off. “No, babe. Sleep.”
“I... Could be Jase or the Cajun…” He blinked, all babyheaded. So sleepy.
“Nope. Was Ace.” Dillon had a real hard-on for Ace sometimes. Said the son of a bitch wanted too much access.
“Oh.” Then that was cool. Coke patted Dillon’s leg clumsily. “You ‘kay?”
