Loved it in that completely fascinated, totally there sort of way that made him feel better than an entire screaming arena of fans.
Coke was his number one fan, and Dillon loved it. He hummed a little at the prospect. “So, what did you think of Christmas with Susan’s kids? Madhouse, huh?”
“Lord have mercy, that was fun.” Coke chuckled. Uncle Poppy had turned out to be a spectacular Santa Claus, and those kids adored him.
“Yeah. You think Sammy will like what I got him?”
Coke arched one eyebrow. “Well… I think your question ought to be, is Beau gonna kick your ass?”
“Nah. Beau is afraid of my ass cooties.” Had he just said that out loud?
Coke just chortled, slapping one thigh. “Fucking ass cooties?”
“Yep. The way it wiggles, he figures it has to be cooties.”
“Cooties, talent. Whatever. I’ll take it.”
“You do. Frequently.” Driving. Not fucking. Down boy.
“Every time you let me.” Oh, he did love that growl.
“Any time.” He meant it, too. He figured Coke knew that, but it bore repeating.
Coke’s grin was totally satisfied, almost wolfish.
Christmas had done the man good.
“So. Do you want to sing? Play the alphabet game?”
“Until we get somewhere with road signs, the alphabet game will be tough. Let’s sing.” Coke couldn’t sing at all, really, but he didn’t sing well with his whole heart.
Dillon loved it. Loved to listen to Coke bellow out AC/DC or yodel with Hank Williams. Of course, today he thought maybe he wanted a little old time gospel.
They started withHave a Little Talk, then moved intoOn the Wings of a Dove. Coke’s voice ringing out, happy as anything he’d ever heard.
They moved on to a couple of Christmas carols, even if they were a day late, and ended off withThe Old Rugged Cross.
Even Pansy joined in on that one.
That had them both breathless with laughter, and carried them on to their first pit stop. No one had called, and Dillon took that as a good sign.
Maybe they’d get to do things his way after all.
Chapter Twenty
It was about nine when his phone started ringing and Coke grabbed it out of his pocket, flipping it open when he saw AJ’s name. “Hey, son.”
“Gramps? Oh, God. Gramps, are you coming?”
That wasn’t worry. That was panic.
He sat straight up in the hotel bed were they’d stopped for the night. “I am. What’s wrong?”
“There was a wreck. A bad one. Mom. Dad. Denny, Dallas, and my oldest girl. Gramps, I don’t know what to do.”
Fuck a duck backward. “Breathe, son. Breathe. I’m about ten hours out. Which hospital?”
He swatted Dillon, nodded to the suitcases. They had to go.
