“Yeah.” Coke rested his forehead on the window.
“I love you, Coke. You know that, right?”
“I do. I’m so fucking tired, cowboy.” He could tell Dillon that, here in the dark.
“I know, babe.” Dillon rubbed, fingers moving in seemingly lazy circles. “I know. Soon we’ll go to my place and disappear for Christmas.”
“I can’t wait.” He wanted to go, so bad it ached. He wanted a few minutes of being Dillon’s, not being Gramps or Fearless Pharris or anyone else who had to save lives.
“Yeah. You. Me. Snow in the hot tub.”
He moaned—he couldn’t help it.
“That’s it, babe.” Kissing his shoulder, Dillon hummed.
“I want to spend some time away.” He wasn’t a good man for it, but it was true.
“Me too. Like soon.” He felt more than heard the chuckle.
“Yeah. Been a long week.”
“You know it, babe,” Dillon started rocking a little, like a backassward slow dance.
It felt damn good, though, so he went with it, letting Dillon move against him. Dillon sang some, hands moving on his chest and belly, nothing but comfort, nothing but touching for the sake of touching.
“You got good hands.”
“I like to touch you, babe.” Yeah. Yeah, Dillon had proven that over and over. Not even in a sexual way. Dillon was more tactile than anyone he knew.
“You got a thing for old bullfighters?”
“Only this one. He’s a little beat up and a lot scarred, so it’s never boring.” Dillon’s fingers slipped up to glide over his nipples.
“Mmm. You know, you and me, we gotta spend more time on the good touches.” His nipples agreed, perking right up. Bodies were funny things, wanting release from stress no matter how it happened.
“We do, don’t we?” Dillon’s soft laugh sent a gust of warm air over his back, and those clever fingers went right back to pinching and pulling before he was eased right down into the covers.
He chuckled right along, and it felt nice to have a laugh. Real good.
“Yours.” Dillon nuzzled his chin. “Sleep, babe. I got you.”
“Yeah?” He hadn’t been able to sleep a bit before, but… Yeah.
“Definitely.” A soft kiss was pressed against his mouth, and something hit the floor next to the bed. He thought maybe it was his phone.
Chapter Four
Dillon cranked up the speed on the treadmill, the sweat dripping in his eyes burning and stinging.
He didn’t think he could do it. Maybe the whole idea made him a terrible man. Maybe it made him a selfish bastard. Whatever it made him, he couldn’t go back to that hospital too many more times, what with Sammy lying there in that bed with all those bandages and machines, not making a lick of sense.
Sammy was awake now, right? It didn’t make Dillon a bad friend to want to go home. He couldn’t take seeing Coke go in there anymore, either. Every time Coke saw Sammy, his bullfighter aged another year.
Dillon ran faster, harder, thinking about how tired and small Coke had looked in that big king-sized bed, surrounded by bassets who were not allowed up there in this hotel.
It was time to go home. Now. To his place in Idaho, not to Texas, so he could control who called Coke. Coke was off work, damn it. Off work and a man, not an angel, not a fucking hero. Just a hurt, tired man who was aging faster than was right.
His legs were burning, his lungs heaving, but Dillon kept at it, needing to work off the hurt and fear and rage. Damn it all,this wasn’t right. Not for Sammy or Beau or Coop or Nate. And not for his Coke.
