Lucky put his all into loving Bo, expressing his appreciation for his man with every tongue stroke.
And increased the pace of his hand.
Bo lost the battle not to thrust. He arched up, muscles straining. “Ah… Ah…” The back of his head hit the wall the moment he let go, filling Lucky’s mouth.
And damned if Bo’s coming didn’t tip Lucky over the edge.
Lucky tensed, any second now. Oh, one second more… He jerked, warm fluid coating his fingers as he came. And came. And came. So fucking good. He toppled onto Bo, totally winded, and buried his face in Bo’s neck. Laughter escaped him.
“What’s so funny?” Bo lifted Lucky’s chin with two fingers.
“Nothing. Everything.” How to explain the joy of life, of looking the grim reaper in the eye so many times and walking away? The total absurdity of the past few weeks. Too much to take.
The laugher grew harsher, more of a cry. Lucky held Bo, sobbing. Bristol. Why? He might have been an asshole, he might have tried to kill Lucky, but he’d been kin. Lucky’s brother. God, it hurt.
“Shh…” Bo held him, wrapped Lucky in comfort he didn’t deserve and never wanted to live without.
He cried for his parents, who’d lost a son, for his other brothers and sister. For his grandparents. They shunned him, sure. But they weren’t bad people. And they’d lost one of their own. No telling how yet.
Bo ran a wet washcloth over Lucky’s skin, staying away from his abdomen, washing him, caring for him. Lastly, he washed the salt and tears from Lucky’s face, kissed him. Let him know without words,I’m here for you.
The water cooled. Lucky shivered.
“C’mon. Let’s get out of here.” Bo reached beneath Lucky’s armpits and lifted.
They toweled off and wound up in the bedroom. Lucky sank down onto the bed.
Bo remained standing. “I need to get packed if I’m leaving tomorrow.”
I don’t need reminding.Lucky batted his eyes. “You keep telling me to rest, right? I’ll sleep better with you beside me. We’ll worry about the morning when it gets here.”
“Oh, all right. But take your medicine.”
Lucky lay on the bed, Bo in his arms. He woke up long enough to down a sandwich and watch a few episodes ofSouth Bend Springswith Bo.
Today. He had today.
Chapter Twenty-two
Lucky waited until Bo started snoring to wriggle out from under his arm and slip from the room. He settled on the back deck, Moose playing footstool, and texted:Charlotte?
I’m here. Barely.
How could he say this?Are you okay? Are Mom and Dad okay?
Lucky stared at his phone’s screen. Seconds stretched into minutes. Too many minutes. Maybe Charlotte went to sleep.
Lucky nearly dropped his buzzing phone before managing to answer the call. “H… Hello?”
“We talk on the phone now, Rich. I’m numb, Mom’s doing as well as can be expected and putting on a front ‘because we haven’t told Dad, Dallas, or Daytona about Bristol yet.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Why are you sorry? You didn’t put a gun to Bristol’s head and make him do illegal shit.”
Anger. Loud and clear. Lucky’s therapist once told him about the stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. The venom in Charlotte’s voice said she’d passed denial a few miles back.
“Still, I’m sorry. I’ve given y’all nothing but grief. At least you had a few good years with him.”
