Fuuuuuuuuuccccck.
Bo snorted, gasped, and jerked upright. Confusion melted into a hesitant smile. “Lucky, you’re awake!” He shifted in the chair to take Lucky’s uninjured hand, avoiding the IV needle taped to the back.
“What happened?” Lucky remembered a meeting gone wrong. What else?Think, Lucky, think!
Flames. Salters not making it out. Shit. “How’s Salters?”
“He’s fine. They treated him for smoke inhalation and sent him home.”
“The perps?”
“In custody. The one who gloated about killing you really can’t keep his mouth shut. Can you believe a damned judge got caught up in this?”
The fucking judge. Yeah, Lucky could. The case could wait a few minutes. First things first. “C’mere.”
Bo brought his dear face close enough for Lucky to run his lips over. He yanked back. “Ow!”
“You’ve got a busted lip.” Bo skimmed a finger gently down the side of Lucky’s face. “About a zillion bruises, and nurses picked splinters out of you.”
No more ignoring the elephant in the room. Lucky held up his hand. As if on cue, it gave a sharp throb. Daaaaammmmn!
Bo let out a long sigh. “They tried to save your hand, but you lost your little and ring fingers. I’m so sorry.”
Well, fuck. Bo speaking and removing all doubt killed Lucky’s hopes about being wrong.
Then again, dying in a raging inferno, or dying at all, versus a couple of fingers? No contest.
“I’m told with physical therapy you’ll be able to use the rest of your hand. You’ll just have to… adapt.” Bo squeezed Lucky’s good hand tightly.
The missing fingers throbbed, then again, that might be the drugs talking. “Bo, I…”
“We can always get your ring sized for your middle finger, or—”
“Bo!” Lucky pulled his hand away to place two fingers on Bo’s mouth. “It’s okay. Hell, I’ve bent over and kissed my ass goodbye more times than I can count. You think this little scratch is gonna stop me?”
A wrinkle formed between Bo’s eyebrows. “Are you sure?”
“Hand me my ring.”
Bo retrieved the ring and propped against the side of the bed. “What do you intend to do?”
Lucky placed the ring on his right hand, though the band made a tight fit. He flexed his fist. “That’s a better place for it. That’s the hand I jack off with, so the ring…”
Bo cut him off with a kiss.
Bits and pieces of conversation floated back to him. “What odds did the office betting pool give for me not coming back?”
“Ten to one, in favor of you coming back.”
Lucky snorted. “Let me guess. Keith is the holdout.”
“Nope. The rookie everyone calls Road Rage Robinson. Said if she loses she doesn’t lose much, but if she wins it’s a pretty big payout.”
Lucky couldn’t argue the logic, but the woman would lose the bet. “I’m coming back.”
“I know you are.”
Pain sliced through his hand and he grimaced.
