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“I am resting. The parts that were injured. Nothing happened to my mouth… or my dick.” Dana grinned sexily.
Dana had Ford’s nose wide open and that fact no longer scared the shit out of him. He trusted Dana. Knew his heart was safe with him. “Don’t even think about it. I’m gonna bring my bag in here. All our hunting gear is still in the truck.”
Ford hadn’t left Dana’s side the entire forty-eight hours he’d been in the hospital.
“When I’m finished, you’re going to take your meds and catch a nap, while I figure out what we’re having for dinner.”
“I don’t need that medicine. I feel fine,” Dana bitched. “Besides, it makes me feel crazy.”
Ford sighed, tenderly running his hand over Dana’s hair while he lay there with his eyes drifting shut, a cute pout on his lips. He was a crappy patient. Like most men, Ford assumed. Dana didn’t like being doted on, and he didn’t like being told what he could and couldn’t do, but he already knew that about his brat.
“You’ll be too sore to think if you don’t take anything, babe.”
“Some Tylenol will be enough.” Dana waved at Ford dismissively.
“As long as you take the ones the doc gave you, that have codeine in them, I don’t care.” Ford got up and walked off.
Dana’s cell phone rang and he smiled – that brotherly affectionate one when he looked at the caller ID, and Ford knew it was Sway. He went about doing what needed done while Dana told Sway of their plans to stay there and asked him what time he was heading that way.
“How’s he doing, bro?” Brian signed, sitting across from him in the other recliner.
Ford took a long drink from his water bottle before he signed back. Usually he spoke to his brother out loud, but Dana was resting in the bedroom and he didn’t want him disturbed. That’s why they were watching sports highlights on mute.
Dana’s den was dark, comfortable and had only his touch all over it. A leather sectional, draped with homemade crocheted throws Sway’s mom had made for him. There was one brick wall with an actual wood-burning fireplace in the center. On the mantle were pictures of Dana with Sway and his family. He even had tall artificial plants in the corners and knickknacks on the end tables. If replica 1903 Colt WWII bullet shells could be considered knickknacks. The large television, complete with video gaming system and a sound bar connected to it was mounted on the shortest wall. The furniture was oversized and worn and the room smelled of leather with a faint hint of gun slick. Ford looked back over at Dana’s gun cabinet. It was a work of art. Taking up the entire length of the longest wall – it looked custom made – the oak gleaming under recessed lighting. Not only were Dana’s prize weapons inside – some rare, some antiques, some just expensive as hell – but also his awards. Multiple medals and plaques. Framed pictures of him at international competitions. Ford stared at them every time he was at Dana’s. He liked it here. Still, looking around, it was certainly more lived-in than his place. With his bare walls and sparse furnishings. Dana had an eighty-by-fifty, knitted tapestry of a large bullseye on the wood-paneled wall. Ford was surrounded by Dana. He felt home. Ford turned to his brother.
“He’s doing good. Strong as hell. Doesn’t hardly want me to help him do anything. He hates the way the drugs make him feel, but when he holds out on taking the pills, the pain is too much and he gets… cranky.”
Brian smirked at him. “You mean he turns into a bitching, unbearable asshole.”
Ford didn’t agree with his brother but he didn’t disagree, either. It was only seven in the evening and Dana had already bitten his head off twice. Ford was too happy for him to be alive to get upset by it. Dana could be as cranky as he wanted. The case was over and as soon as he was healed, he and Ford were out of there… out of the country.
“Ford.”
Ford jumped up like his ass was on fire when he heard Dana’s groggy voice call out from the back room and hurried down the hall. He heard his brother’s low, breathy laugh but he didn’t care.
Dana’s bedroom was just as comfortable and homey as the den. Decorated with bold, masculine browns and blues. His bed was big, with a soft down comforter folded down at the foot. He had a flat screen mounted in there too, with at least four hundred DVDs arranged immaculately in the entertainment stand underneath. The halogen lamp in the corner was on its lowest wattage, casting an ethereal, toasted-honey glow on the ceiling, making the room appear warm and peaceful. And his lover was resting comfortably.
