He would.
More than that, he wanted to.
Stoned to the gills, Sky had opened up to him, never asking for help, but to stay.
It would be hard, but it would be good. They could reconnect. Figure out what happened next together. Start over. There was no telling how much Sky would recover or how long it would take, but Sky was more and more like the cowboy he remembered every day. Like the husband he remembered.
“All right, Adam. I’d better get my butt to the hospital, but I’ll be checking my emails tomorrow morning and getting caught up.” In a pinch he could fly up for court once a week and fly back. The business could cover that.
He might have to ask the champ for some cash to cover this damn hotel, though.
Apparently Sky more than had it. With his luck, all Sky’s cash was hidden under the seat in the trailer and was headed to Oregon.
Damn.That was totally possible, wasn’t it?
“Good to talk, Beckett. Don’t forget to take care of yourself too.”
He nodded, smiling. Adam looked after him like family. “I need to be better. I will.”
“I’ll hold you to it. Talk soon.”
“Thanks, Adam. Bye.”
He hung up and looked down at Walter, demonic evil incarnate, who was sound asleep across his lap. That was the right idea, wasn’t it? Maybe he didn’t need to rush out. Maybe he could catch a catnap too.
8
“I’m not going to a fucking nursing home.” Sky was going to hit someone. “I can do this!”
He wasn’t sure what “this”entailed exactly, but he was sure he could do it. He was.
“You do. You’re going to have to suck it up, cowboy.” Doc put a hand on his good leg. “It’s not a suggestion. You have to go. Let us get you in the wheelchair, the ambulance is waiting.”
Where was Beck? He needed his husband. Beck would straighten this shit out.
“I’m not doing this. I’ll just go…” Home? Fuck, he didn’t have one of those. Motherfucker. “Please, Doc. Please, let me leave.”
“Son, you can’t even get out of bed on your own yet.”
“Okay.” Beck walked in all smiles. “I took care of the transfer paperwork and you’re all checked out. Ready to go, hunk?”
“No.” He’d been in rehab places to see folks—they were stinky and sad and terrifying. They were where men went to die. “If I get out of bed, can I go home?”
“No. You need rehab to get your strength back.”
Doc was quick to answer. But Beck was watching him, dark eyes serious, and finally came close and took his hand.
“What do you think is going to happen in rehab, Sky? You’re not going there and being forgotten. I’m taking you up north, so you’ll be close to my house. Ours. Sorry. Our house.”
God, his head hurt. He didn’t know what to say, what to do. This was a dream and a nightmare, all wrapped up in teeth-clenching pain with a healthy dose of shame. He’d watched the wreck on his phone, over and over, trying to remember it, trying to remember even part of the ride.
He didn’t.
He didn’t remember anything.
He looked at Beck, begging his lover to help, to understand.
“One week. Give it one week, Sky. Okay? If it’s miserable, we’ll figure something else out. The house isn’t ready for you yet. I need a few days. Can you give it a week?”