Too Stupid to Live(Romancelandia) (37 page)

“The guy with the bat, I think he was about to smash Miller’s head in when they had him on the ground. I mean . . . I thought they were going to
kill
him. That’s when I got up and jumped on the guy’s back.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Ian moaned. Sam squeezed his hand again.

Detective Johnson smiled ferally. “And maybe we can get attempted murder, too,” he said, jotting down notes. He was recording this, so Sam wasn’t sure what he needed notes for.

It took forever, and by the time his interview with the detective ended, Sam was exhausted. Ian slipped off for a minute, but came back before Sam was completely out. He had something in his hands. “What’s that?” Sam mumbled.

“Clothes. I sent Nik and Jurgen to my place to get some for you. They’re releasing you from the hospital tonight, as long as you stay with me. Remember the doctor told us that?”

Huh
. “Not really.” Sam took the clothes though. He wasn’t into hospital gowns.

Ian accompanied him into the little bathroom off the cubicle to help him dress. But as soon as the door was shut, Ian grabbed Sam so tightly he could barely breathe. He could feel Ian’s arms shaking around him. Sam withstood it as long as he could, but soon he had to say, “Ian, my chest . . .”

Ian let him go so fast Sam swayed. “I’m sorry,” he gasped, holding Sam just tightly enough to keep him upright.

“Can we sit down for a minute?”

Ian sat him on the floor, Sam’s back to his chest, leaning against a wall. Sam sighed and rested on him, relaxing into Ian’s heat.

After a minute, Ian started talking.

“I’m so sorry for yesterday,” Ian whispered in Sam’s ear.

“I know, Ian. You told me.” Sam stroked his hand, trying to comfort him. “I believe you.”

“I do love you, Sam. So much.”

Sam lifted Ian’s hand and kissed it. Now was the moment to say he loved Ian, right? He opened his mouth.

Ian kept talking, though. “I’m not really good enough for you, Sam, I know—Ow!”

Sam had sat up straight, clipping Ian’s chin with his shoulder. He struggled out of Ian’s hold and turned around, straddling Ian’s lap.

“Did I hurt you? I’m sorry.” Sam checked Ian’s chin, looking for blood and ignoring the throbbing in his own shoulder. He pried Ian’s hand off his face to inspect it for damage.

“Sam, I’m all right. You just surprised me.”

Sam looked into his eyes. “You surprised me.”

“I did?”

“How could you think you aren’t good enough for me when you’re so good
to
me?”

Ian sucked in a breath. “I’m not good to you. I used you.”

Sam shrugged his not-throbbing shoulder. “No, you didn’t.”

“Yeah, I did.”

“Not really.” Ian gave him an exaggeratedly stupid look. “Maybe at first,” Sam conceded. He had to duck his head to admit it, but, “It wasn’t really that . . . I’d never been used for sex before. It was sort of, um, novel. Flattering.”

“Oh, kiddo,” Ian said softly, kissing him. “But I also wasn’t good to you yesterday. I let you think—”

“Ian, it was a mistake. A miscommunication. Oh, hey, we had the Big Mis.”

Ian wrinkled his forehead. “What’s that?”

“It’s short for ‘Big Misunderstanding’—a commonly used plot device in romance novels. Never mind, just go on.”

“I should have been there for you tonight too. Those pricks might not have—”

Sam slapped his hand over Ian’s mouth. “You wouldn’t have been there even if we hadn’t had the Big Mis. You were at work. No guilt,” he said sternly.

Ian raised his eyebrows.

“I mean it,” Sam said. “No guilt.”

Ian rolled his eyes, then licked Sam’s palm. Sam removed his hand.

Unfortunately, Ian still felt he had transgressions to confess. “I told you I loved you during sex. Turns out that’s some kind of taboo also.”

“But you
do
love me, you just told me so again.”

Ian took a deep breath and held it. “I just need to know if you . . . feel like that for me, or if you maybe think you could someday.”

Sam stared at him. “Love you?”

Ian nodded, eyes downcast.

“Are you
insane
?” Ian’s eyes flew up to look into his. “Of course I love you, Ian. Everyone but you can tell. Nik knows, Jurgen knows, Miller knows, everyone. You’re the only one who doesn’t seem to know.”

Ian swallowed. “So are you saying you
do
love me?”

“Yes. Ian, I’m crazy about you. I love you. You’re everything I ever wanted. You—”

Ian interrupted him with a kiss. “Let’s go home,” he whispered, then gave him another peck.

On the way home, they filled Sam’s prescription for yet more “good drugs.” By then, Sam’s head pounded even worse. “I thought they weren’t supposed to give these things to people with concussions,” he moaned when Ian returned to the truck from the pharmacy.

Ian handed him a bottle of water and two pills. “That’s just a myth.”

“Oh, that’s good.” Sam took his pills.

By the time they made it home—to Ian’s place—Sam could barely stand he was so loopy; Ian had to help him stay upright. Nik and Jurgen were there, an empty wine bottle on the coffee table, and an obviously drunk Nik with his head in Jurgen’s lap on the couch.

Nik sprang up when they walked in. “Oh my God, I was so worried!” He rushed toward Sam, trying to hug him.

Ian wouldn’t let go of him. “He’s injured,” he barked. “Be gentle with him.”

“Oh, that’s so sweet. He wants you to be gentle with me,” Sam told Nik. “That’s my bear laird.”

“I will, Sam, I will. I’ll be gentle.” Nik gripped Sam’s hand. “Tell your laird bear that.”

“Bear laird,” Sam corrected. “I was going to call him laird bear, but he didn’t like that one.”

“Oh my God,” groaned Jurgen. “Nikky, he’s home. Let’s get your drunk butt to bed.”

Nik flapped a hand at his boyfriend. “I’m not done talking to ’im.” He turned back to Sam, pulling on his hand. “C’mon, sit with me.”

As they sat, Ian helping him aim himself in the right direction, there seemed to be some form of communication going on between Jurgen and Ian. It involved a lot of eye rolling.

Ian glared at Nik. “You have five minutes,” he said, then kissed Sam. “I’ll be right back, kiddo.”

“’Kay.” Sam nodded, but it overbalanced him and he fell back against the cushion. Jurgen snorted.

“Tell me all about what happened,” Nik said, petting his hand.

Sam tried, but somehow they ended up talking about the size of his nose.

“It’s not that big!” Nik exclaimed, waving his hand so vigorously he had to grab Jurgen’s knee to keep from falling off the couch. Jurgen sighed.

“Is too,” Sam pouted. “It’s freakishly big. It’s a beak! I got called Big Bird in high school. People were always asking me if Snuffleupagus was a top.”

“Tha’s weird. You’d think he’d be a bottom.” Nik frowned in confusion.

Sam shrugged. “I know. Thought so too.”

“Your hips are much smaller than Big Bird’s.”

Sam sniffed. “Thank you.” He sighed and slumped against the arm of the couch, feeling a bit off-kilter.

“So, Bert or Ernie?” Nik asked.

“Ernie for sure. Total top.” Sam threw his hand out for emphasis and knocked over the empty wine bottle. Empty bottles could be ignored. Jurgen picked it up.

“Definitely.” They nodded at each other in complete agreement for a few seconds. “They both have big noses, you know. And they found a forever kinda love.” Nik giggled, singing “forever kinda love.” Jurgen snorted.

Sam rolled his eyes. “They’re
puppets
. I,” he pointed at his chest for emphasis, “am not a
puppet
.”

He could see Nik fighting not to point out they were actually Muppets. Sam gave him a narrow-eyed look for moral support. After a few seconds of biting his lips, Nik managed, “I have a big nose.”

“But it looks good on you. Your nose has character! My nose is just big, and beaky. Like . . . like
Beaker
!”

Jurgen mumbled and shifted on his small piece of the couch.

Nik stared at Sam. “Who’s Beaker again?”

Ian walked in with an exasperated sigh. “C’mon, Sam,” he said, stopping in front of him. “Your nose is fine. I like it big.” Then he leaned forward and pulled Sam up from the couch.

Sam giggled. “Did you hear? He likes it big,” he whispered to Nik.

Jurgen snorted and let his head fall back on the cushion.

“Time for bed,” Ian said, picking Sam up and making his head swim.

“But wait!” Nik said. “I have to tell him what happened with Miller.”

“Tell him tomorrow,” Ian said, walking out of the room.

“Are you carrying me?” Sam peered into his face.

“I am, kiddo.” Ian’s voice sounded strained.

Sam kissed him on the neck as they left the room, and heard Nik ask Jurgen, “How come you never carry me to bed anymore?” Then he shrieked, “Put me down!”

Sam laid his head on Ian’s shoulder and yawned. “I wanna know about Miller.”

Ian kissed his forehead. “He’ll be all right. You can find out more in the morning. Now you’re going to bed.”

“Oh. ’Kay.” Sam was asleep before his butt touched the mattress.

In the morning, Sam felt surprisingly good. Yes, his head still hurt, but not as much as he would have expected, if he’d actually been sober enough to expect anything. He felt mildly hungover—Ian said it was probably from the “good drugs” and offered Sam more. Sam turned them down. Ian told him to stay in bed and went off to make breakfast.

Then Nik, hungover for an entirely different reason, came into the room and flopped on the bed next to Sam with a groan.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine, I’ll be fine.” Nik waved a lazy hand in the air. “We’re leaving soon, but I wanted to tell you about Miller.”

“All right” had been a bit of a white lie. Miller was still in the hospital, and he’d had emergency surgery for internal bleeding.

“He also has a couple broken ribs. I found this out from his parents.” Nik hugged his middle, staring at the wall. “They don’t seem okay with the possibility that Miller’s gay,” he added.

“Oh, no.”

Nik sighed. “Yeah.”

He and Jurgen left soon after that, and Sam ate breakfast in bed. By afternoon he felt better, almost normal. It turned out fighting
did
make one horny. When Ian came to lie down next to him, Sam had a few ideas in mind for working through that.

The look on Ian’s face stopped him from suggesting them. For the first time Sam could remember, Ian rolled over and backed into his body, silently asking to be held. Once Sam had his arms around Ian, he started talking about his family.

“My brothers are a lot older than me. They were six and seven when I was born, so when Mom died they were twenty-one and twenty-two. She was diagnosed with breast cancer when I was fourteen, and she didn’t even live a year after that.”

Sam squeezed Ian tighter to his chest, holding him with everything he had. His penis wanted in on the act, but Sam made it behave. Sort of.

“I didn’t even realize my dad was an asshole until after she died,” Ian was saying. “I mean, before Mom was diagnosed, I was more into my friends than my family. Then she got sick, and it was all about her, for me.”

Sam had been debating how to ask this, but he decided to be blunt. “Did he love your mother?”

Ian nodded immediately, tickling Sam’s nose with his hair. “Beth, Jurgen’s mom—she’s Dad’s youngest sister—she told me he fell in love with Mom the minute they met and never stopped loving her. Always looked that way to me.”

“I guess even assholes love,” Sam said philosophically.

Ian snorted. “Yeah, there’s plenty of evidence in the world to support that. My brothers seem to love their wives.”

“Your brothers are assholes, too?”

“Not really, I guess. They’re just too much like my dad.”

Sam kissed the back of Ian’s neck for encouragement. And then a couple more times.

“When I was little kid, I loved my mom, you know? But I thought my dad was a hero. He wanted us, me and my brothers, to think that. It was all about how he was a firefighter and he saved people and he had this perfect wife and this perfect life, and we were going to be clones of him. But then his wife died and his youngest son was gay and didn’t really want to be a firefighter.”