Page 2 of Give Me What You Will

The hospital door was shoved open, and a broad-shouldered, thick Irish-Italian man with jet-black hair and stubbled whiskers on his cheeks strode through the doors and back into Sam’s life. Just like that.

No…

Mendez was hot on his heels, trying to stop him.

Frankie, Sam’s former best friend, with his ridiculously handsome face and very punchable Italian nose, was grinning like a buffoon and striding through the ED like he owned the place. Sam had the inexplicable urge to hit something.

Mendez jumped in front of Frankie now, and Sam sighed, watching Frankie duck and slide past smoothly, maintaining his smile and completely undaunted. Mendez spun, looking thoroughly agitated. Yeah, his former best friend had that effect on people.

“Frankie…” Sam growled irritably under his breath.

Frankie wore a black T-shirt and a collared blue-and-black plaid overshirt, with the sleeves pushed up over his thick forearms, revealing his tattoos. His dark jeans looked new, and the fancy black-and-white sneakers certainly were, with how bright they were. His shoulders were rolled back, spine straightened, and he walked without the slightest indication that he had a bum knee.

Sam couldn’t help but sweep his gaze up and down Frankie’s body and inwardly sigh. It had been eight months. Eight months since he’d seen this man, and he still fucking ached at the sight of him.

Damn it.

Frankie was broad where Sam was tall, and he was thicker, too, which Sam knew was all carefully curated muscle that Frankie had developed over years of training as a mixed martial arts fighter, even going pro a few years back, until a fight shattered his knee and his dreams.

And to his utmost irritation, Frankie Casavani looked good.

Too good.

Fuck.

Eight months wasn’t long enough. Maybe a couple of years between them would have been better, Sam thought grimly, scrubbing a weary hand over his face.

When their eyes finally met and held, Frankie’s face split into that slow grin that always sent heat ricocheting down his back like a bullet.

“Sir!” Mendez shouted briskly. “You can’t be back here.”

“Hey, man, I’m just here visitin’ a friend. Isn’t that right, Sammy?” Frankie shouted, forcing Sam to fucking acknowledge him.

Goddammit, son-of-a-bitch.

Sam maneuvered around the workstation and stopped abruptly at the pool of mop water and…

“Frankie—stop!” Sam held out his hand and watched in horror as Frankie’s expensive sneakers slipped out from beneath him, his feet flew into the air, and he crashed backward onto the floor, smacking the back of his head on the wet tile.

“Shit.” Sam muttered, racing over to Frankie’s side, getting down onto his knee and seeing the blood pool beneath his head. “I need a gurney, now!”

Frankie blinked, disoriented, cringing and reaching for the back of his head. Black thick hair mixed with blood on the white tile floor.

“Frankie,” Sam said in his calm, reassuring tone. “You fell and hit the back of your head. We’re gonna lift you onto a gurney, check for a possible concussion and look at the injury.”

“I—what?”

“You slipped like a fuckin’ cartoon character, Frankie.”

Frankie’s eyes opened, seeking him, and when their eyes met, he visibly relaxed, that slow grin of his coming back despite the clear pain he was in. “Eh, there you are…”

Sam’s throat tightened. “You hit your head pretty hard, man.”

Frankie reached for him, grabbing him by the face with his large pawlike hand and patting him affectionately. He was always so damned touchy.

It took everything in Sam not to react to Frankie’s casual, affectionate display, and he grabbed his hand, placing it on his chest as the gurney appeared and he, Mendez, and another nurse lifted Frankie onto it.

“Room 4 is open,” Nicole, the night nurse, said from behind him, and he nodded.