Page 112 of Fall for Him

Dylan pushed the food onto the table and pulled Derek against him. “I’m so sorry. I just get in this hyperfocus zone sometimes. Interruptions… are hard. It’s not an excuse. It’s something I’m working on, and you didn’t deserve that.”

“I know.”

Dylan looked Derek in the eye. “Do you forgive me for yelling?”

Half of Derek’s mouth quirked upward. “That wasn’t even yelling, but yes.”

“It felt like yelling.” Dylan’s head bowed to rest on Derek’s chest. “I lost it on you. I’m sorry.”

“Trust me, no one who’s ever worked in the ED would think you were yelling.” Derek’s hand wrapped around the back of Dylan’s neck, rubbing it in that way that always made his face relax. He eased Dylan forward so that his forehead rested on Derek’s chest.

“We need to talk about something else—”

A knock came from the door.

Derek’s face made it clear that this interruption was expected though the timing might not have been. “You should get that, I think.”

“I should?”

“Yes, but while you talk to him, can you eat your damn food so you don’t keel over? I even got you a stupid large Diet Mountain Dew.” He pulled away from Dylan and grabbed it from the fridge. “Even though that shit’s disgusting.”

Beaming, Dylan grabbed the bag again and then took a long slurp from the cup. “Talk to who?”

Another knock on the door.

“Ugh.”

Dylan opened the door and inhaled an ounce of the Mountain Dew down his windpipe in surprise. “Dad?”

“I came by earlier too, but he said you were asleep because you had to work last night. Your friend let me take a look at what’s going on downstairs, but I heard footsteps and thought you might be awake.”

“Uh, okay.” Dylan scratched at the back of his head, feeling how his hair was sticking out at every angle.

“Think we could talk for a minute?”

“Do you mind if I eat while we talk?”

“No, course not.”

“There are a couple more tacos on the coffee table if you want them. Figured you’d be back.” Derek’s tone wasn’t exactly welcoming. “I need to go downstairs anyway to check on my dog.”

Dylan sat down on the couch behind the coffee table, and his dad sat beside him. He pushed the bag toward his dad even though his mom would be pissed about the cholesterol content. Tacos were a good choice for this. He could look down at his hands under the auspices of gathering stray cheese and lettuce. Being side-by-side meant more avoided eye contact.

Christ, this was awkward. Had he ever eaten alone with his dad?

Focusing on his body’s immediate physical needs, Dylan bit into the Crunchwrap and took a few sips of Mountain Dew. This stuff tasted like the actual nectar of the gods after a crisis all-nighter. He fiddled with the wrapper on a taco, ever aware of his dad’s chewing and tense posture.

“Been wrestling with something all week. Your mom said I needed to quit my brooding and do something.” His dad crumpled an empty taco wrapper and put it in the bag. It struck Dylan how different his parents sometimes were in almost every literal way. Right now, it was the way they spoke. His mom’s almost musical voice was the opposite of his dad’s gruff, slightly southern-sounding version of a Maryland accent. “Your mom says if it’s keeping me up at night, I should talk to you about it.”

“About what?”

“Was what Derek said true? At the party. Is that how you feel? I know your sister’s been saying things like that for years…”

“Oh…” It had taken Dylan several seconds to catch up. The Grill-Out was just a week ago, but it didn’t feel like that after the dinner with Derek’s family and the emergency last night and the grueling week of repair work. “I—uh—I guess. Some of it. I didn’t tell him to say that though.”

“Never thought you had. The man just seems like he knows you pretty well.”

Instead of answering, Dylan took a mutilating bite of his taco.

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