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During his life, Derek had had three people he could absolutely depend on during the worst moments. His dad, Olive, and Jake.
If he had a therapist, they might ask if the fact that two of them were now dead made him feel… abandoned, maybe?
And shiiiiiiiiit.
He had dumped so much on Joni during that conversation, which felt like days ago—not hours.
Derek blinked, eyes still dry.
It wasn’t like Derek never cried. He was a man secure enough in his masculinity to be comfortable crying when the situation was appropriate. A well-timed Julia Roberts speech next to a priceless Chagall painting? He cried. That moment in 13 Going on 30 when Jennifer Garner is certain Mark Ruffalo is going to marry that awful weather lady and move to Chicago? Eyes leaking like a damned faucet. The entire dead wife plot in Sleepless in Seattle? Sobbing mess. But even with every heartbreak gut punch, you knew what was coming at the end of a romantic comedy. You were guaranteed two people who were happy together despite everything. It was fucking beautiful.
Such a cliché to ask, but why couldn’t life be that simple?
More specifically, why did death keep screwing him over?
An insistent whine came from the front door. Derek needed to get out before Carol left for her weekly Mary Kay minion breakfast. Derek grabbed shorts and a T-shirt from his duffel bag. He snuck back into the room to grab his sunglasses, lingering a few extra seconds to watch Dylan sleep.
Chapter 24
“EW EW EW EW.” Felicity’s high-pitched shrieks from the hallway outside echoed off the walls of the bedroom. “Oh my god, Dylan, no… my eyes. My eyes.”
Dylan leaped out of bed, grabbing his work jeans and almost knocking himself out trying to put on both legs at once. He stumbled into the living room to find Felicity in a state of nearly dissociative distress.
“What’s wrong with your eyes?” He searched her for an injury.
She pointed toward the kitchen. “Derek’s clothes are all right outside the kitchen and there are actual scuff marks from your kneepads on the ground from—and—” She gagged. “I’m your sister. Can you just keep your business less graphically obvious? I’ve been downstairs measuring for the drywall all morning while you slept like a rock. Sounds like Derek’s in the shower, so I’m leaving.”
“Lissy, I—”
She snapped at him, actually snapped with her accusatory fingers pinched an inch from his nose. “Lock it down while I’m around, Dylan. I’ve listened to a shit ton of true crime podcasts, so I can spot a crime scene when I see one.”
He snorted. “Are you implying that two men engaging in consensual sexual activities is a crime? Because that sounds like homophobia.” His terror from hearing her cries had turned into pure amusement.
Felicity’s storm-gray eyes narrowed. “You fucking know what I mean. I don’t want to come in and see a floor dust outline showing me exactly what goddamn position you prefer. Boundaries.” With a disgruntled yawp, she stalked out of the room and slammed the door.
He walked to the small stretch of hallway between the kitchen and the living room and exploded into laughter. Not only had the kneepads left rubber scuffing, but there were lines of actual chalk dust handprints right next to all of Derek’s abandoned clothes. Derek’s naked body had left a barely visible outline like a pornographic sawdust snow angel.
“Was that Felicity?” Derek leaned out from the bathroom. “What was—?”
“She’ll survive. Went downstairs. Don’t think she’ll be back anytime soon.”
“God, she scared the shit out of me.” Derek cleared his throat. “Um… are you having some kind of respiratory distress episode I should worry about?”
“No.” Hysterical tears blurred Dylan’s vision. He shook so hard from laughter he could barely form words. “I think we broke her.”
“How?”
“By leaving graphic evidence of our lewd acts.”
“Um… what?” A white towel was tastefully draped around Derek’s waist as he stepped into the hall.
Dylan gestured to the floor.
“Oh my god.” Derek braced a hand on Dylan as he lost it for several minutes the same way Dylan had until he managed to hiccup out a few words. “Poor, innocent Felicity.”
Dylan leaned his head on his hand. “You know, somewhere in here there’s a joke about—”
“Uh-uh.” Derek gave him a little shove. “New rule. You do not get partial credit for jokes. You make the joke or don’t.”