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Chapter 32
Dylan pushed his hands in his pockets as they approached the door of a Craftsman-style new-build house. It was about twenty minutes south of Frederick in one of those highly planned-out quasi-urban/suburban communities.
A minivan pulled up to the driveway, and the front screen door swung open, nearly knocking Derek over. A college-aged kid with a ghostly green hue to her skin ran out, gagging and heaving into a trash can. She hopped in the front seat of the van between retches.
“Bye, Joanna.” Derek waved at her. A parental figure in the driver’s seat waved back before pulling away. “Amy said they should all be in bed, so this isn’t going to be anything except—” A pillow hit Derek in the mouth just before four boys, all wearing Spiderman pajamas, ambushed him, each grabbing a limb until he toppled onto the floor.
The resulting cacophony recalled that iconic Jon Snow moment in the “Battle of the Bastards” episode of Game of Thrones. Dylan leaned on the doorframe, leaving the other man to his fate. “I’m sorry, I thought we were babysitting children, not all of the superheroes from the Spidey verse?”
“Help, please?”
“Nah. I think you got it covered.” Dylan smirked while eight undersized hands savagely tickled Derek.
“Your mom said you guys were asleep.” Derek wrestled one of the wriggling bodies off his back.
The tallest of the four piped up. “We were pretending because Joanna was really sick.”
“Throw-up is gross,” the second smallest one said, sticking out his tongue for emphasis.
One of the middle-sized kids jumped back from the fray and leveled assessing eyes at Dylan. This kid looked uncannily like a young version of Derek. “Who’s this asshole?”
Derek smacked him on the head. “If your mom hears you using that language, she’s going to—”
“Blame you since you’re the one who said it in front of me the first time.” He feigned an expression of cherubic purity. “I’m just an innocent child.”
Dylan rubbed his chin and appraised the boy. He got the sense he was the oldest even though he was not the tallest. “Are we living in this one’s villain origin story or…”
“Very possible,” Derek detached the smallest kid, who was closer in age to a toddler, from his neck and set him on the couch. “Line up, you four.”
The four boys filed into a line, and like Dylan expected, the one who might turn out to be an evil genius stood in front with a defiant stare. “Is he your booooooyfriend, Uncle Derek?” He used the same voice kids use when they overhear another kid getting called to the principal’s office. “Mom said you didn’t have a boyfriend. Dad says you never have boyfriends because you’re on your phone too much, but he won’t explain what that means.”
Dylan pressed his lips together, choking down his laugh.
“Shut up, little man.”
Derek tapped each Spiderman on the head. “Lucas, age seven.” He tapped his head. “Noah, six; George, four; Sammy, two.”
“Christ.” Dylan shook his head.
“That asshole said a bad word,” the tall six-year-old said. Noah? Dylan would not be remembering these names. Well, except for Lucas’s. He should probably remember the name of a kid who seemed destined for a future career in world domination.
“What’s the asshole’s name?” the second smallest looked at Derek.
“The asshole’s name is Dylan,” Dylan answered before thinking better of it and wondering if this was going to be his nickname in Derek’s family. Great.
“Mr. Dylan,” Derek said. “Or Mr. Gallagher.”
“Are you Superman, Mr. Dylan?” said the four-year old, sidling up to Dylan and grabbing his arm, swinging it roughly. “You look like Superman when he’s in disguise.”
Dylan crouched down. “Sure. Want me to make you fly?”
“Yes!” shrieked the tiny voice.
Dylan launched him into the air and zoomed him around while the kid made all of the zoom-appropriate sound effects.
When he set the kid down, Derek was shaking his head. “You have no idea the mistake you’ve made.”
Howls of “Me next!” erupted from the boys.