Derek set his phone down. His jaw tightened, his shoulders squared, the same posture he'd had at every one of Dad's doctor's appointments.
"Okay," he said. "What's going on?"
I'd rehearsed this in the car on the drive down, in my head a thousand times. I had the words ready. But sitting here in my brother's kitchen, with the morning light harsh through the window, they stuck in my throat.
"The guy in the living room," I said. "Joel."
"The skater. Yeah." Derek's voice was careful. "What about him?"
"He's not just a friend." The words came out wrong, too vague, and I tried again. "I'm gay, Derek. And Joel and I are together."
Derek was quiet for a moment. Then he nodded, slow.
"Okay," he said.
"You already knew."
"I had a feeling." He picked up his coffee. "The hospital. The way he looked at you. And before that, honestly. Little things over the years."
"Why didn't you say anything?"
"Wasn't my place." Derek shrugged. "Figured you'd tell me when you were ready."
I stared at him.
"I should have told you a long time ago," I said.
"Yeah. You should have." There was no accusation in it. "But I get why you didn't."
"Does anyone else know?" he asked.
"Ro. A few people." I wrapped both hands around my mug, ignoring the throb in my bad one. "Not the team. Not the league."
"Not Dad."
"No. Not Dad."
Derek's jaw tightened.
"He would have been okay with it," Derek said. "You know that, right? Dad wouldn't have cared."
"That's not why I didn't tell him."
"Then why?"
Because I was a coward. Because every year I waited made it harder. Because by the time I was ready, he wasn't the same man anymore, and telling him would have been like asking him to hold something he no longer had the hands for.
"I ran out of time," I said.
Derek nodded slowly. "I'm glad you told me. Even if I already knew. It matters that you said it."
My throat went tight, and I had to look down at the table.
"Derek—"
"Is he good to you?" Derek asked. "Joel. Is he good to you?"
"Yeah." My voice came out rough. "He is."