Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

T he next day, Derek sprawled on his couch in a pair of track pants and a college sweatshirt. Even football wasn’t brightening his mood. When his door buzzed, he ignored it. A moment later his phone buzzed too. He picked it up from the table and saw the text was from Rob. It read: Open the damn door.

All righty then.

Derek pulled himself from the couch and padded to the door, rubbing his hand over his unshaven jaw. Aside from it being December 15—the absolute worst day of the year—he was pretty sure Chloe would never forgive him after the stunt he’d pulled yesterday, and he couldn’t blame her. Now it sounded like Rob might be pissed too. Maybe that job in San Francisco had come at a good time.

He swung the door open. “Come in.”

Rob’s brows were drawn low over his eyes in an expression of irritation that Derek had only seen directed at crappy vendors or in sticky negotiation meetings. And occasionally at one of his kids. One of his real kids.

Rob walked into the loft, not stopping until he reached the bar in the kitchen. Then he turned and gave Derek, who’d followed him, a completely unsympathetic look. “Looks like you royally screwed things up with Chloe.”

She’d told them? Derek couldn’t blame her. “Probably.”

Rob rested his hip against the counter. “She came over for dinner last night—and don’t get mad at her, she didn’t say a word. However, when your girlfriend comes over and you don’t, it says a lot. She is your girlfriend, isn’t she?”

“Probably not.” Because of his own stupidity.

“What the hell kind of answer is that?” Now Rob did look pissed. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Look, I’ve never said anything about the other girls you were foolish enough to let go, but this one is special. She could very well be The One, and you’re getting in your own damned way. Knock it off.”

“Thanks, but I don’t remember asking for any advice.” Derek moved through the dining room, intent on the beer he’d left on his coffee table.

“Too bad.” It sounded like Rob was following him, but Derek didn’t turn. “I’ve tried to be a father figure and dishing out advice, especially when it’s unwanted, is a father’s job. But, I realize I’m not your father. You had a father—do you even remember that?”

The question hit Derek in the back like an arrow. How could he ever forget? And today of all days, the day his father had been shot and killed in the line of duty.

Derek spun, anger pushing through his veins, but he didn’t say anything. He didn’t see Rob, he saw his dad. He’d been really tall—that’s where Derek had gotten his height—imposing. He must’ve made one hell of a police officer. Derek remembered that he worked out, and the result was that he sported a badass build. But for all the tough guy looks, he laughed a lot and he had these little lines around his eyes, blue like Derek’s, and around his mouth. Derek remembered that mouth reading to him—every night that he wasn’t on shift—and shouting encouragement at his baseball games. His work schedule hadn’t allowed him to coach, but he’d come to at least one inning of every single game. Most of all, Derek remembered camping alone with his dad. They’d gone just twice before he’d been killed, but those two weekends were emblazoned in Derek’s brain like they’d happened yesterday. Just the two of them. Men against the world. Father and son.

Air was having trouble finding its way into Derek’s lungs. His throat was viciously tight, his chest constricted. Because after all of that, he remembered the grief. Not just his, but his mom’s. To say she’d been devastated by her husband’s death would be an understatement. Derek knew, now that he knew love—and he was definitely in love with Chloe—that his mother had never gotten over it.

“Yes, I remember,” Derek finally said, his voice sounding like sandpaper.

“You’ve never dealt with his death,” Rob said quietly, looking at the floor. “And when your mom died, you didn’t really deal with that either.”

He hadn’t. She’d been sick with the cancer a long time and when she’d died, it had been a kind of relief, which only made him feel guilty. And seventeen-year-old boys were pretty shitty at feeling guilty, so he’d shoved it all away to deal with at a future time. Only he’d never let that time come.

Derek’s eyes had lost their focus, and when he shook himself to come back to the present, he saw an envelope in Rob’s extended hand.

“I know this is a tough day, son. And yes, I think of you as my son—it’s an honor and a privilege.” He took a deep breath. “This is a letter from your mom. She wanted you to open it on December fifteenth in 2019. But Emily and I think you should open it now. We don’t know what it says, but it’s time for you to heal and maybe this will help.”

Or maybe it would only make him hurt more. Derek stared at the envelope while his insides churned and a light-headedness pervaded his brain.

By some miracle, he reached out, as if in slow motion, and took the letter.

Rob’s hand clasped his shoulder. Derek wanted to hug him, but he couldn’t. Everything felt too raw, too damned exposed. He settled for giving him a slight nod.

“Call me if you need anything. Anything .” He dropped his hand and pivoted to go. “You’ll get through this. With Chloe if you’ll let her. She’s a great girl.”

Derek stared at the letter in his hand, vaguely aware that Rob had let himself out. Slowly, he took himself into the bedroom and dropped onto the edge of his bed. With trembling fingers, he split the seal and opened the letter. A small paper fell and fluttered into his lap, but his gaze was locked on the familiar handwriting of his mother. She’d been an elementary school teacher, so her letters were beautiful, perfectly formed. He hadn’t seen her writing in years and the reaction it provoked was visceral. Tears pricked his eyes and his throat tightened further.

Dear Derek,

You are as old today as your father was the day he died. I know how much you hate this day, how hard we worked every year to do something to keep our minds off it. It was both a blessing for it to be at Christmas time, because there was usually something to occupy us, and, of course, a curse because Christmas was forever tainted with our loss.

I owe you an apology. I wasn’t the best mom after he died. You probably know that by now, you’re a smart boy. No, you’re a smart man now. How I wish I could be there to see it. Maybe you’re even a father now, too. How I wish I could see that even more. You will, without a doubt, be a wonderful father. How do I know this? Because you had the very best teacher.

You’re like him in so many ways. Your kindness, your sense of humor, your athleticism, your love of reading. I hope you still write poems. Yes, I knew you wrote them, even in high school. I don’t know why you hid them. They’re a gift that should be shared. Which is why I’m giving you this poem that your father wrote. I don’t know if you remember it from when you were little. He used to recite it to you when you were very small. It never fails to make me smile because it beautifully captures the two men I’ve loved most in this world.

Know that we are looking down on you with pride and love. Be happy, Derek. Be loved.

Mom

Silent tears had tracked down Derek’s face, and one dropped onto his lap, next to the paper that had fallen there. The poem.

He picked it up, his heart twisting at the handwriting, which he hadn’t seen in decades.

Little Man

Little hands

Little feet

Little mouth

Big cry

Little sigh

Little smile

Little gurgle

Big yawn

Little sleep

Little knowledge

Little confidence

Big love

Big change

Big responsibility

Big happiness

Little Man—I love you.

Derek lifted his face as tears flowed down his cheeks unchecked. He didn’t remember the last time he’d cried. His throat was still tight, but his chest was loosening, air was coming back to him. The hole in his heart seemed to be shrinking.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, but he finally set the letter and the poem on his nightstand. Then he wiped his hands over his face and ran into the stubble on his jaw. He had to look like hell.

And he definitely couldn’t look like hell for what he had planned. This day had been full of pain and misery for far too long. It was time for this day to be filled with joy.