Chapter 28

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

D errick wasn't in the mood for this. Not even a little.

He'd done the right thing with Jasmine. Now he felt wrung out and exhausted, and all he wanted to do was avoid everybody.

But the cold drizzle had waylaid their bonfire, his favorite tradition. He'd looked forward to it, thinking that, in the firelight, nobody would be able to pick up his disappointment and his anger and…all his feelings.

But they were trapped inside.

Leaning on his pool cue, he stared out the window into the darkness. The crescent moon was mostly hidden behind thick clouds, along with all the stars that usually shone so brightly here on the island off the coast of Maine.

There were no city lights for those clouds to reflect so far north, just the churning Atlantic that stretched as far as he could see.

Derrick strained to hear the women, who were upstairs preparing for tomorrow's party. Mom's voice was easy to distinguish as she gave directions on how to prepare all the family's favorite foods. Before he'd come down, he'd spied cans of artichokes, so she'd be making the dip he loved. He'd seen the fixings for that Mexican seven-layer thing Camilla had introduced a few years earlier. He'd seen slices of meats and various cheeses, along with jars of olives and nuts and other yummy things, all laid out near a big wooden board, and Leila and Jasmine were working on some kind of Middle Eastern chicken skewer things.

The family had put up the tree and decorated the house the weekend before—back when Derrick had been certain of his future with Jasmine—so the whole place was an explosion of Christmas.

Last Derrick saw, though, the living room had been covered with boxes and serving trays and paper products.

He'd offered to stay up there and help the women—an excuse to avoid spending time with his brothers. He could cook. He could set tables and wash dishes. But Mom had shooed him to the basement game room. "Go play. It's so much harder to talk about you when you're in the room."

She thought she was so funny, but they probably were talking about him. Despite his productive conversations with the Lord and Jasmine on the flight that morning, he'd been grumpy all day. Even a long nap and a shower hadn't improved his mood.

He'd had a quick, private word with Leila.

He'd hardly spoken to Bryan.

The rest of his brothers probably hadn't noticed, but Mom never missed a thing.

At the pool table, Daniel was taking his sweet time lining up his shot.

Sam and Grant were in the middle of a game of table tennis, the rhythmic sound of the little ball hitting the paddles and table was interrupted by occasional grunts and cheers .

Sam was the best ping-pong player of the brothers, but Grant was close, and he was intense tonight.

Well, Grant was always intense.

On the other side of the room, Levi was standing on a chair, bouncing, watching the ball go back and forth as if his attention were the only thing keeping it in the air. He was rooting for his father, and whenever Sam scored, the kid reacted as if he'd hit the game-winning home run in the World Series.

Bryan stood with Daniel's son, Jeremy, near a high table at the edge of the room. They were both waiting to take on the winners.

The only brother missing was Michael. Dad had taken the boat to the mainland to pick him up. The morning's rain had tapered to a drizzle, and it wasn't too windy. They shouldn't have any trouble getting here.

"Your shot," Daniel said.

Derrick grabbed the little cube of chalk and rubbed it against the end of his stick, studying the table. He was shooting stripes, his brother solids, and if his count was right, Daniel had only sunk one.

Whereas only four striped balls remained. "Do we need to go over the rules again? You're supposed to sink the balls that are all one color."

Glancing up from his phone, Jeremy laughed.

Daniel held his pool stick like the staff of Moses. Always so grown-up, or maybe it just seemed that way to Derrick, since his brother was fourteen years older and had gray hair and even a few wrinkles—well-earned, considering all he'd been through. "While some of us were hanging out in pool halls, others went to med school and raised a family."

"Pool halls. Yeah, that was it." Derrick had learned to play right there in that basement, him against his brothers.

He lined up his shot and sank one, setting up another .

Daniel focused on Jeremy. "Let this be a lesson to you, son. Don't waste your life. Focus on what's important."

"Yeah, Uncle Derrick's such a loser," Jeremy deadpanned. "You've still just got that one jet, right?" He shook his head. "So disappointing."

Derrick felt a smile spreading, probably his first of the night. In Daniel's defense—not that Derrick would make it for him—they hadn't gotten the pool table until after the oldest Wright brother had left for college.

"Ha!" Sam, obviously the victor at the other table, plopped the paddle down and high-fived his son. "That is how it's done."

"Yay, Daddy!" The little boy launched himself into Sam's arms.

Grant grunted, but he couldn't hide his grin, watching the father and son, so happy. And why not? He'd have his own kid soon enough.

Not that Derrick was jealous. Nope. He was perfectly happy. He had his business. He didn't need a family.

He sank two more balls.

"Nice shot," Bryan said.

Everybody seemed to wait for Derrick to respond. But he didn't.

Sam cleared his throat. "You ready to lose, Bry?"

"Sure."

The little white ball started its pinging and ponging.

Derrick sank another shot, and all that was left was the eight ball.

He was lining it up when the slider at the back of the room opened, letting in cold, moist air, along with Michael and Dad, who shook out of giant yellow slickers dripping with rainwater, then shrugged out of their parkas. They hung the outerwear on the hooks by the door .

The others stopped what they were doing to greet the second-oldest brother and ask about the ride from shore.

Choppy, Derrick gathered. Wet. In other words, winter in the North Atlantic.

Derrick sank the eight ball.

"Good game." Daniel returned from giving Michael a back-slapping hug and leaned his pool cue against the wall.

Derrick walked around the table, gathering the balls from the pockets.

"I'm glad you're okay." Michael plopped a hand on his shoulder, keeping his voice low. "How's the wound?"

It hurt, but he was ignoring it. Derrick shook his brother off. "It's fine."

Michael stepped back, hands raised in surrender as if Derrick had attacked. Which…whatever.

He was being a jerk. Couldn't seem to stop, though. He racked the balls. "Who's up?"

The room was too quiet. Even Levi had stopped his constant stream of chatter.

Derrick straightened. They were all looking at him—his brothers, his dad, his nephews. "What?"

"What's your problem?" Sam glanced from Michael to Bryan and back to Derrick. "What's going on?"

"Nothing." He shoved the pool stick on the stand. "I'm going up. I need some sleep."

Confused, Daniel checked his watch.

Bryan said, "It's eight fifteen."

Derrick glared at his brother. "It's been a long day."

His father moved across the room toward him. Dad, with his white hair and gentle smile, and that concern in his eyes. He reached out and gripped Derrick's forearm. "What's going on, son? "

"Nothing."

But Dad wasn't taking that answer. And they were all watching him. And he was tired, and angry, and…

Jealous.

It was stupid.

Bryan stepped toward him. "It's my fault. I'll go."

"It's my fault." Michael said the words to Bryan, then turned to Derrick. "I shouldn't have told him, and I shouldn't have expected him not to tell you. If you're gonna be mad at anyone, be mad at me."

"It wasn't your story or his." Derrick ground out the words.

Jasmine should have told him. He'd managed to forgive her. He needed to forgive his brothers too.

His problem wasn't that nobody had told him.

The problem was that she was married and having a kid. And it couldn't be undone.

But she hadn't told the rest of the family yet, so nobody else in the room had any idea what they were talking about. He wasn't about to spill the beans.

"I'll get over it." He focused on Bryan, then turned to Michael. "It's fine."

Neither of them said anything.

Nobody said anything. If Derrick weren't the angry one, he'd say something. He'd let them off the hook. Fill the silence, break the tension, make everybody feel better. That was Derrick's job, and apparently nobody else in this stupid family had a clue how to do it. They were just standing there, staring at him.

"What? I said it's fine. Go back to your game."

"I have no idea what's going on," Sam said, "but I don't think it's fine."

"Yeah, well… You wouldn't understand. You ha ve him." He gestured to Levi, the adoring little boy with his cute blond curls and dimples. "You have Eliza. And Grant has Summer and a kid on the way. And Daniel has Camilla and an amazing family." Stupid emotion. Derrick tipped his head to the ceiling and shook the tears back. He shouldn't have come down. He should've stayed in his room and slept.

Michael said, "Bro?—"

"It's fine. It's fine I'm alone. It was just easier when I wasn't alone…by myself, that's all. But you're gonna get married, and I'm happy for you." He looked at Bryan. "And you. You get your beautiful…" He thought of Bryan's nickname for Sophie and blurted, "Princess bride."

His brothers stared at him as if he'd grown a second head and three more arms. Like they didn't know who he was. And he felt like an idiot. And then…

"Maw-wige." The word came out in a perfect imitation of the priest in The Princess Bride. Surprising, and even more so because it came from Grant. "Maw-wige is what bwings us to-ge-tha too-day."

Derrick gaped at his brother—the quiet one. The tough one.

Grant's lips twitched at the corners. He shrugged. "What? It's a classic."

That did it for Derrick.

All of it just…hit him. His idiotic behavior. The absurdity of the moment.

He laughed.

It took a second for the rest of them to join, watching him like maybe it was a trick or something. But they couldn't hold it in very long. Even little Levi, who couldn't possibly understand what was so funny, giggled uncontrollably.

The whole thing was…ridiculous. And hilarious.

Derrick was so tired and so…he didn't know what else…that when tears streamed from his eyes, he wasn't sure if they were tear s from laughing or all the other things that he'd been feeling that day, and it didn't matter. His brothers weren't perfect. But they were his, and if all he ever got to be was a son and a brother and an uncle, well…

It was a good life.

He'd find a way to live with it.