Page 122 of Until Then

I stare at the screen, waiting for a response, but when it goes dark before a text comes through, I tuck my phone in my pocket and head back downstairs to make some breakfast.

I’m worried about him. I’m worriedforhim. He lost his wife in a tragic way, and now a close friend. That has to be difficult to cope with. I haven’t experienced a loss like that.

I busy myself around the house. Straightening things and cleaning, all the while worrying about him, and after a few hours, when I still haven’t heard from him, that worry turns to fear.

Instead of going through Via, I call Reid myself.

“What’s up?” he answers.

I pace the hall, my heart pounding out of my chest. “Have you talked to your dad today?”

“No.” He draws the word out into more than one syllable. “Why?”

I swallow the boulder in my throat. It was a lump yesterday, and it’s just continued to grow. “He was gone when I woke up, and he hasn’t responded to my texts. It’s not like him.”

“Maybe he went to help Maura,” he suggests.

“Oh, that makes sense.” My face flushes. I feel silly for not having thought of that myself. “Thank you.”

After a quick goodbye, I end the call and collect my things so I can drive over to check on him.

The whole way there, I tell myself that’s exactly it. He is with Maura. But my hope dissipates as I slow in front of the house. I don’t even pull into the driveway, because Derrick’s truck definitely isn’t there.

“Where could he be?” I tap my fingers against the steering wheel.

He could have gone to his piece of land. Maybe for some quiet. But even if that’s where he is, there’s no way I could find my way back there alone.

Frustrated, I head into town in search of his truck.

I’m surprised—though I shouldn’t be—when I find it parked outside his storefront. Once I’ve parked on the opposite side of the street, jog up to the door. I reach confidently for the handle, only to find that it’s locked.

Clasping my hands on the sides of my face, I peep through the glass and find him at his desk, completely oblivious to me. I knock, making him jolt in his seat. When he turns to me, he looks exhausted, like he didn’t sleep at all. Dammit. Now I feel guilty for falling asleep so easily.

He shuffles to the door, his shoulders slumped, and turns the lock. Then he stands aside to let me in.

“Did you need something?” he asks once the door closes behind me. His tone isn’t mean, but it’s off. Maybe a little disgruntled?

Holding my breath, I take him in. The dark circles under his eyes, the disheveled hair, the wrinkled shirt. “I was worried about you. You were gone when I got up and didn’t reply to my texts.”

“I’m busy, Izzy,” he rasps, his focus fixed on a point behind me. “I can’t respond to you every second of every day. I have work to do.”

The words are a physical blow so severe I rear back.

“Excuse me?” I blurt, my heart lurching. “I didn’t know you found me so annoying.”

With a wince, he pinches his brow. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Are you sure about that?” I don’t want to have a fight right now, not when I know he’s grieving, but his words hurt.

He swallows audibly. “I’m not good company right now. I left because I needed space.”

“Space is fine,” I say, taking a step closer. “But at least let me know you’re okay if you disappear like that again.”

He nods, looking down at the ground.

“Do you need me to help while I’m here or?—”

“I want you to go.”

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