Page 125 of Until Then

I check my phone, hoping to find a message or a missed call from Derrick. But if he went home last night, he certainly didn’t reach out.

My heart sinks. I’ve never felt so helpless.

I’m at a loss for where to go from here. I don’t want to force my presence on him if he needs space, but I also don’t want him to feel abandoned or think I can’t handle this. It’s complicated all the way around.

I open our message thread and survey the long string of texts I sent. All are marked read, yet there isn’t a single reply.

I’ll send one more, and then I’ll stop.

Me: I’m thinking about you. I’m here if you need me. I love you.

For a moment, I hover a finger over the Send button, questioning whether I should delete it.

But in the end, I send it and turn my phone off so I won’t be tempted to check my messages.

“Everything okay?” Via’s sleep-graveled voice asks.

“It will be.”

It has to be.

33

DERRICK

Sleepingon the couch in the back office of my shop to avoid Izzy may be one of the shittiest things I’ve ever done. But I just can’t be around her right now. Not because she’s done a single thing wrong, but because my head is a complete fucking mess.

Brooks is gone.

Like the snap of a finger. A flick of a switch. He’s just… not here anymore.

Along with thoughts of him, my mind has been plagued with memories of my wife’s sudden passing. It’s hitting me now, that I never fully dealt with that grief. I couldn’t. I had two young children to take care of. I had to be strong and forge ahead. It’s sobering to realize I’ve been living in fight-or-flight mode for such a long time.

If I’d gone home last night, Izzy would have wanted to talk, and right now, I crave the silence.

Because I’m so damn confused. So lost.

When I turn my phone on, I’m flooded with missed calls and texts from Izzy, Maura, Reid, and Layla, as well as a few of my buddies who have obviously learned about Brooks’s death.

“Fuck,” I groan, powering it down again.

That’s a problem for future Derrick. Right now, I’m not capable of dealing with that chaos.

Tossing the phone to the end of the couch, I sit up with a groan.

Aging is a shitty thing. One night on a couch, and suddenly, I feel like I’m ninety.

I take my time standing, then stretch my arms above my head. Once my back has popped half a dozen times, I stifle a yawn and make my way to the front of the store. I need coffee. Food, too, if the rumbling of my stomach is anything to go by. I can’t remember if I’ve eaten anything since that handful of chips I snacked on while Izzy and I watched the whales. Fuck. Was that only two days ago?

There’s the barest hint of sunrise through the front windows, which means I probably only got three or four hours of sleep.

With a peek at my watch, I determine that the coffee shop is, blessedly, already open. So I head that way. Getting caffeine into my system is the only thing I want to think about right now.

The bell dings when I enter, the sound far too cheery.

“Hey, Derrick. You’re out early,” Cindy says, tightening the straps on her apron. “The usual?”

I used to be out this early often, but since Izzy showed up, I’ve found myself wanting to be around her every second of the day, which has changed my routine pretty thoroughly.

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