33. Derrick
33
DERRICK
Sleeping on 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.
But what is a man my age doing with someone like her ?
Look what happened to Brooks. How could I seriously think I could get my happily ever after with her? I’m more likely to leave her as a widow.
“Yeah.” I shove my hands into my pockets, breathing through the discomfort in my chest that comes with my spiraling thoughts. “Maybe a fresh chocolate croissant, too.”
“Sure. They’ll be out of the oven in a couple of minutes.”
Once I’ve paid, I pull out a stool and wait, watching the town outside the window wake up.
I should head home and talk to Izzy. It would be the smart thing to do. The right thing. Only I’m not sure I’m capable of it.
“Here you go, Derrick.”
At the sound of Cindy’s voice, I hop up and stride for the counter.
“Did you need matcha for Izzy?”
I flinch, and my chest constricts. Fuck.
Clearly, Cindy could see the reaction, because her face falls.
“No, not today.” I force a smile.
“All right,” she says, though her expression is wary. “See you next time.”
Head down, I rush back to the shop and lock the door behind me, then head straight for the back. I don’t use the space often, but along with the couch, there’s a fridge back here, as well as a small counter and sink and a microwave. The amenities will make hiding out here relatively easy, I suppose.
Hiding out—like a fucking wimp. Why? Because I don’t have the nerve to face the woman I love? To tell her how terrified I am to love her, only to leave her too soon? No one should have to suffer the pain I’ve had to endure, especially her. The anguish on Maura’s face two days ago? Her soul- crippling cries? How could I possibly put Izzy through any of that?
I gulp my coffee, ignoring the way it scalds my tongue and throat, desperate for its comfort. But rather than steady me, it makes my heart rate take off. The damn organ beats out of control, and my chest goes tight. Shit. It feels like I’m having a heart attack.
Fuck.
Maybe I am having a heart attack?
The tightness in my chest turns to shooting pain that makes me clutch at my T-shirt.
No.
No.
No.
Digging through my pockets, I search for my phone before I remember that I tossed it onto the couch. I stagger across the room and scramble to dig it out from between the cushions.
Why did I turn my phone off?
Gasping for air, I drop to my knees and power it on.
What feels like a lifetime later, it comes to life. With shaky fingers, I type in my password to unlock it, then dial.
“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”
“I’m…” I struggle to get oxygen into my lungs. “I’m having a heart attack.”