Chapter Nine
Chapter Nine
Xander
What the what .
I race to the door and stick my head out into the hall. I’m sure I saw Derek walk past. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but as I watch the man walk away, that stride looks far too familiar. The way it instantly comforts me has to mean something, doesn’t it?
Derek is here.
Does he have family he’s visiting? Is he working?
I cut a quick look Aggy’s way. She’s still talking with Kevin and not paying me any attention. Theoretically, I could slip out and follow him. Just to make sure. I can’t tell her that I want to go stalk my future husband when she’s explicitly warned me off him, but considering these people don’t need my help creating what I like to call works of fart, I see no reason why I can’t slip off.
Just for a quick sec .
Then I’ll slip back in. Half the people in this room have Alzheimer’s and don’t know who the fuck I am anyway. Why Aggy thought I’d like to teach an art class here is beyond me, but when she gets an idea in her head, there’s no getting rid of it. Molly would be better at this than me. Or Seven. Or … literally anyone. Not only do they have the talent, but they have the patience to back it up. I’m one blue tree trunk away from upending the kiddie paints over my head.
Or maybe not.
Even though those little bottles claim they’re nontoxic, I wouldn’t be surprised to develop heatstroke, accidentally ingest some, and end up in emergency.
So really, stalking Derek is the safest option.
I check Aggy is still distracted and then slip smoothly into the hall.
My hands are a mess, and I probably should have washed them first, but there was no time. Plus, it’s not like I’m going to let him see me anyway. My hair is done, I’m in a cute outfit, and I’m teaching a paint class, for fuck’s sake. Obviously, I’m going to get a little messy. If he has an issue with that, then … then …
That crawly feeling climbs over my skin, and I glance around for a bathroom. When I come up empty, I resign myself to staying paint speckled, hurry to the end of the hall, and slip down the left he’s just taken.
Then almost trip over my feet in an attempt to backpedal.
Derek’s paused outside the room up ahead, but my rapid movements catch his attention.
He glances up as I’m mid-leap, and his wide eyes meet mine as I disappear back behind the wall.
Well. That probably looked weird.
I’m about to bolt, claim this never happened and he’s imagining things— “You thought you saw me, Derek, maybe you should look into the deeper meaning behind that” —when he takes the choice out of my hands.
His sudden appearance knocks the breath from my lungs. Almost a full head taller than me, rugged features, and the kindest eyes of anyone I’ve ever seen.
“This isn’t the bathroom,” slips out before I can stop it.
Derek tries to fold down his smile, making his cheeks pop happily. “Were you following me, Xander?”
“Depends what your answer would be if I was.”
“That it’s incredibly inappropriate and a little odd.”
Well, that wasn’t the cute response I was hoping for. “Oh. Then in that case, no. Definitely was not.”
Derek’s laugh comes free, and it’s so warm and full I want to wrap it around myself and live there. “You’re a shitty liar.”
“Isn’t that a good thing?”
“A good thing would be not lying in the first place.”
“Then how would I keep things interesting?”
His steady gaze sweeps over me. “I’m sure you’d find a way.”
That almost sounds like a compliment. I cling to it, cheeks getting hotter and stomach all fluttery. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m about to teach a dance class. Or, more accurately, spend an hour spinning people around the room and pretending not to notice when the older ladies tap my butt in thanks.”
“Awww, grandmas. The lil assaulters.”
“Apparently, it’s cute if you have wrinkles.”
I lean against the wall, thankful that my stalking at least seems to be forgotten about. “So you’re telling me I have a few years to wait?”
“I think I’ll be dead before you have wrinkles.”
Derek’s face drops, I’m assuming because he’s just realized he used the “D” word. And sure, I have fits where I think I’m dying, but unless I’m in that headspace, I know how ridiculous it is. Logically, I know . The last thing I want is Derek tripping over himself to apologize or making things suddenly weird between us, so I jump in before he gets that chance. “I might not have wrinkles, but if I took your class, would you let me tap your butt in thanks?”
“You’re asking my permission?”
“Not geriatric enough to get away with anything else.”
There’s a war going on behind his eyes. I love those eyes. I assume they’re hazel, but they have flecks of just about every color ever in them. Gold, brown, green, blue, black. If I had eyes like that, I’d never have to wear contacts.
“I saw you painting.”
That throws me. “What?”
“Well, I saw you helping some of the residents paint. I didn’t know you volunteered here.”
“I don’t.”
He lifts his eyebrows like he wants me to go on. Talking about myself is a tricky line to manage because I don’t usually know when to shut up. My trauma dump is more of an avalanche, and once I start, that mess keeps coming.
Which isn’t a great thing when the more people learn about me, the faster they run.
“My neighbor Aggy thought running a class here would help.”
“Help with what?”
I twirl a finger by my ear. “All this.”
He clamps down on his lip, and I know what he’s about to say before he says it.
“ No therapy.” I groan. “Don’t bring it up. We’re having a perfectly normal conversation, and I don’t need the reminder that all you see when you look at me is how fucked-up I am.”
Derek sighs, and the sound tugs at me. “You’re not fucked-up. ”
“If you really thought that you wouldn’t keep using the T-word on me.”
He wants to fight back. I can read it all over his face, and if he pushes, I’ll be ready for a fight. It’s one of the things I’m good at. I’m always ready to go claws out.
He derails me with his next question. “How was it?”
At first, I think Derek is talking about therapy, and that’s not at all a can of worms I want to open around him, but then it clicks. The class. He’s not pushing the issue.
“Shit.”
“You didn’t like it?”
“I don’t think I said that.”
Derek lists his head. “If the class is shit, that sort of tells me that you didn’t like it.”
My instinct is to point out to him that everything is shit, but this is the first time we’ve had a conversation that he hasn’t been reluctant about. Having his attention is the single greatest blast of light I’ve felt in a long time, and so I dig deeper.
I lean my shoulder against the wall and scratch at the paint on my hands. “Their paintings were shit. They had no idea what they were doing. A lot of them couldn’t hear what I was saying, and Kevin is the rudest jerk I’ve ever met. The second I walked in, he asked if I’d dumped paint over my hair to make a point, and when I said no, he asked if I was one of those fairy types.”
“He what ?” Derek’s whole posture stiffens, and I set a reassuring hand on his arm without even thinking about it. We both freeze at the contact, and it takes me a second to yank my hand away again.
“I don’t care,” I say. “Having my life … as my life, pretty much nothing gets a reaction out of me. He could call me the nastiest words he’s ever learned, and it wouldn’t have an impact.”
“It doesn’t mean he can say whatever he wants. ”
“Of course it does. We live in a free country. There’s a thing called freedom of speech. If he wants to be a bigoted piece of crap, that’s his right.”
“Freedom of speech doesn’t mean you’re free from the consequences of what you say.”
“Duh.” He doesn’t need to teach me that. I say fucked-up things all the time, and I have to deal with the aftereffects. “I’m sure he’s run his mouth to the wrong people before, but he’s a stranger, and I’ve dealt with worse, so if he wants to call me a fairy, I’ll call him a crotchety has-been and move on.”
“That’s very cool of you.”
Unlike Derek, who’d been prepared to storm the nursing home, apparently. It niggles something deep and longing in my gut. “Were you about to walk in there and defend my honor?”
“Not just yours, but yes.”
Of course he was. When I look at Derek, I see a guardian angel. A protector. It makes absolute sense that he’d want to stand up for what’s right and not let people get away with shitty behavior. I have enough shitty behavior of my own that calling someone else out feels hypocritical. Derek though? Derek’s perfect.
“You’re sweet.”
He grunts. “I also heard them both call you a trash … panda?”
“Feral raccoon.”
“What the fuck was up with that?”
Again, what the hell does it matter to me if someone calls me a feral raccoon? Raccoons are cute. I’m cute. “Aggy is my honorary grandmother, and she’s as much of a pain in the ass as I am.”
“You shouldn’t talk about yourself like that.”
I lean closer. “And you shouldn’t tell people what to do.”
“Sorry. I … you’re right.”
“You don’t need to pretend to care though,” I say, lightly punching his chest. “I’m very tough. I can look out for myself. If someone pisses me off, they know about it.”
That brings his laugh back. “I’ve found that out for myself.”
“On many, many occasions.”
There’s still warm amusement in his eyes as he looks down at me. Then something shifts. “Xander … I do … care. You know that … right?”
The heavy hesitation in his tone surprises me. Derek reminds me of one of those guys I used to watch in high school. The ones where everything came so effortlessly to them. Sports, schooling, friends. Nothing weighed them down. Nothing was unscalable.
I used to want to be one of those guys.
Now, I want one of those guys.
The fact that the kindest, sweetest, hottest, most caring man in the entire fucking world is in my life, that he fills me with the type of safe contentment I’ve never had and has zero interest in giving me more, feels like a sick joke.
I need him. He doesn’t need me.
So he can say he cares all he likes. I know what he means.
“Of course you care. Everyone cares about the kicked puppy.”
I shift, about to ready myself to leave, when Derek’s big hand circles my wrist. His grip is soft, but his gaze is steady.
“Not like a puppy, Xander. You’re so much more than you give yourself credit for.” He lets go suddenly and nods, but I’ve swallowed my damn tongue. That actually sounded … genuine.
“I’m going to set up,” he says. “I’ll probably see you around … but I hope not.”