Chapter Eleven
The pounding on the door clunked around Derek’s head like a lead ball. Shit! Where the hell was he, and how much had he drunk last night? Must have been a helluva lot because only one thing could create this kind of fuzzy-tongued, hammering head—he popped his eyes open and winced—and light sensitivity. And that was a whopper of a hangover.
“Hey, man!” Brett’s voice accompanied the continued knocking. “Sorry to wake you, but you’ve gotta get moving. You have a client in an hour.”
Derek blinked a few times until he could tolerate keeping his eyes open for more than two seconds at time. “Thanks. Be out in a minute.” Ugh, he sounded as though he swallowed a cup of sand.
Laughter came through the closed door. “You sound pretty rough, D. Coffee’s ready. I assume you’ll need a vat of it.”
With a grunt of agreement, Derek swung his legs over the side of Brett’s guest bed, and used the momentum to help haul himself to a sitting position. Coffee would be good. Maybe with a side of Red Bull. Caffeine would be essential to making it through the day.
He pushed to his feet and shuffled toward the door. When he opened it, he was greeted by Brett in his running gear, wearing a sunny smile and a sheen of sweat. “Shit, man, you’ve been out running already? You’re making me look bad.”
“I’m the only one here to see, so it ain’t a thing. Besides, you needed to get a good drunk on. Helped loosen your lips. Coffee’s this way.” Brett nudged Derek toward the kitchen.
“Did it ever. Sorry for being such a pussy and puking my emotions all over you.”
The teasing light went out of Brett’s eyes as he pointed toward a chair and filled a coffee cup. “Shut up, D. That’s been a long time coming. You needed to unload more than anyone I’ve ever met. If it took a bottle of Jack to do it, who cares? I’m just sorry you and Alyssa are going through such a rough patch. Although I like the way this therapist’s mind works. What did you say her name was again?”
As the first hit of caffeine slid down Derek’s esophagus and into his stomach, he let out a sigh. Wouldn’t be long until it hit his bloodstream and hopefully cleared some of the booze-induced fog surrounding him. “No way am I telling you her name. At least not until things are fixed with Lyss. Last thing I need is you pulling a one-and-done on her. Next thing I know she’ll be telling Lyss to leave my ass.”
“Come on, man. If she can come up with kinky ideas to help her patients, just imagine what she can dream up for herself. I know I’m sure imagining it. Did you tell me what she looked like?”
After draining the last of his coffee, Derek stood. “No, I did not. And I don’t plan to. You’ll just have to do some more imagining.”
“Huh,” Brett said. “So if this doc has such a great plan to help you and Lyss get all freaky again, how come you needed to douse yourself in booze last night? I tried asking, but you were too sloppy by that time to talk anymore.”
“I do not get sloppy.”
Brett laughed. “Man, you were as sloppy as a sorority girl on spring break.”
It was impossible for Brett to stay serious for too long. It was also impossible to hate him for it because he was pretty damn funny most of the time. “Fuck you, man,” Derek said, then rolled his shoulders. Tension was back now that he was sober. “Lyss and I had our second encounter yesterday.”
“Oh yeah?” Brett smirked and rubbed his hands together. “Finally, we get to the good stuff. Let me have it. Make my ears bleed with the nasty deets.”
“That ain’t happening, bro.” Derek gulped his coffee and willed the caffeine to work its way through his bloodstream. Sure, in the past he’d shared details of his sex life with Brett, but a lot less once he got together with Lyss. And no way in hell was he going to tell Brett how it felt to bury his face in his wife’s sweet pussy for the first time in two years. He would not be sharing how un-fucking-believable it was when she came all over his tongue…twice. Shit, he needed to stop thinking about it or he’d be back in blue-ball purgatory.
“Oh, come on, man. I carted your drunk ass back here and blew off some pretty young thing. You owe me something sexy to make up for it.”
Derek inhaled the coffee meant for his stomach and coughed until his eyes watered. “Jesus. I’m not touching that one. In fact, this conversation is over. I’m out.”
One hand held up in surrender, Brett pounded Derek’s back with the other. “Okay, I’m done busting your balls. Tell me what you wanted to say.”
The tone of the discussion changed in an instant. All the feelings he’d tried to drown in a bottle last night came rushing back. He opened his mouth and suddenly found it difficult to put words to his heavy thoughts. “Shit.” He ran a hand down his face. “It hit me while I was with her yesterday, just how much I failed her. Two years, Brett. Two fucking years we’ve been walking away from each other. How did that happen on my watch? That woman…she’s fucking everything, and I just let it all fall away.”
“Der, this is not a typical situation. It’s not like you got in a fight and walked out. You guys went through a serious fucking tragedy.”
Derek nodded and scratched through the hair on his chin. “I know. But still, I neglected my marriage. I should have wrapped her up tight and kept her close. Not let her shed a single tear without me being there to wipe it away. But what did I do? Fuckin’ haven’t touched her in two years. Let’s say we fix this. What’s to keep me from checking out the next time life gets rough? Maybe she’d be better off—”
“Don’t say it. Don’t fucking say it, man. It’s not true and we both know you don’t mean it. You’ll hate yourself later if you say it.”
That may be true, but he couldn’t keep himself from thinking it. Maybe Alyssa would be better off if he let her go. Shit, the pain that came with the thought of leaving her nearly brought him to his knees. But just because it was a pain worse than the bullet he’d taken in Afghanistan years ago, didn’t mean it wasn’t the right thing for her.
“Look,” Brett said as he clapped Derek on the shoulder. “Your head is fucked right now. You won’t hear anything I say because you need to take a step back. Don’t make any decisions right now. Wait until you see this therapist and hash it out with her and Lyss.”
Brett was right. His head was a swirling mess of screwed up emotions. Very masculine. “Yeah. You’re right.”
“Want something to eat?”
“Nah, I gotta get moving. I’ll just grab something from Farad’s store. You try those new donuts he’s been selling. They’re the shit. If I jet now, I’ll have just enough time to pick up a few. Mrs. Cromwell doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
“I have had the donuts. They’re the shit. And Cromwell’s your client?” Laughter boomed from Brett. “You’re kidding, right? What, another grandchild?”
Mrs. Cromwell was a seventy-eight-year-old woman who got her first tattoo when she was in her fifties. And what a tattoo it was. A full back piece of a giant oak tree. Each time one of her six children blessed her with a grandchild, she added a branch with their names. There were so many branches on the damn thing he wasn’t sure how much more of her progeny her back could handle. “First great-grandchild.”
“You’re shittin’ me.”
“I kid you not.”
“Well.” Brett used the hem of his shirt to mop sweat from his forehead, giving Derek a full-on view of his cut abs. “That old bird is something else. Not to mention she makes the best cookies. Sure hope she’ll be bringing some by today.”
Shit, Brett was still as ripped as they’d been when they were in the Navy. Derek had been as well, until—no surprise there—two years ago. Another thing he’d let fall by the wayside as he failed to conquer his grief and continue on with a life his daughter would have been proud of. Not that he’d let himself get overweight or soft, but he certainly wasn’t in top physical shape as he’d once been, and all of a sudden, he realized how much he missed working out. It would probably do him good on a psychological level as well. Time to clear his mind, expend pent-up energy and stress. Though he’d much rather burn it up between the sheets with his wife.
“All right, man. I’m out. I have just enough time to swing by the hotel, shower, and change. I’ll see you at the shop. Thanks for letting me crash. And the ear.”
Brett lifted his coffee cup in acknowledgement. “No prob. You can pay me back with the good doc’s name and digits. See ya later.”
With a roll of his eyes, eyes that now felt a bit less bleary, he retrieved his wallet and left Brett’s condo, making his way toward the DuPont Circle metro station.
As it turned out, Mrs. Cromwell brought a double batch of cookies to the shop, earning hugs and praise from the staff. She fussed and clucked over everyone like they were her own chicks. As usual her natural maternal instincts endeared her to everyone more than the gift of sugar ever could.
The day flew quickly, which was both good and bad. Good because with each passing hour his hangover lifted a bit more. And bad because each minute that ticked by was one minute closer to his appointment with Lyss and Dr. Appwater and his head was no clearer than it had been early in the day.
If the pit in his stomach was any indication, things with his wife were about to get worse before they got better. If they ever did get better.