Page 89 of Devil's Kiss
His father roused, and tried to sit up, but his hand slipped off the armrest and he slumped back down, clutching his head. “Fuck, do you gotta be so loud?”
“Apparently,” Derek said, crossing his arms. “Why aren’t you ready?”
His father hacked and coughed as he struggled to sit up while at the same time tucking the footrest back under the chair. When the task seemed too much of a monumental effort, Derek raised his leg and, with the sole of his boot, shoved the footrest under the couch with a little more force than necessary.
His father rocked forward on the chair and glared up at him. “Watch it, boy.”
Derek told himself not to flinch, but old habits died hard. When the asshole got to his towering height of six foot four, Derek took a step back, but he wasn’t quick enough. His father got a hold of the middle of his shirt and yanked him forward. Derek’s palm shot out to hold him at bay, and his father narrowed his eyes.
“After all these years, you’re still a fucking pussy. Afraid of your old man.”
Derek wrapped his fingers around his father’s wrist and ripped it from his shirt. “You don’t scare me,” he spat, as he shoved his father away. “And you know why? I got away from you. You hold no power here,oldman.”
“Don’t I? Last time I saw you, you were on your ass crying like a little queer?—”
“Shut your mouth,” Derek barked, the reminder of that final beating his father had dished out bringing to the surface his barely restrained anger.
“What are you even doin’ here?”
“I’m here to take you to the clinic. Alan didn’t tell you?” Derek looked around the dump he used to call home, and then back to the fucker in front of him. “Of course he didn’t,” he said. “This place smells like shit.”
“I hadn’t noticed.”
Disgust radiated through Derek as he kicked an empty Chinese container on the floor. “Really?” he asked, and walked back through the living room, past the kitchen, to the front door. “You hadn’t noticed this place looks like a fucking pigsty? You’re gonna have roaches crawling through here soon enough,” he said with his hand on the doorknob. “What time’s Alan get home?”
“What’s it matter to you? Boy’s got a real job, he does. Not like you who thinks he’s a real hotshot. Dontcha, Derek? With your overpriced gym full of fags and pretentious dicks willing to pay out the ass to stare at each other bending over all day.”
Derek bit the inside of his cheek so hard that the metallic taste of blood hit his tongue and he told himself to just go.Just leave him there to rot. It’s what he deserves.
But something inside him, obviously some sick and twisted part, couldn’t make himself leave.
“I’ll be out in the car. You’ve got five fucking minutes and then I’m leaving. Whether you’re dead on the floor or not.”
He didn’t bother waiting for an answer. He needed to get away from the guy before he lost what little hold he had on his temper. Who knew what he was capable of when pushed far enough, and with the amount of rage he harbored toward that man, it was a miracle he hadn’t beaten him and left him dead already.
Jesus, how is this my goddamn life again?He was right back in the same fucked-up scenario he’d been in as a child. But what was the alternative? Knowingly letting the man die? Because he would, and soon, without medical intervention.
Derek looked toward the faded yellow door and cursed the universe yet again for the crappy hand he’d been dealt. Why was he the one burdened with the ability to help this man, when he’d done nothing but try to destroy him?
He’d wanted to say go to hell to both his brother and his father…but when it had come down to it, he hadn’t been able to bring himself to say no.
The situation was beyond fucked.
He felt cornered. Like a trapped animal, and he knew by the end of today he would either need boxing gloves and a bag—or Jordan.
JORDAN SATON his couch with the phone pressed to his ear while he and Brantley discussed whether he should serve a rack of lamb or surf and turf tomorrow night at Finn’s get-together.
Jordan gave the question careful consideration and then asked, “Surf and turf with lobster?”
“Of course. What do you think?”
“Sounds delicious. Don’t even think about buying drinks, though; I’ve got those covered. Is there anything Daniel doesn’t like?”
Brantley covered the mouthpiece and called out over his shoulder, then said, “No. He’s easy.”
“I was talking about the wine selection, Professor Hayes. Not his behavior in the bedroom.”
Jordan heard a smile in Brantley’s tone when he answered, “Who said I was talking about his behavior in thebedroom?”