Page 39 of Tribute Act

Instead I said, matter-of-factly, “Okay, but you’ve got a chance to make it up to him now. And to do that, you need to talk to him. Apologise for your mistakes.”

He stared at me, seeming genuinely shocked. “I can’t,” he whispered. “He doesn’t want to know. He hates me, and I don’t blame him.”

“You need to at least try,” I insisted. “For your sake as much as his.”

“But I don’t know him anymore,” Derek said desperately. “When I last saw him, he came up to here.” He indicated just above his shoulder. “Now he’s taller than me, a fully grown man. And he’s made it crystal clear he doesn’t want to discuss the past with me. How am I supposed to make him listen?”

I glared at him, as annoyed by his excuses as I was dismayed. Derek wasn’t usually the sort to give up easily, but he seemed to want to throw in the towel on this without even trying. The unfairness of that, to Mack, burned in me.

“What about what he did for Rosie?” I hissed, trying to keep my voice down. “Don’t you think you owe it to him to swallow your pride, apologise for giving up on him, and thank him for saving your daughter’s life?”

Derek went white. He stared at me in silence, mouth clamped shut, a muscle working in his cheek. I had the weirdest sense he was only barely holding back tears, but that couldn’t be right. Derek never cried and rarely showed any real emotion. He and Mack were alike in that respect.

When he said nothing, I pushed my chair back and stood. “You know this might be the only opportunity you get to put this thing with Mack right. You shouldn’t waste that chance.”

I sent Mack home shortly after Derek left.

“It’s been a long first day for you,” I said. “You look tired.”

“I’m fine,” he argued. “I can stay on with you till closing.”

“No way,” I insisted. “I don’t want you overdoing it.”

He frowned. “But it was my idea to start early. Now you’ve got to work through till closing on your own.”

“It’s fine. It’ll be pretty quiet now anyway,” I said. “Go on.”

He grumbled a bit more, but when he started untying his apron, I knew I’d won.

As he headed out the door a few minutes later, I called after him, “Have a nap!”

He laughed at that, but when I got back to the flat after closing, sure enough, he was out for the count on the sofa, snoring softly.

I grabbed a blanket and settled it over him. In sleep, the wariness in his expression had melted away. I paused, looking down at him.

My chest ached.

Christ. What the hell was I doing?

I made myself turn away. Dinner. I’d make dinner.

I was chopping onions for a stir-fry when he ambled into the kitchen a few minutes later, yawning.

“Want a hand?”

“Nah,” I said. “This won’t take long.”

He didn’t leave though. Instead, he leaned against the counter, watching me work, saying nothing. I smiled at him but stayed silent, waiting for him to speak. I was learning to give him space to do that.

Eventually he said, “You and Derek seemed to be having a deep and meaningful chat earlier.”

Ah.

I kept my gaze fixed on the red pepper I was slicing into strips. “Yeah, I suppose we were.”

Silence. Then, warily, “Was it about me?”

“Maybe.”