But why wasn’t Gavin asking him out? After all, Gavin had been the aggressor in this game they’d been playing.
Tuesday morning, as he loaded lumber in the back of his truck to build a fence for a client, his phone rang. Derrick promptly had cause to be grateful for his steel-toed work boots when the effort to fish it out of his pocket caused him to drop a board on his foot.
It wasn’t the sight of Gavin’s name on the caller I.D. that made him fumble. Oh no. Of course not.
“Derrick Chance,” he said, trying to sound casual as he leaned against the side of his truck and the lumber store manager and clerk took over loading the next stack of boards.
“Derrick, it’s Gavin. Uh, Gavin Hayes.”
“Yeah, hi, Gavin. How are you?”
“Fine, I’m fine. I just have another problem.”
Gavin fell silent, and Derrick heard rustling papers in the background. Was he at work, then? He sounded distracted. Or uncertain. Was he having second thoughts about calling Derrick?
The silence threatened to become uncomfortably long. Finally, laughing to himself at how stupid they were both being about this, Derrick asked, “Well? What’s the problem?”
“What? Oh! My toilet. It won’t flush. I push down on the thing, and it won’t go.”
“Mm. Sounds like you’ve got an issue on your hands there.” Holding the phone between his shoulder and jaw, he opened the door of his truck and reached inside for his day planner. He already knew what time he would propose for the appointment, but it gave him something to do with his hands.
“Probably best to get that done today. My afternoon job should be done by four, so I could be there at four-thirty, if you can get out of work a little early?”
“Yeah, I can be there. Thank you. You have no idea how much this means to me.”
“Well, broken toilet’s nothing to mess with,” Derrick teased. He’d bet a month’s income Gavin had a second bathroom in that industrial loft of his, and a landlord to handle such repairs. “I’ll see you later today.”
There was laughter in Gavin’s tone as well, when he confirmed the time and hung up. Grinning, Derrick tossed his phone and day planner back on the seat of his trunk and returned to loading the lumber.
Tonight. He’d ask Gavin out tonight.
At four-thirty, sharp, he knocked on Gavin’s door. Gavin still wore his suit pants and dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up over his thin, corded forearms. He smiled at Derrick as he opened the door, though, something was missing. Some of his usual cockiness or sass.
“Um, hi. Bathroom’s this way,” he said, gesturing down the hall. As Derrick preceded him, he heard a chime behind him.
“Tell me what’s wrong with it?” he prompted, frowning while Gavin couldn’t see him. Why did everything feel different today? There was none of the easy-going fun of their last appointment. He couldn’t pinpoint just what was wrong, but the whole thing just felt… off. “It won’t flush, you say?”
“Yeah, when I push down on the handle, I hear something rattle around in there, but nothing happens.”
“Did you look inside the tank?”
“No, I didn’t.” Gavin stepped into the bathroom behind him and leaned against the counter. “I just noticed it this morning, and called you after I got to work.”
Derrick nodded, glancing over at Gavin. He seemed twitchy. He lifted the porcelain lid to the tank and peered inside, smiling.
A trip-lever didn’t just snap like that. Not unless someone had meant to break it.
“It’s exactly what I thought the problem was. I brought spare parts, thinking it might be. Lucky for you, it’s a quick fix.”
“Oh.” Gavin didn’t sound particularly pleased at that pronouncement. But then that chime sounded again, and with an apologetic look, he fished his smart phone out of his breast pocket, scanning the text message he’d just received. His mouth pulled down in a sharp frown, and Derrick could swear he went a little pale under his freckles.
“Okay,” he murmured, still looking at his text messages, his mouth tense and grim. “I’ll just leave you to that, then. Excuse me.”
Derrick stared after him, a frown tugging at his own mouth. Bewildered as to how to proceed, he worked silently to replace the vandalized trip-lever, then put the lid back on the toilet and picked up his duffel.
He heard the chime of another text message arriving on Gavin’s phone as he approached the door to the office. When he peered inside, he noticed a hint of cigarette smoke. Not enough for Gavin to have been smoking in the room, though. Out on the deck, maybe?
Gavin was reading the message, and something raw and wounded tightened his face.
Derrick swallowed and made himself speak. “I’m all done.”
“What?” Gavin jumped, startled even though Derrick had spoken softly. He laid his phone onto the desk as though he were pushing it away in self-defense. “Oh. All right. You’ll send the invoice again?”
“Yeah.” Derrick nodded, studying Gavin. His heart hammered in his chest again, but not with excitement. Not this time.
“Are you…? Is there…? Can I help with anything else?” he asked.
Gavin shook his head. “No, there’s nothing—” Mustering a tight, hollow smile, he said with finality. “No. Thank you, though. For coming on such short notice.”
“That’s not a problem. I’m happy to help. Any time,” Derrick said, trying to give the statement a soft emphasis. Trying to let Gavin know that if he was in trouble, Derrick wanted to…
To what?
To do whatever it took to help Gavin smile and laugh and flirt again.
“Thank you,” Gavin said with a subdued nod.
Unable to find a reason to stay without prying into things that were clearly none of his business, he left.
“So how’s work going, Derrick?”
Stuffed with too many barbecued beef ribs and too much good beer, Derrick leaned back in his lawn chair under the shade of the table umbrella on Devon and Hannah’s patio on Wednesday evening. He watched Chelsea romping around the back yard with their border collie, Max. Devon had ducked inside the house to get a round of fresh beers, leaving Derrick alone outside with Hannah.
Derrick felt something inside him stiffen, flinching away and going on full alert at the question. He made himself act as though it hadn’t happened, finishing off the warm remnants of his original beer with a forced chuckle. “Oh, you know. Same old. Not much changes when you just fix people’s stuff.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that.” Hannah filled her glass from the bottle of red wine on the table. While he and Devon had made strides in converting her to a beer drinker, she’d always prefer wine, given her choice. “After all. Most of us work with the same people day-in and day-out. But you encounter new people every day. I’d say your chances of meeting someone interesting are far better than those of us office-bound drudges.”
Interesting. Now there’s a word for it. Derrick fought not to blush, lifting his bottle to his lips to try to mask the reaction before realizing it was empty. He lowered it again, feeling stupid.
“Oh, come on. I at least get points for use of the word ‘drudges,’” Hannah sniffed, giving him a disappointed look, and Derrick realized she’d been trying to make him laugh.
Shit.
Giving himself a mental shake for being bad company, he let his lips quirk into a smile. He pried up the edges of the label on his beer bottle, avoiding her gaze as he tried to think of some way to make an entertaining story out of his encounters with Gavin. Or at least, how to do it without letting on just how confused he was by it all.
Not that he had the first idea what it was. Whatever it might be, he wondered if he could discuss it with Hannah without her seeing right through him. Though Devon had been his best friend since high school, it was Hannah who understood Derrick best. Devon and all their other friends were loud, boisterous, and unconstrained when they all hung out together. At their Memorial and Labor Day cookouts, and during the Orphan’
s Thanksgiving dinner she and Devon hosted each year, Derrick and Hannah would often find themselves encountering each other in a quiet spot away from all the activity, taking a breather. They just got each other.
“Well, I’ve got a client who’s breaking his stuff on purpose.”
Hannah lifted her eyebrows. “Oh? Like what?”
One corner pried up, Derrick began to rip off the label in thin strips before he realized the bar code for returning the bottle for the refund was printed on the label. He made himself stop.
“Well, the shelves were the real deal, but there’s no way the strike plate on a dishwasher gets round indentations that were made by the head of a hammer by accident. And the trip-lever of a toilet just doesn’t snap that way unless someone’s putting force on it in ways everyday use doesn’t allow for.”
“Sounds like a lot of trouble to go to,” Devon remarked as he came out the patio door, two frosty bottles of beer in his hands. Derrick accepted his gratefully, hoping it would divert the discussion. But Devon wasn’t done yet.
“Maybe he likes you,” he added with a shit-eating grin and a waggle of his eyebrows.
Derrick narrowed his eyes at Devon as Hannah spoke, frowning. “Sounds a bit creepy to me. You’re sure he’s not a stalker or something like that?”
Derrick’s eyes widened, and he shook his head quickly. “No. Oh, no. Nothing like that. It’s… Well, it’s one of those I-know-that-he-knows-that-I-know sorta things. I mean. I’ve been playing along. Haven’t billed him for labor since the first job.”
“So he does like you,” Devon persisted. Derrick closed his eyes, cursing himself for even bringing the subject up.
“I—” He shrugged. He tried to play it off casually and suspected he’d managed to fool no one. He took a long drink of his new beer. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
“But you’re attracted to him?” This from Hannah, looking at him over her wine glass. Out on the grass, Chelsea and Max chased each other and tussled.
He shrugged again, caught somewhere between a defensive instinct to hide inside himself, away from their well-intentioned curiosity, and helpless bewilderment at the sudden turn his life had taken over the past few weeks.
Oh, hey. This beer bottle had a label, too. Fascinating.
“Yeah, guess I am.”
“So ask him out.” Devon shrugged, chugging his beer carelessly.
Before Derrick could give him a baleful look, Hannah snorted. “It’s not always that easy.”
“Why not?”
“Well, because Derrick doesn’t— He isn’t—” She scratched her ear. “Look, honey, not everyone goes through life like a human battering ram like you, okay?”
“What’s he got to be afraid of? He’s a good-looking guy. Maybe a little rusty on the dating front, but….”
“He is a good-looking guy, but sometimes things are a little more complicated….”
Derrick groaned, rubbing his forehead. “While he’s flattered about the consensus on his looks, maybe we could not talk about him like he’s not sitting right here?”
Hannah slid him an apologetic glance and Devon muttered, “Sorry, bro.”
Derrick sighed and shook his head.
“Look. It’s not like the idea of asking him out hasn’t occurred to me. But, ignoring the fact that I’ve never asked anyone out in my life, it’s—”
“Wait, what? What about LeeAnn?” Devon lowered his beer, lifting his eyebrows. Hannah mirrored the look.
Derrick smiled wryly. “I’m pretty sure LeeAnn just walked up to me one day in the ninth grade and announced I was taking her to the homecoming dance. Next thing I knew, I was in a seven year relationship.”
Devon laughed until he wheezed. “That sounds about right,” he gasped, trying to catch his breath.
Hannah chuckled and Derrick shook his head, taking another drink of his beer. “Look, it’s like Hannah said. Complicated. I have no idea what this guy’s story is, except I keep getting the feeling there’s something off. I mean, I don’t even know if he’s single.”
“You’ll never know unless you ask,” Devon said in a patronizing tone that suggested he was convinced he was the only reasonable person on the patio.
“You don’t think that’d be, I dunno, unprofessional?”
Devon rolled his eyes. “You’re his handyman, not his doctor. Seriously, bro. You’re weirding me out here. You’re the straightest shooter I know. You don’t bullshit, so what’s up with all the excuses?”
“I dunno.” Derrick shrugged helplessly as Hannah nodded her agreement to Devon’s question. Even for friends as close as Devon and Hannah, who were the nearest thing he had to family anymore, it felt too personal to try to explain. He couldn’t make himself confess to that rush of pleasure he’d felt when he’d realized Gavin was hitting on him. He didn’t want to admit how ten years of resolute solitude now felt foolish and wasted. Choices which had made sense to him when he was twenty-one and exhausted now seemed all wrong.
“It was fun, I guess,” he said, knowing it was only a fraction of the truth. “At first. But it’s gonna be weird if it goes on any longer, so….” He shrugged again, pushing his hair back behind his ear. “Yeah. Guess I’m asking him out.”
Devon grinned proudly, offering Derrick his fist, which Derrick bumped obligingly with his own. That nervous tension was back in his stomach, but being resolved, knowing what he would do, helped. Hannah’s eyes seemed understanding as she lifted her wine glass in a silent, encouraging toast.
He spent his morning job Thursday trying to figure out when would be a good time to call Gavin, only to find the matter taken out of his hands when his phone rang as he was on his way to his afternoon job.
“Derrick Chance.”
“Hi, it’s Gavin Hayes again.”
“Hi.” Derrick smiled, trying for a tone that was eager, rather than nervous. “Hey, I was just thinking about….”
“Um, I have another job for you. A real job. If you’re willing. I can find someone else, if you’re not.”
Derrick frowned at his phone at Gavin’s sober tone. If he’d been hoping for a continuation of their game, it clearly wasn’t going to happen.
But maybe there was still an opening here, at least to see what might arise.
“Of course I’m willing. What do you need?”
“There was an accident. With the office door. Now my wall has a hole in it. Would you mind patching it for me?”
“Sure. What time do you get off work?”
“I’m usually home by five-thirty, but I can leave early—”
“No need. I’ll be there at six.”
“That’s not your usual business hours.”
“Let me worry about that. See you at six.”
The door to the office had been slammed against the wall with such force that the small doorstop in the hinge meant to keep the knob from hitting the drywall had instead been driven into the hollow-core door.
Had Gavin done that?
“That was some accident,” Derrick said in as mild a tone as he could manage, closing the door and kneeling to retrieve a flat-head screwdriver out of his toolkit.
“This time it wasn’t me, I swear,” Gavin said ruefully.
“Okay.” Laying the doorstop aside, Derrick replaced the pin in the hinge and looked up at him. “I’ll put this in the bottom hinge where the door is sound, for now. There’s no way to patch the door. You’ll need a new one. If you get one that’s got a solid core, this sort of accident won’t happen again.”
“Right.” Gavin pushed his glasses up his nose, looking pained. Derrick turned his attention back to the wall, where the handle had punched a large hole in the drywall behind the door. His stomach twisted with an entirely different kind of nervousness, the kind that said something was very, very wrong. Somehow he couldn’t quite convince himself that this had happened because someone had bumped the door or fallen against it. The idea that Gavin might have a violent temper was disturbing enough. The other alternat
ive was that there was someone in Gavin’s life with a violent temper, and that was even worse.
It had been a long time since he’d felt that protective, nurturing instinct. Living alone, he didn’t have much reason to feel it. But now he wanted to comfort and reassure Gavin, to make sure he was safe.
He made himself rein it in; he didn’t even know what had happened.
Maybe he assumed too much.
“Someone you live with did this?” he asked cautiously as he began to clear away the loose chunks of drywall still dangling at the edges of the hole by scraps of paper.
Gavin shook his head. “Not anymore. Not for a couple months, actually. My ex. He, um, came over to pick up some of his things he’d left behind. Did that on the way out.”
Derrick nodded again, calm and working with a steady hand. That was two questions answered. Now he knew for certain that Gavin was gay, and single. He couldn’t seem to bring himself to care as much about those questions, now. He was more concerned with whether or not Gavin was in trouble.
His usual approach to prying into things that weren’t his business was simply not to. He couldn’t quite manage that, however.
“He’s not going to be coming back, I hope?” he murmured, peeling scraps of paper away from the edges of the gypsum.
Gavin smirked, some of the cocky assurance Derrick had first noticed about him creeping back in. “Are you asking if the field is open?”
Derrick smiled, ducking his head to concentrate on his task.
“Actually, I was asking if there was a chance there’d be any more of these accidents in the future,” he murmured, for once disregarding the flirtation. Making sure Gavin was safe was more important.
“God, I hope not,” Gavin replied with an emphatic shake of his head. “I’m ready to be done with it all, you know? I just want to move on.”
Derrick nodded. The words struck a chord of familiarity within him. He grabbed the tub of joint compound out of his toolkit. As always, he felt Gavin’s presence at his back, an electric current buzzing along the edges of his awareness as he tried to focus on his task.
“If you have things you need to do, you can go ahead and do it. I won’t think you’re ignoring me.”
Inertia: Impulse, Book One Page 5