by E M Lindsey
“We’ve met,” Mat said with a grin.
Derek rolled his eyes. “He’s Cale and Mat’s gym buddy, and I guess Sage fucks off there too sometimes. Niko, that’s Sam and James.”
Sam stuck out his hand toward Niko, though he didn’t lean forward since by this late at night, his balance was usually shit. “Sorry, my chair’s over there so I’m gonna be rude and not come to you.”
Niko didn’t hesitate as he crossed the room and grabbed Sam’s hand to shake. “No worries. It’s really good to meet you, Derek talked about you guys a lot.”
Watching Niko carefully, it was impossible to miss the way his eyes lingered on Sam, the way they traveled over his features, down his thick arms, over his chest. There was a spark there that was definitely missing from their first date, and where it maybe should have stung, instead it just inspired him.
“You can pop a squat there next to Sam,” Derek told him, grabbing one of the folding chairs and setting it up between the sofa and the love seat. “And the rest of you can get food because I’m not your damn servant.”
James grinned, leaning over to slap his thigh. “Nah. Just delivery boy.”
“Pretty enough to be a rent boy,” Mat added.
Derek flipped them both off. “Fuck you, and go eat before your shit gets cold because I’m not in the mood to listen to you bitch.”
“Yes dad, sorry dad,” James said with a laugh as he hopped up. He shook some of the foam from his leg, then slipped it on and led the way with Mat close behind. Niko rose to his feet, then hesitated as he looked back and forth between Sam and the kitchen.
“Would I be an asshole if I offered to grab you a plate?” he asked.
Derek could see Sam was holding back a chuckle. “Nah, that would be cool. I just want like a huge-ass pile of slaw right on top of the okra, and some of the mac and cheese. Maybe a beer, too. I’m almost out.”
Niko’s hesitance turned into a grin, then he looked at Derek like he suddenly remembered who he was with and why. His cheeks flushed. “Can I grab you something?”
Derek smiled softly. “I’m good for now. Go eat, though. I did promise you food.”
Niko looked unsure, but after a beat, he turned and headed off toward the kitchen. The second he was out of earshot, Sam leaned over toward Derek and socked him in the thigh. “What the fuck you doing bringing your date around here before you two are solid? I know you didn’t miss that.”
Derek bit his bottom lip to hide his grin as he shook his head. “Trust me, it’s cool. We didn’t get off on the right foot, and I was thinking there might be something there, but he didn’t look at me the way he looked at you even before the date went bad.”
Sam let out a tiny sigh. “Man, I really don’t have time for that right now. Everything’s in the shitter with this custody thing. They want to find her dad’s family and offer them a chance to petition for custody now.”
Derek felt like icy water had been thrown over his head. “What the hell? When did you find that out?”
“Got the call last night,” Sam said from behind a sigh. “These fucks aren’t going to rest til they drag her out of my arms. I don’t…” He rubbed a hand down his face. “I can’t lose her. I’ve had her since she was nine months old, man. That girl is mine.”
“I know she is,” Derek said fiercely. “Have you lawyered up? Like properly?”
“I have some legal aid help, but shit, I don’t have the cash,” Sam admitted in a quiet voice. “These classes, these trips, all this paperwork—it’s been slowly draining what savings I had.”
“Maybe I can help,” Derek said.
Sam gave him a flat look. “I know you don’t have that kind of cash.”
“Maybe not, but if we pool our resources,” Derek said, then gave Sam a hard look when his mouth dropped open to argue. “Don’t be a shit about this, man. She’s our girl too. Tony would cut his arm off rather than see you lose her, and I…” He licked his lips and felt his stomach twist with the offer he was about to make, only because he would only make it for one of his family. “I got connections through my dad. I just have to ask him.”
Sam paled. “Dude. No. Fuck that. Fuck that so much. You’re not asking that sadistic freak for anything. Do you understand me? Do you know what he’ll want from you?”
“Yes,” Derek said, because he did. His dad would want to drain him of everything he had left, emotionally, physically, mentally. But he’d do it. The sacrifice would be more than worth it for Sam and May. “I know exactly what he’d want, and I don’t fucking care. You’re not losing that girl.”
Sam looked like he might be sick, but he didn’t get a chance to answer when the other guys came back into the room. Niko was subdued as he handed his plate off to Sam, and when he sat, it was a little closer to Derek. There was an obvious tension in the room, but it was clear Mat and James didn’t want to bring it up with a stranger there.
The topic turned to other things—Derek couldn’t bring himself to pay attention, his mind on calling his father and how, exactly, he’d manage to get the favor. But he’d do it. He didn’t care what he had to promise the old man.
The tension died down a little, and Sam began to joke with Niko a little, and in spite of his protests, Derek could sense the spark between them. It would be a good match, he thought. When Sam moved to his chair to go outside for a little bit of air, Niko offered to go with, and Sam didn’t turn him down.
The door shut, and both James and Mat rounded on him. “Uh,” James said, giving him a pointed look, “isn’t the gym-rat your date?”
Derek shook his head. “We had a date and I’m not feeling it. But he’s a good guy, and I think those two might actually have something there.”
“Sam’ll never go for it,” Mat said a little mournfully. “I’ve been trying to get that dude laid for months. I basically offered myself as full time, any time, babysitter. Like three am, don’t fucking care if it means he gets his dick wet. But he won’t pull the trigger.”
“He told me about the update,” Derek said quietly.
Both men’s faces immediately went stormy. “Those dudes are asking for straight up wrath brought down on them,” James said darkly. There was a southern-preacher twang in his voice—reminiscent of his past and his father, though Derek didn’t know too much about it. But every now and again, he could hear bits of James’ childhood peek through.
“I’m going to help,” Derek told them. “I might know someone who can represent him, I just need to make a couple calls.”
It was saying something—just how much the other two understood the gravity of what Derek would have to do, but also how important it was for Sam to have this—that they didn’t question him. Saying it aloud would acknowledge what Derek would have to put himself through, and feigned ignorance was always best.
The hard part, really, would be to convince Sage to let him do it. It was a battle he wasn’t sure he’d have the strength for.
Chapter Eleven
‘You look tired,’ Basil signed slowly as Derek took his seat at their now-customary table. The café was all but empty, apart from the owner—an attractive man who had a ten-year-old girl always hanging around. He was newer in town than Basil was, and from what he knew, kept to himself just as much. ‘You okay?’
Derek nodded, though Basil wasn’t sure he was telling the truth. He knew Derek had ASL every week night, and had clients and art classes and his own private work, but there was something more to his fatigue he wasn’t saying. ‘Long day,’ he finally replied.
He wasn’t looking directly at Basil, so he knocked on the table gently, making Derek’s gaze lift. ‘Tell me,’ he said. ‘Do you want to stop the lesson tonight?’
‘No,’ Derek signed in a hurry, shaking his head along with pinching his fingers. He looked almost desperate, which was startling. Derek was making amazing progress with the language, better than a lot of people Basil had known, but he didn’t think it was a passion for the language, or even for him.
&
nbsp; ‘Tell me,’ Basil repeated.
Derek dragged a hand down his face, then signed, ‘I don’t have all the signs, but I’ll try. My friend Sam,’ he then spelled wheelchair and Basil nodded his understanding, ‘is having trouble. Custody,’ he spelled. ‘I want to help him, get him a lawyer, but…’ His hands stilled and his cheeks went pink.
Basil waited, then reached over and gently touched his wrist in support. ‘It’s okay.’
Derek shook his head. ‘My dad. My dad was a politician when I was a kid, but he was not nice. Abusive,’ he added, spelling most of the words, but Basil had no trouble following along with the stuttered pace. ‘Abused me and my brother. We ran away at fifteen, and there was an investigation. They found evidence of abuse from Sage’s diary. Not enough to convict, but he lost his reputation. He’s sick now, dying. I need to ask him for help, but it means…’ He didn’t finish what it meant, but Basil didn’t need him to.
He had never suffered that kind of treatment, but it didn’t take more than a little imagination to know what that would cost Derek, and his stomach roiled with anger and desire to stop him from putting himself in that position. If he had any other way to help, he would have. He would cut himself and bleed if it meant Derek didn’t have to feel what he was feeling right then.
‘I’m sorry,’ he finally offered.
It was such a sad, pathetic, sorry thing to offer, and yet somehow Derek brightened at the sight of Basil’s fist circling his chest. His shoulders lightened, and his smile was genuine. ‘Thank you.’
Basil glanced around, then decided that they had to get out of there. They could sign together, he could help Derek immerse himself in it, but they didn’t need to be formal. Not tonight. Derek needed something else, and Basil could give that to him.
He quickly rose, holding out his hand, and he felt a jolt up his arm when Derek took it. He was profoundly grateful when Derek didn’t resist or force him to explain in the frustratingly slow signs, because in all honesty, he wasn’t sure what his plan was. He just knew they had to get away.
Derek’s hand remained firmly tucked in his, palm to palm, feeling so right it made his head spin, and he found his feet leading him across the street, two blocks over, and coming to a stop at the back door of his shop. At that point, Derek did pull away and he raised an eyebrow at him.
‘Work?’
Basil couldn’t stop the laugh which bubbled up his throat, vibrating in his chest with the force of it. ‘I have ice cream,’ he told Derek.
Derek looked surprised, but the smile on his face was enough to show he was in, and Basil quickly unlocked the door and led the way in. He immediately flicked on the lights, flooding the back room with pale white halogen brightness, illuminating all the buckets of flowers waiting to be wrapped and tied and organized into their final stages.
He shed his coat as Derek took a few steps around, his hand darting out as though he couldn’t help it, fingertips brushing along the petals of yellow roses which were waiting to be made into wedding centerpieces. He leaned his face into a bucket of petunias which were still planted in the dirt, and Basil could see the way his shoulders moved up and down with his breath.
When he turned, he smiled at Basil. ‘You smell like this.’
‘Petunias?’ Basil asked, spelling the word slowly, watching Derek’s lips form over each letter as he watched Basil’s fingers like a hawk.
Derek chuckled, then waved his hand in a wide arc as if to say, ‘All of this.’ Basil understood what he meant. It was the same way he felt about his parents—the way his mother always smelled like her growing things and the back room of her shop, and the way his father always smelled like his lab and his classroom. The smell of the shop clinging to him now was a new stage in his life—and he wasn’t sure if it would last, but it was for now. It was the way Derek smelled of ink and sterile, and something woodsy and soft underneath it all.
Basil beckoned Derek over to the desk, then reached into the little mini-fridge next to it and pulled out two cartons of ice cream. They were little pints—an off-brand store mixture with an almond milk base and chunks of cookie dough. He dug two little spoons out of the package which rested by the coffee maker, and he pretended like Derek’s soft grin didn’t make his heart threaten to beat out of his chest.
They moved away, and Derek paused, staring at the array of photos littering the edge of the desk. Most of them were of his parents, and of his aunt and uncle when they were younger. Basil wished he had known them better, wished that his parents hadn’t let bitterness and stubborn determination create a rift so the only thing he knew of them were notes left over in ledgers when he and Amaranth took over.
Derek reached out and touched one of the silver-framed photos of his mom and aunt, then looked back up at Basil with his eyebrows raised.
‘Mom, aunt,’ Basil signed. He pointed to his mom, then made the sign again before pointing to the one of both his parents. ‘Mom and dad,’ he told him. He set his ice cream down so he could sign slow and clear enough. ‘They died. Boating accident with my aunt and uncle. My sister and I got the shop.’
Derek watched carefully, understanding dawning on his face after a beat, and then sadness taking over. ‘Sorry,’ he replied.
Basil shrugged. ‘I miss them.’
Derek swallowed thickly, digging his spoon into the ice cream, but not eating any of it. After a while, he set it down and his hands shook a little when he raised them. ‘My mom died when I was twelve. The doctor said it was an accident, wrong medication, but I think she committed suicide,’ he spelled the last two words twice because his hands were shaking, and he mixed the letters up the first round. Basil wanted to reach out and stop him, but the moment was too much, it was too big, and he wanted to hold it. ‘My dad never loved her.’
Basil let out a small breath as he glanced back at the photo of his parents. He couldn’t understand that. Not really. He understood not loving a person, but his parents had been madly in love every single day he could remember seeing them together. He didn’t know exactly what happened when their boat sank—didn’t know if it was quick, or slow, if they tried to save each other, but he knew they were together, and he didn’t think they’d have wanted it any other way. In truth, it was a relief in a way, because he couldn’t imagine one of them trying to survive the other.
When he looked back up at Derek, Derek was watching him with a careful expression. ‘Why did we come here?’
Basil shrugged. ‘You have to do something bad. It’s nice here—quiet, soothing, smells good.’
Derek gave a startled laugh, and Basil finally—finally—gave in to his urge and reached out to feel the movement of Derek’s throat under his hand. It was a deep-chested rumble, rushing up to his elbow, and he found himself wanting to press his mouth there.
Derek startled under his touch, but he didn’t react other than to let his laughter quietly die down. ‘Thank you,’ he finally signed.
Basil’s smile was a little tense, but he nodded an acknowledgement of it, then grabbed the ice cream and motioned for the side door. It opened to a set of stairs, to a little loft above the shop that had once been an apartment, though his aunt and uncle had treated it more like an attic. There was a little sofa up there, though, and a half-kitchen which still worked enough to heat up his lunch and dinner during long shifts, and the lights were soft.
Derek followed behind, Basil could feel the thudding vibrations of his shoes on the stairs as they trudged to the top, and he led the way in. It didn’t smell as intensely floral up there—more like sun-soaked pine and old dust from boxes and boxes of archived hand-written orders. Basil didn’t look back at Derek as he turned the lights on, but when he turned, Derek was watching him again from the doorway.
‘Sit,’ Basil said, then pointed to the sofa.
Derek’s gaze roamed over the sink which had evidence of the old take-out containers of lasagne he brought the week before, and a couple of empty coffee mugs. He eventually crossed the room in three quick st
rides and sat, leaving enough room for Basil to join him without touching—but only just.
Basil found he didn’t want the room. He wanted to compromise every single thing he’d decided for himself about too-good looking hearing men who didn’t know his language well and threatened to sweep him off his feet. He stopped to remind himself that Derek was nothing like Chad. He was trying far more and far better in these short weeks with no promise of sex or even real friendship than Chad had done in the entire time they were together.
On the first date, Chad had asked Basil to say his name, and when he’d fucked it up, he laughed. At the time it had seemed good natured, but he knew the truth about him now. Never once had Derek asked Basil to voice anything, not even when their communication was a struggle and he was frustrated with his inability to understand what Basil was trying to say.
It meant something.
‘I had a blind date,’ Derek signed to him, pausing to see if the sign for blind and sign for date were the right ones. Basil waved him on, and Derek smiled. ‘My brother met him, thought he and I would be good together. We went to gelato.’
Basil bit down on his lip, struggling with whether or not to tell Derek the truth—that Amit had told him everything, he knew exactly what happened. He wanted to wait, to see where Derek was going with it, so he just nodded.
‘It was bad,’ Derek signed, laughing a little. ‘I left and went home, was angry at Sage for the bad date. Then he came to the shop later. The day you got your tattoo.’
Basil’s hand went to his arm, a reflexive habit he’d been engaging in lately, feeling the still-raised lines of the image even as the shading began to peel in huge, inky flakes every time he rubbed lotion over it. Derek’s eyes followed his motion, and for a second, he looked like he was lost in the sight of the flower.
After a second, he shook himself out of it. ‘He wanted to say sorry,’ Derek went on. ‘My brother thinks he and I would make a good couple, he thinks it’s time for me to start dating.’