Mixed in with all that shit about me is the guilt. I know about Derek's uncle, but I didn't tell him Mom is in the same home. I know where he's teaching the class, and I know he sneaks away to care for someone he loves, and knowing that without cluing Derek in feels like a betrayal.
"What's wrong, Grumpy Bear?" Frankie asks. We just finished an overnight shift. He's got his signature black beanie pulled down on his head, as we grab our shit, before heading into the station to go home.
"Just tired," I reply. "And stop calling me Grumpy Bear."
"First of all, you've been mopey and introspective all night, so I don't think you're just tired. You forget I know you. We've been partners for a couple of years. Second, we've been partners for a couple of years, and you've asked me not to call you Grumpy Bear too many times to count, and I still call you by that name. You'd think you'd know me by now too."
He might have a point there.
I look at him-at his beanie and the hoop piercing in his nose. He's young and doesn't have half the shit to worry about that I do. He works his ass off and then during his free time just wants to party and have fun like most people his age. Not that Frankie is irresponsible because he's not, but he's more like Derek than I am. He's the kind of man that should be taking classes and partying with him.
But then … fuck that. I think I might kick Frankie's ass if he touched him. That's some bullshit right there. This possessive feeling that claws through my chest when it comes to Derek.
"You're frowning. Why are you frowning?" he asks.
"I'm not frowning."
"Oh, tell that to my eyes that are looking at your frowny-ass face. Jesus, Jackson, you're killing me here. You need to have some fun. Pick a night, and we're going out." He crosses his arms and waits.
"I'm not going out with you." And I'm not sure a dance class with Derek is a good idea either. We never committed to it and honestly, I'm not real sure if that's something he'll want to do with me.
"Yeah, I think you are. I'm really fucking good at annoying you. We're like an old married couple. I know your weaknesses, and I will exploit them. Pick a day, and we're going out. You need to fucking live your life."
"I went to Pump the other night," falls past my lips, and I rub a hand over my beard, knowing I'm going to regret saying that.
"No shit?" he asks.
"No shit."
"You fuck?"
"Jesus fucking Christ. I'm going home. I'm not going to continue talking about my sex life with you." I walk out of the building and head for my Jeep.
"Your lack of sex life and you're right. I'm sorry. That's a good thing, man. Do more of that, and you're going out with me too. I'm telling you that will happen."
And he's right. It should happen. Other than Derek, Frankie is my only real friend. If I'm taking a fucking dance class with a man eleven years younger than me, who I really want to have sex with but won't let myself, I can have a drink with my friend.
I sigh. "I'm not sure I like these new changes in me."
"You need some changes, Grumpy Bear. You need to live."
Yeah … yeah, I do. "We'll pick a day," I tell him.
"Wow … I didn't expect that," Frankie says.
"I didn't either, and I might change my mind. I'm likely just saying that to get you off my ass."
"Liar." Frankie winks at me. I climb into my Jeep and drive away.
"When are you going to come and stay with me for a few days?" I ask Zane as we sit on the couch at home. "We've hung out but you haven't stayed with me."
He runs a hand through his hair, then leans forward and sets his video game controller on the coffee table. He looks just like I did at his age, tall-he's only an inch shorter than me-big-boned, with a maturity to his face that makes him look older than he is. The only difference is, there's a lightness to his eyes I couldn't afford to have. He's never known what it feels like to be alone or scared. He's never had to feel like the parent instead of the child, and he knows he always has two people who will put his needs above their own.
"Soon. I want to but you sort of have to take a few days off for that to happen, Dad. You work even more than you did when you lived at home."
Guilt rips through my insides. He's right. I always made time for him. I went to every sports game he ever played and coached some of them. If there was an event at school, I was there, but I did work a lot, especially when you add the forty-five-minute drive time each way.