Brian gazed quietly at the ceiling, arms tucked beneath his head.
Patrick set the guitar aside and twisted around. “You okay?”
“What made you get out the guitar after all this time?”
“I don’t know. It just popped into my head.”
Brian sighed. “Was it Derek?”
“What?” Patrick frowned. “Why wouldDerekmake me think of the guitar?”
“I don’t know,” Brian mumbled. “Maybe something about him reminds you of your younger,carefreedays when you were crushing on boys… and not worrying about the right and wrong of it.”
Was he right?Somethinghad spurred him to dig out the Fender—reignitinghis “passion” for music. In his “guitar days,” playing music always stirred up his emotions. And now,Derekwas stirring up his emotions. Had it inadvertently led him back to his former passion—theguitar?
He couldn’t deny that his memories of those days weregood.Nostalgicmemories. Maybe he did miss it a little bit.Just the music—or the boy crushes, too?
Wasthatit? Derek was his first “crush” since those days—and it took him back?
To a happier time.
Patrick flinched at the thought. He didn’t care for the “implication” that he wasn’t happy where he was today—with God. HelovedGod with all his heart and soul—he always had for as long as he could remember.
“I don’t know,” he murmured. “Maybe that has a little to do with it. But it isn’t like I want tocrushon boys again.”
“Are you sure? Because you seem to be all tied up in knots over Derek.”
“I’m not.”Liar.“I’m just struggling a little bit, but I’ve got it under control. He just caught me off guard. I’m regaining my bearings, though.”
Brian propped on his elbows and cast Patrick a solemn look. “Are you really going to change your number tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
He sank back down. A slight strain webbed through his face as he stared blankly above him. “You really should talk to the pastor about playing at church.”
“Maybe I will.”
Brian looked at him. “At tonight’s service?”
Patrick smiled and shrugged. “Maybe.” He continued to stare at his friend as Brian shifted his eyes to the ceiling again. Thoughts of Brian’s brother, John, haunted him.He died on my birthday.A lump formed in Patrick’s throat; how did a person cope with something like that?
. . .
Derek took out his phone for the umpteenth time since waking up that morning, brought up Patrick’s number, and just fuckingstaredat it.
Fish or cut bait, dumbass—either call him or stop fucking with the phone.
“Dammit.” Derek left his room, his steps quick, and strode down the upstairs hallway to the twins’ room. He knocked once and shoved open the door without waiting for the invite. “Here.” He tossed his phone on the bed before the two startled boys. “Take my phone and don’t give it back until Friday—no matter what. Even if I ask for it—don’t give it to me.”
Mickey blinked and slowly picked up the cell. “Why…?”
“Because, if I keep it on me, I’ll call Patrick.”
Marcus smiled, confused. “And that’s abadthing?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
