Derek leaned an elbow on his bent knee. “Hell, I have plenty of issues of my own, and I was raised in a happy, stable home.”
“Yeah, just why is that? Why are you so messed up?” Nick turned the tables.
“Just am,” he evaded.
“Nothing’s bothering you?”
“Nope. I’m fine.”
Nick guffawed. “Yeah, okay! You are day drinking on my roof, but you’re fine!”
“Yep.”
“So, you and Tommy are just fine? You and Leighton are fine, too?”
Derek cleared his throat. “It’s complicated and totally messed up. I’m the asshole who has feelings for my brother’s girl. Not just feelings, but I acted on them.”
Just like Nick, his unrequited feelings were obvious too. He stared straight ahead and let out a low moan. “Oh shit. Twelve o’clock.”
Ophelia Meddler stood on her front lawn staring at them.
“Nick Taylor, what are you doing on your roof?” Her nasal voice was so grating.
“Enjoying the view,” Nick called back.
“Is that Derek Brennan with you?” Ophelia shielded her eyes from the bright sun with her left hand as she crossed the street.
“Depends,” Derek yelled. “Are you going to call my mother?”
“Maybe I will,” Ophelia snapped, now standing on the sidewalk, fuming. “This is a respectable neighborhood.”
“Dude, I can’t believe you built a house across the street from the Meddler,” he muttered out the side of his mouth, holding his hand up to cover it just in case Ophelia could read lips.
“The land was cheap.”
Derek raised his eyebrows. “It was cheap because Ophelia Meddler lives across the street.”
“Yeah, I didn’t think this through.”
“Oh, she’s not going to call my mother, but she did call your grandfather.” Derek let out a hoot as Earl’s old station wagon came to a stop at the curb.
“Everything ok, my boy?” Earl moved to stand beside Ophelia, staring up.
Ophelia huffed, crossing her arms. “I think he’s really upset over the breakup.”
“I’m fine. Just doing some roof drinking with my friend,” Nick moaned. “Give me another beer. You realize that I’m going to have to move.”
“Yep.” Derek handed him another can. “I’ll help you pack.”
Chapter 9
Jayna unpacked her lunch box with enthusiasm. It was eight hours into her twelve-hour shift, and she was famished. The day began with a trauma case, which was always a sign of more to follow. And indeed, more had followed. First a car accident proceeded with a near drowning.
Her stomach growled as she pulled out her frozen dinner, glaring at the plastic-wrapped meal with disdain. Another culinary masterpiece courtesy of the microwave.
“Hey Jayna. That’s been quite the shift,” Greta said, breezing into the break room.
Suppressing a groan, Jayna mustered a polite, “Yep.”