Page 142 of Begin Again Again

“So, you’re moving out?” Byron asked, pulling the tab on his beer.

Derek nodded slowly.

“When?” If it was today, he should probably call the Guinness Book of World Records or something.

“Soon. I’m gonna get my own place.”

“Makes sense.”

And it did. Derek had money to burn. It was stupid for a guy who owned multiple commercial properties to be renting a room off a mate. Byron drank his Panhead. It was too soon to be tipsy, but he felt it, that internal unlocking beer provided. It didn’t matter if Derek left. It was just more of the same.

“Much on for tonight?” Derek asked with the vibe of a guy who wanted to leave.

“Drinking.”

“Why aren’t you with your missus?”

Byron raised the can to his mouth, drinking as much beer as he could without upending it.

“Alright then.” Derek cast his gaze around the kitchen. “Your sister left, did they?”

He said it like it was a riddle. Did they? Didn’t they? Maybe his near-empty stomach was aiding the high percentage beers, because Byron felt stupid. Reckless. “Yup. They’re going to New South Wales to be a stripper.”

Derek didn’t react.

“Don’t you want to say something? Wish them well? Sign up for their OnlyFans?”

But Derek hadn’t gotten where he was by answering loaded questions from idiots. He pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Might head out. See Trace.”

“She’s still around then?”

For a second, it looked like Derek was going to tell him to get fucked, then his housemate’s mouth quirked. “Seems that way. So, are you just gonna keep giving me shit until I hit you or what?”

Byron was caught completely off guard. He laughed, and that tiny concession let everything else through. Sal leaving, Beth leaving, his stupid fucking leg. It broke, then he broke. He’d been a dick to Audrey until she dumped him. He’d never made it up to Derek. He barely stood up to his parents for Sal. He never told Beth he loved her. He’d bailed on his promise to be sober. He couldn’t watch a game of footy without wanting to put his foot through the TV. It was so hard to remember a time when he wasn’t fucking something up. And he was still fucking it all up. He pressed his beer to his burning forehead.

“You okay?” Derek asked.

Byron wished people would stop asking him that. He strode back to the fridge and pulled out the rest of the six-pack. “Forget I said anything. It’s fine you’re moving out.”

“But—”

“Later, man.Please.” He knew he sounded pathetic, but he didn’t care. “I’m heading upstairs. Say hi to Trace for me.”

Derek stood. “Wait on. Let’s have a beer.”

Byron squinted at him. “What about Trace?”

“She’s not waiting on me or anything.”

The silence that followed was awkward as shit. Byron wanted to say yes, but he also wanted to be alone. And Derek probably didn’t want a beer as much as he wanted to make sure he didn’t top himself. He headed for the stairs. “Don’t stress. I’m fine.”

“Yeah, mark me down as convinced.” Derek moved from behind the counter. “My sister stripped for a while.”

Byron turned, baffled. “Britnee?”

“Yup.”

He had no idea what to say. He’d known Derek for almost seven years and never heard this before. He was such a fucking closed book.

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