Better than, maybe. His ass was sore and he rubbed it as he got out of bed. He heard Derek on the phone with the airlines. “I’ll take anything. Doesn’t matter if it’s connecting.” He paused. “Yeah, no, it’s Christmas Eve. I get it.” He hung up, ran his hands through his hair, elbows on the table. His back was so tense, Glen stepped forward and began to massage his shoulders. Derek let out an appreciative groan as Glen’s fingers dug in. “No flight?” “Nothing.” “You didn’t book ahead of time?” “I did,” he said quietly and Glen realized that Derek had given up his airline seat to stay with him and nurse him back to health. “I’m going to drive. If I leave now, I’ll make it by morning,” he said, like it was completely reasonable. And maybe it would’ve been, if a storm hadn’t been ravaging the Eastern Seaboard and promised to continue doing so for at least twenty-four more hours.
