The fact that she answered the door with gun in hand didn't actually surprise Derek. He'd come over unannounced in the middle of the night and she was a cop, of course that would've been her natural reaction. Patty pulled him inside and Derek felt unreservedly relieved that she didn't slam the door in his face instead. God knew she would've had every right to. Even though she made her way upstairs and he remembered a time not too long ago that she would've just expected him to follow her, Derek remained rooted to the spot, half because he was soaking wet and dripping all over her hardwood floor and half because he was fairly sure he wasn't welcome up there anymore.
For a moment, when she returned, Derek couldn't look at her. He felt sick to his stomach with nerves because he'd never put himself out there for someone like this and he was probably too late to the party for the sentiment to be embraced rather than balked at. So he stalled, drying his hair and then wrapping the towel around his shoulders. "I'm sorry, I know it's late," he started and it sounded choked with nerves, so he cleared his throat. Finally, his eyes shifted up to meet hers.
This was the hardest thing Derek could remember ever having to do. It probably spoke volumes about him that it had been easier to let Patty slip away than too just be honest with her because he'd been too scared.
"I miss you, Patty," he started and then stopped again, not really sure how to continue. "I'm sorry."