Page 123 of All In Good Time

A snapshot was taken in his mind. He’d never forget this scene. You don’t forget the things you see for the first time, and yet he’d seen this all before.

And he’s there all over again. Ten years ago, in a small kitchen in California, standing next to a table. Mark is there, and his mother is on the ground, holding her cheek.

Derek is reduced to being that eight-year-old boy, with no clue or strength or knowledge.

He just stood there—his feet rooted into the floor like a tree—as Mark stepped closer to Mal. Even Jennifer, Mal’s own mother, stood there and did nothing as her daughter looked up in terror.

“I guess I didn’t teach you enough, Mallory. Your mother and I just spent two hours being grilled by officers because of you. Respect is all that is important in this world—maybe I didn’t make it clear.” He bent over, and Mal winced away. “Apologize.”

Mal’s mouth snapped shut. Her head shook in defiance.

Derek flinched.

The world slowed around him, and it took him only a millisecond to predict what would happen next. It was easy to predict when you’d seen it all before.

Weak.

His feet were moving across the hallway, and his mind snapped back to him. No one noticed him there.

Fool.

His hand reached out, just as Mark raised his open palm and swung. Derek lurched forward and pushed against Mark’s chest, hard.

“Don’t touch her.”

Mark stumbled back, his mouth opening in surprise as he hit the wall. Jennifer jumped and yelped as her husband crashed next to her.

Derek always felt four feet tall in front of his father—scared and helpless.

Now he saw it. Not in his mother, but in Mal. The young girl recoiled, and tears ran down her face. She didn’t deserve this. Neither of them did.

No one ever stepped in front of Derek. No one ever stopped the blows. And he’d wished and prayed for his entire life that someone would.

Mark straightened himself and reoriented his footing. Rage burned behind his eyes as he got into Derek’s face and spat. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Derek wasn’t four feet tall anymore. He stood over his dad, looking down at him. Mal needed him now as much as he needed himself.

There was a soft shuffling, and Mal pulled herself off the ground and bolted from her room to the front door.

Derek didn’t watch her leave.

He kept his eyes on Mark, whose face was red and eyes shimmering with hatred.

Jennifer sobbed and called after Mal, but the girl was gone, disappearing into the night that offered her more safety than these walls.

Derek turned, intending to follow Mal out, away from this storm, but Mark stopped his retreat by grabbing the collar of his shirt and slamming him back against the wall outside his bedroom.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you, you pussy.” Mark slammed him against the wall again, and Derek’s head hit. A ringing went through his ears, and he blinked rapidly as stars ran through his vision. “Did neither of you learn anything? I guess I have to make sure you do.”

46

December 1985

The numbers on the worksheet in front of Becca all blended together. She could barely tell the difference between a two and a five anymore in her hazy mind, not from lack of trying.

There were no more college applications to keep her distracted. She’d finished all her work in class today, leaving only this math, and nothing was working to avert her mind away from Derek.

Her pencil tapped onto the binding of the notebook, and her head rested in her hand, which grabbed, frustrated, at a fistful of hair.

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