Page 13 of All In Good Time
She pulled the door open, with some sarcastic remark already falling off her lips. “Oh how nice of you to—”
She stopped when she realized that Marty wasn’t standing there. She hadn’t turned on the porch light, so the figure was bathed in darkness, only lit from the bluish glow of the TV screen in the other room.
She sucked in a harsh breath—Derek Stokes stood there. Well, “stood” wasn’t right. He was leaning one arm against the doorway, the same way she had seen him lean over girls against their lockers. But, despite the darkness, she could tell this situation was entirely different. He was swaying on his feet, his head bowed forward like he struggled to keep it upright.
Immediately her assumption was that he was drunk, and one strong whiff told her she was right.
“Derek?”
“You said to call if I need anything.” His words were slurred, an incoherent mumble that she had to strain to decipher.
She looked behind him at the street. His car wasn’t there. He moved slightly, and finally looked up at her, which made her wince. Once again, his nose was bloody, and he had a small welt under his eye. It wasn’t as bad as it had been before, but it wasn’t good. Not to mention he looked like he might collapse at any moment.
“You’re the only person I could think of.”
He tried to take a step in but swayed heavily to the point of almost falling over. She caught him just in time. And lucky she did, because he weighed a ton. If he had fallen, she would have struggled even more than she did trying to walk him from the doorway to the living room couch.
She forced his arm around her shoulders to give him a crutch, and he used it—leaning more than half of his body weight on her. She grunted and threw him onto the couch—wiping her hands together as he groaned against the cushions.
“Gentle.” His hand came up against his forehead, rubbing at the skin as if to will away some foreboding headache.
“Jesus Christ, are you all right?” Becca asked, as she helped him take off his boots before he placed the dirty heels on her couch. “How did you get here?”
“I walked.”
She could have guessed from the mud on him. “Where’s your car?”
“I dunno.” He closed his eyes, drifting off.
“Hold on there, cool guy.” She patted his cheek gently to keep him from dozing, and he groaned again, but opened his eyes and shifted his head so he was lying against the armrest. “Let me clean you up before you pass out.”
He grumbled something, but pushed himself into a sitting position while she ran into her kitchen and grabbed the first aid kit her mother kept there for emergencies.
When she came back into the room, Derek sat slightly more alert. He observed her movements as she prepared a swab for his bleeding nose.
It didn’t make a whole lot of sense to her. He had ignored her for a while now, and suddenly he couldn’t seem to look away. Luckily, she still hadn’t turned on the lights, so the darkness made her feel more comfortable under his intense stare.
There were all sorts of new smells floating from him. Some strong cheap cologne, the musty scent of dirt and metallic blood. The tar of cigarettes.
“What happened?” She was gentle as she tended to his face.
“Too much.” Okay, so he didn’t want to go into detail. “But I can’t go home.”
She nodded. “Stay here then.”
Derek didn’t agree or object, he just watched as she unwrapped a small bandage and covered a scratch on his chin. He didn’t move when she reached behind herself and grabbed a mug off the table and held it out to him. “You like tea?”
He shook his head, and she turned to put the mug back down. A warm hand on her arm stopped her before she got rid of it, and she paused as he reached out and plucked the drink from her hand. “But I’m thirsty.”
While he sipped on the hot beverage, Becca cleaned up the supplies, and for a moment, she was reminded of the other day when he’d stood against his car as she cleaned up the wet, bloody napkins.
They let several minutes of silence settle between them. The only sound was the quiet white noise of the television that went static during her aid. She hadn’t bothered to turn it off.
“Want to talk about it?” Her voice was gentler than before, and she watched him carefully as he set down the now-empty mug.
Leaning back against the sofa, he sighed and shut his eyes again. “No.”
She nodded and rose from her spot, carrying the dirtied supplies with her. “Okay, another time then.”
