Page 21 of All In Good Time

What she wouldn’t tell them was the way he leaned over the counter, his head buried in one hand, with a glass buried in the other. His usually perfectly styled curls now stringy and flat against his head. He wore the same outfit he’d been wearing the last day she saw him. Leather jacket, white shirt, and a pair of now-stained jeans.

She froze from taking a step closer to him.

She’d almost forgotten—he hated her.

She’d put him in this position, made him resort to this state. He’d told her he never wanted to see her again.

In her mind, she had pictured some grand reunion between them, with misty eyes and hugs and apologies and forgiveness. But what if that didn’t happen?

What if Derek Stokes truly wanted her gone forever?

“What are you doing?” Marty appeared at her side, leaning close to yell into her ear over the loud music.

She didn’t want to admit it. “I’m scared.”

“Why?”

“He won’t want to see me.” Her voice choked up before she could stop it. “He hates me.”

Marty placed a hand on her shoulder, turning her so she was no longer looking at Derek, but at Marty’s serious face. “Now I may not like the asshole, but even I know that he does not hate you. Anyone with eyes can see that prick cares more about you than anything else. I think if you hadn’t come now, he would have crawled back, eventually, just to see you.”

Becca looked back toward Derek as he lifted his glass to his lips. Hate her or not, it wouldn’t change the fact that she made a promise to Derek long ago.

The walk to Derek was slow and calculated. But she made it to his side without him noticing. Her mouth opened once, twice, three times before she could get a single word out.

“Derek.”

His drink froze halfway to his lips, and for what felt like ages, neither of them moved. Slowly, oh, so slowly, his head turned, and his eyes settled on her face.

She knew the phases of his eyes in any state. She had seen them drunk before—when they glassed over and became distant. They were like that now, barely registering her standing in front of him. He was so far gone in the alcohol, he couldn’t even tell she was there.

Her heart ached so badly, she wanted to cry. But she kept her tears in and tried again. “Derek.”

A light flickered behind the blue, and he set the drink down on the bar, turning his whole body to face her.

“God. Looks so real.” His words were so slurred she could barely make them out. But his hand rose and settled on the side of her cheek against her skin. It was cold and damp from where the glass had left its mark.

Becca brought her hand up instinctively and wrapped it around his fingers.

“You came.” He still didn’t seem to think she was real.

“Of course, I came.”

“Go away.”

Like a bucket of ice water had been poured over her head, Becca’s body locked up. He started to pull his hand away but she desperately held it in place.

“I’m not going anywhere without you.” she said. “Let’s go home.”

“Home.” He scoffed at the word with the same amount of affection he had for dirt and looked at the ground—sticky with crumbs and alcohol.

“You’re drunk. You don’t know what you’re saying. Come with me.”

“I said I never wanted to see you again.” His voice was clearer as the interaction began to sober him up.

“You didn’t mean that.” Becca tried to sound confident, but it came out quiet, unsure.

He managed to rip his hand from her grasp, and he grabbed the drink and tossed back the rest of it in a single go. Her confidence was waning, her hold on him loosening.

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