Page 42 of All In Good Time

But things were different now.

Now, Derek’s favorite time of day wasafterschool, because it was the time he got to spend with Rebecca.

In the dark, after hell, he got to experience a little piece of heaven.

He had long ago forgotten how nice it felt to be cared for, and she knew how to care for him so well. But he made sure to be there in the good times too. He didn’t want to be someone she just associated with the darkness, so he often showed up in the evenings without any cuts or bruises.

He loved to drive. It’s why he kept his car in such immaculate condition. Driving around was the best way for him to clear his head, and he found an even better way to enjoy his rides was to pick her up, and together they would drive and talk.

They did a lot of that. Talking. About this, about that.

Becca liked to laugh about the newest rumors.

She had told him she’d prefer if they kept their friendship between themselves, to avoid the attention it would bring in school, but their peers were far from blind.

Even though she claimed to hate the attention, she found it funny the conclusions people came to.

“Tracy was the third person to ask me if we are dating.” She laughed, shaking her head. “Just today.”

“It comes with the territory, sweetheart. I’m a hot commodity,” he joked, blowing a stream of smoke out the cracked window. They passed a worn-down barn off beside the country road they drove down doing eighty miles per hour. He had been happy to learn that she liked it when he drove fast.

“Tell me about it. None of them believe me when I say we’re just friends.”

He didn’t blame people for that, and he knew she didn’t either. They’d been spotted together outside of school many times by now. The past couple weeks, rumors had floated around about them being seen in the car, going into Becca’s house, and once going to a diner late at night.

Of course, those people didn’t know all the details. For example, if they’d been dating, Derek would have seen the inside of her bedroom by now. He’d seen the rooms of dozens of girls, but never Becca’s. She’d never seen his either. She would also have his phone number, which is something he wasn’t willing to give at the risk ofsomeoneother than him answering the phone.

Those people also never sat with them in the dark while she taped up cuts and dabbed at blood with wet rags. Or as they sat in silence on her couch, before she led him to the guest room, where he could be alone.

They only saw the little pieces, and they made up their own stories. They didn’t know that their story was not a love story—it was something much, much more.

It had bits and pieces that couldn’t always be mentioned. Like the times that Derek couldn’t bring himself to explain the full extent of what his father did to him.

The most he had ever explained to Becca was, “My father is an asshole,” and that was it. He wasn’t eager to ruin it, and she wasn’t eager to push harder than he was willing to give.

Derek was happy in the little world they had built in the past few weeks. The good and the bad, in the light and in the dark. And he now knew he would do anything for this girl.

* * *

Becca had worked hard to get Derek’s phone number. He avoided sharing it with her for weeks. He never said why, but she could tell. He didn’t want to chance her calling and his father answering.

She understood it, but she also would have felt much better if there was a way to contact him quickly if needed. So, she had secretly obtained it a week earlier from Mal, who was less concerned about sharing their number than Derek was.

She hadn’t told him she got it. She didn’t want to spoil it unless needed, so she kept it as her own little secret.

Until the night she got the call.

When the phone rang, she expected Marty or Winston on the other end. Her mother was likely on her shift in Connecticut and didn’t have time to call, and Derek rarely gave a heads up before he showed up at her house.

But the voice wasn’t either.

“Rebecca?” It was a woman’s voice, an unfamiliar one. Whoever it was sounded around her mother’s age, but with a voice hoarse from years of smoking.

“Yes? Who is this?”

There was a short beat of silence, followed by a shaky breath. “I’m your aunt, Shelby.”

As far as Becca knew, her mother was an only child of dead parents. The only family Becca even knew of was dead or disappeared. “My aunt?”

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