Page 44 of All In Good Time

“This is Rebecca.”

“Ah, Rebecca.” He recognized her. “I’ll get Derek.”

There were a few moments of quiet, some shuffling, some muffled words, and then a new voice. Relief washed over her when she heard the familiar bass, and she closed her eyes to bask in it.

“Becca?” Derek sounded upset. “How the hell did you get my number?”

“Mal.” She didn’t mean to tattle, but she wasn’t thinking straight.

“That little shit—”

“Please come over.” Her voice broke, and Derek stopped. She could practically hear his thoughts—or maybe lack of thoughts—flying through the phone.

“Are you okay?” The annoyance was gone. His voice was on guard—worried.

The care in his tone was so tender and gentle, it was the final strike to the dam that was built over a decade. Her knees gave out, and Becca broke down. Falling against the wall as she sobbed, she faintly heard Derek’s sharp intake of breath.

“I need you.” It’s all she could manage.

The line went dead, leaving the long-winded tone in place of Derek’s voice.

She didn’t have enough strength to get on her feet and hang up the phone, so the beep became a background noise, as she dropped the phone and let it hang. She pulled her knees to her chest and tucked her head in between them.

She wasn’t sure how long she sat there, crying to herself, but it felt like hours.

If Derek knocked, she didn’t hear him. But she felt him the second he was in the room with her, his presence a warm bud in the cold.

She looked up at him and blinked away the sting of the light on her tender eyes. He was on his knees, panting like he had run, and his hands came up to her face.

Slowly, softly, he grabbed her cheeks.

She leaned into his touch, basking in the feel of his rough thumb brushing against her cheekbone to wipe away the tears.

He looked frantic as both hands held onto her. His lips were drawn tight, and his eyes were wide as they searched her face.

“Please stop. Please stop,” he murmured, while his fingers brushed gently under her eyes at the never-ending water. “Look at me. Tell me what’s wrong.” His voice was a murmur she could barely hear over her sobs.

This was far out of Derek’s element. Yet he came when she called and fell to his knees to do his very best for her.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know who else to call.”

“Don’t you dare be sorry.” He frowned. “Talk to me, sweetheart. I’m here.” His right hand lifted off her cheek and brushed against her forehead to clear away the hair that had come down to cover her eyes. He pushed it back behind her ear.

She told him everything. It flowed from her like a river that she couldn’t stop with just her lips.

About the call, about the anger, the betrayal, the desertion, and everything she had chosen to forget.

She told him that she should be sad that her father was dead, but she was just so angry that her father could have believed he loved her, just to ignore her forever, and then try to come back after he was dead.

She did not miss him. Shehatedhim.

Shedidmiss him. She hated that, somewhere inside her, was a little girl who wanted her father back and now it would be impossible.

She panted between cries, and Derek never looked away from her. His hands never left her—whether it was wiping her tears or running over her hair, they were the rock holding her to the ground.

He stayed there and listened to it all. And he looked at her like he understood every word she said. Like heheardher.

When her tears slowed and her breaths evened out, her body was weak. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the wall to take a deep breath.

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