Page 45 of All In Good Time
She became weightless, held together by solid arms, as Derek scooped her off the ground and against his body like she was a child. She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face into him without objection, letting him take her from the room.
He walked her up the stairs and into her bedroom, laying her on the bed. She pulled herself together enough to settle under the covers herself and laid back against the pillow. Derek tried to walk away, but there was no way she would let him go now.
Her hand shot out and caught his wrist. He looked from where they were touching, then to her, evaluating what it was she wanted.
“Can you lay with me please?” Her voice was quiet and weak.
Derek didn’t care, though, and he nodded.
Becca drew the covers back, and Derek crawled in next to her, laying on his side so they were facing each other. How was it possible for a single person to make her feel so safe?
Derek Stokes of all people.
She had a hard time believing it could not be fate, to be brought together in such a way.
Eyes heavy, Becca let them close, while shifting so her body was closer to Derek, so she could feel his warmth.
He reached up a hand, and settled it on her shoulder, a gentle touch. “My mom left me,” he said, quiet as a secret.
Becca opened her eyes enough to see Derek still watching her.
“When I was eight. She grabbed her bags and snuck out while I was asleep, because she couldn’t handle my dad anymore. So, she left me with him and never came back.” His hand left her shoulder and came back to her face, brushing along her hairline. “I hate her.”
Becca nodded. “I hate him.”
“We get to hate them. It’s our fucking right.”
He was right. Seven and eight. Too young to understand. Not too young to wonder why they weren’t good enough.
Her head ached, her eyes stung. She squeezed them shut, trying to hold back more tears.
She owed nothing to the man who left her behind. Not her forgiveness, not her love.
Dead or alive, he was a stranger.
But Derek wasn’t, not anymore. In five minutes, Derek had shown her more comfort and love and protection than she had received from her father in seventeen years.
His hand on her shoulder pulled her to sleep, and when the tears dried and the dreams came through, she had a realization.
Derek Stokes, from that moment on, was the most important person to her.
17
September 1985 | After
Derek’s head pounded, and he thought he might be sick. When he opened his eyes, the heart-racing sensation of not knowing where he was hit him hard enough to send him bolting upright to take in the surroundings.
He’d woken the same way in the back seat of his Monte Carlo for the past few days, but this wasn’t his car. It wasn’t evenacar. It was a bed. One that felt and smelled familiar.
A few days ago, the sight of the well-decorated room would have sent a wave of comfort and safety through him, but now it made his stomach drop.
The scent of lavender covered him, and a strong bile rose in his throat. He’d once craved that scent.
Part of him still did, but it was buried under the gut-wrenching betrayal he felt now when he smelled it. He swallowed the feeling down and got to his feet, swaying slightly.
Clenching his eyes shut, he pressed a fist to his forehead and willed the memories of the night to come back.
The last thing he remembered, he was walking into that dirty pub he’d frequented for two days in Madison. He didn’t remember anything else. Not how he got back to Highburg, or how his clothes had been changed. Whatever it was he couldn’t remember, he knewshehad to be part of it.
