Page 62 of All In Good Time

“You’re running away?” She hated how weak her voice sounded.

He shook his head. “Not anymore.”

Relief flooded over her so quickly she might have collapsed had she been standing. She wanted to throw her arms around Derek and pull him closer to her, but she held still and resisted. “What changed?”

“I thought that was obvious too.” He laughed in disbelief and shook his head. “Sweetheart, you’re the only thing in this hellhole of a town that keeps me sane. I’m not ready to give that up yet.”

22

October 1985 | After

Handcuffs were unnecessary. He was a runaway, not a criminal.

The two officers had thought it was necessary in case he tried to get away while they picked him up and took him to the last place he wanted to be. The light metal chain holding his wrists within inches of each other jingled as he rubbed at his heavy eyes, swollen from lack of sleep.

It wasn’t like he could run even if he wanted to. Derek was locked in the back seat like a child, and a pane of glass separated him from them. He was as good as an animal stuck in a zoo.

Trees moved past the car window in a blur, and the dread in Derek’s gut grew the closer they got to his house.

He knew exactly what awaited him there. Or rather, who.

And he was terrified.

His leg shook, tapping anxiously at the floor of the car.

The officer in the passenger side, glared at him in the corner of his eye. “Knock it off, kid. You’re shaking the whole car.”

Derek barely heard him over the ringing in his ears. All of his focus was on steadying his breathing—deep inhale through his nose, and out through his mouth.

The police car slowed and pulled around the corner leading down the last stretch of road.

Derek clenched his eyes, ignoring the pain. In, out. In, out.

It hauled to a stop.

“Alright. Home, sweet home.” The officer crawled out of his seat and opened Derek’s door. “Get out.”

Derek opened his eyes and let himself be pulled by his arm out of the car. While his cuffs were unlocked, he picked the officer’s name badge to stare at—Robertson. He hadn’t realized how tight the metal handcuffs were until they were loosened and pulled away. He rubbed at the reddened skin on his wrist.

“Come on. Let’s go.”

Even though he was untied, the cop’s grip stayed on his upper arm and forced him to follow them.

Derek stared at the car parked in front of the house. He hated seeing it there.

There had once been a lot of fight in him—when he felt strong enough to stand up against his dad. To talk back and hold his ground. But the fight was long gone, and he knew once he entered that door, he would completely resign himself to whatever was behind it.

The other officer knocked on the heavy wood, then they stepped aside, mumbling some normal conversation between them that Derek didn’t care about.

The door opened up.

Mark stood there, a worried expression on his face.

“Son.”

Derek tensed as Mark’s arms wrapped around him. To the officers watching, he looked like a father welcoming home his prodigal son, but his arms squeezed hard around Derek’s shoulders, tighter than was comfortable or loving.

“Found him camping out at the Parrs’ house.”

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