Page 71 of All In Good Time
He scanned the area, seeing all of them, but focusing on Derek. Particularly on the keys in his hands. It wasn’t too late, not much later than eight, but it was dark outside.
“Where the hell are you going?”
Derek didn’t answer Mark’s question right away, but took a moment to evaluate the man who stood in the entrance. Whatever he saw had him backtracking.
He turned to Becca and lowered his head and voice, “Go outside and wait for me, alright?”
She nodded, searching his eyes, before stepping around him without question.
Becca might as well have been a gust of wind to Mark Stokes. He didn’t blink when she passed, but she caught the strong whiff of alcohol surrounding him. From close up, she saw the tell-tale signs of intoxication—flushed face and bloodshot eyes. Scared to catch his attention, Becca held her breath until she exited the door and closed it behind her.
Derek’s Monte Carlo was locked, and he had the keys. She leaned against her door and looked at the house, wishing he would hurry and get out of there. From the little Derek had shared about the type of person his father was, Becca knew there were few redeeming qualities, and a lot of alcohol. This was the first time she’d seen Derek’s horror stories with her own eyes.
She didn’t want to see it play out any more than it already had, so she pinched the skin on her knuckles anxiously and counted the seconds down. She made a mental promise that, if Derek didn’t come out by the time she reached three hundred, she would go back in and find him.
The window blinds were drawn, so she couldn’t see if anything was happening inside, but the lights were still on, as they had been when she left.
He’ll be here.She repeated the mantra in her mind.He told you to wait.
And she tried. She really did try.
She tried for a whole 137 seconds before she heard the crash. Her hands halted their counting. She didn’t move a muscle, but strained her ears. It could have been her wild imagination, expecting the worst. 138, 139, 140—
There it was again.
This time louder. This time followed by a deep yell.
She really did try.
The adrenaline coursed through her blood and numbed the terror that shot her blood cold. She wasn’t sure if that yell had been Derek or Mark. On the off chance it was Derek, she wouldn’t sit here and wait for him to emerge different than he was three minutes ago.
Her footsteps pounded up the steps and then the porch, and the front door slammed against the wall as she shoved her way in—throwing caution to the wind.
There was no winning for her. She could have stayed by that car and dealt with whatever happened later—the guilt, the anger, the sadness. Or she could have done what she did and stood shocked in the open doorway as Mark pounded on Derek, who was backed against the wall, hands covering his face to block the blows—an image that would haunt Becca forever.
It was Mark who had yelled. Whostillyelled.
With every strike, he screamed another word, as if it would brand the message right into Derek’s skin.
“Do not disrespect me in my home.”Thrash. “You will obey me when I order you.”Thrash.
Becca choked on the horror that stuck in her throat, a gargled sound somewhere between a gasp and a scream.
Mal was gone—thank god—locked behind her closed door. Jennifer stood at the end of the hallway, averting her eyes from the beating, but not interfering.
Mark, unused to being interrupted, clocked the noise immediately and turned.
His attention was off Derek, who sagged against the wall as the assault stopped.
But Becca was inexperienced, unprepared, and underestimating what would happen when the cutting rage in Mark’s inebriated leer turned its focus to her.
She wasn’t a harmless wind to him anymore. She was a threatening fire he needed to put out.
“Who the hell do you think you are to walk into my house?” He straightened and let go of Derek. His body turned toward her, and his long-gated steps closed the distance between them.
Her breath hitched in shock. Her back pressed against the closed door. This is when fight or flight should kick in.
It didn’t.
