Page 69 of All In Good Time
Becca cut off the only light in the room by shutting the door behind her.
Opening her mouth, she tried to say something, but the words died on her tongue.
“How many times do I need to say something to be heard by you?” His voice was deep, slightly hoarse. Weak. “I told you to stay away from me.”
“You know I’m not going to do that.”
“Then what the fuck are you going to do?” His voice rose slightly. “Because I see you trying to do a whole hell of a lot, and it doesn’t really look like it’s helping. Does it?”
Swallowing took effort, but she managed it and tried to steady her breathing and keep her focus. “Look at me.”
He didn’t. He remained facing away from her, his back slouched forward.
“Derek. Look at me.” Her voice got higher and more demanding—for the first time since entering the room, she moved, walking around his bed until she stood right next to him.
Any feature of his face was hidden in the shadows as he turned to avoid her eyes, and frustration and desperation bubbled in the pit of Becca’s stomach. Her hand shot out, reaching around his cheek to pull him toward her so she could see everything he was hiding.
Just like Becca thought it would, her heart shattered, and a bitter bile rose to the back of her throat.
His blue eyes looked up at her, tears streaming down over his cheeks to his chin. Sadness was not his reigning emotion, though. It was anger. His brows drew together to create a sharp line between, and his jaw trembled under the pressure of his gritted teeth. His hands—hung by his side—clenched into fists.
But it was barelyhisface. One eye was swollen to the point of closing. His nose was blue on the bridge and a cut crossed over his cheek the length of a finger. She’d become so good at seeing him in the dark, but that was also a curse, because every small blemish stood out like a blinding light. More bruises and broken skin littered under the collar of his shirt. Nausea rose in Becca’s gut as she imagined all that could be hidden beneath it.
A gasp snuck from her throat even though she tried to catch it, and it cut the tension between them like a knife.
Derek didn’t try to hide anymore. Now that she could see all of him and the damage done, he rose from his spot and stepped closer—towering over her and forcing her to crane her head back to see him. She couldn’t look away.
“You try so fucking hard, don’t you?” he hissed, his mouth just inches away from her. “Well, here you go. Have a look.” He lifted his chin, his eyes wild. “Jesus Christ, you can’t listen, can you? Itoldyou not to tell anyone. Itoldyou to stay away. I told youeverything, and you didn’tfuckinglisten.”
Tears welled in the corner of her eyes. “You stayed in Highburg because of me. I couldn’t watch it get worse the longer you were here.” Her voice was weak and trembled on the emotion stuck in her throat.
Derek smiled until all his teeth were bared in a cruel, amused sneer. “Ironic, isn’t it? Now I can’tleavebecause of you.” He stepped away and spun in a slow circle while he barked a humorless laugh. “It was all manageable before. I could handle it for a while until we graduated. Then we’d go to California or Madison or wherever the hell you decided. But this—” he motioned to his face, and Becca held back silent sobs, “—thisis worse.Thisis because of you.”
Becca broke. Every word he said was right.This was her fault.No matter what her intentions, Derek washere, and he was hurt. Because of her.
The tears and cries and whimpers she had been trying so hard to prevent surfaced in one big wave, a choking sob that cleared her lips. Tears fell faster than she could wipe them away, so she clenched her eyes shut to hold them back.
The air of the room settled as Derek stopped moving, his stare burning into her face.
Since the night she’d met Derek until now, all she’d wanted was to help him. After all those nights, all those secrets, and all those moments, all she’d ended up doing was hurting him.
Derek stirred again, stepping forward until he was in front of her—slower than before.
Becca opened her eyes. Unable to meet his, she couldn’t lift her gaze above the red split in the corner of his lips.
Derek leaned forward so the side of his face ran parallel to hers, their cheeks close enough to touch if she moved. “You said it yourself.” His breath moved against the hair settled near her ear. The anger was gone and all that was left of his voice was fatigue. “You can’t do anything to fix this. Sostop trying.”
26
September 1985 | Before
“You think she’ll like it?” Becca ran her hand over the textured surface of the skateboard, while her fingers fiddled with the ribbon bow she’d brought along to pretty it up a bit before gifting it.
“I already told you, she’s gonna love it.” Derek’s fingers tapped rhythmically on the steering wheel along to “Sign of the Wolf” by Pentagram playing from the tape he’d put into the stereo. He had his window down to let the warm, late-evening breeze brush through the car and mess with his hair. “Better than that piece-of-shit one someone lent her.”
Since she’d broken Mal’s board at the beginning of the year, Becca had wanted to make it up to her. Mal had replaced it with an old one that her elderly neighbor’s son had left behind when he went to college, but after sitting in a garage for years, it was far from par quality.
Once Becca found out Mal’s birthday was today, she convinced Derek—with some bribery—to drive her around town after school, to a few different shops, until she found one that fit perfectly with Mal’s personality.
