All In Good Time, page 1
Talia Aden
All In Good Time
Copyright © 2023 by Talia Aden
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
First edition
Editing by Shannon Cave
This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy
Find out more at reedsy.com
Content Warnings
Before starting this story, please be aware that this story has some parts that are heavy and difficult to read. There are mentions and depictions of child abuse, violence, sexual situations (non-explicit), alcohol abuse, and strong language.
1
September 1985
“I’m sorry, Derek.”
He didn’t seem fazed as she said it. Instead, he just pinched his cigarette between his thumb and pointer finger. A stream of smoke slid up from his lips and past his nose. He looked at her only through the corner of his eye, so he probably couldn’t quite see the way her brows were furrowed in worry.
He pulled the stick away from his lips, licked them, then pulled it back. “Sorry about what?” There was no curiosity or concern in his voice; it was relaxed. She knew it took a lot to rattle him, and this wasn’t anything new. But that bubble of fear rose in her chest, because she knew once she said it, he wouldn’t act so careless.
She knew that he would be far, far more than worried. And it would be her fault.
Becca Lewis had run the words over and over in her mind, barely getting any sleep. Knowing that what she had done would mean a change in Derek’s life. Just a simple call would alter everything for him.
Logically, and perhaps emotionally, it was 100% the right thing to do. After everything he had said and everything she had seen, she knew this was necessary. But it hadn’t made her any less terrified to do it.
And it didn’t make her any less petrified to see how he would react.
“I had to do it.”
That piqued his interest, if only slightly. His brow raised, but his attention remained on the end of the cigarette, puffing in the corner of his mouth, as he pocketed his hands. His head rested against the brick wall behind him, his eyes fully on her. They squinted slightly.
“You can go a little faster, sweetheart. I’m not a quick learner, but you know I’m also not very patient. Get along with it. What did you do?”
She swallowed, once, twice, then the tears started to form. They pinched at the corners of her eyes, and she had to close them as she finally said it, wincing. “I had to tell them about your dad.”
Her eyes stayed shut for a few seconds, but unlike what she’d expected, there was only silence. She had expected him to curse and yell, punch a wall or something. Instead, nothing.
That alone made her open her eyes. She wished she hadn’t.
The cigarette was still in his mouth, but it was frozen. The smoke that had been seeping out seemed to stay in place, as if there was no air to move through. She might have thought time had stopped if it weren’t for the slow, disconnected blink of Derek’s blue eyes, or the stony, hard stare behind them. The same way he was when he showed up after a bad beating, with a purple bruise on his chin.
“Told who?” It was less a question and more a threat. There was a clip at the end of the sentence that cut into her.
A shudder ran down her shoulders, and it took everything in her to fight the urge to shake. “People who can help you, and Mal too.” She hadn’t planned to say much, expecting him to storm away before she could, so she hadn’t prepared a thorough explanation. Instead, hurried reasons flooded before she could think. “That place isn’t safe for you, and you know it. Jennifer obviously has no intention of helping, and I’ve seen how you leave that place. I’ve seen you, Derek, and I can’t stand by and watch you pretend you’re okay when you’re obviously not. It’s not normal, you know that, right? It’s not normal to leave your home with new bruises every single day, and—”
She was interrupted by a smaller sound. A light flutter on the ground as the cigarette fell from his lips and hit the dirt. He made no move to put it out. The white and red end continued to burn.
And he was on her, his hands on her shoulders. His eyes grew wide, rabid, blue, and ringed with red, which added to the insanity behind them.
Despite it, his grasp didn’t hurt, but it was firm. His fingers dug into her shoulders, and he towered over her. “What exactly did you tell them?”
He was cruel. Both to her and himself. She knew he already knew, but he was forcing both of them to relive the things never said aloud. Until now. “Derek—”
“What the fuck did you tell them, Becca?”
She squeezed her eyes shut again. “I said that I know your dad beats you to the point of drawing blood. That your stepmom watches it happen, and that I watched him punch you right in front of me. That Mal is in just as much danger, if you aren’t around.”
The pressure on her shoulders disappeared, and she opened to a sight entirely new to her. She had seen Derek Stokes at his worst. Scared and sad and broken. Crumbled on the ground and shaking, bleeding from his lips or nose.
But she had never seen him like this.
His eyes shifted, and he grabbed at his hair, pulling at the dirty-blond curls. He mumbled something she couldn’t quite hear, but it sounded like the curses he had mumbled and screamed before.
The look in his light eyes, it wasn’t the stony or broken look she was used to when he was afraid. She knew he hid so much, and his eyes were the closest she would ever get to fully understanding it. But when she caught a glimpse of them now, it was like a dam had been broken and everything Derek Stokes hid in that mind of his had burst into insanity.
“Why, why, why?” he muttered, his voice rising each time he said the word. “Why, why, why?” Louder and louder, and she couldn’t help but take a step away from him, as he was practically screaming now. She’d never been afraid of Derek, but this was unpredictable. She had done something very, very wrong—and it finally broke him.
“Why the fuck would you do that? Who said I needed that? Who said anyone needed to know that? You promised you would keep your mouth shut.”
She swallowed something heavy and bitter that caused her words to come out quiet and shaky. “I did it to help you.”
He laughed a laugh so unhinged, she flinched, and her back hit something smooth and cool. She hadn’t realized she was already backed against the bleachers.
“I didn’t fucking ask you to help me!” His scream burst over her face, and she whimpered.
Part of her expected him to grab her again, but all that was left was a cold space where he had been, and he was back against the opposite red brick wall, leaning forward, as if he might be sick.
She usually knew how to handle these situations, but now she was unsure.
She reached out her hand and laid it warily against his shirt, which had become damp in just the past few seconds.
He flinched when touched, and in a second, was on the other side of the hidden area behind the bleachers.
“Derek—”
“Get away from me.”
Her heart shattered. “Derek—”
“I never want to fucking see you again. You are nothing to me.”
A deep shuddering flinch racked her entire body, and she stumbled back a few steps. Derek was scared.
He had always been scared—but what she did had brought it all to the surface. He was scared of what his dad would do once he found out someone had been told. Scared of how people would look at him once they realized where those bruises came from. Scared of everything there was.
She knew all this. He had told her these things in the dark of the night, when he couldn’t even see her face in the forest or her bedroom. The only times he could truly open up were when it was too dark to see anything else.
But she had brought all those fears to reality. He had trusted her more than anyone else in the world, and by making that call, she had committed the ultimate betrayal.
“Get out.”
2
September 1985 | After
Derek was not at school the next day. Or the next. Or the next.
Derek Stokes had vanished.
She only knew he wasn’t just avoiding her, because Mal had shown up at her house in the evening two days after it happened, panting and red-faced from running.
“Mal.” She took in Derek’s younger stepsister’s appearance and led her into the house, closing the door. It echoed slightly off the walls; the way doors only do in an empty house. It did that even when her mom was home, but since it was just Becca alone with Mal it resonated a little louder. “What’s wrong?”
Mal took a few heavy breaths, then tears started to pour down her tan face. “Do you know where Derek is?”
Becca furrowed her brows. After that day behind the bleachers, she had done the last real thing she could for Derek and just stayed away from him. She hadn’t tried to reach out. Hadn’t tried to explain her side anymore. As far as she knew, Derek simply wasn’t coming to school.
“He’s not at home? I thought he
“He hasn’t been home in a few days.” Mal’s voice choked as she said it. She sat on the couch and buried her face in her palms. That’s when Becca saw the marks on her wrist, bruised and angry. “Mark’s real mad too.”
Becca felt like she was back on that forest road a year ago, when she had first met Derek sitting on the side of the street. Middle of the chilly autumn and he had a bloody nose and bruised face left behind by his father Mark. She blinked and shook away the memory.
Sickening guilt started to build in her stomach. She should have checked in on him, should have at least tried to figure out how he was doing instead of avoiding him. She should have made sure everything was okay for him and Mal. That was the point of her reaching out to someone in the first place, she’d wanted to help them both.
“What happened?” Her voice shook as she gently grabbed onto Mal’s wrist and pulled the sleeve up to expose the full extent of the bruise. Long, thick, dark lines wrapped around the entirety of it. Becca’s breath caught, and she thought she might puke. She was asking the obvious. If Derek had not been home since she told him, Mark needed someone else to turn his attention to when he was angry.
“Someone came to the house a few days ago after school. They were asking questions about Derek and me, asking if we liked it in Highburg. If everything was okay.” She paused to sniffle a bit and pulled her arm out of Becca’s hand. She pulled the sleeve down and grasped it in her fingers to hide the array of reds and blues and purples. “After they left, Mark was pissed, throwing things around. Then he realized Derek wasn’t home and started asking me what was going on. I didn’t know, so…” She shrugged, her eyes stuck on the wood-paneled walls as her hand picked at a frayed thread from her denim jacket. “Whatever. I just need to find Derek.”
“You don’t have any idea where he might be?”
Mal finally met Becca’s eyes, her eyebrows knit and expression desperate. “You know him better than anyone. I thought you would.”
“I—” Becca faltered. She had been avoiding questions about Derek at school, trying to not bring more attention to either of them. But this was not something she could avoid. “We had a fight. He wanted me to stay away.”
Mal’s dark eyes went wide. “Is that why he’s gone?”
Becca sighed and tried to will back the tears that were begging to come out. “It’s part, I’m sure.” She got up for a moment when neither of them seemed like they could think of anything else to say. She gave Mal a moment to herself and went to the kitchen to grab her a glass of water.
With a wall between them, she finally let the biting tears out. As water from the faucet flowed into the cup, she pressed a hand over her mouth and let the sobs free, muffling them as best she could.
This was partially her fault. Would it have been better to just keep quiet or to not tell Derek what she had done? It was hard to say, but it wasn’t hard to realize that, no matter what she chose, someone would get hurt. Now Derek was missing, and Mal was bruised, and she didn’t even know if the people she had called were going to do anything like they said they would.
It only took three seconds to fill the cup, but she cried in the kitchen for close to a minute as the water hid her gasps. Mal might be fourteen, three years younger than Becca and Derek, but she wasn’t stupid and soon would realize what was going.
Becca pulled herself together as best as she could and shut off the tap. She stared at the half-dead floral assortment her mother had bought last time she was here until her breathing slowed. Becca didn’t know why her mom always brought flowers home when she was never around long enough to take care of them, leaving the responsibility to Becca. She wiped away the tears and blinked to clear her eyes. Before she left the kitchen, she grabbed the flowers and chucked them into the trash then slapped a small, soft smile on her face and reentered the living room.
Mal watched as Becca crossed the room and set the full cup of water on the round wooden coffee table. It made a dull clunk that broke a tense silence between them. She knew Mal caught the lingering redness in her eyes when she saw the sympathetic frown on the girl’s tan face. Mal shouldn’t be concerned about Becca, she had other stuff to worry about.
“Mal.” Becca pulled herself together, sat down on the plaid-upholstered couch, and gestured for the girl to take the glass.
Mal did so out of politeness.
“Those people that came to your house, did they say who they were?”
There was a pause as Mal slowly sipped at the liquid. Then she pulled the glass away and nodded. “Child Protective Services. They pulled me aside without mom and Mark and asked if I felt safe with Mark. Then they asked if I knew where Derek was.” She stared at the water.
“What did you tell them?”
She shrugged, nonchalant, but her tense shoulders gave away her anxiety. “I told them I was fine, and that I thought Derek was just out with some friends.”
“But that’s not true, is it?”
Mal sighed and put the water back down. “I’m sure Derek is off doing something crappy, but I couldn’t tell them about Mark. What if he overheard it? It would only make things worse around that place anyway.” She reached out, and Becca jumped as small, cold fingers wrapped around her hand. “You have to help me find Derek. I’m sure things will get better if he comes home. Mark thinks that Derek is the one who told them, so if Derek just comes home and tells him he didn’t do it, he’ll calm down.”
The desperation was palpable. Her eyes begged with such intensity, Becca froze.
Mal was not stupid, no, but she also hadn’t been the main victim of Mark’s abuse until now. If Derek went home, things wouldn’t get better. They never did. If Derek went home, things would only get better for Mal, but they could become worse for Derek. If Mark thought Derek was the one who called CPS, there was no way he’d believe him, even if he claimed he wasn’t the one who did it.
Becca shuddered at the thought of what would happen then.
For the first time, Becca was glad Derek had disappeared, because it meant he was safe from his father’s wrath. But it didn’t change the fact that not everyone was—Mal was still there, and she wouldn’t be able to hold up against her stepdad the way Derek did.
“I’m sure Derek is fine, wherever he is, but I’ll try and find him. Why don’t you stay here tonight? We can ask Jane if she wants to join too.” Becca had introduced the girls to each other half a year ago, and they’d become fast friends. It might help Mal to have someone with her while she went through this.
“I’ll have to call my mom and ask.”
The same mom who stands by and lets abuse happen. Becca kept the bitter thought to herself and smiled at Mal, who smiled back. “Okay, you can use the phone. Call Jane too. I’ll make you guys some popcorn while you pick out a movie..” She gestured to the wall where she’d stored her assortment of favorite VHS tapes for the days when the house was a little too quiet without her mom around.
“Thank you, Becca.”
Becca ran a hand over Mal’s tousled black hair and nodded. “Anytime, Mallory. You know you’re always welcome here.”
* * *
Becca jumped when there was a knock at the door. It drew her attention away from her thoughts, and she realized she’d bitten her nails down to the point of almost drawing blood. It had taken her years to break that nasty habit, yet only a few days for it to come back at frightening speed.
She brushed the raw tips of her fingers against her jeans and answered the door.
Becca smiled at the short-haired girl who stood there. Jane grinned up at her. In her arms was a small overnight bag and a pouch of what looked like some sort of snack.
“Hi, Becca,” Jane greeted her, entering when Becca stepped aside.
Becca tried to give the girl her attention, but, really, she was more focused on the faded blue truck that sat idle in the driveway. Sheriff Winston Wade watched them through the windshield.
“Hi, Jane. Mal is upstairs washing up. Why don’t you join her?”
Jane nodded enthusiastically and dropped her belongings on the ground before rushing up the stairs.
Normally, Becca would have just waved Winston away to let him know his daughter was inside safe, but today she stepped out onto the porch and closed the door behind her. Today was different.
