All In Good Time, page 17
“Why not?”
She thought that was obvious. “Because I can’t do anything.”
“You’re doing something right now.”
She sighed and dipped the rag back into the bowl of warm water to rinse it off. “You know what I mean.”
Minutes passed without any sound other than the fan running in the guest room, and the wet towel brushing against Derek’s bruises. If he didn’t respond in the next few moments, she would consider the conversation dead and let it be for now.
These topics were delicate with Derek. Sometimes, they wouldn’t speak at all. Becca was lucky he didn’t clam up entirely after the week he had. His dad was “stressed from work” and spent more time at the bars than usual. Just about every little thing Derek had done this week triggered him, and Becca saw the aftermath of that under her fingers right now.
She wouldn’t be surprised if this triggered the start of a silent session. She was pushing her luck.
Derek stirred and flipped onto his back, forcing Becca to pull away as he hid away the bruises. He winced but raised an arm behind his head to support him against the pillow. Becca put her towel in the bowl while she wasn’t using it.
“If he finds out that I tried to talk to anyone, it will only make it worse.” He watched her closely, observing her reaction.
She knew that. He had never said it outright, but Derek was more afraid of his father than anything else, and he avoided upsetting him however possible. Mark was already a loose screw, and if someone was told and nothing was done, it could put Derek in a difficult position.
But it could also help.
“There’s got to be some way to get help without him knowing. It could really benefit you and Mal, and—”
“No.” His voice raised, not much, but enough to catch Becca off guard. “Drop it. It’s not happening.”
His expression grew hard, guarded in a way she wasn’t used to around her. He was never entirely open, but in times like this, in the dim lighting of her home, she saw bits and pieces he would never show in daylight.
Averting her gaze, she shifted on the bed. “Okay. I’m sorry, I’ll drop it.”
She felt him watch her. His eyes left a tingle on her skin she knew to be his stare. The tension in the room was thick enough to breathe. She needed to get out, give them both some space.
She stood from the bed and reached for the bowl.
Gently, Derek’s hand reached over and rested on hers on the bowl, pausing her escape.
“Promise me something.” His voice was low, not as harsh but still serious. “You can’t ever tell anyone.”
Becca looked from his hand to him. The guarded expression was gone, and instead, she saw desperation. Her heart clenched at the sight. She couldn’t stand to see him like this. “I won’t.”
“Promise?” His grip on her hand squeezed, silently begging for an answer.
She smiled at him and nodded. In all she knew in that moment, she meant every word. “I promise.”
25
October 1985 | After
She thought she would never be at this home again.
Yet there she was, standing on the street, looking up at the house she’d run from a month ago. All the blinds were shut closed, and no cars were parked in the driveway.
She wouldn’t have gone through with this if there were—she couldn’t be anywhere near this house if Mark was home.
Releasing a shaky breath, Becca gripped the side of her jeans and walked up the steps and onto the front porch. This plan was a reach—even if someone opened the door, they would probably turn her away. It was wishful thinking, but she had to try—for him.
Her three knocks on the door were weak, but audible, and her wait was short before Jennifer opened the door to reveal her brown hair in disarray.
All the times that Becca had come before, Jennifer had been smiling—whether out of kindness or politeness. Today, she frowned. New lines had formed on her forehead that Becca hadn’t noticed before. But Jennifer didn’t look upset to see her there—she looked nervous. Her eyes shifted to where Mark’s car was normally parked and then over her shoulder down the hallway.
“You shouldn’t be here.” Jennifer’s voice was hushed.
She’d come this far, and she didn’t want to leave now. Not when she didn’t know how Derek was. She’d beg if she needed to. “I know. I know, but please I just need to see him. I’ll be quick.”
“Rebecca—”
“Please, Jennifer.” Becca stepped forward, feeling desperate now. “Five minutes and I’ll be gone.”
Jennifer looked over her shoulder again, conflict on her face. It didn’t take long for pity to win. Jennifer sighed and stepped out of the doorway to create an entrance for Becca. “Five minutes”
Becca didn’t push her luck, on the off chance she would miss her opening, and rushed into the house, making her way down the hallway to Derek’s room. She hesitated before the door, her hand hovering over the knob.
He wouldn’t want to see her. He’d tell her to leave. She knew that already.
She also knew that whatever she saw on the other side of his door would break her heart. But she couldn’t leave him on his own—not again.
The door creaked as she opened it.
His curtains were drawn, and lights were off, bathing the area in darkness, even at midday. A purple candle lay on its side on the ground.
Derek sat sideways on his bed with his back facing her. He didn’t turn to see who entered, but maybe he already knew.
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 barely his face. 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? I told you not to tell anyone. I told you to stay away. I told you everything, and you didn’t fucking listen.”
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’t leave because 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, “—this is worse. This is because of you.”
Becca broke. Every word he said was right. This was her fault. No matter what her intentions, Derek was here, 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. So stop 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.
“Why can’t I just take it to her myself?” Derek shook his head and huffed. It had taken even more bribery to get him to agree to take her to see Mal at home so she could drop off her gift in person.
The big fat elephant in the room was Mark. Derek didn’t need to mention that his father was going to be home for Becca to know that was exactly why he resisted her pleas. If they were lucky, Mark would have already wound down for the night and retired to his room, making any chance of crossing paths with him slim. Worst case scenario, she would end up having to exchange greetings with him before she gave Mal her gift and left.
It wasn’t ideal, but in order for her to get Mal her gift before her birthday was over, it was necessary.
“I want to see her reaction.” Becca rolled her eyes, exasperated from having to explain herself. Again. “And I don’t want you taking all the credit for it.”
“She’s not even gonna believe it’s from the both of us, much less just me.”
The closer they got to the house, the less relaxed Derek became. He lit a cigarette about halfway there, and Becca rolled down her window to help him clear his head. His rhythmic fingers slowed down, until both hands clutched the sides of the wheel, and his cigarette dangled from the side of his mouth.
When the house was in sight, Becca pretended not to notice the visible smoky exhale of relief he gave at the absence of any other cars parked on the street. They were lucky and got the best-case scenario.
Mark wasn’t even home.
Derek was much more compliant as he parked and flicked the butt to the ground. They both exited the car. He led the way up the stairs and into the house.
Becca clutched onto the skateboard and grinned as excitement fizzed in her. She couldn’t wait to see the look on Mal’s face.
“Mal,” Derek called, padding down the hallway toward her closed door. She didn’t respond right away. “Mal, get out here.” He pounded a closed fist on her door—loud, but not aggressive.
“I’m coming.” Mal’s exasperation was muffled behind her doorway, and after a few halting steps, her door opened. She glared up at Derek. “What the hell do you want, asshole?”
“Mallory!” Jennifer’s voice spoke up from the kitchen, chastising her daughter’s choice of words. “Language.”
Mal huffed but conceded. “What do you want?”
Derek turned to shake his head at Becca, who Mal hadn’t noticed standing off to the side. “I don’t really think she needs a birthday gift.” The teasing jeer on his face said otherwise.
Mal perked up upon seeing Becca standing there, and then her eyes widened when they slid down to the gift-tied board in Becca’s arms. “Is that for me?”
Grinning and giddy, Becca held out the board, presenting it with cheery theatrics. “Happy Birthday, Mal!”
“Oh my god.” Mal beamed, passing Derek to walk forward and look closer at it. She inhaled a long, elated gasp and accepted it from Becca, turning it over in her hands to look at the bottom design. “This is so cool.” She fiddled with the bits and bobbles on the board—spinning the wheels, brushing the sides. Her face was lit up the entire time, and Becca’s heart jumped in satisfaction. This was well worth making Derek bring her here.
“Derek chipped in too. It’s from both of us.”
Derek observed from the side, leaning against the wall. He wasn’t exactly smiling, but Becca could tell he was pleased by Mal’s reaction.
Mal turned to him, raising a brow and trying to see if Becca was being serious. Whatever she saw on Derek’s face must have convinced her she was. “Thanks.” Surprisingly, there was no sarcasm in her words.
Derek only nodded in response, but his lips turned up.
“I just wanted to bring that by myself, but I’ve got to go now,” Becca said.
“Okay,” Mal said. She pursed her lips and paused. After a brief moment of contemplating, she set down her new board and wrapped her arms around Becca in a tight hug. Becca froze in surprise. She’d never taken Mal for the physically affectionate type, but this was nice. She returned the hug.
Mal nodded, pleased. “Thank you, Becca. I love it.”
Over his stepsister’s shoulder, Becca caught Derek’s eye and mouthed the words I told you so.
She grinned, and for a simple moment everything was just right.
She and Mal let go of each other, and Mal picked up her board to look at it again.
“I’ll drive you home,” Derek said, walking past them.
Before he could reach the door, though, it swung open. They all jumped, and Becca knew she wasn’t the only one whose heart sank when she saw Mark standing there.
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.
