Chapter 2 Derek
T he sun’s barely up, all soft gold and promises, when I kneel at Sarah’s grave. Dew soaks my jeans, and the air smells of wet earth, sweet blossoms, and cruel grief. A rusted wind chime hangs from the willow tree above, its sorrowful notes echoing through the quiet.
I brush away a few leaves at the base of her headstone. Simple. Just how she’d have wanted: her name, the dates, and nothing else. No flourishes, no marble angels. Just the blunt reality of a life cut short.
A bouquet of her favorite daisies rests at the bottom, a little wilted at the edges. I touch the carved letters like I might find her heartbeat in the grooves.
“You’d love how Blake turned out.” My voice cracks. “He’s got your heart. All the parts I didn’t know how to give him.”
I rub the center of my chest where it always tightens. It’s not like heartburn. No, this is the slow pain. The guilt kind. The one that never leaves, no matter how many times I whisper apologies to the dead.
“I’m sorry, Sarah,” I say again. The words hit the air and vanish. Like always.
Because if I’d just fixed the brakes, she’d still be here.
The wind rustles through the trees, soft and floral, brushing against my skin like a memory I don’t deserve. Sometimes, when I let myself believe in signs, I think it’s her. But signs don’t matter when you’re the one who twisted the wrench on fate.
“It’s been years, and I still can’t fix what I broke. I have to win this May Day race or lose our farm.”
A slammed car door echoes from the parking lot. I turn and see Blake striding toward me with hands jammed deep in his pockets, shoulders hunched, and nervous energy trailing his steps.
“Morning, Dad.” He tips back his hat.
“Morning, kid.” I stand, brushing the damp off my jeans. I try to look casual, but he sees right through me. He always has.
He looks at the headstone. “Talking to Mom?”
I nod. “Yeah. Something like that. What brings you out here?”
He hesitates. The hat comes off and the brim-twisting begins. It’s an old tell of nerves from when he used to sneak cookies before dinner.
“I came to tell Mom something important,” he says.
My eyebrows lift. “You look serious.”
He rubs his palms together like he’s trying to light a fire. Then he blurts it out like he can’t hold it in a second longer.
“I’m gonna ask Misty to marry me.”
The news hits me like a semi.
Marriage.
My boy. My little grease-monkey-turned-man is proposing.
I see it all in a blink: the baby with a gummy smile, the toddler who once stuck a socket wrench in a toaster, the teenager who stayed up fixing engines as if it were his birthright, the man who now runs a massive hog farm.
“Really?” My voice is more gravelly than usual.
“She’s my world.”
Twenty years ago, I’d said the same damn thing about his mom, Sarah.
“You nervous?”
He shrugs, fidgeting. “A little. What if I screw it up?”
I place my hand on his shoulder and give it a reassuring squeeze. “Speak from your heart. That’s all Misty needs.”
He nods, but his eyes flick to the headstone. “Do you think Mom would’ve approved?”
“No doubt.”
A slow smile curls his lips. “Found the perfect spot to propose out on the daisy field. Same place as our first date.”
“Perfect.”
He bites the inside of his cheek, and I recognize the look.
“Do you approve?” he asks.
“Of course I do. You know what I told your mom when I proposed?”
Blake shakes his head.
“I told her she was my world.”
A slow smile tugs at his lips. “We’re building an addition onto Grandpa and Nana’s place. This way, you stay here, and we’re always close by.”
I would feel better if the land where I lived were truly mine. Even with the next race I expect to win, I’ll be short on funds to complete the purchase. After Sarah died, her uncle assured me the loan had no time limit, but now he wants all the money paid. And he’s suing me if I don’t.
Like I have fucking time and money for lawyers.
There is another option. My grandparents left an old-school stipulation in their will: marry before I turn forty-five next year, and I inherit everything in the trust. It’s more than enough to buy this land.
Between racing for prize money and that will’s deadline, I’m running out of options and time.
“I assume Misty has the renovation money from her estate sale?”
“It’s not sold yet, but soon. Emma’s working on it to ensure privacy, but I have some money to start. So… I have your blessing?”
“Course you do. I’m proud of you. So damn proud.” I bring him into my arms and hold tightly until I feel grounded again. A sudden chill grips me. Losing him would hollow me out more than Sarah’s absence ever did. He squeezes back, then pulls away.
“While we’re getting emotional, there’s something else.”
I cock a brow, wiping a phantom tear. “Yeah?”
He glances around like the ghosts might be looking for gossip.
“Misty’s pregnant,” he says. “Found out last week. We’ll make the official announcement after her first trimester, but I thought you should know.”
My heart stalls.
“You’re serious?”
He grins wide. “You’re gonna be a grandpa.”
I blink. “I’m… A grandpa?”
He nods. “I love her,” he says. “When Huntz kidnapped her, I felt like I lost everything. I don’t want to waste time. Life’s too damn short.”
He’s not wrong. He’s racing toward a future while I’m racing against my past, and the clock.
I never thought I’d be around for this chapter of life, chasing grandbabies and letting them run around the orchard. My chest tightens. What if I fail him the way I failed Sarah? The way I failed Annabelle?
I motion to the bulge in his jacket pocket. “That what I think it is?”
He pulls out a velvet box and pops it open.
Sarah’s delicate rose gold band rests within. The diamond catches the morning light the same way it did the day I slipped it on her finger. I picture Misty wearing it, laughing, twirling it when she is nervous, and holding Blake’s hand for the first time.
Life’s not only short, but it also creeps up on you faster than grey hairs.
I swallow and shove the emotion down.
“Mom would be proud.” My vice tickles my throat. “You’ve got her eyes and her heart. She had a way of softening a room just by walking into it, and so do you.”
Blake smirks. “Don’t forget your stubborn streak.”
I laugh, pulling him in again to mess up his hair. He’s bigger than me now. And stronger. But right now, he’s still that boy who once asked me if love could fix everything.
Fuck if I know.
“You’re a good man, Blake. Misty’s lucky.”
“I’m the lucky one, Dad.” He steps back. “You know, Misty told me Annabelle’s coming back.”
The name slams into me like a crowbar to the ribs.
Annabelle.
The ground shifts beneath me.
I knew she was coming. I heard it in the whispers and felt it in the silence.
The kind of silence that doesn’t just fill space.
It suffocates it. Every missed call. Every unread text.
Every damn excuse I made to stop hoping.
I promised myself if she ever came back, I’d be smarter.
Stronger. But standing here, all I feel is the old pull.
It’s sharp and reckless. Because this isn’t just an old flame walking back in.
This is the start of something I might not survive.
My focus drifts to the line of trees along the ridge where the sun’s barely started to burn away the morning fog. The world looks softer from here, like it forgot how cruel it can be.
I put my hands in my pockets. “She’s on her way?”
Blake smirks again. I’m fucking starting to hate all his little smirks. “Yeah. Should be here soon.”
Soon. How soon? Before I finish at the track tomorrow night? Before I’ve had a chance to get my head on straight?
Hell. I may not be ready to face Annabelle, but I’m not letting her run again.
Fuck.
I drag a hand down my face, trying to shake off the nerves. “You need anything else, kid?”
“Actually, yeah. My brakes are giving in again.”
I raise a brow. “Again?”
He shrugs, sheepish. “Meant to bring it by, but got caught up with chores.”
“Bring it in as soon as possible. Better yet, I’ll tow it.”
“It’s all right. I can drop her off tomorrow. Oh, and this came for you.” He fishes something out of his jacket and hands it over. “Nana said it’s from mom’s estate lawyer.”
Fuck.
I should’ve torched that damn envelope the moment it showed up. Must have dropped it on my way out of their house.
“Guess Annabelle’s got better timing than I thought.” I mumble.
Blake frowns. “What do you mean?”
But I just laugh.
A bitter, low thing that tastes like dust and old memories. We made a deal, Annabelle and me. Sealed it with sweat and promises and a moan so sweet I still hear it in the quiet.
If neither of us were married by this year, we’d marry each other on the hundred-year anniversary of May Day.
And guess what, sweetheart? I’m about to cash in.
* * *
T he next day crawls by, and I’m no better than a man trying to outrun his own shadow. Blake gets tied up with the farm, and I get tied up with my own damn mind.
By noon, I’m elbow-deep in someone’s busted engine, but mentally? I’m nowhere near this garage.
Nope. I’m stuck with her.
Annabelle.
She floats through my brain like smoke. Sweet, choking, and impossible to hold.
I scrub my forehead with my sleeve, smear a fresh line of grease across my temple, and groan. The woman’s a ghost I never laid to rest.
She used to stand in this garage with her hands on her hips and sass in her eyes, challenging me like I didn’t know my own damn torque specs. She’d swipe grease on my cheek just to see if I’d flinch. And then she’d laugh.
I loved the way she laughed.
I loved the way she trusted.
She gave me her virginity in the back of my RV, like it was a gift and a dare rolled into one. In my head, I’m back in that RV, holding her body, kissing her neck, and imagining a future that never got the right cue. She was young and fearless and everything I didn’t know I needed.
And then, the night she left. Without a word. Without a goodbye. A few months later, she texted some lame reason about going to nursing school in San Francisco, and there went my chance. I waited two more years until we caught up in the RV again.
And that was the end of us.
Or it should’ve been.
I lost Annabelle the first time when she was nineteen and I was a widowed twenty-six-year-old with an eight-year-old son.
After giving me everything in the back of my RV, she left for nursing school in San Francisco.
For six years, she barely came home. Then, at twenty-five, she returned for a whole year, and for a minute I thought we had it figured out.
We took that RV across the country with Blake, building memories I couldn't let go of.
But Huntz threatened her again, and she ran back to San Francisco.
Four more years passed before she returned at twenty-nine, just long enough to break my heart again and shake up my eighteen-year-old son with one kiss.
Then last year, she came home for Harvest Fest, stayed through summer, and nearly shattered me when we shot Huntz by the riverside to save our friends.
Each time she returned, I fell deeper. Each time she left, I broke a little more.
And now, she’s coming back , ruling my brain like a Queen .
I tighten a bolt too hard and feel the wrench bite into my palm. You don’t get many do-overs in life. But if this is the one? It will be on my terms, and I won’t let her run.
The garage fills with the clangs of tools, the rumble of engines, and customers chatting about May Day and the race tonight. I nod where appropriate and keep my hands moving, but I’m not present.
At the track, they’ve got me in the pit tonight, hired as a mechanic.
Nothing major, just enough to keep my hands busy and my bank account from slipping into humiliation.
But I’m tempted to suit up and do another practice run.
Win the damn race. Sell the trophy, borrow a bit, and finally buy the farm from Sarah’s uncle.
Ignore my grandparents’ ultimatum to marry, and at the same time, marry Annabelle, because I want to.
I want to fucking take back what’s rightfully mine in every way.
Annabelle included.
But where there’s pride, there’s pain. Thousands of days I spent loving her… only to lose her.
By the time the sun dips below the horizon, I’m at the track’s front office, leaning over the signup sheet. I snag a stray pen from the counter, and scrawl my name in bold print.
One of the rookie drivers starts bragging about a motorhome he bought, and I laugh, telling him about mine. The old rust bucket still sits in the backyard, overgrown with rose bushes and ghosts.
It took me across the country once. Took us across the country.
I don’t remember the landscapes. Just her feet on my dash, and her laughter rolling through the speakers louder than the radio.
“Are you racing?” he asks. “I’m Richard.”
I shake his hand. “Derek. Nice to meet you. I just signed up.”
“Derek? The unbeatable Derek ‘Mustang Maverick’? You’re one gifted son of a bitch.”
“Not gifted. Just lucky.”
We chat about the track and his lack of experience, so I give him a few pointers and tricks, since I’m in the first round and he’s in the second one.
If he’s lucky, we’ll face off in the finals.
By the time I head back to town, the sky’s navy blue and the first stars are peeking through. I should go home and call it a night.
Instead, I steer for the Rusty Lantern Pub like it’s calling my name. An old red Chevy I don’t recognize rolls by the front, and something in my gut clenches. But the moment I step out of my car and hear her voice through the pub’s front window, I forget all about the truck.
That voice.
Soft. Warm. Threaded with sweet danger and the ache of things unsaid.
My runaway bride.
My chest tightens, like my ribs forgot how to make room for air. Despite my lungs turning to stone, I follow the sound like a man possessed, and I open the pub’s door.
And there she is. Back in my life like a damn wrecking ball with lipstick.
Annabelle Waters.
And here I am, heart stuttering like a first-year engine that forgot how to idle.
I let out an involuntary sigh.
She’s sitting in the back corner, nursing a drink like it’s the only thing left she can hold on to. My hands clench, my breath shortens, and every damn part of me remembers her like a scar that never healed.
She doesn’t see me.
Not yet.
But she will.
Because I don’t walk. I charge toward the woman who promised to marry me.
And damn it…
I will make her keep that promise.