19. Chapter 19
Chapter 19
Derek
D espite the growing mound of evidence against Ryan, Faith was still on edge. She tried as she might, but she wasn't hiding it very well. During the drive home, not one cuticle went unpicked, and her bouncing leg never stilled for even a moment. It wasn't until we pulled into my driveway that I parked the car but kept the doors locked.
"Penny, for your thoughts," I start, but her eyes stay fixed on her fidgeting hands. She shakes her head.
"I'm just ready for this to end," she says. "It's all my fault."
"This is in no way your fault, Faith." I reach over and tilt her chin up so her eyes meet mine, and the pain I find in them is enough to make my heart crack.
"If I had left him sooner, things wouldn't be so bad," she insists. "I kept coming back over and over, which makes leaving harder. It makes ending things for good harder. And now he's targeting you, damaging your property—"
"I told you I don't care about the truck. Shit can get fixed," I remind her. "I care about keeping you safe while the cops look for him and throw a pair of cuffs on the guy."
"But you shouldn't have to deal with this; that's the point. I'm so sorry for all of this."
"You don't have to be sorry for anything. Why do you think you are?" I ask, and the second the words escape me, the pain in her eyes shifts to something I've seen before, something so devastating and heartbreaking that it could only be summoned by the memory of Chelsea's death.
"Can we just go inside, please?" she asks, her hand resting on the door handle.
I started to say something to put her mind at ease, but I knew when to let up, and now was one of those times. As much as I want to wave a magic wand, I know there's nothing I can do now to make her feel better, but I know I can protect her. So, that's what I do.
With my head on a swivel, I have her back as we get to the front door. I lock up tight once we're both inside.
I offered to make her something to eat—grilled cheese and tomato soup—which she only nibbled on. I see the effort in her eyes as she catches me watching, forcing down a few more bites between tearing her sandwich apart and pushing the pieces around the plate. I know food is the last thing on her mind right now.
Chelsea used to do that, too. The thought takes me by surprise, and it slips out of my mouth before I can catch myself.
"Chelsea used to do the same thing," I say, and Faith looks up at me, confused. "Push her food around when she was upset, I mean."
"I'm not her," she says quickly.
"I didn't say you were," I insist.
"So why say that?" she asks.
"I was just saying that…"
"Well, don't! I'm not like her, so don't compare us," she snaps as if she didn't hear me.
I start to snap back and let her have a piece of my mind, but my gut tells my mouth to zip it, and my sudden silence speaks for me. As it hangs in the air between us, her eyes meet mine, and whatever fiery emotion she once had diminished to a bit of embarrassment that flushes her cheeks.
"I know you're not her, Faith," I say as gently as I can, but it's hard to hide my own annoyance.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said… I'm sorry," she shakes her head, shifting her gaze to her soup, which has surely gone cold. She pretends to scoop it with her spoon before pushing her plate away.
"Don't worry about it."
She heads to the sink with her plate, but I take it from her before she can wash it.
"Let me worry about the dishes."
"But you cooked," she protests softly. "At least let me clean up."
"No, I've got it covered." I let the pan and pot soak, along with the rest of the dishes, while I focus on helping Faith as much as possible. It's hard not to push too much, and Chelsea's faint voice echoes in my mind.
It would help if you didn't fix it. Most of the time, I just need you to listen, her voice echoes in my head.
"What can I do to help?" I ask, leaving the ball in her court.
"I think I need to lay down for a bit," she murmurs, her voice laced with exhaustion as she rubs her temple, trying to soothe away the stress.
"Let me come with you," I offer gently, my eyes searching hers for any sign of resistance.
"I'm okay," she says softly, making her way to the couch, but I'm already there, slipping my arm around her waist and pulling her close before she can collapse into the cushions.
"Bed," I whisper in her ear, my voice tender yet firm as I guide her towards the bedroom. She hesitates momentarily before surrendering to the comfort of my touch, letting me lead her.
When we reach the bed, I help her settle in, pulling the blanket up to her chin with a care that feels almost sacred. She curls up into a small ball, her body shrinking as if trying to disappear, the tears she's holding back glistening in her eyes like fragile glass.
"I'll be close. I'm just going to work on some things. I'll come check on you in a bit, babe." I leaned in, kissing her forehead. My heart ached as I watched her fight the emotions threatening to break free. "If you need anything, just call for me."
"Okay," she says softer than a whisper, her voice barely audible as she closes her eyes, her breath shaky as she tries to sleep off the weight of the day. I stand there for a moment longer, wishing more than anything that a nap could erase the pain she's feeling, knowing all too well that when she wakes, the world will still be the same.
But for now, I can only hope that in her dreams, she finds the peace that reality is refusing to give her.
Once the dishes are put away, I lay out across the couch and turn on the T.V. loud enough to drown out the quiet of my house but soft enough not to wake Faith. I try closing my eyes, but my mind wanders to security and ensure the whole house is locked up tightly. I do the rounds, checking every entry point to make sure that it's not only locked but that each security sensor shows it's activated on the home security app on my phone. I flip through the cameras and track previous moments recorded just to make sure the bastard hasn't come near the place since leaving his little message on my truck.
After peaking in and checking on Faith, who sleeps soundly in my bed, I return to the couch and rest my Glock on the coffee table, safety off and one in the chamber, before kicking my feet up and drowning out to whatever football game I can find on T.V. A couple of minutes pass. I find myself nodding off, but only when I remind myself that all doors and windows are locked, and I feel my body relax slowly.
It's when I wake up that there's a real problem.
The house is quiet, which shouldn't be unusual, except Faith should be stirring by this point. The clock shows that two hours have passed, and knowing Faith, she's never been able to sleep longer than an hour or so if she can even fall asleep to begin with.
I rub the sleep from my eyes and attempt to rub the kink out of my neck from the odd angle at which I managed to sleep as I make my way to the bedroom, where Faith is nowhere to be seen. I don't let panic set in until I've checked every room to find that I'm the only one in the house.
Fuck.
I rush back to the living room, where my sidearm is still resting on the coffee table and slide it into the holster at the small of my back before I throw my boots and coat on in search of Faith. I try her cell phone as I get into my car, only to realize her car is no longer in the driveway. With every single call that goes to voicemail, my panic rises higher and higher until I realize I have to force myself to calm down long enough to think of where she would be.
There were no signs of a struggle in the house or around the driveway, which means she probably left on her own accord. Whether she left because of a text or call from Ryan, I'm not sure, but I have to start somewhere.
"Okay, she's all spun up because of Ryan," I say aloud, listing her behavior, knowing it should give me some clue where she would be. The officer gave her a hard time, which upset her, and then we got the photos when we tried going back to the house…
Remember to S.T.O.P, idiot. I remind myself to Stop, Think, Observe, and Plan, just like I was taught when I went into protection services. Stop and think. Where would she go?
"We pulled into the driveway, and she… kept apologizing for everything…"
And just like that, I slam the truck into drive and turn onto the main road. She wouldn't run to Ryan, even if he tried threatening her, but she sure as hell would run to an old friend.
The icy roads are flanked by piles of thick, heavy snow that reflect what little sunlight escapes from behind the clouds. Mounds of it guard the cemetery entrances, which I nearly miss before taking a tight right turn into the cemetery, where I search for Faith's car, parked just outside the footpath of the graves.
Okay, now observe and plan, I tell myself as my eyes search for not only her but any sign of Ryan, who could have found her before I did as I head towards Chelsea's grave.
Thankfully, it doesn't take me long to find her. In the stark white sea of snow and headstones, I spot her chocolate locks cascading under her red beanie as she kneels before Chelsea's grave. I keep my head on a swivel as I close the distance, ensuring we're the only two people around. So much relief washes over me that it takes everything in me not to run as fast as I can so I can grab her and take her home, but the closer I get, the more I can hear her muffled sobs.
"I just don't know what to do," I hear as I track my steps over dead grass instead of the crunchy snow. "He just won't listen to me. I know he wants to help, but… god, he's so stubborn the last thing I need is for him to get hurt too."
"Tattling on me again?" I ask, and she whips around so fast that I almost don't notice the pepper spray already gripped tight in her hands. I hold my hands up and wait for her to recognize me, this time with puffy eyes.
"What the hell are you doing here? How did you find me? I turned off my phone," she says as she dusts the snow off her jeans.
"Not to insult you, but you're kind of predictable," I reply. "You were upset, so I figured I'd find you here. Why didn't you tell me where you were going?"
"Because I wanted to be alone. Because I didn't want to bring you any more trouble. I think I've done enough damage; don't you think?"
"How could you think any of this is your fault?" I say, closing the space between us.
"How could you not?" she scoffs. "It's all happening again, and it's all because of me."
Once again, that same pain from years ago reflects in her eyes. I know I'm responsible for a majority of it, which makes it even harder to see.
"Faith, you're being ridiculous," I start, but sadness mixes with rage in an instant with her.
"Damn it, Derek! You don't get it, do you? You have no idea how many times I prayed that God would let me trade places with her," she cries. "How many nights I cried myself to sleep knowing that you lost her because of me, the number of buildings I'd pass on the way to work wondering if the fall could…"
Her eyes shift to Chelsea's headstone as if it holds the answers to what she should say next as if it could take away the pain rushing back to the surface that I'm sure she tried burying as I did with my own.
"There were so many times that I thought it'd be better if I just wasn't here anymore," she says, her voice breaking.
"How could you think that?"
"Because every time I saw you over the years, all I could think of was Chelsea. It didn't take a rocket scientist to see I was doing the same to you. I could see how much it hurt you just looking at me; anyone could. If I just pulled my own plug, I wouldn't be around to remind you of what you lost. Just existing was causing you so much pain, and it didn't take a brain surgeon to see it."
But seeing the pain on my face wasn't enough. I had to remind her, every single time our paths crossed, just how much of an ass I was; I despised her and how deeply I held her responsible for everything that went wrong. I never once held back when the familiar anger surged and never cared about the damage my words could inflict. I was too consumed by my own hurt to bury it, to even consider the impact it might have on those around us. It never mattered to me—until now.
Now, as the weight of my actions settles over me like a heavy fog, I realize the full extent of my cruelty. It wasn't enough to make her feel the sting of my resentment. I tore into her, again and again, with no thought of the scars I was leaving behind. I didn't just hurt her; I broke her, shattered her spirit piece by piece, without ever looking back to see the devastation I'd caused.
I didn't just hurt her; I shattered her, leaving her in pieces. I was too blind by my own pain to see. And now, the weight of that regret is starting to suffocate me.
"Faith, it wasn't your fault. It never was," I tell her, but I know she doesn't believe me. "I know I blamed you over the years, but that was wrong of me. You're not the one who crashed the car. You're not the one who was drunk behind the wheel. You didn't wish for it to happen. All you wanted was to get away from someone who was going to hurt you like he's done too many times before."
"But…"
"It was Grayson's fault," I say sternly and take her hands in mine. "He's the only one responsible."
"Derek, I know that Ryan is just going to keep—"
I cut her off, not letting her continue as I pull her into me, our lips meeting in a kiss that speaks of all the regret and longing I've been holding back. I feel her hesitation, but I don't care. For the past four years, she's been weighed down by guilt and pain—pain I caused. I need her to experience the grace and forgiveness I've been too selfish to offer until now. If I fucked this up, then I have to be the one to fix it.
"You can't just kiss me and make everything better," she whispers.
"No, but I can try," I tell her. "I think I blamed you for so long because I blamed myself more."
"Derek, none of us could see his car. His headlights weren't even on," she reminds me.
"It didn't make it easier," I admit, my voice trembling. "Treating you as a punching bag only made our relationship worse, and I know how wrong that was. I should have known better; I wasn't in the right frame of mind, and my heart was shattered. Do you think that because I try to be this tough guy, I don't feel? I do, Faith. I have a huge heart, and you've been the one to piece it back together in the past week. I'm so sorry." Faith, I'm so sorry." My eyes locked into hers, raw with emotion. "I know saying sorry doesn't erase the pain I've caused you or the way I never let you heal after we lost Chelsea, but damn it, Faith, I swear to you that I will do everything in my power to show you that I am your safe place."
"You shouldn't say things you don't mean," she sniffles. "I know you still hate me, even if it's just a little bit tucked deep-down in."
I shake my head. "I don't think I ever hated you. I think I just needed someone else to be mad at, and sadly, you were that person. I know it might be hard to believe, but I don't hate you, Faith. Honestly, I am mad at myself. With all this going on with Ryan, I let you down. You had it coming at you from two different directions, and I had no care about your feelings at the time; it was me and Jack Daniels."
Even though her gaze avoids mine, I can see her disassociate as her body shakes from the icy air or maybe the anxiety that's kept its hold on her for so long. When her eyes fix on her fidgeting hands that rest against my chest, I know she's remembering things she doesn't want to. If I had to guess, I'd be images of the crash flashing through her mind, what Chelsea looked like in her final moments. But they get darker and colder when she remembers the first thing I said to her once we were discharged from the hospital and Chelsea had died. The crazy thing is that I don't know exactly what I said for the life of me, but I'm sure Faith recalls it word for word.
That's the thing about trauma: the person inflicting the pain rarely remembers that one moment, but the person receiving it remembers every little, tiny detail when they wish they could bury the memory once and for all. But I know I'm not the only man to scar her.
I take her icy hands and wrap my hands around them, bringing them to my lips and breathing warm air over her skin.
"I didn't realize Ryan was such a trigger for you," I say as gently as I can, snapping her out of mind long enough for her to look up at me.
"Me either," she admits. "I mean, he's tried getting me back over the years, but he never stuck around this long or damaged anyone's property, for that matter."
"What does he usually do?"
"Usually, he shows up at work or when I'm out and about, tries getting me to go on a date, I decline, and he disappears again," she shrugs. "I'm not sure what's different this time."
"I think I can take a guess," I say, but she looks at me confused. "Whose car did he key?"
"You think he's jealous of you?" she asks.
"It wouldn't surprise me if he saw me as a threat, especially if he's been trying to get back together with you all this time. There's another man in your life that doesn't sit well with him."
"All the more reason to steer clear of me," she says, but I'm tired of hearing it.
"You're not allowed to say that anymore," I point at her.
"Excuse me?" she asks, clearly taken by surprise.
"I don't care what this guy thinks he can get away with or what he feels entitled to do. I don't care if he tries going after me because, guess what, I can hold my own and put him in his place, all while making sure you're kept safe and away from him."
"Derek, I…"
"No, it's not up for debate anymore. It's my choice to decide what I do in this situation, and that's to have your back. The cops will pick him up soon, and once they do, everything will get easier," I remind her. "I know it doesn't feel that way now, but it will."
Despite my words, there's still hesitation in her eyes. "Are you absolutely sure?"
"More than you know," I say as I gently kiss her lips. I expect her to pull away, but instead, she wraps her arms around my neck as I pull her into me, and a soft sigh escapes her as she relaxes against me. It might sound selfish, but I like to think my kisses distract from the painful memories she wants to forget. I wait for her to pull away first, not knowing how much she needs.
"You're very convincing, you know that?" she whispers when she pulls away just enough to speak.
"Oh, that was nothing," I grin. "Imagine how convincing I can be behind closed bedroom doors."
A smile breaks into a laugh as she rests her head against my chest, getting the giggles out that make me laugh myself.
"Okay, I need that," she chuckles when she looks up at me. An icy breeze rolls through as she tightens her grip around me for warmth. "You know Derek, you were a real dehydrated deer dick!" She blurted, her eyes widening with shock.
"Wow, now that one I haven't heard before."
"I used to get so mad at you, and I blurted it out once to a friend, and we laughed about it for days."
"I'll never understand you, women!"
"How about bundling up on the couch instead of freezing our asses off? Then whispered in her ear, "Maybe get some hydration when we get there?"
"You know, that sounds like a great plan. Lead the way," she smiles.
We drive back to my house, but I make sure she leads the way so I can ensure no one else follows us on the way back, even though the bastard already knows where I live. There's still a lot of uncertainty in the air, knowing Ryan is still walking around like a free man, but I know I can keep her safe from him, so long as she doesn't run out on me again.