Chapter Thirty-One
Katrina
The porch steps were cold beneath me, but I couldn’t bring myself to move. My coffee had gone cold an hour ago, maybe longer. I didn’t know. Time had stopped meaning anything the moment Maggie told me Frankie was gone.
She was alone in the dark.
The thought kept circling, relentless and vicious. My twelve-year-old daughter was out there in the woods, in the cold. Was she scared? Had she cried? Had she called for me and I wasn’t there?
What kind of mother lets her daughter disappear into the night?
I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to hold the pieces together.
But all I could see was Frankie stumbling through the dark, tripping over roots, her ankle twisting beneath her.
I could hear her crying out in pain with no one there to help her.
No one to hold her. No one to tell her it would be okay.
She was alone because of me.
Because I’d been too wrapped up in my own fear and confusion about Derek to see what she needed. Because I’d been so focused on protecting her from him that I hadn’t protected her from herself.
The screen door opened behind me, but I didn’t turn around. I couldn’t. If I moved, if I spoke, I’d shatter completely.
Footsteps crossed the porch, slow and careful. Then Haizley sat down beside me on the steps, close enough that I could feel her presence but not so close that it felt intrusive.
She didn’t say anything. Just sat there, her hands folded in her lap, waiting.
“She was out there alone,” I whispered finally. “In the dark. Scared. And I wasn’t there.”
“She wasn’t alone,” Haizley said gently. “Nox was with her.”
“He’s ten.” My voice cracked. “He’s a child too. They were both out there, and I...” I couldn’t finish. The words lodged in my throat like broken glass.
Haizley’s hand found mine, warm and steady. “They’re safe now. Derek found them. They’re coming home.”
Derek.
The name sent a fresh wave of confusion and fear through me. He’d found her. Of course he had. He’d gone out there and searched until he brought her back.
But he’d also beaten Zero bloody in the middle of the clubhouse. He’d put his wife in the hospital. He’d killed a woman. Beaten Richard with his bare hands.
“I don’t know what to do,” I admitted, my voice barely audible. “About Derek. About any of this.”
Haizley was quiet for a moment. Then she said, “What are you afraid of?”
“Everything.” The word burst out of me. “I’m afraid of making the wrong choice again. I’m afraid of letting someone into our lives who’ll hurt us. I’m afraid of—” I stopped, swallowing hard. “Zero isn’t here because Derek beat him up.”
“Do you know why?”
“Because Zero told me what Derek did. About Sam.” I opened my eyes and looked at her. “He was angry that his secret got out.”
“Is that what you think?” Haizley asked. “That he was protecting a secret?”
I hesitated. “I don’t know.”
“Derek told Zero to stay away from you and Frankie,” Haizley said carefully. “Then Zero deliberately revealed something Derek was terrified would ruin everything between you, make you run, make you hate him.”
“So he beat him for it.”
“He beat him because Zero hurt you.” Haizley’s voice was calm, matter-of-fact. “Not physically. But emotionally. Derek saw that pain, and he reacted.”
“That doesn’t make it okay.”
“No,” Haizley agreed. “It doesn’t. But it does make it different.”
I shook my head. “Different how? Violence is violence.”
“Is it?” She shifted slightly to face me. “When that girl was being hurt by Richard, and Derek stopped him—was that the same as Richard hurting her in the first place?”
“Of course not. Richard was—” I stopped, seeing where she was going.
“Richard was hurting an innocent child for his own gratification,” Haizley finished. “Derek hurt Richard to stop him. The action looks the same from the outside because they are both violence. But the intent, the context, the reason, those matter.”
“So you’re saying what Derek did to Zero was justified?”
“I’m saying it was protective.” Haizley’s eyes held mine. “Derek has spent years learning to control his anger. He’s worked harder than anyone I’ve ever treated to understand his triggers and manage his responses. But when someone he loves is threatened or hurt, that control breaks.”
“That’s what scares me,” I whispered. “What if one day I’m the one who threatens him? What if Frankie does something that makes him angry and he—”
“He won’t.”
“You can’t know that.”
“I can.” Haizley’s voice was firm. “Because I’ve seen him at his worst, Kat. I’ve seen him when he’s furious and hurting and barely holding on. And even then, even at his absolute lowest, his rage is never directed at the people he loves. It’s directed at the people who hurt them.”
I wanted to believe her. God, I wanted to believe her so badly it hurt.
“What about Sam?” I asked. “He hurt his wife.”
“He did.” Haizley didn’t flinch from it. “Years ago, when he was a different person. When he was hurting and traumatized and had no tools to manage what he was feeling. He’s not that person anymore.”
“People don’t just change.”
“Some people don’t,” Haizley agreed. “Derek has done the work, Kat. He’s faced his demons. He’s learned to recognize when he’s escalating and how to stop it. He’s not perfect; what happened with Zero proves that. But he’s not the man he was when he hurt Sam.”
I looked down at my hands, twisted together in my lap. “How do I know which version of him I’m getting? How do I know he won’t...” My voice broke. “How do I know he won’t hurt us?”
“Because he’d rather die than hurt either of you.
” Haizley’s hand squeezed mine. “I’ve never seen Derek more terrified than when he thought you’d take Frankie and run.
Not because he’d lose control of the situation, but because he’d lose you both.
That’s not the fear of an abuser, Kat. That’s the fear of a man who knows exactly what he’s capable of and is desperate not to become it. ”
Tears slipped down my cheeks. “I’ve made so many wrong choices. With Richard. With Clay. What if I’m wrong about Derek too?”
“What if you’re right about him?”
The question hung in the air between us.
“I don’t know how to trust my own judgment anymore,” I admitted. “Every time I think I see someone clearly, I’m wrong. Every time I let someone in, they hurt us.”
“Derek isn’t Clay,” Haizley said gently. “And he isn’t Richard. He’s someone who’s fought like hell to be better than his worst impulses. Someone who’s chosen, every single day, to do the hard work of healing.”
“But what if it’s not enough?” My voice was barely a whisper. “What if I let him in and he—”
“What if you let him in and he loves you both the way you deserve to be loved?” Haizley countered. “What if he protects you and fights for you and shows up every single day?”
I closed my eyes, fresh tears spilling over. “I’m so scared.”
“I know.” Her arm came around my shoulders, pulling me close. “But being scared doesn’t mean you’re wrong. It just means you’re human.”
We sat there in silence for a long moment, the morning sun climbing higher in the sky. Somewhere in the distance, I could hear the rumble of engines, the search party returning.
Derek was bringing my daughter home.
Derek, who’d beaten a man bloody for hurting her. Derek, who’d searched for hours in the cold to find her. Derek, who’d held her when she was scared and promised to keep her safe.
Derek, who terrified me and drew me in and made me feel things I’d sworn I’d never feel again.
“I don’t know what to do,” I said again.
“You don’t have to know right now.” Haizley’s voice was soft. “You just have to be willing to see him clearly. Not through the lens of your past, or his. But as he actually is.”
“And if I don’t like what I see?”
“Then you walk away.” She pulled back to look at me. “But if you do like what you see, if you see the man who’s fighting to be worthy of you and Frankie, then maybe you give him a chance to prove it.”
The engines were getting closer now. My heart started to pound.
“He’s not perfect,” Haizley said. “He’s going to make mistakes. He’s going to struggle. But he’s also going to show up. He’s going to fight. And he’s going to love you both with everything he has.”
I looked at her, this woman who’d seen Derek at his worst and still believed in him. “You really think he’s changed?”
“I know he has.” Her eyes were steady, certain. “The question is whether you’re brave enough to believe it too.”
The truck pulled into the driveway, and I stood on shaking legs. Through the windshield, I could see Frankie in the back seat, her face pressed against the window.
She was safe.
She was home.
And Derek had brought her back to me.
I didn’t know if I was ready to trust him. I didn’t know if I’d ever be ready.
But I knew one thing for certain:
I wanted to be.
My feet moved before my mind caught up. Down the porch steps, across the gravel driveway, my breath catching in my throat with each step.
Derek’s truck door swung open, and he emerged slowly, carefully.
The afternoon sun caught the exhaustion etched into his face, the shadows under his eyes, the tension in his jaw, the dirt and sweat from hours of searching.
But when he turned to reach into the back seat, everything about him softened.
His hands were so gentle as he slid them beneath Frankie’s legs and back. So careful. Like she was made of glass. Like she was the most precious thing he’d ever held.
“I’ve got you,” I heard him murmur. “Easy now.”
Frankie’s arms came around his neck, and her face—God, her face when she saw me over his shoulder. Relief crashed across her features so powerfully it nearly brought me to my knees.
“Mom!” Her voice wobbled, and her arms reached out toward me.
I ran.
All the fear, all the paralysis, all the careful distance I’d been maintaining, it shattered. I ran across the driveway, my vision blurring with tears, my only thought to reach my daughter.
Derek stopped walking when he saw me coming. He shifted Frankie slightly in his arms, adjusting his hold to make room, and I watched something change in his expression. The exhaustion was still there, but beneath it, hope. Desperate, terrified hope.
“Frankie.” I reached them and my hands found my daughter’s face, her shoulders, her hair. “Baby, are you okay? Are you hurt?”
“I’m okay, Mom. I’m okay.” She was crying now, her arms tight around my neck as she leaned from Derek’s hold into mine. “I twisted my ankle, but Derek found me.”
My hands were shaking as I touched her, checking for injuries, reassuring myself she was real and whole and safe. Derek stood perfectly still, supporting her weight while I held her, his arms steady beneath her.
I looked up at him then, and our eyes met over Frankie’s head.
He looked wrecked. Terrified. Like he was waiting for me to take her and run, to tell him to leave, to shut him out forever.
But he also looked at Frankie as if she were his entire world.
His hand supported her back with such tenderness, his fingers spread wide to keep her secure. The way he held her—protective, gentle, like he’d fight God himself before he let anything hurt her—made something crack open in my chest.
“Thank you,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “Thank you for finding her.”
Derek’s throat worked as he swallowed hard. “Always.” The word was rough, raw. “I’ll always find her. I’ll always bring her home.”
I’ll always protect her.
The unspoken promise hung between us, heavy with meaning.
Frankie shifted in our combined hold, wincing slightly. “Can we go inside? My ankle really hurts.”
“Of course, baby.” I stepped back slightly, and Derek’s arms tightened around her automatically.
“I can carry her in,” he said quietly. “If that’s okay.”
I looked at him, really looked at him. At the fear in his eyes. At the hope. At the desperate need for me to trust him, to believe in him, to give him a chance.
What if you let him in and he loves you both the way you deserve to be loved?
Haizley’s words echoed in my mind.
I was terrified. Every instinct I’d honed over years of bad choices screamed at me to be careful, to protect myself, to keep him at a distance.
But as I watched Derek hold my daughter, I realized something.
Being brave didn’t mean I wasn’t scared.
It just meant I was willing to try anyway.
“Okay,” I said softly. “Let’s get her inside.”
Derek’s eyes widened slightly, as if he hadn’t expected me to agree. Then something shifted in his expression, relief so profound it made my chest ache.
He turned toward the house, Frankie secure in his arms, and I walked beside them.
I didn’t know what came next. I didn’t know if I could fully trust him, or if my fear would win in the end.
But for the first time in a long time, I was willing to find out.