Chapter 42
Rachel
Thursday night. Sophie’s café was closed for the night. Inside, the core group had gathered, Cole and Ellie on one couch, Jamie with his laptop, Mac sitting near the window, Sophie behind the counter.
Rachel walked in and felt Mac's eyes find hers immediately. She gave him a small nod, united front, and sat down.
"Okay," Cole said. "Friday night, seven PM. Town hall meeting. Everyone in Evergreen Cove will be there."
Jamie pulled up his laptop. "I've compiled everything. And—" He paused for effect. "—his own license suspension in Massachusetts eight years ago."
The room went quiet.
"His license was suspended?" Ellie asked, something like hope flickering in her eyes.
"For inappropriate relationships with a patient. They couldn't prove it conclusively, but there was enough for a formal warning." Jamie grinned. "Derek's been attacking your ethics while hiding his own history."
"We also have the security footage from The Grind," Mac added. "Showing Derek surveilling Rachel without her knowledge. Officer Martinez confirmed it's criminal behavior."
Cole looked around the room. "So here's the plan. Jamie presents the evidence. Ellie speaks about her treatment protocols. Rachel—" He looked at her carefully. "—if you're willing, you talk about what Derek did to you and Brad. The pattern."
Her stomach clench. Speaking publicly about Brad. About the engagement party.
But then she looked at Ellie. Ellie whose license was suspended, whose practice was destroyed, whose entire career hung in the balance.
"I'll do it," Rachel said. "Whatever it takes to stop him."
Mac caught her eye across the room. Thank you, his expression said.
“Tomorrow night,” Cole said. “We go to war.”
On the drive home, the cab of the truck was quiet Mac cleared his throat.
“Rachel,” he said, eyes fixed on the road. “I’ve been thinking. About the boundary you set. About what you need from me.”
She turned toward him. “And?”
“And I need something too.” He glanced at her, then held her gaze. “I need you to stop waiting for me to fail.”
Her expression flickered. “I’m not—”
“You are,” he said gently, but firmly. “I see it in your eyes sometimes. This expectation. Like you’re bracing for impact.” His grip tightened on the steering wheel. “I’m not going to leave you, Rachel. But I can’t spend my entire life proving that I won’t.”
The truck slowed at a red light.
Rachel exhaled, slow and steady. “Not now, Mac,” she said quietly. “Tomorrow matters more. Let’s focus on that. Okay?”
He swallowed. “Okay.”
Rachel lay in bed that night, Mr. Darcy curled beside her, staring at her phone.
Mac had texted an hour ago:
Mac: I know you're still hurt. I know we're not okay. But I love you.
Rachel typed a response:
Rachel: United front. We'll figure out the rest after.
She turned off her phone and stared at the ceiling.
Tomorrow, she would stand in front of the entire town and talk about the worst moment of her life.
And after..
She didn't know what came after.
But for the first time since the fight with Mac, Rachel felt something other than despair.
She felt ready to fight.
Derek
Derek sat in his hotel room at the Riverside Inn, sipping scotch and reviewing his notes for the town hall meeting.
They thought they could expose him. Thought they could destroy him with testimonials and sob stories.
They had no idea who they were dealing with.
Derek had spent fifteen years perfecting his reputation. He had credentials from the best schools, publications in prestigious journals, connections throughout the sports medicine community. He was untouchable.
And tonight, he would prove it.
Let them present their evidence. Let the sad sexy librarian cry about her failed engagement. Let Ellie Hansen show her small-town qualifications. Let Cole Hansen rage about his shoulder.
Derek would calmly, professionally, reasonably dismantle every accusation. He would position himself as the concerned professional trying to maintain standards. They would look emotional, unprofessional, desperate.
Rachel would be the easiest to discredit. She always was.
Derek took another sip of scotch, remembering when he'd first met her back when she was Brad's fiancée. Brad, the mediocre hockey player Derek had been treating for a groin injury. Rachel had been so eager to please, so desperate for Brad to succeed, so beautifully naive.
She'd been hot. And when she'd made it clear she wasn't interested in Derek's attention, staying loyal to her hockey player fiancée, Derek had been… irritated.
He'd started watching her, showing up at Brad's games specifically to see her in the stands, timing his sessions to coincide with her visits to the skating facility.
She'd worn this sundress once, yellow with tiny flowers, a bit of cleavage, clearly meant to tempt him, and Derek had thought about it for weeks.
The way she'd looked, the way she’d smiled… at Brad.
The way she should have been smiling at him.
Derek had wanted her with a hunger that surprised even himself. Not only her body, though yes, that too, but the conquest. The idea of taking something that belonged to Brad Reese. Of proving he could have anything, anyone, he wanted.
When she'd declined his advances something had shifted in him. Something ugly and permanent. If he couldn't have Rachel Morrison, nobody could, he would destroy her. Slowly and methodically. Until she regretted ever saying no to him.
Nobody rejected Derek Matthews.
So he'd started talking to Brad. Just casual conversations during treatment sessions.
Observations about Rachel's behavior. Questions about whether Brad had noticed certain things.
Concerns, framed as professional worry, about Rachel's judgment and emotional stability. About her mediocre life as a librarian.
It had taken months, but eventually Brad had believed him. Had started seeing Rachel the way Derek suggested she should be seen.
And when their engagement fell apart a year ago, Derek had been there. Supportive and understanding.
He had done her a favor, really. She'd wanted him; Derek, deep down, he knew that. She'd just been too proud to admit it.
Just like that woman in Massachusetts eight years ago had wanted it.
Derek remembered that conference. Some woman had approached him as a patient, complaining about back pain.
He had taken a look, and she had leaned in, rubbing against him.
The hotel hallway. Her stammering about not being interested in him like that.
The way she'd tried to push him away when he’d grabbed her breasts.
The complaint she'd filed the next day, sexual assault, she'd called it.
Hysterical overreaction to what had been mutual attraction that she'd later regretted.
That complaint in Massachusetts had gone nowhere, of course. No witnesses, and no evidence. Just some woman's "feelings" about an encounter in a hotel hallway.
Her word against his.
Just like tomorrow would be Rachel's word against his.
Poor little hysterical Rachel Morrison, small-town librarian with her traumatic past.
And taking down Ellie Winters or Hansen, now, for her professional interference? That would just be the cherry on top of publicly humiliating Rachel after she'd turned him down. Two small-town women who thought they were too good for him, destroyed in one evening.
Rachel especially. She still haunted him, that polite, pitying smile when she'd turned him down at the team event when he’d cornered her near the bathroom.
She had wanted it, the way she looked at him.
Flashing her body in that tight dress that hugged her hips.
Her porcelain skin, her vanilla scent. But she’d pushed him away, run.
Like Brad Reese was worth being faithful to.
Like Derek Matthews wasn't a hundred times the man Brad would ever be.
Of course, she'd learned better later. That night in her apartment when Brad was away. She'd understood then what she'd been missing.
But Rachel had fled town after the engagement ended, disappeared to some nowhere town before they could have another… conversation. Thinking she could escape.
Finding her in Evergreen Cove had been a gift. And now she was dating another hockey player? Giving herself to another mediocre athlete? What a waste.
Tonight, he would make her pay for every rejection. Every polite smile. Every time she'd looked through him like he didn't exist.
Derek always won. Because he understood something they didn't:
Credentials beat emotions every time.
He raised his scotch glass to his reflection in the mirror.
"To tonight," Derek said quietly.