“Demetria.” The low hum of his voice is a warning I refuse to heed.
“You threw him away. He needed you, and you threw him away.” I shake my head, hands seconds from fishing my keys from my pockets. I have to leave. Now. “I thought you were better than that.”
“He’s not the kind of man I want associating with my daughter.” He huffs, his shoulders puffing as he lifts his wine goblet to his lips. “Anyone who would do something so vile, so disgusting, doesn’t deserve a seat at my table. Royal’s not welcome here, and I made that very clear to him seven years ago.”
The room spins around me, everything a blur.
Next thing I know, I’m seated in the front seat of my car, pounding the steering wheel with my fist and biting my lip to keep from falling apart. My foot presses against the brake pedal until it hits the floor, and I slam the shifter into reverse.
Salty tears fog my gaze, but I see the outline of a man approaching my car. I blink them away and see Derek.
Rolling down my window, I snap at him. “What do you want?”
He shoves his hands in the pockets of his navy slacks and bends at the waist.
“Just checking on you,” he says. “I know it was intense in there, but you have to know that Dad just wants to protect you.”
“From what?” I spit my words, slapping my visor up against the roof and sinking back into my seat.
Derek licks his lips, lifts his brows, and stares through my car, out my passenger window.
“You know,” I say. “You know what happened. Oh my God. Derek. Tell me.”
His lips form a circle, and he releases a loaded breath. “I looked it up once in law school. We had access to closed case files—you know, the kind where the victims are young and their identities need to be protected.”
My heart races faster than it’s ever raced before. A million times I’d tried some haphazard internet research, hoping for some kind of article or docket summary. I’d always come up empty-handed, and it makes sense now.
“It’s bad, Demi.” His works sink me. “It’s so bad, I don’t even want to believe it’s true.”
“Do you?” I ask. “Do you believe it’s true?”
His sweatered shoulders lift to his ears. “There was evidence. And he pled guilty. So . . .”
“He had to take a plea deal. He told me that.”
“No one has to take a plea deal, Demi.”
“I’m sure he was doing whatever his attorney told him to do, Derek. For Christ’s sake, he was nineteen and scared and alone.” My eyes burn, and the image of a young Royal sitting in some jail cell with no one on the other side to help him makes me want to peel out of this driveway and go be with him. Hold him. Tell him I believe him, and that whatever it was—whatever happened—it’s in the past.
“That’s what I want to believe,” he says. “But all I know is that there were two witnesses with air-tight, corroborating statements, as well as physical evidence.”
“Physical evidence?”
Derek lowers himself further, pressing his forehead against his arm as it rests against my open window.
“I know you’re going to go to him.” His voice is muffled until he looks up at me. “I know nothing anyone says is going to change your mind. Just . . . be careful. He may not be who you think he is.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Royal
She acts surprised to see me Monday night, her jaw hanging and her eyes round and wide.
“Can I come in?” I hoist the empty cardboard boxes in my arms and nod toward her foyer.
“Yeah, of course.” She steps away, almost studying me.
“Thought you could use some help packing,” I say. “Or at least some boxes. I assume you’re moving out soon?”
She carries a couple of boxes to her kitchen island. “Would you like something to drink?”
“Why are you acting so strange?” I laugh before cupping her waist and drawing her into me. “You’re being all formal. Did you forget about Saturday night?”
“I went to your place yesterday,” she says. “You weren’t home. And you didn’t answer your phone.”
Cupping her face, I kiss her forehead and move to her mouth. I’ve been craving those lips since Sunday morning.
“Painted my car yesterday, was at the shop until midnight. Worked a twelve today. I’m sorry, Dem.” I kiss her again. “Believe me, I’d much rather have been with you.”
“I couldn’t get my job back.” Her body is rigid, tense. There’s something colder about her today. There’s undeniable distance in her pale blue eyes. “Principal McClean refuses. I’m sure Brenda Abbott has everything to do with it too. She’s friends with her. She’s the one who got me placed on permanent leave in the first place.”