His lips flat-lined. “Then she’ll see me. So either you tell me where she lives or I start looking. But I warn you, like it or not, this meeting is happening.”
Fear washed over her. Deep, bone-deep. She hadn’t seen her father in fifteen years, and she didn’t want to now. The very thought made her heart crash so hard against her ribs she was sure Derrick could hear it.
But one thing was certain—her mother was sacred ground.
Keeping her voice low, Martine narrowed her eyes in Derrick’s direction. “Then I’ll just warn you, if my father gets wind of this and my mother ends up hurt—one little hair on her head out of place—I’ll leave Cedar Glen and you won’t have to worry about anything but digging your own damn grave on the night of the full moon.”
She pushed her way out of his office, slipping through the bar beginning to fill with lunchtime customers, zipping past JC and Nat as they waved her over to their table, and opened the exit door by shoving it with the flat of her palms.
The sun was blinding against the white of the snow on the ground, making her inhale sharply.
Fuck Escobar and fuck the paranormal. Fuck all of it.
The hell she’d risk her mother’s life to save her own—or even Derrick’s.
Chapter Thirteen
Okay, so she’d been really harsh with Derrick.
Upon reflection, and with a wince or two as she remembered her words about digging graves and her mother’s safety, she had some regrets.
It was two days later, and neither of them had spoken a word to each other, and at this point, she was feeling like someone had dug an enormous hole in her heart.
She missed talking to him. She missed laughing with him. She missed the heat of his chest against her back as she fell asleep. She missed making love.
And what will that feel like when you go away forever, Martine? If you miss him after only two days of silence, what will a lifetime of silence be like?
Oh, shut up! I’ll adjust. I’ll do what I did when I left home. I’ll get over it. That’s what it’ll feel like.
Sure it will. In the meantime, you owe him an apology. He was looking out for you, protecting you. Is that such a crime?
No. It wasn’t a crime. It was chivalrous and sweet and swoon-worthy.
But this was her mother they were talking about—attached to a man who was known for his brutality. No, he’d never hit Dianna, or even Martine, but now was as good a time as any to start.
He was a filthy drunk whose pattern of abuse could have changed. As he grew older, his dream of immortality still elusive, maybe his bitter anger had morphed into something neither she nor Derrick would be able to contain.
Derrick was a werewolf who could run super fast and beat people up with his super strength. But he knew zip about spells and the horror Gavin could create if he really set his mind to it.
Yet, she owed him an apology. He was, after all, looking out for her, too. She really believed his motivations weren’t selfish. She sensed he cared as much about her life as she did his.
And maybe that’s what had scared her. Maybe just as much as contacting her mother after all these years scared her.
Derrick cared.
She cared.
Things were getting too sticky—too invested. There was too much caring going on.
But that didn’t mean an apology wasn’t in order.
As she headed to the bar to do exactly that, to end this unbearable silence between them, she snuggled deeper into her jacket and pulled her cute knit hat down over her ears.
She’d come to love the slow pace and quiet of Cedar Glen. The town square lit up with tiny twinkling lights in the enormous oak trees. The whitewashed gazebo with wide steps lined with colorful pots of mums that led to the interior, where you could sit on the built-in benches and watch the people in town mill about.
The row of stores and small cafés, the cobblestone roads, the quaint houses painted in bright colors, their roofs with dollops of white snow.
She’d wondered a time or two what it was like in the summer when tourists filled the place and all the flowers were in bloom. Derrick had told her about the ice cream truck one of his pack members ran for the children, about the fairs they held, about the barbecues and potluck dinners that even the vampires attended.
And then she’d stopped herself from wondering. By summer she’d be long gone and resettled in the city. Hopefully her business would rise from the ashes and she’d be able to fill her life back up with work.
Yay.
Somehow, the idea of her life going back to the way it once was seemed impossible. There’d be no more cooking collaborations with Derrick, no more Adams family dinners, no more early morning walks.
Just no more.
Jesus, Martine. You sound like a pathetic love song. You know, the ones you so openly used to scorn?