The Boy Who Has No Belief (Soulless Book 7)

by Victoria Quinn

  My arms circled her waist, and I gripped her against me, feeling both pain and euphoria in my chest. “I know. And you know you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

  24

  Emerson

  We sat together in the theater, Lizzie in between us.

  She kept digging her hand into Derek’s popcorn and stealing handfuls before shoving them into her mouth.

  Derek kept his eyes on the screen, his brown eyes lit up and reflecting the light from the screen. He didn’t care at all. He let her have as much as she wanted, absent-mindedly including her in his life without thinking about all the space and independence he had to give up because of her.

  I was living in a dream, having a man like that who loved us both. He was so good to me and so good to my daughter. Sometimes I pinched myself because it didn’t feel real. How did I get this drop-dead gorgeous man to accept me with all my baggage, to love me unconditionally, to love someone as their own when she wasn’t his?

  I still hadn’t gotten an answer.

  When the movie was over, we walked out of the theater.

  “Did you like it?” Lizzie asked.

  “It was okay.” Derek threw the leftover popcorn in the trash. “Did you like it?”

  “Yeah. I like those whodunit things. And I knew from a mile away it was the husband. It’s always the husband.” Lizzie spent more time talking to Derek than talking to me because I was old news, and he was the interesting and sophisticated one.

  I would be jealous, but I was too happy to be jealous. “You guys want to get something to eat?”

  Derek immediately cringed.

  Lizzie rubbed her stomach and shook her head. “Yuck, no.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I told you not to eat so much popcorn.”

  “Well, it’s delicious, so what am I supposed to do?” Lizzie fired back.

  “How about have some self-control?” I countered.

  “Derek ate as much as I did.” She walked beside Derek as we headed to the sidewalk.

  “Because he’s a grown-up who can do whatever he wants.” We hardly got to hold hands when we were together because she was between Derek and me, right smack in the middle because she loved to converse with both of us.

  “Ugh.” She rolled her eyes. “I can’t wait until I’m a grown-up.”

  Derek smirked slightly. “I used to say the same thing, and sometimes I wish I could go back.”

  “Why?” Lizzie asked.

  He shrugged. “Just a simpler time. I spent all my free time with my friends, not stressed about work and all the other stuff that comes with adulting.”

  “What did you want to be when you were little?” she asked.

  “An astronaut, actually.” Derek walked beside her, wearing his leather jacket with a gray V neck. Sometimes he looked so hot that I knew people probably couldn’t figure out how we were together. I knew I was attractive, but I wasn’t a lingerie model like his old lover Fleur.

  “Why didn’t you do that?” Lizzie asked, looking up at him in interest.

  He shrugged and kept his eyes ahead. “I was really good at the back-end stuff, so I thought my mind would be better utilized that way. Besides, I have no experience as a pilot and would probably get frustrated with all the training they have to go through. You really have to be at the top of your game to be an astronaut.”

  “Yeah, that sounds like a lot.”

  “And I don’t get along with people very well, so I wouldn’t be a good teammate. My time is better spent working on problems by myself and creating things to get astronauts where they need to go.”

  “That makes sense.”

  We walked down the block until we approached the outside of my apartment. His black Range Rover was parked there, where he’d left it on Friday night. We’d only come down to it once on Saturday morning to retrieve Lizzie’s gifts. He’d spent the weekend with us, still wearing the same clothes he wore on Friday even though it was Sunday now. He used my toothbrush to brush his teeth and didn’t style his hair like he usually did when he got out of the shower.

  “I should get going…” Derek glanced at his car before he turned back to us.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Lizzie and I need to clean the apartment and get caught up on laundry.”

  “Ugh, that sounds terrible.” She wore the scarf Cleo got for her, the color bringing out her eyes. “Can we get a maid like Derek?”

  “You are the maid.” She hated me for making her do all sorts of things around the house, but she’d thank me later.

  “Well, I’m going to get fired because I’m terrible at it.” She moved into Derek and gave him a quick hug. “See you later.”

  Derek hugged her back, smirking as he embraced her. “Bye, Liz.”

  Lizzie went into the building and headed to the apartment.

  When she was gone, I looked at Derek differently, like saying goodbye was so damn hard even though I would see him in the morning.

  He wore the same look. “I had a nice weekend.”

  “Yeah, we did too.”

  He wrapped his arms around me and hugged me tightly, fingers digging into the material of my sweater. He squeezed me before he pulled back and kissed me goodbye. “Love you.”

  “Love you too.”

  The holiday weekend was over, and we went back to our old routine.

  It was such a magical weekend that I didn’t want it to end, the three of us spending time together every single day. It made me want to live together, to have us all together as a family. But Christmas was coming up, and we’d probably have more time together then.

  Lizzie lay on the couch in front of the TV, but instead of watching it, she was reading the second book in Derek’s series. Her ankles were crossed and propped on a pillow, her long hair across another pillow behind her.

  I sat in the armchair and watched her—my whole world. “It’s good, huh?”

  She turned to me, slightly surprised, as if she’d been so deep in the story until I interrupted her. “Yeah. Now I get why he’s sold so many books and why his books are in the store windows. Sometimes I see people at school reading them.”

  “That’s really cool.”

  “Yeah.” She went back to her book. After a few minutes, she turned to me. “So when you and Derek get married, are we going to live in his penthouse?”

  “I don’t know. Why?”

  “Because how sick would it be to live in a penthouse?” she said incredulously. “I’ve only seen the living room and dining room, but that space is bigger than our apartment.”

  “Yeah, it’s nice.”

  “That means we’d be rich, right?”

  “Lizzie.”

  “What?” she asked. “I’m just asking…”

  “Don’t say things like that to Derek, alright?”

  “I don’t, but why?”

  “It’s just inappropriate. I’m not with Derek because he’s rich. I’m with him because…he’s perfect.”

  “Yeah, he’s pretty cool.” She turned back to her book.

  “And he’s not cool because he’s rich, right?”

  “No,” she said quickly. “He’s cool because he’s a good guy.” She started reading again.

  This time, I just stared at her in silence, savored this moment, enjoying this time in my life…because it was pretty perfect.

  A week later, Derek had an abrupt change of attitude. It came out of nowhere.

  It had nothing to do with that old friend he didn’t want to see, as far as I knew. He hadn’t done anything with Ryan or participated in wedding stuff, so I had no idea what provoked him to become so distant.

  He didn’t do anything too egregious, but he just seemed…distracted.

  Even when he was working, he seemed disconnected. He’d sit at his workbench, and instead of working on his model or his laptop, his eyes just stared blankly into the distance…at nothing.

  It wasn’t like him at all.

  I came to his desk and stood across from him.

/>   His eyes continued their lifeless stare, like he didn’t even notice me.

  “Derek?”

  He snapped back into reality, and his eyes focused on my face.

  “You’ve been preoccupied all day. Everything okay?”

  His coldness remained, the distant look still in his eyes. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He turned back to his laptop and went back to work like nothing happened.

  “Is it the rocket?” It was supposed to launch in just ten days, so he was probably stressed about the success of the test mission.

  “No,” he snapped. “I said I’m fine.”

  “Well, you clearly aren’t fine—”

  “Just stop.” His anger sliced through the air and brought me to silence. He dropped his gaze, his jaw clenched tightly. He took a few breaths before he spoke again, doing his best not to scream at me. “I’m just not having a good day, alright?”

  It hurt to see him react this way when we were so happy just yesterday…and the day before that. “I thought we didn’t do this anymore.”

  “So, I can’t have a bad day once in a while?” he snapped. “I’m a human being who has shitty days sometimes, alright? Just leave it alone.”

  Instead of escalating the situation by snapping back, I let it go. I turned around and walked off, even though that was so hard to do. I didn’t care if he wasn’t his usual self; I just hated how his immediate response was to shut me out rather than talk to me.

  But I walked away anyway and headed to the corporate office because now I needed space myself.

  It was toward the end of the day when I got a text from a number I hadn’t seen before.

  Emerson, it’s Deacon. I texted Derek this morning and got no response—and he always texts me back. So, I wanted to let you know that he’s probably having a hard day because today is the anniversary of his mother’s death. Some years he’s better, and some years he’s worse. So, I have a feeling what kind of year this one is. Just a heads-up.

  And then it all made sense. Yes, he’s been a bit hostile. Thanks for letting me know.

  Thank you for loving my son unconditionally, Emerson. Cleo and I appreciate it.

  He was the one who loved me unconditionally, but I didn’t say that.

  I finished up at the office then drove to the lab, where he worked alone because Jerome and Pierre had left for the day. With my purse over my shoulder, I walked to his table, watching him look up at me with that same combative look.

  He spoke before I said anything. “I’m gonna stay longer. You can take off.”

  I set my purse on the counter then took a seat across from him.

  He sighed loudly like he knew what was coming. “I’m sorry I’m being an ass, baby. I just…” He rubbed the scruff along his jaw as he stared down at his notebook. “It’s one of those days.”

  “You only have one of these days for a reason, Derek.”

  “I love you, but I don’t have to share every little thing with you.” He got back to work like I wasn’t there.

  “Why don’t you want to share every little thing with me?”

  He stared at the paper, but it was obvious he wasn’t absorbing anything he looked at. “Do you share every little thing with me?”

  “Yes.”

  He straightened on his stool then gave a loud sigh, like he was irritated.

  I waited for him to tell me on his own.

  But all I got was silence—brooding and irritating silence.

  So, I laid down my cards. “Your dad texted me…and told me what day it is.”

  His eyes immediately shifted back to me, clearly surprised by what I’d said.

  “I’m here. If you want to talk about it.”

  He closed his eyes for a moment then looked away, still shutting me out. “That’s the thing. I don’t want to talk about it. I can’t help but be in a bad mood because of it, so I can’t hide it.”

  “Why don’t you want to talk about it?” I felt like Derek and I had made a lot of progress, even with his friend that he didn’t want to see, but he still shut me out violently and I didn’t understand why. And by far, he was worse today than he’d ever been, as if we hadn’t just spent Thanksgiving together a few weeks ago.

  He turned quiet, bowing his head in silence. “It’s hard. I have a lot of regrets about my mother, and every year I feel like shit. And talking about it makes me feel like shit all over again, and I just don’t want to go through it over and over.”

  “Yeah, I can understand that. It’s fine if you don’t want to talk about it. But I’m just surprised you wouldn’t just tell me why you’re upset, like you did with that old friend of yours.”

  “I don’t know, honestly. This is just…different.” He glanced away, not looking at me, not connecting with me at all.

  I stared at him, feeling the pain because he was in pain.

  “It’s weighed me down for as long as I can remember. I’m in my thirties now, and I still can’t shake it.”

  “How did she pass away?”

  He was quiet for a long time. “It was unexpected. A heart attack.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He was still, barely breathing. “We hadn’t spoken in a long time. She pretty much just forgot about me. One night, I was in a really dark place, and I called her out of the blue…got her voice mail…and I just ripped into her. I didn’t intend to do that, but my dad always answers when I call, even if it’s three in the morning. And the fact that she didn’t take that call made me lose my shit. I said a lot of really harsh things to her, screamed into her voice mail, said she was a terrible person and I hated her.” His breathing increased as he sat there in silence, reliving the memory. “The next day…she had a heart attack.”

  I closed my eyes and felt the pain hit me hard.

  “It was because of me—I know it was. She woke up, listened to that voice mail, and…that was it.”

  I opened my eyes and looked at him.

  His eyes had a thin film of moisture, of unshed tears that he refused to release. His breathing gently slowed, his features gradually recovering from the pain that had just hit him hard. When he blinked, the moisture was gone, absorbed inside his chest.

  “You have no idea if it was because—”

  “It was. Her husband said she listened to it before she collapsed.”

  Jesus. “Derek—”

  “This is why I don’t talk about this shit.” He turned back to me, vicious once more. “Do I look like I feel better? No, I feel fucking worse.” He dropped his chin and looked at his notebook again. “Just go. I’ll talk to you later.”

  25

  Derek

  I sat at the dining table with my glass of scotch next to my computer, looking at all the schematics and models I had for the rocket. The project was completed, and it was literally days away from being launched, so there was nothing I could do at this point, but I checked anyway.

  If that rocket exploded…I wouldn’t know what to do.

  I couldn’t go through that again.

  My phone started to ring beside me, my dad’s name on the screen.

  He’d texted me earlier that morning, but I didn’t text him back. But now that he’d told Emerson something that was frankly not his business to share, I wanted to talk to him even less. I let it go to voice mail.

  He didn’t leave a message.

  I turned back to my work and forgot about the call altogether.

  It was almost eleven o’clock at night and I should be in bed, but I dreaded closing my eyes, knowing exactly what I would see. My dad tried to give me pictures of my mother when I moved out, but I didn’t want them, so I left them at the house. He could burn them for all I cared.

  A knock sounded on the door.

  I released a loud, frustrated sigh because I knew exactly who it was.

  I nearly knocked over my scotch as I crossed the living room. I flung the door open. “What is everyone’s obsession with talking about something I clearly don’t want to talk about? I just can’t have
a shitty day—”

  He moved into me and embraced me hard, his arms holding tight, giving me a hug like I was still a child instead of a grown man at his height. His hand cupped the back of my head, and he just held me.

  I stilled at his affection, sensing the anger slowly leaving my body as I felt my father hold me. My arms moved around his body, and I gripped him with the same desperation. He was always there for me, always loved me, always made me feel loved when she didn’t. I had the best dad in the world—and I fucking knew it. I inhaled a deep breath and felt my eyes water until the tears fell down my cheeks.

  He seemed to know exactly what was happening without even looking at me because he said, “I’m here, little man. I’m here…”

  The days passed in a bit of a blur.

  I continued to think about my mom, think about the last time we were physically together in the same room, and I questioned the last time I spoke to her. I thought it would make me feel better, but even if she had lived, I doubt it would have made a difference. I didn’t know why I couldn’t just let the past go, just accept that she didn’t love me, but my father and Cleo did. Cleo was my mother…so why did I care?

  If my outburst caused her to have a heart attack, that was on her. If she hadn’t been a piece of shit, that never would have happened in the first place. She deserved to die.

  I sighed to myself, knowing that was a terrible thing to say even in my head, and I didn’t mean it.

  I knew it hurt me because I wished things had been different, that I did have a relationship with her, that maybe if I’d done or said something differently, she would have wanted to spend time with me, would have wanted to call me.

  Because she was still my mom.

  And that ate at me every single day.

  Emerson was cautious around me. It didn’t seem like she was angry with me, but she was definitely withdrawn, as if she were waiting for my mood to pass.