by Leanne Davis
Derek settled into a small trailer that Tony and Gretchen purchased for him. They set it up in their yard for almost six months, until everyone was convinced the threats against Derek were duly neutralized. Derek knew there was a fifty percent chance that his old life, and past sins would someday come to haunt him, but he chose to accept that, and tried to move on with his new life. They eventually relocated the trailer he lived in to a small, clean, little trailer park only a few miles from their house. It might have been sad and boring to some, but at least, his life was clean and safe for the first time.
Olivia returned to Peterson after Quentrell was sentenced. She’d been going to a state school in the interim, which she started in the fall and took extra credits to make up for all the time she lost at Peterson. Derek didn’t see her very often.
Derek towed the line that Tony drew for him. He worked at a minimum wage job in a fast food restaurant, and had begun taking the necessary steps to get his high school equivalency diploma. He hated the job, and resented it. But he used it as motivation, considering it his punishment until he could learn to do something better with his life.
It was a job. It was legit. And it was a privilege, as Tony often tried to convince him.
He had a plan now, and only because of Gretchen’s guidance could he even figure out how to go after it. He thought he might want to be a paramedic, like the ones that first appeared and saved Olivia. She could have been dead or brain-damaged if they hadn’t responded so quickly and in just the perfect moment. He remembered how calm their presence made him feel in a terrible, chaotic, horrifying situation. He thought he might want to feel like that again. He knew, of course, he was years from accomplishing it. He needed his GED before he could get accepted into an Emergency Medical Technician program. After that, he could take an entry level job as an EMT. That required something like a hundred and fifty hours of course work, the successful passing of a national exam, and certification before he could even think about working. For now, the EMT program was his goal. It overwhelmed him sometimes to think about. He wasn’t convinced he could get there. But Gretchen was, and Tony was too. One day, and one step at a time, was all Gretchen kept chanting to him.
She turned out to be really nice when she felt he wasn’t endangering her daughter.
They became… his family. More than his own ever was, the Lindstroms became his family. Tony checked up on him constantly. Derek sometimes felt claustrophobic from all of Tony’s expectations and demands. But he knew it was only because of all their caring. So he also relished it. It was the first time he understood how important a family can be.
He went to Washington State to see his brother every few months. A slow relationship developed that only time and mutual forgiveness might have remedied for them. Derek managed to get their mother to legally relinquish custody of Max, and the Clarks formally adopted him after more than a year of court appearances and jumping through hoops.
After Quentrell was formally sentenced, Derek thought he could once again visit Marsdale. He eventually planned to move back there to pursue the EMT thing. Both Gretchen and Tony were pushing that path pretty hard. Derek dared not change his mind now, lest he completely disappoint Tony and Gretchen.
Olivia also encouraged him to do it. They talked through texts still. Only rarely did he hear her voice on the phone, or see her in Calliston. She also had a lot of work to do, and was going after it as fast as she could to catch up. She was maxing out her credit loads and had no spare time.
It wasn’t until half way through Olivia’s junior in year in college that he finally went to see her play her music again. Now that she was a declared music major she had two showcases a year to be part of, one in the winter and one in the spring. Tonight was her first one and he intended to be there. It was being held at a historic old theatre in downtown Marsdale. He sat in back of the auditorium and watched her perform with the intense joy he remembered from so long ago. That was before he nearly broke her, and she put him back together.
He listened, his heart swelling with pride and joy and love. She was still the most beautiful girl, although hardened and wiser now, but always a girl to Derek, no matter. Always. Her inner light and joy for life would keep her that way to him always. For the rest of his life. Which he hoped to spend with Olivia. He looked forward to the day they’d find a way to live with his past, and merge their futures.
So long ago, Derek stood in a similar position: waiting for Olivia to come out after a concert. Then, it was just a small, dumpy, almost empty, little hall. Today, he was standing in a grand entryway with red carpet and gold chandeliers, populated by thick crowds dressed in pretty clothes.
She came out of the performer’s door. He saw her the second she appeared. She carried her precious instrument. The one his actions prevented her from playing for almost a year. She wore black pants and a white, formal, prim blouse. Her black hair now reached her chin. His heart rose and expanded with pride.
She stopped dead when she spotted him. Her mouth made an O and one delicate, black eyebrow arched. She stepped towards him as the crowd continued to move, dividing around them.
“Derek? Why are you here?”
“I missed hearing you. I like watching you play.” And he did. From the very first time he saw her. She had not played with Maggie and Larissa since leaving school. He knew that was also his doing. He always hoped someday, after she healed more, she would start again.
Even a year ago, he’d have swooped in and kissed her however he wanted. Everyone else be damned! But now, he understood, it mattered how he acted. It mattered if he were polite and considerate, even to strangers. It mattered how he acted in public, no matter what his own desires or intentions were.
“I also hoped you’d be interested in getting a cup of coffee.”
He kept his hands in his coat pockets. He was nervous. No, terrified really. His hands sweated and his tongue felt dry.
“Coffee?”
A smile started to tug at his lips. “Yes, a cup of coffee.”
“After everything you and I have gone through, from first love, to an overdose, to taking down a freaking drug boss, you want to go to coffee with me?” Her eyebrows rose in disbelief.
He shrugged. “It seemed like a good place to start. A new place. No pressure. Just coffee.”
Someone shouldered past her and she gave him a dirty look. She glanced back up at Derek. He saw the smile that first stole his heart and started his soul down a road of crime, pain, love and finally, redemption.
It was a really good smile.
“Do I have to ask my dad first?”
A laugh shook his chest and shoulders before escaping from his lips as something light and good. It started in his heart. It was still a new sensation, that feeling of good stuff. “No, although he knows I’m here.”
She rolled her eyes, but the look she gave him was profound. She seemed to understand how much he loved her parents. Maybe it was a little odd, but then again, what about her family’s relationship to him was ever typical? “Are you looking for coffee with a friend?”
“No. I’m not looking for another friend. I’m hoping… well, let’s just say I’m hoping. But… no pressure. Just coffee.”
Her gaze held his. He wanted to sweep forward and lift her up against him. He wanted to kiss her and lose himself in her deep, loving gaze and unparalleled goodness. But he didn’t. He stood there, his hands in his pockets, hoping for a date.
She finally nodded as she slung her backpack up higher on her shoulder. “Okay, Derek, I wouldn’t mind having coffee with you, but I can’t stay out late, I have a lot of homework.”
He grinned. “That’s fine. I have to get back to Calliston to work.”
His heart swelled with so much hope, he feared it might burst. Maybe… well, maybe after everything that happened, there was still a someday for them. Wasn’t that the entire point and purpose of being alive? Having hope? He finally smiled and put his hand out. Her breath caught and she nodded as a s
mile brightened her face too. She lifted her hand and slipped it into his as they turned and started out of the hall.
Maybe, someday, it would be a lot more than just coffee. Maybe someday, he’d see her play in a symphony and graduate college; or maybe she’d see him wearing the uniform of an honest professional. Maybe someday… But for now, it was just a start. More of a start than he’d ever before been given. Until he met Olivia, he was trying to get over the nightmare that started when he was eight years old, the year his will to live ceased to exist. For the first time, he felt like everything after this, after today even, would be way better than everything leading up to it. And when she squeezed his hand and he squeezed hers back, he wanted to start shelving some of the years that were spent in so much fear and misery. He wanted to pack them far away. He hoped in the years to come his entire life would continue to improve. And for the first time, he was pretty sure he was right about that.
Dear Reader,
I would be so grateful if you took a few moments to leave a review of The Years After. It really helps expand an author’s audience, and we really do appreciate the effort.
Otherwise, thank you for reading, and I hope you try another of my novels. Read on for more information on upcoming novels that I will be adding to The Sister Series, along with a peak at the spinoff series Daughters.
If you would like to keep up on my releases, please go to my website and sign up for my email distribution list or contact me directly at [email protected].
Here is a preview of my other novels.
Sincerely,
Leanne Davis
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Christina (Daughters, Book #1)
My entire life I’ve lived with shadows lurking behind what otherwise appears like the perfect family. My mother often disappears into her bedroom for days at a time because her life becomes too much to deal with. I never understood it. I know the family has secrets. I hear the whispers and innuendos. But no one wants me to know the truth.
The thing is: I’m not a little girl anymore. I’m tired of not being told. I must seek the answers and discoveries that will change my life and the relationship I have with my family, possibly forever. I soon discover that there is another daughter. The betrayal I feel from having to learn that on my own sends me running off to find her, no matter how much my parents, and Max, discourage me. I’m tired of all the lies. I can’t do it anymore, and I won’t.
My best friend since my early teens is Max Salazar. He’s my cousin by adoption, and best friend in the world, even if lately, he has been acting like anything but family. He is often in trouble so I’m always trying to bail him out. But this time, I get in way too far over my head and there’s only Max to turn to. Max, however, refuses to accept my comfort. How can I think about caring for someone who can’t even stand my touch?
Christina (Daughters, Book #1)
Prologue
~Christina ~
“Christina, can you go home and please make your sisters some dinner and start their homework? I just had a call come in that I have to take, so I’ll be late.”
“What about Mom?” I’m trying to study for a test at the library and I really don’t want to go home yet. I still have at least two hours to go.
“Your mom isn’t feeling well. Christina, I’m not really asking here,” my dad says, his tone clipped and sharp. He’s not kidding. His frustration almost comes through my cell phone. I roll my eyes. Seriously? He expects me to give up my time to, yet again, babysit my little sisters because poor Mom is holed up in her room, yet again, with some imaginary ailment? I’m pretty sure she’s one of those hypochondriacs who always think they have some new disease. She takes to her bed, locking the bedroom door, not coming out for at least an entire night. Once in a great while, for a couple of days we aren’t supposed to disturb her. When it happens, whatever “it” is, she doesn’t go to work or tend to us three kids. And as long as I can remember, she’s had these strange episodes. And stranger still? My dad allows her to have them. He’s usually Mr. Responsibility. We have to tow the line, follow the rules, and do our shit. Whether it’s chores or homework, we are not allowed to flake on things. Yet my mom? Way too often, she gets to vedge. And for the last few years, I’m the one who gets called on to fill in when Mom’s taking one of her mini vacations. I completely resent it. I mean, I don’t mind helping out when both of them are working late, but when Mom is in the house? What the hell? Get up and take care of your own freaking kids!
At some point, she comes out of her room and acts all fine. She’s smiling and interested and just Mom again, and she continues on as if she hasn’t just checked out on us and life. Sometimes, it’s for mere hours, while others? It’s for several days. Dad has to be in charge of feeding us and making sure my sisters don’t kill each other. But often, Dad has to work late, so guess who gets to pick up all the slack? Yours truly.
I swear I was born to be their permanent babysitter.
“Christina?” Dad’s tone is, as usual, insistent.
I sigh and mumble, “Fine. But it’s seriously stupid for a grown woman to so often be unable to get out of bed and care for her children. I have stuff to do too, you know. You know those straight As you demand of me? I need to study to get them. And I didn’t have three kids, she did.”
“Christina,” Dad says my name again, this time his tone is low and full of tacit warning. That tone tells me if I continue to speak like that, he is going to make my life miserable when he gets home. No one is allowed to even comment about Mom, let alone, complain, or God forbid! point out the obvious with her. At least, not with Dad. He’d throw any one of us kids under the bus to allow Mom to be however she needs to be. It has always been that way, for my entire sixteen years.
“Fine. Fine. I’m going home. I’ll flunk out. But Mom can get all the sleep she needs.” I click the phone off before he can answer. I hope to God he forgets about it before he gets home. It’s not that I ever worry he’ll hurt me, or anything. He’ll just give me that disappointed look. I hate it when he does that. I still have a childish need to make my parents, including my mom, proud. I don’t like to disappoint them. But sometimes… it gets so old.
I drive home and pull into the driveway. Light is just fading from the sky. The March evening is cool as the sun starts to sink across the horizon. The lights of our house shine out, nestled in the endless flat spaces and trees of the twenty acres we own.
I throw my keys and backpack down next to the front door. Melissa, only eleven, is stretched across the couch, watching the TV as if she’s catatonic, and ten-year-old Emily is playing with some kind of crafty thing in front of her. Beading jewelry probably. She makes us all rings and earrings and necklaces… I pretend to wear them out sometimes before ditching them in my car. But her cheeks turn rosy and she gets all pleased and embarrassed whenever she thinks any of us wear her treasured creations. She’s pretty shy and sensitive about almost everything.
“Is Mom here?” I demand.
Melissa finally tilts her head up on the pillow so she can answer me. “I think so. Bedroom door was closed when I got home.”
I sigh and start towards the kitchen to find something to eat. Crashing around, I take out my anger on the food and pans. I’m making tacos and adding meat just to spite my mother, the vegetarian. Both of my sisters are used to the nights I cook and Mom not coming out to interact like a normal person. They, of course, don’t get stuck picking up all the slack. That’s my job. Mom and Dad waited five years between having them and me. It’s like they planned to always have a ready-made, built-in babysitter.
I dump the food on plates and go off to my room to eat, thinking they’ll figure out how to feed it to themselves. I mutter before I shut the door, “Start your homework after you’re done.”
Then I slam my bedroom door and try to get back to my stuff.
My mother… she is a complicated woman. I mean, I know she loves all of us and she takes cares of us on the
whole. She’s also a doctor and works almost full time with my uncle, running the town’s veterinary clinic. She’s a good mom and all… she just has some strange quirks. She hates the sight of blood. Yet, she’s a veterinarian. Go figure. Once, when I was eight, I sliced my finger with a knife cutting up some apples, after she told me not to do it, of course. I am the type who, if you tell me not to do it, I almost have to do it just so I can prove it to myself. Anyway, so there I was, bleeding all over the kitchen counter, the cutting board, and the apple and my mom walks in while I’m holding my injured hand with my unhurt hand. Instead of rushing forward to help me… you know, grabbing a towel, helping me wash up, etc., Mom simply freezes and stares at me in complete silence. She was transfixed by my blood. Her face went waxy and I ran to her, believing she was about to pass out. I helped her sit down as I dripped blood all over the floor until I could finally get to the bathroom to clean up. I remember crying from the pain and all the blood and because my mom wasn’t helping me.
But there are other incidents I remember that show me more about whatever her episodes involve. When I was eleven, I decided I wanted to start shaving my legs. My mom freaked out about it and would not give me a razor and let me. I snuck in a disposable razor and tried to do it on my own. I didn’t want to risk the safer and much less scary electric razor because my parents might hear the noise. I thought I could sneak my smooth legs by them. However, I nicked a scab and it bled everywhere. It hurt like hell too. I cried out and my mom heard me because she stood on the other side of the door, freaking out. I mean, she was crying and screaming at me and threatening to break the door if I didn’t open it. I didn’t want to open it at first because of the evidence that I disobeyed her. But finally, I had no choice as I limped to the door, bending down to hold the towel on my bleeding leg. Mom glanced at me and then into the bathroom where the blood was a harsher red against the white porcelain tub and the pink, disposable razor sat innocently on the tub edge. I remember her yelling at me. A lot. She took the razor and threatened all kinds of punishment and would not even listen to what I was doing and why. I mean, what middle school girl doesn’t want to shave her legs? Mom acted like I was trying to kill myself with it. It was so over the top. Several times, her reactions were like that. She called dad and he had to come home from work. She kept saying, “Wait until your dad gets here.” Then she collapsed into a chair and didn’t move or speak again. It was like she was just… gone. I was convinced he was going to come home and really punish me.
