In response, he kissed my cheek and led me through the restaurant entrance. The way we met, the way we connected was heavy. We met at low points in our lives, definitely not looking for new relationships. Yet, I didn’t feel weighed down by my sorrow any longer. I felt lighter than I had ever. The happiness quelled some of my nerves over meeting his parents. Because I had to hope they had Derek’s best interests at heart and not want him trapped in mourning forever. Yet, I understood all too well that not all parents behaved with good intentions.
Derek kept me close as we walked over to the table. As we approached, the couple rose from the table and looked at us in anticipation. Derek’s father looked a lot like his son—same dark hair and eyes, but with gray at his temples and a paler complexion. His mother had a similar olive complexion as Derek, but black curls instead of his straight hair.
“Mom and Dad, I’d like you to meet Alyssa. Alyssa, these are my parents, Beckett and Chelsea.” His father shot a warm smile my way while his mother went for a hug. I wasn’t expecting the embrace and my back went rigid on instinct. Obviously, I wasn’t from a family of huggers and felt embarrassed to have such an awkward reaction. Quickly, I forced myself to relax, giving her a warm squeeze back.
When she released me, his mother examined me with a probing look before lowering back down to her seat. Derek and I sat between his parents while she continued to stare at me thoughtfully. Eventually, she said, “I think I had a dream about you before.”
“Mom, did you order drinks? Alyssa is going to need one if you start telling her you had psychic dreams about her.” Derek inclined back in his chair, shooting his father a sly look. His dad nodded at Derek before saluting him with a tumbler of amber liquid and taking a long drink.
“You two!” His mother trilled before turning her attention back to me. “I never claim to be psychic. I just rely on my instincts. These two men of mine are all logic and reasoning. They love me because I keep their lives interesting.”
“What was your dream about?” I asked, partly out of politeness and partly out of morbid curiosity.
“We were on a boat together in the middle of the ocean, I think,” she said in a faraway voice.
“I hope we weren’t sinking together,” I said mildly. Maybe his mother was having a psychic dream, a representation of us going under in our attempts at helping Derek.
“No, we were fishing. You were very skilled in the dream, snagged quite the catch,” she said, sending Derek a wink over my head.
“Oh, dear lord,” Derek mumbled as his father chuckled. I couldn’t help but laugh too.
I liked his mom. She made me almost wistful for my mother. Maybe my leaving could eventually fix our relationship. With some distance, somehow, we could learn how to appreciate one another. My parents weren’t warm and fuzzy, but I couldn’t blame them for all of my problems. I was an adult. I had to own up to my culpability in allowing my life to be controlled.
Derek’s mother commandeered most of the conversation at the table, which seemed like the norm for the family. Derek and his father were a lot alike; they would tease her often, but always affectionately. Chelsea made a point to center a lot of the conversation around me, trying to include me. She asked about my life, but didn’t pester me about my past. I had a feeling Derek let her know ahead of time about my complicated relationship with my family and maybe warned her to avoid bringing them up. I was grateful for the reprieve—I just didn’t know how to explain the complexities of being a Carmichael and then deciding no longer being a Carmichael.
In place, his mother asked about the diner and what classes I’d be taking for my nursing degree. Derek hadn’t fed me a line—his parents already knew a lot about me beforehand. His mother was kind and open, easing any concern she wouldn’t like me. She adored her son and if Derek liked me, that was enough for her.
Despite Derek’s protests, his mother regaled the table with funny and sweet moments about Derek’s childhood, painting a picture of a creative kid who was a loner, but not lonesome. He made a couple close friends, but he spent most of his free time reading or writing. He wasn’t the high school team captain or a fraternity brother. The irony of him ending up famous was not lost on me.
After dinner, Derek’s father excused himself to have a cigarette outside. At his mother’s insistence, Derek followed him, leaving the two of us alone. She gave me an expectant look while I stared at her with confusion.
She patted my hand lightly. “Come on, now you can give me all the juicy details about you and Derek we couldn’t talk about in front of him.”
I swallowed hard. What kind of details was she looking for exactly? She didn’t want me to divulge about our sex life, I hoped. She was a little whimsical, but wanting to know about her son in such a personal way seemed just plain weird. “What details?”
“Like how you feel about him? How serious are the two of you?” Her tone proved she wasn’t embarrassed in the slightest to ask our relationship status.
Sipping my water, I delayed answering. What could I tell her? My feelings were strong, persistent, but we had only dated for a few weeks. Admitting I couldn’t imagine my life without him in it may come off as desperate. “Maybe you should ask him?”
Smirking, she wasn’t at all fazed by my avoidance of her questions. “I can ask him how he feels about you, but I want to know how you feel about him. Are you happy with him?”
Happy seemed too insipid to describe how I felt about Derek. He meant everything to me. “Derek is great. I mean, he’s so smart and actually a lot funnier than I think a lot of people realize.”
His mother looked pleased. “He does have a gift for the deadpan delivery.”
Turning my head toward the door, I confirmed Derek and his father were still outside of the restaurant. “But we’re new and I imagine this must be difficult for you.”
“What would be difficult?” Chelsea sounded genuinely surprised by my words.
“To see him with someone who isn’t Emily.”
For the first time over the course of the evening, her smile slipped and her eyes lost their brightness. “You thought we wouldn’t approve of you because of Emily?”
“Well, yes. I mean, they were together for so long and she was such a big part of his life. But I’m not trying to replace her. I get that he’ll always love her.”
I could see Chelsea’s throat bob as she swallowed hard for several seconds. “He’s with you, though, why would you even think of such a thing? He’s not…I mean, he had a difficult time after her death, but he’s no longer dwelling on it, right?”
Her reaction made me regret bringing Emily up. My intentions were to reassure her I’d understand if Emily still had a special place in all of their hearts. Derek and Emily were a couple for five years and from the gracious way his mom acted, I’d jumped to the conclusion she had been close with Emily too. Yet, Derek’s mother seemed stricken over the idea of Derek carrying a torch still for Emily.
Finally, I answered her, “I don’t know…maybe. But I think he’s more upset her case is still open. Maybe if her killer were caught, he could really start to heal from the entire thing.”
Chelsea looked alarmed by my words. “Alyssa, what has he told you about the police investigation?”
I shrugged. “Nothing. I mean…I understand he hired a private investigator because he’s frustrated with the lack of progress. I wanted to ask him if the investigator found out anything, but I’m not sure if he wants to hear my opinion. Most of the time, I don’t know what to say about her. What if I say the wrong thing?”
“My dear, you just be yourself. Never, ever hold your tongue. Derek is like his father. They are deep thinkers, inside their heads, and often missing out on the things happening right in front of their faces.” She let out a long breath. “I tried to talk to Derek about Emily, years before she died. I had concerns, but he doesn’t like to hear things that disrupt the status quo.”
Her confession left me cold. “What do you mean?”
She looked ready to answer, but then her gaze was distracted to the front of the restaurant. I followed her look, seeing Derek and his father making their way back. Quickly, she whispered, “Their relationship wasn’t perfect, but he doesn’t want to remember her that way.”
I could feel my eyes bulging as I stared back at her. My heart started pounding as I mulled over her words. What was his mother talking about? How could she insinuate not all was well with Emily and Derek? From my understanding, the two of them had the perfect love, a love surviving even in death. He wrote her beautiful and tragic words, likened to poetry, about how much he missed her. Derek practically promised her he wouldn’t move on. I could never reconcile those words with a troubled relationship.
Also, why had his mother brought up the police investigation? I never researched Emily’s case beyond the basics because I couldn’t stomach the idea of hearing the gory details. What information had Derek’s mother felt he should’ve talked to me about?
The entire conversation left me confused. Yet, when Derek sat down next to me, taking my hand in his own, I didn’t want to think about Emily. I simply wanted to enjoy the rest of the dinner with a family that made me feel like I was no longer on the outside looking in.
***
The rest of the dinner went smoothly, enough I actually felt misty-eyed as we said goodbye in the parking lot to Derek’s parents. Until then, I hadn’t realized how badly I needed someone rooting for my relationship with Derek. At every turn, there always seemed to be barriers, reasons we couldn’t work out in the end. Maybe I needed outside reassurance the two of us weren’t heading for disaster.
I followed Derek in my car back to his house, a brick colonial on a quiet suburban street. His house was gated with an intercom system that required a code to enter. His property was large, but not the same level of excess I was raised in. I was squinting up at the house, trying to make out more details in the dark, when he jumped out of his sedan to join me.
“I can’t wait to see your house.”
“That will have to wait,” he said in a rush before taking my hand, hurrying us both inside. Before the front door was closed, he turned to me, kissing me suddenly, drawing me into a cyclone of lust where I started to pull at his clothes. Each article got strewn across his house, creating a trail from the front door to his bedroom on the second floor.
After, we soaked together in the whirlpool tub found in the master bathroom. His touch was deliciously slow and sensual as he soaped up my legs, over my hips, before taking the longest to lather over my breasts. At this rate, I expected he’d have me again before we left the bath.
He regarded me through lowered lashes. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”
I smirked because we hadn’t talked about much of anything at all since getting back to his house. Five days had seemed like an eternity without him inside of me. “Yes?”
He cleared his throat, moving his stare from my breasts to my face. I gave him an encouraging smile because I could tell he was nervous. Finally, he started, “I thought we should talk about our…” He seemed to struggle with coming up with the right word. “Our expectations for one another.”
I leaned away from him, resting my head against the pillowed backrest to watch him. He didn’t elaborate, just continued to look at me nervously. Finally, I said, “You’re being weird. Stop creeping me out.”
His expression turned offended. “I’m not being weird.”
“Yes, you are,” I insisted. “Are you about to ask me to do some weird sex stuff? I’m getting that vibe.”
He gave me a long-suffering sigh. “Sometimes, you’re impossible—”
I didn’t let him finish, instead using my foot to splash water at him. “Are you going to demand I do freaky stuff with you? Like wear a collar and bark like a dog? Then, sign a contract so I don’t tell anyone about it?”
“No,” he said, grabbing my foot before I could splash him again. He gave it a gentle bite before grumbling, “But I may have the desire to smack your ass right now.”
“I may let you if I get to smack your ass too,” I said before splashing him with water using my hands. He started to look put out, so I gave him an apologetic look. “I’m sorry. What expectations did you want to discuss?”
“I know you were dating while we talked on the phone. But I don’t want you to see anyone else.” He wasn’t looking at me, instead focusing on the ceiling.
I tilted my head, confused at his request. “That’s your big expectation? Sure, I thought that was a given.” Of course, I wouldn’t see anyone else. For starters, I was in love with him. Not that he was ready for that confession in the least. Also, we weren’t using condoms, which would be downright disgusting if we were sleeping with others. A cold thought snaked through my heart. “Are you dating anyone else?”
“No, of course not. You know how dating went before you.”
But things could be different for him now, I realized. Like Jenny had pointed out, I was his first post-Emily. I could end up a fluffer after all. Instead, I said, “Good. Now that’s all settled. Did you have any more of those expectations to talk about?”
He frowned. “Well, yes, it’s about your car.”
I scrunched up my face. “My car?”
“Yes, Alyssa, that death trap you’re driving that makes screeching sounds while running and has stalled at least twice when I’ve been on the phone with you.” He was giving me one of his stern looks that he thought made me take him seriously. The looks didn’t, they made me want to laugh and then kiss away his frown. He added, “I have three cars, which you pointed out was too many for one person. I’d like you to have one.”
“You want to give me a car?” I asked in disbelief.
He nodded. “Yes, I think it’s best. I don’t want to worry about you breaking down somewhere alone at night.” I kept from rolling my eyes because I understood where his fears may have been stemming.
“But you need each of your cars. They serve different purposes. Your sedan is when you have serious authorly stuff to do, your truck is for manly stuff, and the Camaro is when you want to impress your girl,” I pointed out.
He shook his head, frustrated. “We’re together and I want to take care of you. Please, take the Camaro. It’s brand-new, fully insured, so don’t stress about damaging it.”
I gaped at him. “You’re offering me a Camaro that probably costs the same as a small house?”
“Yes, will you please take it?”
“Eww, Derek, you’re creeping me out again. You can’t give me a car because I’m sleeping with you,” I insisted. “You’re making me feel gross, like a kept woman or something.”
“I’m getting that urge to smack your ass again.” He gritted his teeth.
“Can we compromise? I’ll take my car to the shop and get it checked out. I appreciate the offer, I do, but I’m actually kind of fond of the old beast.” I was lying, my car was horrible, leaking all sorts of fluids on the ground every time I drove it. It didn’t even have air. Months ago, I was driving a Mercedes. A fully-loaded Mercedes coupe with leather seats, air conditioning, and an actual working radio. I was happy with my life, but my car was depressing. Yet, taking his car felt like breaking a promise to myself—the pledge I would make it on my own without anyone paying my way.
“Fine,” he muttered.
“Anything else? Or are we going to get out, so you can give me the tour of your house?”
“You don’t need a tour,” he said dismissively. “Make yourself comfortable, act like it’s your house while you’re here.” I laughed because he sounded gruff, but he was actually being quite sweet. He continued, “But there was one other thing. I don’t know if you’ve been looking online, but the media has been curious about us.”
“Nope, I’m avoiding it. I already told you that I’m not reading about my short legs and fat ass. The internet is brutal.” I gave him a provocative smile. “Although you can’t seem to get enough of ‘dat ass.”
“You’re right, I can’t. And my assistant Taylor has made sure I have absolutely nothing on my schedule the next two days, so I plan to do lots of naughty things to ‘dat ass.”
I laughed. “I hope that’s not the reason you told Taylor to clear your schedule.”
“Not an exact quote,” he said with a quirked eyebrow. “I avoid the internet too, but Pamela and Taylor have said some reporters are insistent and want to know who you are to me. We decided it best to not comment at first, but I’m wondering how you would feel if I said you were my girlfriend.” He submerged his left hand under the water, interlocking his fingers with my right hand.
I gave him a measured look. “Are you asking me to be your girlfriend? Or are you asking me what label to give the media? Because those are two very different things.”
He lifted our hands together, kissing my knuckles. “I’m asking you, Alyssa Carter, if you would be my girlfriend. My beautiful, sweet Alyssa,” he murmured.
I sighed. “That’s the most romantic thing you ever said to me. Of course, I’ll be your girlfriend.”
“I can’t tell you how happy that makes me,” he said thoughtfully before leaning over to kiss me. I kissed him back until I pulled back to look closely at him. Exhaustion had set in around his eyes.
“You look tired. I think I’m wearing you out,” I said before kissing him again, letting my lips linger. I was still in the mood to have him, but he was also the man I loved. The man I cared about enough I felt a near constant worry about him. I thought he should talk to a doctor again about the insomnia, but I didn’t want to force the issue. He had a stubborn streak and wouldn’t go unless he felt the need. “Why don’t you head to bed?”
“You’re not joining me?”
“I’m too hyper now and actually…starving. Do you have any food here?”
The Despair of Strangers Page 18