24. Derrick

CHAPTER 24

Derrick

Even though Raleigh really has nowhere left to run, I find myself watching her more closely than ever before. I’m waiting for her rude flippancy to rear its head, but when she speaks, she’s reserved and almost too polite. I’m hyper aware of the way her body never fully relaxes, no matter whether she’s sitting in a stool or standing. I’m observing the nervousness in her smile and eyes that she’s usually so good at hiding, except when she’s too damn terrified to bother.

She’s… unnerved by my mother.

It’s completely absurd to me, but I know that my mother couldn’t hurt a fly even if she wanted to. Raleigh doesn’t know her at all.

Is this her best behavior, or is it her most honest? Am I only seeing her differently because I know the truth now?

The truth.

I’m glad to see my mother, truly. It’s been a year at least since I was able to make a trip out here to visit. But all I want is to pull Raleigh into the first empty room and restart our conversation from the side of the road.

I want to tell her I was already struggling with the idea of letting her return to the Warwick estate- back when I thought that was a thing she had any intention of doing- but now that I know we have a baby between us, I can’t bear to let her out of my sight.

I want to beg her to let me take care of her, to take care of our baby, to have a space in their lives and futures.

I want to touch her stomach, to press my ear to it, to see if I can feel or hear the tiny life growing there. A life I helped create, accident or not.

Just days ago I was thinking it was too late for me to have anything resembling a family of my own. Now it’s like the universe heard those thoughts and decided to give me the most inconvenient answer possible.

That doesn’t mean I don’t want it, or that I’m not about to fight like hell to keep it. Now that we’re here, I’m glad I didn’t have a chance to tell my mother in advance, or she might have gotten a second guest room ready.

I’m not going to be a gentleman and take the couch. I’m going to dig until I find out exactly why Raleigh wants nothing to do with me.

What she said about her family’s grudges is bullshit. Raleigh has spite in her, sure, but that’s not what’s driving her actions. If she truly hated me, she wouldn’t look to me for comfort, or melt when I touch her. She wouldn’t have handcuffed herself to me the other night because she didn’t want to be turned away.

No, what’s driving her is fear. Or it’s shame. Or it’s something else that she doesn’t need to feel, not with me.

I make us all vegetable-laden omelets for breakfast, and as we eat I distract my mother with my most recent exploits as a sheriff- all watered down so they’re not too upsetting for her. She doesn’t watch the news, never has, so I’m not worried that she’ll discover any of my lies. It’s almost a relief when Raleigh starts nodding over her plate, and I can make an excuse that we’ve been driving all night and need to get some rest.

Before we go upstairs to nap the day away, I give my mother one last lingering hug. Hopefully it’ll make up for all the times I’ve lied to her today alone, whether she’s aware of it or not.

I hate doing it, but what I hate more is bringing anything bad into a place we’ve both worked so hard to make into a haven.

“Thanks again, mom,” I tell her. “Sorry for the trouble. And sorry I haven’t called in a minute.”

“You’ve been busy,” she says with a warm smile, but I can tell she appreciates the apology. That twists the knife of guilt even deeper.

When I pull away, Raleigh is lingering at the base of the stairs. Not only does she need me to show her the way to the bedroom, but there’s something like yearning in her eyes before she turns her face away.

I remember Raleigh’s expression when my mother hugged her… it was like she’s never been held as tightly or as long as she’s really wanted to be.

We go upstairs in exhausted silence, but one look at the neatly made bed piled with crocheted blankets reminds me of an annoying fact.

“We should shower before we sleep,” I tell Raleigh. I’m not making my mother change sheets that smell like sweat once we leave.

Raleigh eyes me coldly. “I’m going first,” she says, immediately denying me a joint shower and any hope of hot water.

It’s not the moment to push her, no matter how badly I want to. We’re far too tired to be logical right now. So I just nod, my jaw tight, and watch her disappear into the adjoining bathroom. I linger for a moment outside the door, hoping in vain she’ll change her mind, then decide to stop torturing myself and go find her some clean clothes.

I keep a small wardrobe in the attic, full of mostly light winter clothes. No matter how often I tell myself I’ll visit more, I usually only make time to drive up here for the holidays. I grab some long-sleeved shirts and flannels, my softest pajama pants- the only ones I have that come with drawstrings she can tighten- and take this chance to throw my tool belt in the lowest drawer so I’m not leaving my gun or any of my tools in a place Raleigh will find them. Then I realize she probably wants clean underwear too. Will she be too proud to wear my boxers?

God I hope not.

Raleigh is still using up the hot water when I get back to our room with a pile of clothes. I knock on the bathroom door only once before going inside. To her credit, Raleigh doesn’t scream when I walk in. Then again, she’s never been shy like that. From the first moment we met she made use of her body, expecting me to admire it.

So I do.

“I’ve got you some clothes,” I say, setting the pile on the counter. Through the steamy glass, I study her curvy hips and ass, her long black hair plastered to her spine and shoulders. Raleigh runs shampoo bubbly fingers over her scalp. Ignoring me, or letting me watch? I decide to take advantage, regardless of the reason, and let my eyes drink her in.

It’s been three months since we were first pushed together by coincidence and trauma. Is that too early for the baby to show? As Raleigh turns under the water, I get a good view of her stomach from every angle. There’s the barest curve to her abdomen, but I don’t know if it’s just natural belly fat or the first signs of pregnancy. It bothers me that I don’t know her body well enough to be sure.

I’ve been staring long enough that my erection is uncomfortable in my pants. At that moment, Raleigh opens her eyes and looks at me, standing on the other side of the glass. Her expression is closed, but she doesn’t hide the fact that she’s looking me up and down- and that she notices my arousal.

“Don’t touch me,” she says.

That’s fine. I’m still fully capable of touching myself.

Slowly, I unzip my pants and shove them down to the floor. Raleigh doesn’t tell me to stop, and while her eyes are heavy-lidded, giving the impression that she’s bored, her gaze is focused on my cock. I pull my shirt over my head and abandon that too, but Raleigh’s attention doesn’t change.

She wants me inside her, even now.

But her orders were clear. I can’t touch her.

Gripping my cock, I start working myself up and down. I could get myself off at just the thought of her in a minute or two, but this is a show for her benefit. A gesture of good will. So I stroke my shaft gradually, imagining the hot, wet air is her hot, wet pussy instead.

It doesn’t measure up, of course, but it’s the best I’ve got right now.

Raleigh’s nostrils flare, her pupils dilating in her hazel eyes. She’s holding herself very still, transfixed as much as she is fighting not to jump into my arms and shove me inside her. I cup my balls with my free hand, tightening my grip on my shaft with the other, and she lets out a slow, careful breath.

My legs are very tired, and I desperately want to be laying down when I cum at the sight of her naked body. But instead, I rest my forehead against the cool shower glass, keeping my eyes focused on her. Does she notice that she’s leaning closer to me too?

I have to pick up my pace, or this building pleasure is going to become agony. I pant against the glass, and Raleigh’s body jerks a little, fighting against her desire to come closer to me. Then she reaches for the door of the shower stall, opening it up for me. I step inside ready to lift her off her feet just so that when I cum, it can be inside her body. But Raleigh steps out of my reach, her back up against the tiled wall. I plant a hand beside her head. Our eyes meet again as I jerk myself over the edge.

Raleigh gasps when I do, like she’s been holding her breath all this time. Cum splatters the tile floor and her feet, washed quickly away by the falling water. I’m desperate to lean into her, to kiss her, to go again but this time inside her.

But she doesn’t invite me to touch her. As I catch my breath, the hot blush in her cheeks fades. She steps around me and out of the shower stall, closes the glass door between us, leaving me with the last of the lukewarm water. I watch her towel off her body and dress quickly in the clothes I brought her. My clothes. Then she leaves me in the bathroom alone.

Maybe it’s good she’s left me only cooling water to shower with. I need to find my common fucking sense. But even after I climb out of the icy stream and wrap myself in a towel, I feel as unmoored as ever.

Raleigh is definitely not asleep when I come out of the bathroom. She’s lying on her side, facing the far wall and away from me, her shoulders still tense. She very intentionally doesn’t stir, even though I know she hears me approach.

I retrieve my own pile of clothes from where I left it on the wooden chest at the foot of the bed. Dress in silence. Slip into the bed on the very opposite side of it.

The space between us is still uncrossable, more so now than ever before. No matter the tiny miracle we share.