Serena

I knew it was a two-hour drive, but I never knew two hours could feel like an eternity.

“You mind?” I point to the radio. Derek’s made us listen to coffeehouse rock since we left Rixton Falls, and I’m over it.

“Go ahead.” His hands straddle the steering wheel and his eyes are focused on the road.

“How was work?” I hate that I sound like a wife. It’s not intentional. I bet he hates it too. “Anything interesting happen?”

His jaw tenses and flexes, and he shakes his head before sighing. “Just another day.”

I decide that I don’t know this Derek. He’s grumpy and sullen and won’t engage in conversation with me, no matter how ridiculous the topic. I summarized an episode of Judge Judy for him twenty minutes ago, thinking it might capture the tiniest slice of his attention given his line of work. It was my first time watching that show, and I was completely captivated in a way I’d never been before.

But I didn’t get so much as an eyebrow raise from him, just a gruff comment about how those shows are all fake.

It’s tempting to ask if he’s in a bad mood, but I fear stating the obvious isn’t going to help the situation, so I avoid those words at all cost. I also avoid bringing up the whole ‘silent treatment’ and ‘anti-bullshit’ agreement I thought we had.

I’ll just tuck that in my pocket for another day, because I’m a woman and that’s what we do. We save stuff for later, in case we need it sometime. And with men, we always end up cashing in that chip. They’re just as moody as we are, though they’ll never admit it in a million years.

He takes an exit ramp off the interstate and veers toward a little suburban neighborhood with a fountain at the entrance and brand new houses masquerading as old. We pull up to a Victorian with a shiny black door and a white front porch, and the front door swings open.

A sweet, chubby-cheeked angel with hair as white as snow runs down the front porch steps, nearly tripping, barreling toward Derek’s SUV. He climbs out, smiling for the first time all day, and sweeps her up in his arms. His arms dwarf her, and he wraps her up and swings her around. Her legs hang limp and her arms are tightly draped around his shoulders.

From the doorway, a lean woman with a tan complexion and sandy blonde hair stands with folded arms, watching them. She doesn’t smile the way a mother might smile when she sees her child overwhelmingly happy. The woman only observes, her eyes dead and expressionless.

Derek moves Haven to his hip and steps toward the front porch, where the woman holds out a packed duffle bag covered in glittery pink ponies. She drops it before he has a chance to reach for it.

He scoops it up from the ground, shooting her a look when Haven can’t see.

“Thanks,” he says.

The woman’s gaze moves to the car, and I watch her expression fall when she sees me. The sound of her nagging voice trails in through the open windows, and she’s pointing, asking questions. Berating him for not telling her about me in advance.

She pushes past Derek and makes a beeline for the open driver’s side window.

“Hi.” Her smile is as fake as her breasts. “I’m Kyla. Haven’s mom. Derek’s ex-wife.”

Obviously.

“And you are?” she asks, her lashes batting sweetly.

“I’m a friend of Derek’s,” I say. “A work friend.”

“You’re an attorney?”

“Not exactly.” I play it coy. Stay mum. I know how women like her work, and I’m not about to cause trouble for Derek after all he’s done for me.

Derek stands behind her now, letting Haven slide down his leg before opening the rear passenger door and lifting her into her car seat.

“Ms. Randall is a client of mine,” Derek says. “She’s staying with me temporarily until she finds a place of her own.”

If jealousy could walk and talk, it’d look exactly like Kyla. Her eyes squint as her lips purse.

“Derek, you need to okay this with me. I’m not exactly comfortable with my daughter staying in a home with someone I don’t know.” Kyla pulls on a diamond pendant around her neck before letting the stone get lost between her cleavage.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t know anything about that.” His words are as dry as they are sarcastic. “You’ll get over it, I’m sure. You tend to get over most things quickly. You always were resilient.”

Kyla scoffs, stepping backward into the lush grass. She’s barefoot, wearing nothing more than a skimpy tank top and short, white shorts, and I wonder if she always dresses this way when she knows she’s going to see her ex-husband.

“We’ll be at the Carradine Lodge in Beeker Valley,” she says. “I wrote the number down and stuck it in Haven’s bag.”

A quick glance toward the back tells me Haven’s not the least bit upset about leaving her mother’s house. She’s grinning ear to ear, her legs kicking the front of the car seat as she tells Derek we need to go.

Our eyes meet. Hers are pure, ice blue. Pale and angelic. She stares, wide-eyed.

“Bye, my angel!” Kyla kisses her fingertips and waves to Haven.

Haven doesn’t notice. She’s only looking at me.

Derek climbs inside. By the time we pull out of the driveway, Kyla’s standing on her front steps, arms crossed and face twisted into a nasty scowl.

“Don’t mind her,” Derek says under his breath. “She’s a bit of a lost soul.”

“That’s a nice way of putting it.”

He glances into his rearview mirror at his giddy daughter, and I get it. He’s protecting her. His love for Haven is bigger than his hatred for his ex-wife.

Derek Rosewood is a good man.

“Daddy, who’s the pretty lady in the front seat?” Haven asks.

“This is my friend, Serena,” he says. “She’s staying at our house for a little while. You’re going to share your bathroom with her, okay?”

“Okay.” Haven grins, shrugging her shoulders and giggling.

“Nice to meet you, Haven. Thank you for sharing your space with me,” I say. She blushes.

“Daddy, I’m hungry!” Haven yells as soon as we hit the interstate.

“You’re hungry?” He glances at her through the rearview mirror. “It’s seven o’clock. Didn’t your mother feed you dinner?”

“No,” Haven says, yawning. “She said you were going to feed me. She was too busy packing.”

Derek mutters something under his breath, shaking his head. His hands clench hard against the leather-wrapped steering wheel.

“All right, baby,” he says. “We’ll get you some dinner.”

Derek turns to me.

“It’s totally fine,” I say.

“It’s going to be a while before we get home.”

“I know.” I reach across the console and pat his leg. “Derek, it’s fine. I’m just along for the ride. You do what you need to do.”

His face is softer now, and he reminds me of the man I met earlier in the week. The serious yet kind man with the benevolent gaze.

He reaches for the radio, tuning it to some Disney station that manages to elicit a delighted scream from the backseat.

I settle in for the long drive, out of my element and kind of loving it.