Derek was fifteen when he first became involved with Melissa McCall and his Mom definitely didn’t like it. Melissa was everything she didn’t want for her little boy; she was too human, too divorced, and too sassy. Surprisingly that she was also nearly twice Derek’s age, and had a nine year old son, and more crucially wasn’t Derek’s mate, weren’t things his Mom minded; she didn’t like them of course but his pack was modern. Nobody believed in saving yourself for your mating bond anymore.
Derek met her in a bar in LA when he was supposed to be tracking an Omega for the pack. She was lean and expressive and beautiful; everything he loved in a girl (or guy, Derek wasn’t picky). He didn’t tell her his true age of course, not until they were past the point of no return in her car, and by then neither of them cared.
Afterward she wouldn’t look him in the eye but Derek forced her; put his fingers at her chin, tilted her face up to his, and when he told her he loved her he meant it.
“How do you know? Jesus you’re so young. What was I thinking? At your age I was in love with a new guy every week…”
“I’m not like that,” Derek said solemnly his fingers curving gently around her neck. “I know what I want.”
“How could you?” Melissa asked with something like disgust. “You’re five years older than my son. Jesus, Scott. I can’t do this to him, Derek. I…”
“It’s okay,” Derek kissed her despite her protests because her heart was racing, her palms sweating; she was lying. “We’ll work it out.”
And they did. Melissa divorced her husband, moved her and Scott to Beacon Hills and a bigger house than either of them were used to, got a job at the local hospital (a downgrade but the hours were better); all of it for Derek. She even met his mom when he asked and gave her the cookies she hadn’t burned and sure she did this without knowing anything about werewolves, or packs, or Derek, but she loved him just as much as he loved her. So when his pack burned to the ground, when his Mom was burned to ashes, he stayed. For her.