Out of Focus (Chosen Paths #2) (17 page)

“He didn’t have to tell me anything, Dalton. I know why you’re back.”

Dalton nods his head, absorbing my words. “Well, then you must also know that our situation is . . .
precarious
.”

I fight a snarky grin at his use of the word. It’s just so Dalton.

He continues, “I need to know that both you and Spencer are doing all you can to remain safe. Which means,” he gestures toward the entryway, “locking the door and setting the alarm at all times.”

“All right,
Dad
,” I scoff.

Dalton narrows his eyes. “This isn’t some fucking joke. You know just as well as I do
exactly
what Silas Kincaid is capable of.”

All defiance is lost and my throat seals shut as I nod, words escaping me.

Dalton steps forward, covering the distance between us in three long strides to place his hand on my shoulder. Holding me captive with his stare, his voice is surprisingly gentle when he adds, “I’m sorry, Cassie. Rat’s death, well . . . it’s on me. I let him down. I lost him, but you lost him too. And I’m so sorry for that.”

I shake my head. “There was nothing you could’ve done, Dalton.”

He inhales deeply, pain and sadness filling his expression. “I got him involved. That’s enough.”

Memories of Rat and our brief time spent together unleash a fiery fury from somewhere deep within me, a place that has remained securely hidden for years. My head dips forward, and anger is threaded through my tone with my harsh whisper. “Then make it right.”

Tenacity fills his baby blues with a jerk of his chin. His grip on my shoulder tightens as he responds, “Keep the doors locked and your apartment alarmed until it’s done, okay?”

The urgency in his voice takes me by surprise. “I thought we were safe.”

Dalton’s brows shoot upward with that admission, but he recovers quickly. “You
are
safe, Cass. Grady and I are both making sure of that. But you can never be
too
safe. So please, for my sanity, just do as I ask.”

My head bobs in answer, then he surprises the shit out of me when he tugs me into his body, pulling me into a tight embrace. All anger subsides and my eyes widen against the material of his shirt. I remain completely still, shock freezing my muscles. His hold remains, so hesitantly, I lift my arms and clumsily pat his back. His broad shoulders shake us both with his laughter until he finally releases me.

I look up at him, surprised to see a wide smile. I don’t think Dalton Greer has ever smiled at anyone other than Spencer. Peacefulness settles into his eyes as they stare back at me. Rooting myself in their depths, I realize that some time during the past five years, Dalton’s wounds have healed. I know with absolute certainty; his head is finally in the right place to get his vengeance. And his girl.

I grin shamelessly back at him.

He angles his head, assessing me before he speaks. “I underestimated you, Cassie. In high school, I thought you weren’t a good friend for Spencer to have. I couldn’t have been more incorrect in that assumption. I’m sorry for that too. You’ve always . . . protected her, so to speak.”

I chuckle with my response. “Well, it was my job to protect her for six years before you came along. Then I passed the torch because, well . . . she was in love with you. There was no competing after that. I knew she was always safe with you, and safe she will remain, now that you’re back. I have no doubt.”

Dalton stares back at my blatant honesty, and the intimacy of the moment begins to overwhelm me. So before it gets too serious, I add, “But just in case, I’ll be sure to set the alarm and lock the door, as requested.”

Deep laughter fills the room as he steps away. His amused stare drifts to my shirt and his darkened brows rise, a huge smile lifting right along with them. “Nice shirt. Have fun last night?”

I shoo him with my hand. “Oh my God, go away now. I’m
so
not discussing my evening with you.”

“Come on, Daisy Mae. You know you want to talk about it.”

I grin at the endearment and shake my head. “Not with you, I don’t.”

“Oh!” Spencer’s angelic laughter fills the air as she practically floats into the living room. “Talk about it with
me
. I want to know everything.”

“And then there were three,” I remark under my breath.

Spencer’s long, blonde hair is piled messily on the top of her head, bouncing with her steps. Her eyes fall to my socks, filling with humor before rising. Wearing a simple light-blue tank top and black yoga pants similar to the ones loaned to me by Grady, she happily bounds off the balls of her feet as she makes her way to Dalton. His arm lifts with her approach, and she nestles into his body. My eyes take in the sight, its completeness, and my heart lifts with the knowledge that all is right in their world.

The two halves of their broken hearts mended as they come together.

I sigh inwardly, then jerk my thumb over my shoulder. “I have to get ready. I have an appointment at eleven.”

Spencer’s eyes widen and she covers her mouth, but her smile is still evident. “You liiiiiike Grady,” she sings. She looks up at Dalton, who’s grinning back at her, explaining, “She never gives up deets about the ones she likes.”

I snicker. “How would you know?”

“I just know,” she retorts, offering nothing more.

I’m thankful for her discretion, because the only other person I’ve ever not shared
deets
about is Rat, who has already been painfully discussed in-depth. Over the past twelve hours, I’ve officially hit my emotional quota for the next year, and I really don’t think I can handle anymore today.

“We can talk about it later,” I gesture to Dalton, “when
he’s
not here.”

With that statement, I’m pretty much guaranteeing that we will never talk about it, because I have a feeling Dalton will become a permanent fixture in this apartment. I grin knowingly at Spencer, who just frowns.

I lose the smile and lift my stare to Dalton, dipping my head, silently reiterating my earlier demand. He does the same in understanding and before I can cry, or beat the shit out of some poor inanimate object, I hightail it out of there.

As soon as I hit my room, I close the door behind me, the whirlwind of emotion taking its toll. I fall onto my bed, inhaling deeply as I roll onto my back, taking my pillow with me and hugging it to my chest as I stare at the ceiling.

Out of everything that has happened, my thoughts keep circling back to the peace in Dalton’s expression. He’s not the angry kid I remember. The palatable fury felt with his presence no longer remains. With his acceptance of whatever really happened during his childhood, serenity seems to surround him now.

And all I can think is, if Dalton Greer can achieve that inner sense of calm, then maybe I can too.

Past—Seventeen Years Old

A KNOCK AT MY
window wakes me. Half-dazed, I pull myself out from under my covers and stumble toward the sound. With each groggy step taken, I empathize with Spencer all those nights she had to let me in through her window. A habit I thankfully broke a little over a year ago.

A barely there smile tips my lips upward as I unlock the window and slide it open. A cool breeze accompanies his entry, jet-black curls moving in the wind as he climbs over the ledge and into my room. His long arms hit the floor, knocking over a pile of books.

“Shit. Sorry.”

I cover my mouth to mute my laughter just as my eyes catch the glisten of the gold Italian horn around his neck. It dangles in the air until he gets his feet underneath him and rises, landing itself against the white T-shirt covering his muscled chest.

Anthony “Rat” Marchione standing in my room is a sight I’ll never tire of seeing.

About a month ago, Rat carried me into this room when I passed out in Dalton’s car after a very unfortunate night of clubbing with Spencer. We began the evening with two guys who ended up being fucking douche-canoes, and concluded the night with Rat and Dalton kicking their asses and then bringing us home. It was eventful to say the least.

Since then, Rat has been stopping by pretty much every night after my parents go to bed. He sits in my chair, booted feet propped on my bed, while I remain under the covers as we chat. It’s a very unexpected friendship, but one I’ve quickly come to truly appreciate. I treasure it so much, I even asked him to prom. We’re just going as friends, but I’m hoping maybe one day we’ll be more.

I tiptoe to where he stands, and his hazel brown eyes smile in apology.

“It’s okay,” I reassure him. “You know by now my parents sleep like the dead.”

Hooking my thumbs in my shorts, I pull them lower on my waist, then tug my grey tank over their top. Damn. Maybe Dalton has a point about the length. Not that I would ever tell him that.

“Like the shirt,” Rat says on a laugh.

My eyes flit downward to see exactly what shirt I’m wearing. I really hope it’s not the one that says in big bold letters
I SWALLOW
with tiny script underneath it
my bubblegum
. Mom hates it, so I make it a point to wear it all the time. Not that I can even recall the last time I cared what she thinks.

Instead my eyes read,
Karma is like 69: You get what you give
.

I grin. Another one of my parents’ favorites.

Rat’s eyes dance with laughter before he turns, snagging the chair at my desk while I climb back under my sheets. The light from my closet remains on, illuminating his form as he takes his customary seat by the edge of my bed. His boots land right by the side of my legs and he leans, putting his weight on the back two legs of the chair, assuming his usual position.

“Where were you last night? I waited up for you,” I inquire after a long yawn.

He offers me a rueful grin with a shrug of his shoulders. “Sorry. Couldn’t get out of it.”

I accept his apology with a nod of my head. “It’s okay. With Dalton?”

He gestures with a jerk of his chin. “Yeah.”

Rolling my body to face him, I tuck my hands under my cheek and inquire, “You guys have been friends for a while, yeah?”

“Since we were kids,” he affirms. “He’s seen me through some tough shit. And me, him. He’s the brother I never had. Would lay my life down for him.”

My lips curl into themselves, thinking how I feel the same way about Spencer.

Rat chuckles to himself, then continues. “But seriously, the guy needs to learn to lighten up. I get he’s angry at life, but shit. He needs to let it go or that type of rage is going to fucking eat him alive.”

“Well,” I offer, “maybe Spencer can help with that.”

“That’s a definite possibility,” he agrees.

We share sly grins. He removes his feet from my bed, setting the chair on all fours and slants his body in my direction. “You know, I make up stupid-ass words just to fuck with him.” He laughs outright. “Nothing pisses him off more than misuse of the English language. An art form I’ve perfected, by the way.”

Laughter bubbles through my nose as he continues to speak. “I mean, it fits though. I guess we kinda picked our roles early on in the friendship. He’s the genius and I’m the goofy sidekick.” He shakes his head. “But honestly, I wouldn’t have it any other way. It works. Opposites tend to balance each other. We make a good team.”

“Yeah,” I whisper, thinking about my friendship with Spencer. I understand what he’s saying completely. I’m the promiscuous to her virginal. I’m the crude to her innocent. I’m the dark to her light. (Both literally and figuratively.)

But no matter how unlikely, it works.

His hazel eyes dip to my shirt, and his smile lessens. His expression is trance-like as he falls into deep thought, almost as though he’s speaking to himself. “Sucks though. I mean, I could be
more
than the goofy sidekick. Sometimes life just has a way of knocking you on your ass though, doesn’t it?”

I nod sympathetically, stunned by my own reflection in those words. He lifts his face.

“Yeah,” I agree.

“Where’s fucking karma when you need it?” he asks. “I mean, you trust people and they force you into impossible, unforgivable positions. They take advantage, make you resent who you are because of choices
they
make . . . it’s like you have no—”