Out of Focus (Chosen Paths #2) (35 page)

I remain emotionless as she dissects me from afar, then with a careless fling, she tosses the letter on the coffee table in front of her.

“I find it surprising that you’re making these accusations when Alan is no longer here to defend himself.”

Her tone is haughty, condescending.

I laugh, unabashedly, then shake my head.

“I’m sure you do; I would expect nothing less.”

Leaving her in the living room, I grab my purse off the kitchen table, then turn to her after opening the door. She’s standing with her arms crossed over her chest, mouth pinched tightly, watching my exit.

Fresh air and sunlight surround me and I breathe it in deeply and feel warmed. My tone is calm and even as I state, “I should hate you for making me attend his funeral. For watching me break right in front of your eyes while you did nothing but cast judgement, but I don’t. Actually, I thank you for it. I thought I was weak, but taking so long to finally shatter, to reach the point where facing my fears was better than the agony felt once every piece of me finally disintegrated, well . . . I’m stronger than I thought. It took fifteen years for me to break. Thank you for forcing me to find and finally realize my own strength.”

She says nothing as I wheel around and step into the awaiting sunshine, leaving her behind.

Just as I unlock my Jeep, I hear a screen door slap shut in the distance. I smile at the driveway, then lift my eyes to find Spencer’s mother watching me warily from across the street. My feet carry me across the very worn path between the two houses, until I’m racing up the familiar steps to find myself enveloped in her waiting arms.

I know she knows what happened. I gave Spencer permission to tell her when she asked, knowing I would do it eventually anyway.

And I’m so glad her arms are here to hold me. A mother’s arms to provide the comfort I have so needed.

Mrs. Locke’s shoulders shudder against mine as she cries. Her touch is soft as her hand tenderly strokes my back in a familiar circular fashion, the gesture reminiscent of the hugs so often received when at this house. Embraces otherwise withheld. Not after Alan arrived, anyway.

“Oh, Cassie. My sweet, sweet Cassie,” she sobs into my ear.

I can’t fight the grin as I press away to reassure her. “I’m okay, Mrs. Locke. I promise.”

She nods, then sniffs back her tears. “I know, I know.”

Her other hand lifts, cupping my cheek. “I wish I would have said something. All those nights you came over to sleep in Spencer’s room, and I never asked. I should’ve asked.”

I want to laugh at the fact that neither Spencer nor myself had any idea her mom knew about my late-night excursions, but yet, I’m not surprised.

My mouth forms a watery smile as I reply, “It wasn’t you who should have been asking the questions, Mrs. Locke. And besides, I wouldn’t have said anything, not then anyway. But you, you welcomed me into your home without question, providing me comfort and safety when I needed it the most. I wouldn’t have made it without that.”

Mrs. Locke’s chin trembles as I speak, and I wipe the warmth from my cheeks with my fingertips before adding, “Thank you.”

Her head dips toward the wooden porch beneath our feet as she collects herself before she lifts her face, gracing me with a relieved smile as she nods. Her light-brown eyes hold my dark ones before she pulls me into her body, practically suffocating me as her arms fold tightly around my upper body. I would laugh, but I only have a small amount of air available, so I use the rest within my lungs to state, “Mrs. Locke, I’m fine. I promise.”

“Love you, Cassie, so very much.” I can’t help the swift breath in.
I needed those words. Needed
these
hugs.

She squeezes me tighter, and just when I begin to feel faint she finally releases me. Her warm hands glide tenderly down my arms and as they do, I catch a glimmer out of the corner of my eye. My stare homes in on her hand as it lowers and I gasp when I see a sizable diamond sitting atop her left ring finger.

“OH MY GOD!” I squeal. “YOU’RE ENGAGED!”

Mrs. Locke’s smile breaks across her face before she leans into me. “It just happened this morning.”

“I’m assuming this means he’s no longer in trouble then, not sleeping on the couch anymore?” I consider the last time I heard her—blazing into the ER looking for Detective Kirk Lawson. “The make-up sex must have been astounding,” I add.

She waggles her eyebrows and opens her mouth, but I cover my ears. “Too much, Mrs. Locke. Forget I said anything.”

She throws her head back in laughter before lowering her eyes to mine. She sobers, bringing her hand to my face and stroking my cheek gently with her thumb, clearing the moisture from my previously shed tears. “You’re going to be okay,” she states, more for her benefit than mine. Her eyes hold my stare with the strength and ferocity that I’ve seen so often in Spencer’s.

I nod, lean into her, and allow her to hold me in her arms, determining that family isn’t necessarily something you can only be born into. Mrs. Locke adopted Spencer, but as different as the color of their eyes may be, they still share the many of the same characteristics.

Both are loyal.

Loving.

Determined.

Fierce.

Although some of those features may be inherent, it’s clear that Spencer acquired much of her personality from the woman holding me right now.

Love isn’t an obligation. In fact, it’s when you find it so willingly offered in the most unexpected places that you should hold on to it and never let go, because
that
love is real, unconditional.

I can’t help but wonder how much of Mrs. Locke’s strength I was lucky enough to capture along the way, because as she tightens her hold, and I once again find myself unable to breathe, I know without a doubt . . .

I’m lucky enough to be a part of their family too.

Unconditionally.

Grady,

It’s been almost three months since we’ve seen each other, and there hasn’t been a day that has gone by that I haven’t thought about you. But as much as I longed to reach for you, to wrap myself around you and allow your arms to carry me when I thought I had no strength left, I couldn’t. Wouldn’t.

I had to stop my own fall. It was necessary for me bear my own weight through this journey so I could finally see what you saw in me all along. I needed to finally realize my strength and discover my worth, on my own.

You told me once that you couldn’t love me enough for the both of us. I get it now. I understand what you meant, because then, at the time, I didn’t really understand how to love myself. Even though I was beginning to learn, I think deep down I still couldn’t believe myself worthy of such a truly extraordinary gift.

I never really knew what love was because, up until that point, love was a word used to manipulate. It was a term used to mask certain indiscretions. An expression used for the purpose of pacification.

It was a word that for years I had identified only with the sexual abuse that ripped apart my childhood. Each time it was spoken, I lost another fragment of my youth. My innocence. I heard it so often, one day, the child inside me just vanished. She was gone, retreating into the safety of my mind . . .

Until I met you.

You helped me find her.

Something about you called to her the instant your insightful blue eyes met mine. She was intrigued by the strength, the confidence portrayed in them as they assessed her from across the room. Because you weren’t just looking at me, you were seeing her.

Little by little, you coaxed her out of the darkness, allowing her to experience the wonders of a childhood missed. You gave her butterflies and made her stupid-giddy. You took her skating and made her laugh. You held her pinky with your finger and played Twister with her. You jumped out of a plane with her, giving her the very first taste of freedom she’d had in years. You made her nervous, but in a good way. A youthful and innocent way. A way she so often longed to experience when she read her books.

You gave her her first real kiss. A kiss that she will remember forever.

But you also pushed her to see what you saw. The strength she thought she lacked. The life she was missing by remaining hidden. You gave her the courage to step into the light, allowing her to display her vulnerability while taking the first of many steps toward learning to trust. Toward learning what love really is.

And once she understood, she loved you in return, wholly and completely.

As did I.

She came out of the darkness for you, and because of that, I was able to find her when I needed her most.

I need you to know, if nothing else, that I
was
there with you, Grady. I was there. I did not lie about that. I gave myself to you in a way that I had never offered myself to anyone before, because I trusted you implicitly. I never want you to doubt where my head was in those very special moments shared between us.

I loved you.

I still love you.

I know I said some things that I had no right to say. I hurt you with my words because I was scared. So scared. I was falling fast, spinning so out of control, and I couldn’t focus. I couldn’t see you. I couldn’t find your eyes.

Without them to tether me, I was so afraid I would be lost forever in the darkness.

But I wasn’t.

Somehow, I found the strength to get my bearings and slow my world.

I landed the fall.

I found my focus.

I found myself.

I found that little eight-year-old girl inside me along the way, and I helped her too.

I don’t know what the future holds for us, if anything at all after how I treated you, but if nothing else, I needed to tell you why.

Why I felt unworthy.

Why I rarely smiled.

Why I was so guarded.

I wanted you to understand, to finally know part of me, of my past.

And I wanted to say thank you.

It sounds so trite, so insufficient for the amount of gratitude I hold in my heart for you, but still, it needs to be said.

I will forever be grateful.

And so will she.

Thank you, Grady, for showing us what real love is.

Cass

I’m a wreck. I must have changed twenty times before finally landing on the pair of dark blue skinny jeans hugging my curves, an oversized black sweater that hangs loosely off my shoulders, and of course, my kick-ass black patent-leather Mary Janes (four inches, not my standard five or six). My brown hair is loose, curled in tousled sections as it falls over my shoulders, tickling my skin. And my makeup is minimal, fresh and light on my eyes, with no blush necessary. The nervous flush warming the tops of my cheeks is enough. My teeth graze my lower lip, no longer coated with gloss because of the repeated action. I inhale, raise my arm, and knock three times on Grady’s apartment door.

As I wait for him to answer, I agitatedly fan my face with the envelope concealing his letter. I chose to come in person to deliver it, not because I wanted to see his response, but because I have something to show him when he’s done.

Then it’s up to him whether I leave or stay.

It hurts knowing there’s a very good chance he may ask me to go, and honestly, I wouldn’t blame him if he did. But I pray that doesn’t happen. That he still feels the same way. That he still loves me.

I hope.

I hope.

I hope.

The door swings open and I pause mid-fan. I don’t think I will ever get used to my initial reaction when seeing Grady Bennett. His hair is loose, light brown waves framing his face as they gently brush against the shoulders of the white polo covering them. It pulls taut across his chest as he presses his elbow against the frame of the door and leans against it, the sleeves fully stretched around his bicep with its support of his shifted weight.

The corner of his mouth lifts into a half smile and the edges of his familiar blue eyes crinkle as they drift downward to take in my appearance. The other side of his mouth finally rises along with his stare, forming a knowing smile as his right brow arches.