Out of Focus (Chosen Paths #2) (37 page)

Uncle Alan,

This last letter, my letter to you, will serve as my voice. I remained silent for too long, hiding your secrets because I thought I shared in the blame.

This is my absolution as I choose to provide for myself. My chance to take back my innocence, my choice in what happened to me, yet what you saw fit to take as your own, without consequence.

I am finally writing to you to say aloud the ramblings of my mind as they’re poured onto paper, so I may find some sort of peace once I lay this letter to rest in the same soil that covers your lifeless body and houses your malevolent soul.

I will never understand why you did the things you did, or said the things you said. I don’t think any person in their right mind can ever really wrap their head around the actions of a pedophile. Of a person who preys on the innocence of children, who feeds off of it with absolutely no remorse, for the sole purpose of their own sick gratification.

I hope to never understand. I pray I am never witness to the darkness that twisted your mind, because I’ve had a hell of a time dealing with my own.

Yours would undoubtedly seal me in that grave right alongside you.

But that’s the funny thing about choosing to live. About making the decision to change your life, to take a different road, a more difficult path in order to reach where you deserve to be.

You’re dead now, and because of your own choices, you’re lying right where you should be.

And because of mine, my new choices, I’m living.

Really living.

It’s not always easy. Some days are harder than others. Some mornings I wake up, still feeling heavy and burdened, because in all honesty, I will never be able to completely erase your presence or your actions from my mind.

But there are so many other days when I don’t. When I open my eyes, warmed by the sun and the excitement of staring into the eyes of a man who loves me unconditionally, every piece of me, regardless of the damage you caused.

Those days, when I wake up in his arms, safe and secure, loved . . .

I refuse to take them for granted.

I choose to live.

I choose to laugh.

I choose to love.

I choose to smile.

You took so much from me, but my choices? My happiness?

Those you can’t have.

They’re mine.

You also tried to take me too, but guess what?

You can’t have me either.

I’m too strong.

I found my voice, my own vindication for your senseless actions.

I will right your wrongs.

And one day, I pray I will find the strength to completely rid your existence from my mind. But until that day comes, I will keep traveling my path. The one
I
chose, not you. I will walk with my head held high, with a smile on my face, and with love
—
real love
—
in my heart.

Because that is
my
choice.

Goodbye, Uncle Alan

Cassandra

One month later, I’m bent at the knees with my hand splayed on the dirt now covering my letter. Sitting back on my heels in front of his headstone, a surge of strength flows through me. Minutes go by as I silently read the letter in my mind, announcing each word proudly to the man beneath my feet.

I don’t cry. I simply shake my head at the senselessness before rising on my feet.

A warm hand curls around mine, helping me as I stand, I turn to meet those caring eyes watching my every move.

The corners of my mouth tip upward, forming a thankful smile, and I lean into Grady’s arms, allowing him to provide the warmth I need right at this moment.

“So proud of you, Cass.”

His lips brush my forehead, then he drops his hand, linking my pinky with his as he turns to lead me out of the cemetery. I grin to myself, tightening my finger as we walk together, away from my past and into our future.

One year later . . .

EIGHTIES ROCK POUNDS RELENTLESSLY
from the speaker beside me, and I grin widely at Grady as he skates toward me, coming from the direction of the DJ booth. His eyes crinkle at the sides with his smile as he approaches. Masterfully, he circles once before coming to a stop a foot in front of where I stand.

“I can’t believe you wanted to come here,” he shouts above the music.

I laugh, then respond. “It’s full circle. Where we started.”

He smiles, then takes my hand into his, leaning into me as he speaks. “So fucking proud of you.”

I never knew I needed those words until my Grady said them to me. Now, I feel delight in them.

My cheek presses against his with my smile and I nod my acceptance of his compliment. His beard tickles my skin as I press my lips just above where it frames his gorgeous face. I smile as I inhale his scent.

“Thank you for giving me a fucking phenomenal epilogue, Grady Bennett. For being the perfect hero. And for giving me my very own happily every after.”

He mirrors my gesture, smiling contently against my skin. “It’s your story, sweetheart, I’m just lucky to be living in it.”

He releases me then wheels backward and gestures toward the floor.

“Dance with me?”

Grady’s eyes light with amusement when a familiar
Foreigner
song begins to play. I couldn’t
not
smile if I tried.

I nod eagerly, then press off my skates to follow his lead.

My eyes quickly find Spencer skating circles around Dalton, already on the floor. Her mouth forms the words as she shouts them at the top of her lungs and I shake my head, laughing as I listen to the lyrics.

Looks like love finally found them both.

Mrs. Locke, well Mrs. Lawson, catches my attention next. Her smile is peaceful as she watches her daughter skating on the floor. After a beat, her stare slides from Spencer to capture mine. Her grin widens and she winks, signaling her approval of my accomplishment.

I smile back at her, watching as Detective Lawson snakes his arm around her waist from behind to whisper something in her ear that makes her laugh. My happiness for her stretches clear across my face before I break away from watching them to carefully focus on my footing.

After a couple successful steps, I lift my gaze, which lands on Aubrey and her husband, Kaeleb, as they guide their three-year-old daughter, Adley, carefully around the slick floor. Her blonde curls bounce as she flees from her parents, clearly having none of their assistance. I grin as Kaeleb looks to Aubrey in a way that tells me she resembles her mother very much.

That grin continues to widen as I watch the couples and their unequivocal happiness. My own joy takes flight, knowing everything is as it should be. That
I’m
right where I should be, doing exactly what I should be doing with my life.

And it has nothing to do with hair.

Although I do miss my clients terribly, I made the choice earlier this year to embark on a new journey. A new vocation, so to speak. In fact, it’s the reason we’re all gathered here tonight.

I train my gaze on one pair in particular, angelic giggles somehow rising above the blaring music as they hit my ears.

I eventually gave Spencer her birthday present. It was belated, but only because it was a work in progress.

With the support of Aubrey, Spencer, and of course Grady, I decided to try my hand at writing. And when I did, there was no turning back. I was completely captivated as I wove the words together, laughing and crying with the characters as they told me their story.

I published my first book six months ago.

It was a beautiful tale of two children who unknowingly fell in love one day as they watched a simple sunset together on a front porch. A story of their resilient friendship as they grew into young adults, the undeniable growth of their feelings with each passing year, and sadly, soon after finally caving to those feelings, their separation as one’s haunting past threatened the other’s future. It was a story of redemption, as after five long years, they still remained
Under the Influence
of their love, finally making their way back to each other.

A true love story as witnessed by my eyes, yet told by them.

Their
story, my gift to Spencer.

But tonight, as we all celebrate together, I just hit publish on my
second
book.

My
book.

My
story.

My
secrets, unleashed, when my own life was
Out of Focus.

So many thoughts and feelings have swirled through my mind for years. Talking with Aubrey and sharing with Grady have not only been cathartic and provided necessary healing, but allowed all the jumbled words to find their position on the pages.

You see, once I found my voice, I knew exactly what I intended to do with it. So, with the publication of my second book, I did just that.

Why have a voice if you’re scared to use it?

I’ve lived in fear for the majority of my life, but I refuse to remain silent anymore.

I wrote my story for all to read, in my own voice, in hopes that if I can just reach one person, if I can relay the message they’re not alone, then I’ve somehow made sense of a senseless act . . . of any kind. Tragedies happen all too often, but often remain hidden underneath a terrifying blanket of secrets. A devious blanket of lies. An agonizing blanket of pain.

As I look at those gathered here to support me, my family born not of blood, I know I’ve finally landed on the road I was meant to be traveling all along.

I was plucked from that path, thrown into a free fall for years, but eventually I found my way. All it took was a pair of blue eyes, loving arms, my own strength, and the unwavering support of those around me to help me land strong.

What will it be for you?

Everyone has a story.

I can only pray mine has helped someone come to terms with their own.

Are you that person?

And if so, what do you plan to do with
your
story?

If you hear me, if I’ve spoken to you, then I leave with you the same four words that changed my life.

The choice is yours.

The End

Want to know more about Aubrey’s story? Turn the page for an excerpt from
The Resurrection of Aubrey Miller!

THE RESURRECTION OF AUBREY MILLER

PROLOGUE

“UM, HI.

“My name is Aubrey Miller, or Raven Miller, depending on what part of my life I’m referencing, and this is my story.

“I’m not going to bore you with every single detail, not yet anyway. All you need to know at this point is that, for many years, my life was a dark, endless abyss of death. It followed me around like I was some sort of knock-off, subpar grim-reaper. The overwhelming guilt of the role I played in each death reigned over my life, and many of those days consisted of me just trying to keep my head above the grief that consumed me.

“But that is neither here nor there. What
is
relevant for you to understand is that this is my story—my fight to emerge from underneath the shroud of death that I was fearfully hiding behind for so many years. And it happened over the course of four years, my college years.

“Those years, while for most are defined by constant partying and keg stands, with the occasional random hook-up—well, maybe more than occasional for some people—for me were just another pitiful reminder of my lack of social skill and personal grace. In the beginning. By the end, I had acquired life-long friends who helped guide me through some of the darkest parts of my life. In them I found the strength to lie to rest the person who walked onto campus that very first day, the one cloaked in death and darkness, and become the person speaking to you today.

“I am here to finally share my story.

“A story of discovering not only myself, but the meaning of true friendship and unconditional love. A story of some of the most challenging, yet most beautiful and awe-inspiring years of my life, in hopes that you will take something away from my journey.