Out of Focus (Chosen Paths #2) (8 page)

Odd.

He’s the one that asked for this date because of Liam’s interest in Spencer, yet uncertainty tugs at his features. After a few seconds, he disengages his stare from them, bringing his brilliant eyes to meet mine. All signs of hesitation disappear, and he smiles.

Those damn eyes.

I’m so screwed.

I give him a grin back. Grady tightens his stare and cocks his head to the side, a devastating smile still present on his face as he considers me. I narrow my eyes back at him, knowing those damn eyes have tagged that falsity of my smile. Which makes him grin . . .
wider
.

My expression doesn’t change in the slightest, with the exception of the tightening of my jaw preventing the reaction he’s looking for.

I repeat. I am
so
screwed with this guy.

And not the normal screwing involved with a guy.

Fuck.

I’m totally out of my element.

As soon as we’re seated, both Grady and I order glasses of Cabernet; Spencer, Pinot Grigio; and Liam, water.

It’s then that I really look at Liam for the first time tonight, and I have to say, he’s even more handsome up close. His dark hair is down, shaggy waves brushing the shoulders of his dark grey shirt. He watches Spencer intensely from the side as she says something to me, something that causes his bearded mouth to quirk into the tiniest of smiles. But I’m unable to comprehend what she’s saying because as I watch him, I’m struck again by a sense of unnerving familiarity.

“Cassie.” Spencer’s voice draws my attention away from Liam. I shake my head then slide my stare to meet hers.

“Sorry,” I state, clearing my throat. “I just zoned right on out there, didn’t I?”

Spencer giggles, then adds, “
Ya think
?”

I smile with her laughter just as the waitress sets down our drinks on the table. We proceed to order our food, then I decide to take matters into my own hands by giving her the shove she needs. Metaphorically speaking, of course.

Angling away from Spencer, I give her my shoulder, twisting in my seat to fully face Grady. When his right brow lifts in question, I lean into him and explain nonchalantly under my breath, “Those two need to get better acquainted.”

“Ah, I see.” Grady whisks my glass of Cabernet off the table and hands it to me before grabbing his own. He brings it to his lips, and as he swallows, the movement of his throat momentarily mesmerizes me. Visions of my teeth nipping the skin underneath his perfectly sculpted jaw fill my head, so pronounced, I bite down on my bottom lip. His stare falls to my mouth, and his eyes remain there as he casually leans to set his glass onto the table before finally raising them to meet mine. He grins a mischievous, lopsided grin, then states, “I think perhaps
we
should get better acquainted. Don’t you?”

The seductive tenor of his voice enters my mind and travels my body, striking me in a place least expected. Warmth pools between my legs and I cross them to relieve the sudden ache his voice alone elicited. Heat courses through my body, searing upward, until finally ending its deliciously torturous burn as it settles onto the tops of my cheeks.

As though sensing my body’s traitorous reaction, Grady’s eyes turn molten as he watches me take my own much-needed sip of wine. The sip turns into a long draw, then with shaking hands, I set the glass on the table beside Grady’s.

I fight the urge to fan myself.

When did it get so fucking hot in here?

Before I can answer my own rhetorical question, all warmth is lost as a shower of chilled Pinot Grigio rains down mercilessly upon me. Or my dress, rather.

A loud gasp escapes me as I frantically begin swiping the droplets off the soaked, now freezing, material. Wide-eyed, I look across the table just in time to see Spencer steal my Cabernet and down the entire glass before announcing to the entire restaurant, “Cassie, we need to go to the bathroom.
Now
.”

The men stand as we rise from our seats.

“
Ya think?
” I repeat her earlier question, then watch completely dumbfounded as she apologizes to our dates. She latches so mercilessly on to my arm, it’s quite possible she’s drawing blood as she pulls me from the table. Her legs move at lightning speed, and I trip approximately five hundred seventy-four times in my six-inch heels before we finally make it to her mark: the bathroom.

The door closes and as Spencer turns, I inquire through my teeth, “What is
wrong
with you?”

Her face is flushed and her breaths are shallow. She raises her hand to her chest, and I begin to look around for a paper sack for her to breathe into before she passes out. The closest I come is the brown paper towel hanging from the dispenser.

My eyes find hers again and she shakes her head. “I’m losing it, Cass. Losing. It.”

“I’m about to lose it if you don’t tell me what the hell is going on,” I respond, half-worried and half-pissed that wine is dripping onto my very expensive shoes. I lean toward the counter and hastily pull the paper towel from the dispenser, then lift my foot from the floor to dry off the leather.

My poor babies.

Once they’re dry, I place them on the floor, then glare at Spencer who says nothing, but continues shaking her head while the blood drains from her face. I narrow my eyes in frustration and step forward, fully intent on flicking her forehead, but my movement seems to prompt her ability to speak.

“I just saw Dalton. Well, what looked like Dalton, only not really, but kinda.”

My neck jerks, and I subtly shake my own head. “What? I’m not following. What are you talking about?”

“Cass. Please don’t freak out, but Liam . . . he looks like Dalton, kinda. In the right light, I mean, I know that’s completely crazy but . . .” She bounces excitedly, and adds, “Oh. And he said something outside that made it sound like he knew you. I thought it was odd, but now . . .”

At that, I suck in a breath. The familiarity I felt earlier suddenly doesn’t seem so far-fetched.

Spencer inhales deeply, then pauses in reflection before reaffirming, “Okay, I am
definitely
losing it, Cass.”

After allowing myself a few seconds to think and forcing a few calming breaths, I come back to reality. And when I land, I’m understandably disturbed because now I feel like
I’m
losing it. This entire conversation is ludicrous. There’s no way Liam Kelley is Dalton Greer. Absolutely no way.

And I refuse to allow Spencer to talk herself into believing it either.

So I plant my hands on my hips, cock my head, and give her my best I-know-you-don’t-want-to-but-you’re-coming-back-to-reality-with-me glare.

Her eyes grow wide, then she states in a low, strangely calm voice, “I swear on your Kindle, Cass.”

I can’t help it. I gasp out loud. Spencer knows the importance I place on my Kindle and everything downloaded onto it. She also knows the meaning of daring to swear upon it. It’s not to be taken lightly. My Kindle is
my
everything
.

I open my mouth, and only one word manages to escape as the gravity of the situation begins to sink in. “Nooooooooo . . .”

She nods and still in disbelief, I can do nothing other then repeat, “Nooooooooo . . .”

She keeps nodding, but when I open my mouth again, her hand clamps over it as she breathes, “Yesssssssss . . .”

Our stares remain locked, but in this moment, I
need
to know. Not so much for me, but for Spencer. I place my feet back into my drying heels, throw open the door, and exit the bathroom, Spencer’s own heels clicking madly as she races behind me. Somehow we find ourselves hidden by a six-foot plastic monstrosity covered in leaves, and once we’re settled, I push an annoying branch out of the way and lean forward to better assess Liam Kelley as he sits at the table. I watch him and Grady as they seem to be in a somewhat heated discussion. Well, one-sided discussion as Grady seems to really be laying into Liam, judging by the hardened expressions on both their faces. Liam’s darkened eyes are glaring back at Grady, who has just gained points in the badass department, because no joke, Liam Kelley looks downright terrifying right now. Not that I’m tallying.

But as I watch their interaction, I find myself squinting in effort to see Dalton Greer somewhere in Liam’s fierce appearance. “I don’t know, Spence. I mean,” I tilt my head to the side, “maybe?”

“
Maybe
I’m just losing it. I saw it, but from far away, now I’m not so sure,” she whispers. I watch as Liam’s face tightens further into a scowl, a look I find extremely memorable. Dalton wasn’t a very happy boy, and neither is Liam Kelly at the moment.

My voice is practically quaking when I finally speak. “No, I can see it. Kind of . . . Now that you’ve pointed it out, I mean, I see the resemblance.”

Spencer’s fingers curl over the tops of my shoulders. “What the hell are we going to do?”

I begin to answer, but instead my words are cut off and my body jerks in surprise when I hear a voice call, “Are you ladies okay?”

Perhaps we’re not as covert as we thought.

Together, we twist our bodies in the direction of a somewhat alarmed waitress. “
We’re fine
,” I state at the same time as Spencer.

Together, we silently watch her face screw up with our simultaneous answer. Her uncertainty is clear about whether or not to announce the two crazy ladies hiding behind this fake-ass tree, but then she makes her decision and leaves well enough alone by hauling ass to the kitchen.

I tear my eyes away from the swinging doors and direct them at Spencer. “What do you want to do?”

She shrugs and inhales deeply before answering. “I guess just have dinner without looking at him? Maybe my mind is just superimposing Dalton’s face on Liam as payback for the last five years of useless pining?”

It’s then that my own face screws up with my response. “Highly unlikely.”

We look back to the table, and I can feel Spencer’s nerves rolling off her in repeated, anxiety-ridden waves. I’m about to make the decision for her when she finally releases her grip from my shoulders and stands on her own, resolute. “Well, I guess we just go over there and act normal. Like nothing happened.”

“Right,” I scoff, because I know Spencer. Unlike me, Spencer is very
bad
at pretending. No way in hell is she going to be able to act as though nothing happened. She may intend to, but the minute we get to the table, she’ll say something. It’s just her nature.

We lock gazes, and once she has composed herself, we nod then make our way back to the table. I can feel the blood draining from my face as we approach, because if Spencer’s right, if this is in fact Dalton Greer, then fuck me.

Where the hell has he been for five fucking years and what the hell is he doing here now pretending to be Liam Kelley?

I watch from the side as Spencer eyes him with caution while he stands. Then he confirms our theory with what could possibly be the best plot twist ever, when he extends his hand in her direction and asks, “Wanna take a ride?”

His voice is so unlike that of the Dalton I remember. Liam’s is raspy and gritty and low. Dalton’s was more similar to Grady’s, soothing in tone. But then I see it, the torture in his eyes when she refuses to take his hand. The look alone negates any previous doubt as to whether or not, after five long years, Dalton Greer is alive and standing in front of me. It’s the same pained expression he always wore when around Spencer.

Why now after all these years? After everything?

I know now, after news broke about Rat’s death, all about Dalton’s past. Detective Kirk Lawson explained it to Spencer in a sit-down at her house shortly after he disappeared, which she later shared with me.

Dalton was forced to take refuge in the house of Silas Kincaid, an infamous drug lord in our area. He did so in order to find protection from those who’d abused him, driving him to live a double life, so to speak. There was the Dalton of the streets, and the Dalton who aspired to be what Spencer deserved. And as I observe the look on his face as he warily gauges Spencer’s reaction, it’s so very reminiscent of the tortured nineteen-year-old who disappeared years ago without a trace.

That day, I also found out that Dalton hadn’t been the only one sucked into Silas’s world. Rat had also been pulled under, working side by side with Dalton since they were kids, both forced to prove their allegiance to Silas Kincaid. Presumably, when Rat faltered, he was shot and killed on the spot. Dalton disappeared the same night.

I take my time to examine the man standing in front of me.

While his appearance is completely opposite of that of the Dalton Greer I remember, his presence, the familiar air of intimidation that often cleared a five-foot radius around him, is still very much present.

I tighten my gaze and my mind wanders.

He had always been protective of Spencer, swearing he would never let anything hurt her, then he just left. It makes no sense.

What could possibly have driven Dalton to leave so abruptly, doing exactly what he swore he would never do, completely shattering her? And what makes him think it’s okay to show up now? What does he want with Spencer?

My mind circles back to what I learned after he left.

After Rat’s death, did Dalton make his declaration of allegiance? And if that was the case, his loyalty did not fall with Silas Kincaid. Maybe Dalton understood the ramifications of his decision, knowing Silas would come after him, and left in order to do the only thing he’s ever wanted. To protect Spencer.

So the question still remains, why did he come back?

Spencer’s stare connects with mine, and I lift my brows in question. She shrugs her shoulders in silent response, then focuses her attention once again on Liam . . . Dalton. Just as when we were kids, she remains impervious to the power of his presence. She simply narrows her eyes, but then turns back to him and asks/implies, “We can take my car?”

As I watch their interaction, I find myself fighting the most inopportune smile. The whole scene playing out in front of me between them might as well be happening back in high school. And from what I remember, all fingers point to the fact that Dalton Greer is about to get his ass chewed.