“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.
Dalton says nothing, but dips his chin. Accepting of his answer, Spencer then turns her sights to Grady and points. “I’m going to get your license plate number, just in case. Cassie better make it home safely because I know people.” And by people, I know she means Detective Lawson, who has become a very important fixture in both her and her mother’s lives.
Grady squashes his laughter, then responds, “She’ll be home by eleven. Scout’s honor.” Then he dares to present her three extended fingers, sealing his promise.
I release a heavy breath in refusal because who the hell, at the age of twenty-three, is home at fucking eleven o’clock? I sure as hell don’t plan on that happening, based on premise alone. Grady looks to me and winks, and for the first time since meeting Grady Bennett, I smile back at him. A full-fledged, real smile.
I could blame it on being mentally weakened and worn from my non-stop musing about Dalton’s reappearance. But I don’t. Honestly, I grin because I happen to find Grady Bennett extremely funny.
My eyes remain on him, and his on mine, while there’s further interaction between the still-feuding couple across from us. I hear nothing but the beat of my own heart as he mouths, beautiful. Masterfully, he disconnects our stare, then redirects his gaze to the couple now seemingly at a standoff, never missing a beat as he offers to Dalton, “Looks like you’re going to have a fun evening.”
At that, I laugh. I try to cover it, but unfortunately, it does not go unnoticed. Spencer glares at me before returning her eyes to Dalton. In turn, he reaches for his wallet, throws a couple hundred-dollar bills on the table, and proclaims, “Dinner’s on me.”
Grady’s brows skyrocket as he takes in the money, then he grins and garners the attention of our waitress as he announces proudly, “Well then, I’m changing my order.”
I can’t help it. I laugh again, and Spencer’s glare is removed from Dalton and redirected at Grady. “Then cancel ours.”
Grady is still smiling, but he respectfully dips his head in concession. “You got it.”
Dalton gives Grady a look of warning, but eventually relents and hooks his fingers around Spencer’s arm, leading her away from us and out of the restaurant. Once they’re out of sight, Grady gestures toward my now dry, empty chair and I oblige. I slide into the offered seat just as the waitress approaches. Grady turns in his chair, says something that makes her giggle, and I’m mid eye-roll by the time he twists back to face me. His smile widens as my eyes settle back into my head.
He says nothing, but allows me the time I need to digest this evening’s whirlwind of events.
Grady Bennett knows not just Liam, but Dalton, which means he knows about his past.
If Grady knows about Dalton’s past, it would suggest that Dalton is back to address that past. Possibly to avenge the death of his best friend by wiping away the existence of Silas Kincaid and his organization.
And to do that, he would need the help of local police.
I nibble on my lip as the pieces slowly begin to click together.
In all of his conversations, Detective Lawson never seemed particularly worried about Dalton’s disappearance. Which now, if my theory is true, would make complete sense if they’ve been working together this entire time.
But Lawson is also fiercely protective of Spencer, which means he wouldn’t allow Dalton to show his face again in this town unless she was safe.
Another click.
It’s not Dalton’s face, it’s Liam’s.
Oh my God.
Dalton is working undercover for Lawson.
I glance back at Grady and narrow my stare, studying him.
And as I do, I become more convinced of my theory.
Lawson would need a team behind him to take Silas down. That has to be Grady’s connection to Dalton. They’re both cops. It’s the only thing that makes sense. So as the conclusion is drawn and cemented in my mind, I candidly ask, “Is your name really Grady Bennett?”
His face falls serious and he answers without a lick of hesitation. “Ye
s.”
The lack of his uncertainty regarding my question is all I need. Each piece of my theory clicks together. And once it’s formed, Dalton’s re-emergence and Grady’s role in his revenge are presented in an undeniably clear picture. The puzzle is finally complete.
I lean closer to him, and for a beautiful life lost and for the past five years of happiness stolen from my friend, I state on a stern whisper, “I hope one of you shoots that motherfucker right between the eyes.”
Grady’s mouth jerks upward in clear understanding before he confirms, “You got it.”
“Good.” Satisfied, I nod, then relax back into my seat before continuing. “I will ask you nothing else, other than this. Is Spencer in any danger?”
He shakes his head and responds, his tone a bit angered. “Dalton planted the flyer for my class on Spencer’s windshield so she would be capable of protecting herself in the extremely remote chance she would need to do so. Your apartment has been secured and is being watched by my men twenty-four hours a day. We’ve taken the necessary precautions to keep both of you safe.”
I fight a smile at the mention of the flyer, because that is such a Dalton move. But when he mentions the nightly stakeouts happening at my apartment, my head jerks in surprise. “You’ve been watching my apartment?”
Grady’s mouth quirks and when my eyes fall directly to his perfect lips, the heat from before resurges between us. I swallow deeply as he slowly inches forward, the warmth of his body searing my skin as he hovers near me. Then those lips pass my own to land on the shell of my ear before he whispers, “My men watch your apartment.”
He chuckles and his heated breaths fan my ear, sending a wave of goosebumps rising along my skin. “For the first time in my career, I was forced to take myself off surveillance. Because while my main objective was to keep an eye on your surroundings, all I could focus on was beautiful, irresistible you. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from you, and because of that, my involvement was compromised.”
By this point, I’m no longer breathing, so as soon as he retracts his presence and is once again relaxing in his chair, a whoosh of air enters my lungs. After drawing a long breath in and releasing it, I do the only thing I can do.
I blink.
Grady chuckles.
I blink again.
Then I clear my throat and break my one-question rule, again. “Exactly how long have you been watching me?”
Grady leans forward, pressing his forearms on his thighs and lacing his hands so they dangle between his knees. Then he opens his mouth and completely blows my mind.
“I’ve been watching you long enough to know something broke you. Something you keep hidden, something that weighs on your soul. You pretend, but your eyes betray you. There’s pain hidden within them, but when you smile, really smile, the pain is gone and you’re you. Not the person you pretend to be. And like I said earlier, I find that very interesting. I want to know what makes you smile, how to make you smile, and how to keep that smile a permanent fixture on that gorgeous face of yours. And more importantly, I want to know why you feel unworthy of that smile, and how to fix that too.”
He gives me a crooked grin and shakes his head. “I guess what I’m saying, is I would very much like the chance to get to know you, if you’ll let me.”
I blink, then swallow. Because once again, there is nothing I can say that could ever match that.
He laughs silently, gorgeous smile on full display, then extends his hand. “Do you trust me?”
Trust. It’s another one of those small words that carries such profound meaning.
I trusted once.
And it was that trust that broke me.
I dared to trust a second time.
And the evil hands of Silas Kincaid slaughtered that.
I don’t know if I have it in me to trust a third time. I really don’t. Not with someone who makes me laugh, or someone who makes me feel things completely unprecedented. Someone who without a doubt carries the power to completely shatter me.
Right on cue, voices slither through my mind, screaming their protest. Their warnings.
Only Spencer deserves light and sunshine.
Not you, Cassandra. Never for you.
You will always be alone.
All alone.
As you deserve.
I look away to the empty chairs across the table.
The voices rejoice in their victory while the obvious fact in front of me slices another gash in my chest.
I’m all alone.
Grady’s voice is barely heard above their yelling. But soon, the soothing tenor enters my mind and stifles their screams. “Don’t get lost in that head of yours. I’m right here. Focus on me.”
I tear my gaze away from the chairs to find myself immersed in a beautiful sapphire stare, so earnest and sincere as his outreached hand remains, waiting for me to find the courage to take hold. My chin trembles and moisture coats my eyes. I swallow and allow his stare to fortify me as I attempt to will the voices away.
I’m so tired of pretending.
And maybe it’s the prolonged exhaustion, but as I root myself into those damn eyes, I find myself succumbing to their comfort.
I know I cannot fully grant his request.
Or can I?
As I search deep within myself, I find there’s just not enough courage left in my reserve.
But still, I want.
But you don’t deserve that. You never have.
I want.
But you can’t have.
God, do I want.
Inhaling deeply, I hold his gaze and after several heavy seconds, I finally release my breath. My arm reaches forward, and as his hand wraps around mine, I revel in its warmth. It travels through my body and its heat settles in my cheeks. I narrow my eyes, but decide in this moment, I will give him all I can give. “I want to trust you.”
Much to my surprise, what I think I see in Grady’s expression is . . . triumph.
I’ve been watching you long enough to know something broke you. I want to know why you feel unworthy of that smile, and how to fix that too.
The corners of his mouth kick up as he states victoriously, “That’s enough for me.”
That’s enough for him. Who is this man?
Not to be deterred, Grady then glances down at his watch, snatches Dalton’s hundreds from the table, and signals to the waitress as she passes by, swiftly concluding our time at Bambino’s.
“Then let’s get the fuck out of here. You have an eleven o’clock curfew.”
“UM, NO.” I SHAKE my head manically. “Not gonna happen, blue eyes.”
Grady’s shoulders wrack against the seat next to me as he laughs, unabashedly. I wait patiently for him to cotton onto the fact that a) there’s nothing remotely funny about the building in front of me, b) his laughter is not setting a good precedent for this whole trust thing he’s so keen on, and (again) c) there’s nothing remotely funny about the building in front of me.
Once he finally manages to get control of himself and kindly stops laughing in my face, he removes all evidence by wiping his eyes before twisting to face me.
“Oh, it’s gonna happen.” His voice is suddenly scary fierce and his stare is as equally determined.
“Um, no.” I repeat, then add in a much more vicious tone, “One does not roller-skate in a minidress, Grady.”
“Come on,” he beckons. “It’ll be fun.”
“It’ll be me, falling flat on my ass in two seconds, while wearing a minidress.”
Grady grins while shrugging innocently. “Not really seeing the problem with that, Cass.”
I hate him.
I also hate how the way he just called me Cass makes my insides all wonky.
“Of course you don’t see the problem, Gray . . .” I mimic the endearment. “Seeing as you only have a penis residing between your legs.” I gesture at my lap, which only makes him smile wider. “Therefore, you know nothing about the rules of the minidress. Number one being,
you don’t roller-skate in one. Ever.”
“Your argument’s for shit, Cass. I happen to have a very good friend who does, in fact, have a penis between his legs, and has demonstrated many times how much fun you can have while roller-skating in a minidress.”
I take note to ask about said friend when not so irritated, because he/she sounds all kinds of awesome, then counter, “I’m not going.”
“Yes, you are. And it’s going to be fun.”
I roll my eyes, then cross my arms over my chest, turning to gaze out the window. I breathe in deeply and shake my head, my voice a mere whisper as I admit to the glass, “I’m going to fall.”
Grady’s humor sobers, and he immediately reaches to take hold of my hand. I reluctantly give it to him, then force myself to meet his stare.
“You said you want to trust me. Well, consider this the first step.” He firms his grip, and his eyes pierce mine. “I will never let you fall.”
He pauses, drawing in a breath, then cocks his brow. “You need to do something fun. Conquer something outside your comfort zone. Lose control. That’s what I’m offering you, right here, right now. A chance to have some fun, and maybe . . . I don’t know, call me crazy, but maybe even laugh a little.”
The image of the gorgeous, badass beside me in a pair of roller skates forms in my mind, and fuck me if I don’t have to clear the hint of laughter from being displayed on my face.
Grady eyes my reaction and lifts a challenging brow, grinning while he does it.
I remind myself that I hate him.
Then I think, how much can you hate someone if you have to remind yourself to do so? So I amend, thinking that I dislike his cocky self very much, and release his hand while offering, “Fine. But if this is some sick roller derby fetish, you’re going to be sorely disappointed.”
He shakes his head and chuckles to himself before opening his door while I do the same. I tuck my clutch under the seat for safekeeping and begin to step out of the car. As soon as my heels hit the pavement, he’s there, warm hand extended as I make my exit. I take hold, allowing him to guide me safely, and keep my grip tight as we make our way to the front doors of Skate Place.
Out of Focus (Chosen Paths #2) Page 6
