Out of Focus (Chosen Paths #2) (5 page)

Once I’ve landed safely in her room, I shut the window behind me and watch Spencer climb back into the safety of her warm sheets in drowsy silence. For a brief moment, I allow myself to remember that feeling of safety, and a small pang of jealousy worms its way through my stomach.

Immediately, I push it aside and curse myself for being a shitty friend, because I know exactly why she sleeps with her light on. It’s not the sheets that provide her security; it’s that damn lamp sitting on her desk. So many years have passed . . . yet Spencer still cannot handle being left alone in the dark.

She offers me a sleepy smile as she nestles her head into her pillow.

“Bad dream again?” she asks, tucking the purple comforter under her chin.

“Yeah. It was horrible. I dreamt I was forced to attend the homecoming dance wearing a fuchsia dress that fit me like a potato sack. A real fucking nightmare.”

“Cassie Cooper!”

I grin as she snort-giggles at my inappropriate use of language and head to her closet, where my floor-pallet makings await. Pulling out the pillows, I add softly, “Sorry to wake you. Again.”

Spencer yawns, then simply shrugs. “No biggie.”

My mouth dips as I think about how much I wish I could tell her how big this is for me. How comforting it is to know that when I knock at her window, freshly bathed from waking in sheets soaked with urine, I have this small, safe haven of time before I have to go back home, where horrific memories lurk around every corner.

Everything.

It means
everything
.

And she may never know.

Not once have my parents noticed me missing. They remain asleep, content in their dreams, while I try my best to escape my nightmares. It’s become a dreadfully
familiar
routine. I wake, wash, bathe, dry, then escape here for a couple hours. Then I wake again and climb back through my window, only to pretend to be asleep when my mother finally enters my bedroom, completely oblivious to any changes in bedding. Already exhausted, I lower myself into Spencer’s Wonder Woman sleeping bag and clear the emotion lodged in my throat.

It’s so easy to avoid your own problems by busying yourself in someone else’s life. I happen to find immense joy in the times I get to lose myself in Spencer’s, so that’s exactly what I do.

“So . . .” I draw, settling my head into the pillow.

Spencer shifts and her tangled blonde hair tumbles over the side of the bed when she leans to meet my eyes. We’ve had countless late-night conversations in these exact positions—me lying flat on the floor and Spencer hovering above me with her chin digging into the side of her mattress.

Seconds later, the distraction that
is
Spencer begins to work its magic and I clench my teeth to keep from smiling before I continue. “So, that boy that your mom emergency fostered a while back, Dalton was it? Didn’t I see him at school today?”

With the mention of his name, Spencer’s cheeks redden, and her eyebrows hit her hairline.

She is so busted.
Crush busted.

She nervously tucks a strand of hair behind her ear before answering, “Yeah, Mom worked to get him in on a full scholarship. He had to be tested, and she said he did well. His scores were better than most of ours.”

She sighs, then adds, “He was recently placed with the Housemans. They’re a good foster family. He’ll do well there, I think.”

Her tone is hopeful, but her eyes give away her uncertainty. Her fear that he won’t be okay, regardless of what both she and her mother have done to try to give him a better life. One that he no doubt has been running from since the day he was born. I could see it in his guarded expression the day she introduced us, and I think he saw my need to escape too, but he never said a word.

He has never said much, as far as I can tell. Sadly, I completely identify with his need for silence, to keep his secrets hidden. I get it.

Secrets aren’t meant to be shared. They’re to remain hidden, safe from the judgment of others as they remain a burden for you,
and only you
, to carry alone.

As I watch unsure emotions depress her features, I’m reminded why I have never told her what happened to me, even though she so willingly offered the explanation of her past.

Oddly enough, that lamp was the beacon that saved me, but I never told her why. Why I suddenly started knocking at her well-lit window in the middle of the night. Why her presence, just having someone near that I trusted, soothed me to the point of finally being able to shut my eyes again to sleep, if only for a couple hours.

And although I know she wanted to ask, she never did. She gave me, and has continued to give me, the space to work through it on my own.

Does she have any idea of what I’ve experienced? No. I don’t think so. I feel she senses something isn’t right, but not what exactly. Honestly, I would never tell her because of that troubled expression displayed on her face as we discuss her need to fix Dalton Greer. And I say that with the utmost respect and love.

Spencer is a bleeding heart, but I don’t want to be her
project
, as Dalton may or may not turn out to be. The focus of
her
need to right the wrongs in this world.

I want no part of that side of Spencer.

“He’ll be fine, Spence. Just give him time,” I offer with a sigh and then turn on my side to face her. She gives me a half-hearted grin in return. Pulling the sleeping bag over my shoulder, I continue with my original line of questioning. “Any-whooooo, I saw him after school in the parking lot talking to another boy. Olive complexion, hazel eyes, gorgeous smile. Sound familiar?”

Her giggle fills the room, and I mischievously smile while waggling my eyebrows.

She laughs outright, then answers, “That’s Rat.”

My face pinches tightly in refusal of this horrid name that has been bestowed on the beautiful creature I spotted earlier today. “Rat? What the hell kind of name is that?”

Still smiling, she responds, “My thoughts exactly. Dalton said his name is Anthony, but he picked up the nickname Rat when he was younger and it just kind of stuck.”

“How unfortunate for him,” I state.

Another giggle from above. “I don’t think he cares what other people think. That’s the vibe I get from him.”

Hmm. I like him already.

“Well . . .” I try to fight it, but a yawn manages its escape before I can finish my statement. “He’s hot. Like, he should be on a book cover hot.”

“Gah, Cass. You and your books. I don’t know how you get away with reading all those grown-up romance novels.”

It’s my turn to laugh. “I don’t. I keep them under my bed, hidden from Mom. But I’ll tell you what, the minute they come out with electronic books, it’s on. I’m all for that shit. Digital would be way easier to hide.”

Spencer shakes her head, stifling her own yawn. “You’re addicted to romance.”

I nod. “I am, but fictional only. Real-life romance doesn’t exist.”

As soon as I say the words, the air in the room changes. I don’t know if it’s because of Spencer or me, but there’s heaviness surrounding us.

As usual, I say anything I can to avoid this feeling. “I mean, think about it, Spence. All the time in my books, men are
ripping
the women’s panties off. Impossible. And ridiculous. That would never happen in real life.”

As usual, my words are meant only for pure shock value. It’s a sad form of entertainment for me.

Spencer shakes her head with a horrified expression on her face.

I grin to myself.

She loves me.

The smothering air around us disappears as she laughs, and we fall into comfortable silence. After a few minutes, her sleepy, raspy tone hits my ears. “Love you, Cass.” She rolls over, and I know she’s finally finding her way back to the sleep I interrupted.

My throat tightens with her words, and I think about the meaning of love as I respond in my usual, high-pitched, joy-filled response. “Love you, times two.”

But my mind refuses to sleep.

Love.

People toss the word around so freely, almost as though it’s merely an afterthought, but the power within that one word can change a life. It can be used to manipulate and control, or it can provide healing and soothe the wounds of the broken.

Sometimes I wonder if I will ever know the love of the latter with someone other than Spencer. Someone who will love
all
of me, including my past and the torture it brings.

I know without a doubt that Spencer loves me unconditionally, even though I’ve never found the courage to tell her my secrets. I know she would love me even if I found the strength to share. And although I choose not to for my own reasons, the knowledge that this kind of love actually exists gives me the hope that maybe I will find my way through the darkness and overcome my nightmares.

Spencer is living proof that it can be done.

I stay on my side and listen to sounds of her deepening breaths. Clutching tightly to the fabric surrounding me, I give my normally guarded thoughts freedom as I imagine myself as the heroine of some romance novel. I envision myself as the unsuspecting, incredibly broken girl, who finds the one person who can help her, heal her, save her . . .

Reality will soon cloud my mind. I will be forced to peel myself out of this rare calm and forced to go back home.

But for now, I allow myself the relief of pretending.

I imagine what it would be like to love romantically.

I replay the images of the boy I saw today—the hero, as he would be in my book if I were ever to live in one—and the warmth of his imagined presence slowly lullls me into a deep, peaceful sleep.

“COME ON, CASS. WE’RE
going to be late.”

Parked outside Spencer’s door, I listen to the sounds of her mad shuffling as she hurries to get ready. I, however, am already dressed because unfortunately, I don’t have shit to do. Somehow, within the last ten minutes, I fell victim to Spencer’s ploy in getting me to attend Krav Ma-whatthefuckdoesthisevenmeeeean??? class with her. I’ve been avoiding going with her for weeks, but tonight, she dug her claws in deep and wouldn’t let go until I agreed. Plus, she mockingly humped my leg while pleading with me to go. It was so ridiculous, I couldn’t
not
say yes.

Just as I blow what is quite possibly the largest bubble I’ve ever managed, her door flies open and my eyes land on her exasperated expression.

I suck the gum back through my teeth and inquire, “What’s your deal with this Kung Fu shit?”

She glares back at me, clearly frustrated with my lack of interest. “It’s
Krav Maga
. I told you that already. And it’s awesome.”

Pressing myself off the wall, I shake my head in mock disappointment. “If only we could get you this excited about dating. Instead, for the last three weeks you’ve chosen to hang out in a smelly gym with sweaty guys who are most likely overcompensating for the small girth of their dicks. I don’t get it.”

I fight back laughter at her expression. Getting under Spencer’s skin just makes me so damn happy. God, I really need to get a life.

She huffs back at me. “I didn’t ask you to. The only thing I’ve asked you to do is accompany me to this
one
class. It’s ‘bring a friend’ night, and since you’re like my only friend, you’re officially obligated to attend. And you never know, you might actually learn something useful.”

Another bored bubble is masterfully inflated through my lips before Spencer pops it, then wipes the palm of her hand onto my favorite retro Star Wars T-shirt. I open my mouth to scold her careless actions, but she continues, “Plus the instructor’s hot. Like,
really
hot. Not my type, but maybe for you.”

All thoughts about the preservation of my precious T-shirt disappear and I smile. I
do
love me some man-candy. “Well then, what the hell are we waiting for?”

Spencer rolls her eyes and turns on her heel while I laugh and follow her down the hall. I grab two water bottles then join her as we exit through the front door. Spencer dangles her keys in front of my face. “We’re taking my baby.”

My humor-filled expression plummets in defeat. She just giggles.