Free Better (Stark Ink Book 2) by Dahlia West Page B

home and pulled into his driveway. He didn’t have any Christmas lights up, he realized. He was pretty busy these days and there was no one around to care. He frowned at his bare front porch as he walked Zoey inside.
    He fixed her another cup of tea and even remembered the sugar this time. She headed off to bed and he made his way, somberly, to his. Tired as he was though, he couldn’t fall asleep. He lay sprawled on his bed, staring at the ceiling. Zoey wasn’t thinking clearly and that’s all there was to it. She was halfway there, at least. After all, she’d decided to stay with him instead of anywhere else, stay where he could protect her. But she needed this man out of her life entirely and she refused to pull the trigger on it, for whatever reason. Maybe she was afraid of angering him further, or maybe some of Dalton— the old Dalton— had rubbed off on her and she was just ignoring it, hoping it would go away on its own. Dalton wasn’t willing to wait it out, though.
    Late in the night, after he felt certain she’d fallen asleep, Dalton crept down the hall. He pushed lightly on the spare bedroom door and stepped inside the darkened room. Zoey lay sleeping with her head on the pillow. Her long brown hair was spread out around her shoulders. Though her belly was large, the rest of her seemed so small. It probably was an inaccurate assumption. He was probably remembering her vitality, which had now been sapped from her. But he still couldn’t help but feel that Patrick Grant had made Zoey less, smaller, more fragile. Again Dalton’s hatred for the man flared.
    Zoey had kept the small table light on. Whether it was because she was in an unfamiliar house or because she felt more secure with the light on, he didn’t know. He chose to believe the latter, however irrational. It was another thing to hate Grant for. He’d taken Zoey’s sense of peace away at a time when she was vulnerable and needed it the most. You could say a lot of things about Dalton, that he was selfish and self-pitying, a fucker and a fool, but no one could ever say he was a monster.
    Silently, he slid his phone back out of his pocket. He raised it, adjusted the frame, and pressed the shutter.

Chapter Thirteen
     
    Almost anything out of the ordinary had the power to change Dalton’s world, and not for the better. He woke up early on Sunday morning and slipped quietly into the shower. He called Ava to come over and then left the apartment while Zoey was still sleeping. Jonah didn’t need to be here every day and Dalton would be just a few blocks away this time instead of all the way across town. He hopped into his truck and headed down the street to the church.
    Service was just finishing up at this time and he took a space at the far end of the lot, successfully avoiding running into Elaine and Lyle as the parishioners filed out and hurried to their cars to get out of the cold. He searched the lot, not really expecting to see Grant, though if he wanted to find Zoey, church might be a good place to look this morning. Dalton saw no one approach the Connors or look otherwise shifty-eyed. If Grant really wanted to talk to Zoey, he apparently didn’t want to brave the cold and stand around outside waiting for the chance. He could be inside, but somehow Dalton doubted it.
    Dalton made it to every meeting with a vague sense that he only narrowly avoided being struck down by lightning each time he entered the building. Who knew what would happen to Grant? Human BBQ, Dalton suspected. That, and Grant would have to come face-to-face with Zoey’s parents with no way of knowing how much she’d told them. Dalton waited for the crowd to die down and then headed inside, once again choosing the side door over the front and descending the basement steps.
    Jig was already there setting up. He turned at the sound of Dalton’s boots on the linoleum. He looked surprised to see him. “Did you catch the service?” Jig asked.
    Dalton shook his head. “No.