Page 2 of Rejected Exile

My droll tone only sets him off-kilter for another half-second before he's sputtering again. "You stupid bitch! I'll talk to the owner! I'll talk to corporate! I'll have your ass so fired you'll never work again!"

"I look forward to you trying." Sweeping the menu off the table, I straighten my spine and stare down at him, affecting an unimpressed face with one brow raised. "Until then, you're going to leave the premises. You're going to go out that door," I point for him, "and never, ever come back. If you try, you'll be thrown out."

"Why I oughta—"

Before he can sputter further, I slip my phone out of my pocket and snap a quick photo of him. Three missed calls flash across the screen as I do so, but I slip it back in without check them, wanting to see this moment.

"If you need help out of the dining room, our busboy Ricardo will escort you," I tell him, before glancing at his date. "Once she's done with her pizza—and has ordered any extras she'd like, courtesy of the kitchen—your date can join you. Or not. Up to her. But you? You won't be coming back."

As I turn on my heels he shouts, "Come back here! You won't get away with this!"

"I'm on my break," I shoot back sunnily, "and I expect not to see you when I return."

Passing by the kitchen towards the break room, I give a nod to the busboy in question. Ricardo is lessboyand morecould've been on the cover of a firefighter's magazine ten years ago,but Cat helped him with his probation officer after he got out of prison, and he's lousy at cooking, so he washes all the dishes and closes out in the evening. At my nod, he cracks his knuckles and heads for the dining room—his appearance immediately followed by the utter silencing of the man at the table.

It bothers me a little that Ricardo can get that kind of reaction from people, but I can't. It's not just because I'm a woman. I'm strong, but not intimidating. My strength is the cerebral and emotional kind. No matter how I try, no matter how often I train at the gym, I'll never bephysicallystrong.

Because I don't have my wolf.

And I don't havehim.

Shaking off the thought, I walk into the break room and find a chair by the small table in the back. No one else is here; it's the lunch shift, and the waitstaff is mostly off until dinner. Sighing and stretching, I pull out my phone, prepared to do a reverse lookup on the number that keeps calling, when it vibrates again.

The same phone number flashes on the screen. I stare at the numbers. It's an area code I recognize. The only part of Oregon that gets that area code is pack territory, and there are only a few people who live there who could be calling me.

Maybe it's him...I shake the thought away, already weak at the knees just considering it. It won't be Kieran. It's never been him. Calls, letters, visits—nothing.

Every time I think I've given up hope that I might see or hear from him again, something stirs the little yearning part of me and wakes it back up.

I answer the phone call mostly to convince myself itwon'tbe him. Clearing my throat, I force my voice to steady as I answer, "Hello? Who is this?"

"Delilah Glass?"

The voice sparks faint recognition. It isn'thim.But it's someone I know.

"Yes. Now, who is this?"

"It's Niall."

A moment before he says his name, the cold shock of recognition goes through me. Just the sound of his voice throws me back into the past. A beat-up pickup. Leather seats sticking to my sweaty thighs. Tears rolling down my face. Suddenly, I'm a scared little girl again.

"I'm calling about your father."

I find myself curling forward on the plastic chair in the break room, heart thudding double time, my free hand grabbing onto the metal armrest. Forcing myself to relax, I pull back to the present moment. I'm Delilah Glass, unofficially adoptive daughter of Catherine Banks, an absolute badass in every single way. That scared little girl was left behind on the side of the road, and I won't be her anymore.

"What is it, Niall? Make it quick. I'm at work, and I only have a short break."

A breath on the other end of the line. It occurs to me what this might be, and I have to swallow to keep from asking frantic questions.

He didn't want you, he kicked you out. You were rejected, and he exiled you forever—

"I don't know how else to say this."

Niall practically chews on his own silence, like he's trying to avoid spitting out his next words. In the quiet moments, I remember how he used to lift me up to carry me on his shoulders, my squeals turning into peals of laughter. How quickly that affection turned when my father told him to get rid of me. He did it without even looking in the rearview mirror.

"Just tell me." My voice comes out breathy and unsteady. I force myself to swallow the unshed tears.I know, I know."Spit it out already."

"It's your father, Dee," a nickname that makes my heart twist because I'm notheranymore, "he passed away last night. Heart attack, by the looks of it—not a surprise, since he... he wasn't doing well, after everything.

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