Page 14 of Outcast
Emory was Riverton’s golden boy. Good-looking, rich, star pitcher on the baseball team, class president—and dating the town sweetheart, Allison Prince.
But dusted up, bleeding, and trembling like a leaf, he barely resembled the confident guy I’d seen strutting through the high school halls.
“You okay, golden boy?” I asked.
“Y-yeah.” His voice came out quieter than I expected. “Thanks for stopping.”
My gaze dipped to his lips again. To that dang cut still oozing blood. Anger flashed through me.
“He hurt you.”
“I’m fine.”
I grasped his chin, turning his face to the right and left. There was no other bruising.Lucky for Dallas.I just needed an excuse to beat him to a pulp.
“Do you want to call the sheriff?” I asked. “You can report him for assault.”
Emory shook his head.
“You sure?”
“Dallas’s dad is the sheriff now, so yeah, I’m sure. If you could just, uh, give me a ride to the Prince farm?”
So, he was still involved with Allison. Maybe even married. I glanced at his ring finger, but it was bare. So, not married or just taking off the ring for a hookup on the down-low?
“Sure, golden boy. Hop in.”
We started toward the tow truck, and Emory’s eyes widened as he read the name on the side.
“Forrester…wait.” He looked at me. “You’re one of the fosters.”
I clenched my jaw. I’d always hated when townspeople called us that. Like we were another damn species.
“That a problem?”
“No,” he said quickly. “I just didn’t recognize you. I mean, I see Holden around, but I guess you must not get into town much?”
I smiled humorlessly. “Been gone a while. Just got back. We went to high school together.”
Emory paused to look me over again. “I thought you seemed familiar. Greg, right?”
“Gray.”
Of course, the king of the school didn’t remember the bad boy from the wrong side of town. Why would he?
“Shit, sorry. I knew Greg didn’t sound right.”
“Uh-huh.” I reached past him to open the passenger-side truck door. “So the Prince farm, you said?”
“Yeah.”
I waited for him to climb into the seat, then slammed the door behind him.
My ego smarted. FuckingGreg?Did I look like a Greg?
I got in on the driver’s side and started up the engine without a word.
“Sorry,” Emory said. “High school was just so long ago, you know?”
