Page 55 of Taking Denver

“This… this mess. The mess you made!” I cry. “You knew exactly what you were doing that night, you?—”

“You want to talk about this now? Fine.” He closes the gap between us. “You can tell yourself it was my fault, but it was all you, Denver. You asked for this.”

“You manipulated me.”

“Imanipulatedyou?” A cold smile spreads across his face. “When has anyone ever been able to manipulateyou? You’re the queen of that. You’ve been doing it to me for years.”

I stand. “Just because you’ve invented a relationship in your head?—”

“Invented?” He bellows the word, but I refuse to flinch. “Don’t you fucking stand there and say it was fake. You used Wyatt because you knew you wanted me, but your goddamn conscience wouldn’t let you be with me. All those nights you’d come to me, looking for comfort, looking for whathecouldn’t give you. Just because I didn’t fuck you doesn’t mean it wasn’t real.”

I slap him. He turns his face, and when he meets my eye, I see a world of rage I could never fight.

“Hit me again. I fucking dare you.”

My pride won’t let me back down. Adrenaline hisses through me like water across freshly forged steel, and I slap him again. He seizes my wrists, forcing me onto the bed.

“I won’t hit you, Denver, but I can still hurt you,” he says, pressing my hands into the covers. “I can still remind you of every terrible thing that happened that night. Washing the blood out of your hair. Asking me about gun residue. Your ears kept ringing, didn’t they? Gunshots are loud in a place like that.”

“Shut up!” I scream.

He stands. “When all is said and done, Denver, he’s dead. You’re still here. Stop being fucking weak.”

I rise and push him. “You think I’m weak? You’re the one who follows me around like a puppy. You may as well be on your knees just like he was!”

The dark of his eyes become pits of flame, the anger in him so visible that I step back.

“Is that what you want?” he asks. “To see me like Wyatt? On my knees and begging?”

He takes my gun out of the nightstand and pushes it into my hands. I whimper when he gets to his knees, seizing my wrist and pressing the muzzle against his forehead.

I’m sobbing, but he keeps my hand steady.

“Go on. Do it,” he says. “You hate me? Fix it. Kill Ranger Luxe on his knees. You’ll be a fucking hero.”

I wipe my tears with my free hand and flick off the safety. My hand still shakes, but he releases my wrist.

“I won’t beg for my life like he did,” he says. “I won’t be on my knees and lie to save my life like he did.”

I tense my finger on the trigger.

But I…

I can’t.

“Can’t do it?” he asks. I’m trembling, teeth gritted, tears flowing freely down my cheeks. “Then kill yourself,” he says, moving the gun to my temple. “Because that’s as good as killing me.”

The cold metal against my temple is soothing. My world is closing in, one decision at a time, but hasn’t it always been this way? Haven’t I always belonged to him? And deep down, buried in the darkest depths of my soul, beneath dreams and morals and romantic ideals, don’t I want him to own me? For all my tough words and desperations to not be like my parents, I’m still here, aren’t I? In Ranger’s house, with his name.

I’m starting to forget how to be anywhere else.

My hand drops, and the gun thumps against the carpet. Ranger pulls me to him, and I sob, wrapping my arms around his neck.

“I don’t care if you hate me,” he whispers. “I wasn’t going to stand by and let Wyatt kill you.” I squeeze my eyes closed, the words still painful even months on. “I’m not going anywhere. So, you get used to it or get rid of me. Those are your options.”

He places me on my side on the bed, lying behind me and pulling my back to his chest.

What am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to survive this alone? I can’t. Without Ranger, I’d have fallen into despair. I wouldn’t have survived my marriage if he hadn’t stepped in to stop Wyatt.

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