Page 88 of Taking Denver

I can’t blame her. She never wanted this. Not just me, but this life. I may have only met Denver after her father died, but he told me things about her. It was rare that he brought her up, likely worried that this exact thing would happen, but when he did talk about Denver, he worried. He worried that she’d run one day, that her desperation to be normal would overtake her common sense.

“Why didn’t you go?” I ask.

Her eyes shine. “Because it’s always been you, Ranger. Even when it was Wyatt, it was you. When it was Ethan, it was you. Even when I hated you, I loved you.” Her lips tremble, and she touches my face. “I think you broke me because you’re broken, too, and our pieces just mixed together until I couldn’t see where you ended and I began. And I hated it. I hated it for so long that I didn’t stop to wonder why I despised it so much.” A tear falls down her cheek, dangling from her jaw. “And it isn’t because of you. It’s because I didn’t want to accept that maybe this is where I’m supposed to be. And I blamed you for it. But now I know.” She swallows. “I know that as much as I’m made for this life, I’m made for you, too.”

It’s startling to go from hardened rage to this. Minutes ago, I was willing to tear through a city to find and keep her, and nowshe’s giving herself to me, and I don’t know what to do with the feeling.

I’ve never been loved. My mother was incapable, my father wasn’t around, and Angelina was trapped. I never allowed Axel to feel anything more than resentment toward me because I knew I’d disappoint him in the end anyway.

But Denver loves me. And in doing so, I learned how to put aside the jagged pieces of my life that carved me into the monster I allow others to see. She loves me, and it makes me into something I’m terrified to be—a better man.

“I love you,” I say, and I mean it more than any other time I’ve said or felt it.

“I love you too. Even if sometimes I hate you.”

I smile, and she does, too.

Denver rests her head on my shoulder and closes her eyes.

We lie in peaceful silence. This is the beginning for us. The start of our forever.

Almost.

“Does Ethan know?”

Denver is quiet. “Yes.”

“Do we need to fix it?”

She pushes herself up on her elbow. “You’re letting me decide?”

I don’t want to. Every instinct in me is telling me to drive to Ethan’s house and put a bullet in his head. He could take Denver from me. If he tells the police, it would be all they need to pursue her even harder than they already have.

But I told her I trust her instincts, and while they need some work, I need to step back. I nod.

She chews her lip. “No, we don’t need to fix it.”

Weakness or smarts, I’m unsure, but I nod again. “Then we do nothing.” Denver rests her head back on my shoulder, and Irun my fingertips down her arm. “But if he does anything that jeopardizes you, Denver, I won’t hesitate.”

She pauses before speaking. “I know.”

It isn’t long before she falls asleep again. I remain awake, fighting against the current of instincts that tell me to kill Ethan Defender. He’s a loose end. I fucking hate loose ends. But I’ll push her away if I do it.

Untangling myself from her, I pull the covers over her shoulder before leaving the room. I pause on the stairs, my hand on the banister.

The clock on the mantel in the living area feels louder. The smell of floor polish is more prevalent. The house is totally, uniquely still.

Something is wrong.

The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. My watch says it’s after six, so Martha will have left for the weekend. Axel won’t be home; he hasn’t been here in days.

But someone else is here.

I reach the bottom step and cross the foyer slowly. Movement in my office stops me at the doorway.

A man is standing at the bookcase behind my chair. His back is to me, and he pulls out a book, flipping it open casually.

“You’ve chosen the wrong house to break into,” I say.

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