Page 56 of Taking Denver

With his arms wrapped around me, my sobs subside. He kisses my shoulder softly, and I close my eyes.

“I’m still glad you’re home,” he says.

Home.

Is this home?

It feels like hell.

Chapter 20

Ranger

As Denver’s breathing evens out, I relax my hold on her. I’m not going to sleep, not in this bed. And neither is she.

I stand and scoop her into my arms. She groans but doesn’t open her eyes, and I step over the discarded gun as I leave her room. I take slow steps down the hall, and Axel’s door opens, but I don’t stop.

“Is she okay?” Axel asks quietly, his eyes tracking us as we pass.

“She’s fine. Go to bed.”

Axel doesn’t argue, nor does he question why I’m moving Denver, but it won’t be long until his silence ends.

My son has always been on the quieter side. Even when he was arrested for fighting or drinking years ago, Axel maintained a moodier attitude that reflected my own. His antics didn’t warrant my attention, so I never gave it. It was petty crime, things that weren’t worth worrying about. It didn’t impress me then and wouldn’t now.

But Axel is growing up. Soon, he’ll bite back and challenge my decisions.

I’ll welcome it. The day my son finds a backbone is the day I’ll welcome him into my world.

For now? He’ll remain in the background, like a snake without venom.

Am I proud of how I am with Axel? No. I could do more as a father, but short of turning back the clock, I doubt I can mold Axel into anything more than a barely functional foot soldier.

Once I’m in my room and Wesson has followed, I kick the door closed and place Denver in my bed. She stirs when I’m unlacing her sneakers.

She sighs softly. “Why are we in here?”

“Because this is where we sleep.” I tug off one shoe, then the other. “You’ve been smoking.”

“And you’ve been murdering.”

I give her a pointed look as I unbutton her jeans. “Lift.”

She lifts her hips, and I pull her jeans down, tossing them aside. I pull the covers over her shoulder, and she presses her face into the pillow and sighs.

Being with her like this is far easier than the disaster in the bedroom. I can’t stand how we sometimes rage at each other, even if it lights my blood on fire. One of us always ends up hurt, and it’s fucking pointless.

I kiss her temple. “Don’t smoke, Denver. It’s bad for you.”

“You’re bad for me.”

I hold in my pained exhale and the world of emotion that crashes into me from four words. “And you’re everything to me.” She opens her eyes again, our faces close, and I kiss her a final time. Wesson nestles beside her, his nose close to her face. “Goodnight, little bird.”

Her gray eyes shine. “Goodnight.” As I go to the door, she calls out quietly, “Aren’t you coming to bed, too?”

From hating me to needing me. The change is striking. Painful.

“Soon.”

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