Page 95 of Taking Denver

She shrugs, running the tip of her finger across my chest. “It could be fun. And then maybe, one day, we could just have that. We don’t need all this, do we?”

“Your wardrobe says otherwise.”

She flicks my chest. “I think that could be nice. Just something normal.”

Something normal.

I think I might have wanted that once, too.

But there’s only so long you can fight the current until you drown in it.

Chapter 31

Ethan

Irun a hand down my face and stare at my phone. The text I sent to Denver has finally been read. It’s been three hours since I sent it, and every minute has felt like choking. I left the dogs at Zeke’s, needing tonight to get my life together, to get ready.

It’s been a week since Denver’s confession. A week since she revealed that she was the one who killed Wyatt. The night she told me, I’d left Pulse without telling anyone where I was going. My plan was to go home, to regroup, to sort my fucking thoughts. Instead, I’d driven to the gym. Rich was just locking up after a long day, and I’d asked if I could borrow the keys. He isn’t only the owner of the gym where I first started boxing, but he’s my sponsor, so when he saw my expression, he stayed with me.

He took a seat and watched me hit the bag. It felt almost like old times. The rage, the uncontrollable need to hurt without hurting myself or others. When I’d exhausted myself, Rich asked me what had happened, and for the first time in more than ten years, I lied to him and said it had just been a long and crappy day.

But it wasn’t like I could tell him the truth.

That night, I didn’t sleep. I thought about her. I found more recordings online of Wyatt saying those things about Denver. I told myself that Denver killed him for a reason, not because she wanted to but because she likely had no choice.

And then I decided to do something about it.

When my phone finally rings, I snatch it up.

“Hey,” I say.

Denver asks, “Did you tell them?”

I close my eyes. I can’t blame that for being her first question, but it still hurts that she thinks I’d do that. “No.”

“Fuck.” She breathes out the word. “Are you going to?”

“Of course not,” I say, standing. I stride over to the small kitchen island and rest my hand on the brown envelope. “Denver, I want you to leave with me.”

She says nothing.

“I’ve found a way out for both of us,” I say. “No more Ranger. No more bullets. Just you and me. We can go anywhere. Axel, too.”

“Axel? How would you?—”

“It doesn’t matter how,” I say, the words a punch to my stomach, but she doesn’t need to know everything now. “What matters is we can leave tonight. I can pick you up, and you never have to see Ranger ever again. You love me, Denver.”

“I don’t.”

“Don’tlieto me.” I insist. “You love me, Denver. I know you do.”

“Even if I did… I love him more,” she says. “I’m sorry, Ethan. I’m sorry you got caught up in this mess, but I’m not leaving him. Not for you.”

My breathing switches from too little to too much. This can’t be happening. It can’t be. “Then don’t leave him for me. Just leave him.”

“Ethan—”

“I am not going to your funeral, Denver. I won’t sit here and wait for the call saying you’re dead. I refuse.” My voice breaks. “Don’t leave with me, then. Leave with Axel. Both of you get out. Just… live, Denver. For fuck’s sake, live.” She’s quiet, and my heart thumps painfully. “Come and see me. We can talk about this in person. Let me see you one last time, and if you still want to walk away, I won’t stop you. I won’t call you.” Still no response. “Please, Denver.”

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