Page 15 of Finding Denver
“Maybe we should see what’s happened as a sign,” Ranger says, kissing me softly. “Less work. More time together.”
“Is … is that what you want?”
“I think it could be good for you. For us. You could turn your phone off for a few days. Take a break.” He lifts his chin to examine my expression, and I suddenly feel exposed. “Isn’t that what you’d like?”
A year ago, yes. But now …
“Yeah,” I say. “We can spend more time together.”
“Good. And there’s something else. I got you a gift.”
Usually, that’d brighten my mood, but I find it difficult to smile—until I see what it is. The small flick knife with ND carved into the ivory handle isfamiliar—my father’s.
“You found it,” I breathe quietly, taking it from him.
Ranger nods. “And he’d want you to have it.” He touches my chin again. “Next time someone puts a hand on you, you use this without hesitation. Understood?” I turn the weapon in my hand, examining the polished blade before folding it back into the handle again. I nod. He switches out the light, and despite me likely having slept for hours, exhaustion grips me the moment he lays me down and pulls my back to his chest.
My dreams are darkness, thick and cloying at the edges of my brain. I’m restless, sweating, and several times Ranger wakes me from nightmares I can’t remember. He insists I drink, and then he strokes my hair until sleep takes me again.
My body feels heavy. My brain foggy. I feel as though I’m dipping into heavy oil, but soon the sensation becomes comforting, and I can breathe while submerged, taking mouthfuls of the liquid like honey poured down my throat.
Something hot breathes against me, and I open an eye. A large, dark, damp nose presses to my chin.
“Morning, pup.”
Wesson wags his tail, taking the sound of my voice as permission to climb onto the bed. I grin as he stands over me, the soft folds of his golden face gazing down at me.
It’s morning, and I’m alone, but I can smell fresh coffee so Ranger must still be here.
“You’re pretty,” I say. Wesson responds by dropping his weight onto me, and I let out a pained exhale. “You’re too big to keep doing this.”
He sniffles me.
“Put her on the bed.”
Memories rush back to me, and a kernel of panic takes root in my chest. It’s tight, sharp, and I close my eyes,holding tightly onto Wesson as I breathe in and out, counting in my mind. After everything that happened at the wedding, I decided therapy wouldn’t be a bad idea. After three sessions, I cancelled once, then again, and again … I felt better. I feel better.
But now, I wish I’d stayed. I can feel the acidic wash of fear in my blood, and tears sting my eyes.
“I’m safe,” I whisper, nuzzling Wesson’s fur. “I’m home, I’m safe, I’m in control. I’m safe—” My phone rings and I grapple for the device, answering it without checking the screen. “Denver Luxe.”
“Good morning, Deluxe.”
If Wesson wasn’t on me, I’d likely bolt upright, but he remains heavy on my chest. I can’t speak for a moment, and the voice … his voice is familiar.
“I guess life is about taking risks.”
“Have I dialed the right number?” Colt asks.
I swallow the dryness in my throat. “I can’t fucking believe you.”
He laughs, hearty and deep. “Can you blame me? You walked over to the bar all bright eyed, beautiful, and hungry. How could I not have spoken to you?”
“Why did you help me?” I don’t hide the accusation in my tone. “Why not just let Dorian take me?”
“I’m a lot of things, Denver, but I’m not a monster.”
“Not what I’ve heard. In fact”—Wesson clambers off me as I sit up—“from my experience with the Harlands, you’re pretty fucking monstrous.” Anger becomes heat that climbs over my skin, and exhaustion has more tears forming in my eyes. “Or do you not class shooting innocent women in the head as monstrous?”
