Page 133 of Freeing Denver
I’m warring between falling to my knees and racing to action, and the indecision keeps me fixed in place.
For seconds.
I stride over and tuck my hands under Denver, tugging her out of Ranger’s hold.
“It’s too late.” His voice is croaky. “She’s already dead.”
The words fall over me like hardened rain, but I refuse to believe it. Refuse to listen. Refuse, refuse, I fuckingrefuse.
My strides eat up the space between me and the door. Denver is light in my arms, her head resting against my chest, but I won’t check her pulse. I have to believe it’s there. I have to.
“This is your fault, Colt!” Ranger shouts after me as the door closes. I stride down the hallway, holding her, ignoring the blood seeping from her to my shirt.
“This isn’t it, Del,” I say, taking the stairs as fast as I can. “You can hear me. I know you can. Hold on.”
Alistair does a double take when I reach the lobby. His eyes widen. “Colt?—”
“Car.”
He doesn’t wait. Doesn’t hesitate. He’s out the door, and we pass gaping guests as I cradle my wife in my arms. My wife. My Del. Alive, alive, alive.
“What the fuck happened?” Alistair asks as I get into the back with Denver. He starts the engine and peels away from the hotel, the tires screaming against the street.
“Ranger,” I say, taking off my tuxedo jacket and pressing it into Denver’s chest. She doesn’t move. Her eyelids don’t flicker. She doesn’t cry out in pain. “Del.” I cup her cheek, still too much of a coward to touch her neck. “Del, open your eyes for me. Please.” I kiss her, squeezing my eyes closed. “Please, Del. Don’t leave me.”
Nothing.
I kiss her, and her lips are cold.
I hug her to me.
Screeching tires. Blaring horns. My fingers are numb as I hold my jacket against Denver in an effort to stop the bleeding. My mind and vision soften. The lights blur beyond the windows, and I hold her tighter.
Maybe I can keep her warm.
Maybe I can keep them both warm.
The car stops.
I’m walking.
Calling for help in a white hallway.
And then she’s gone. Wheeled away from me.
I’m floating. My body isn’t my own. Her wedding dress is red. Her face is pale.
I didn’t keep her warm enough.
Shouts, and orders, and needles.
A line on a screen that should be pulsing.
I wait for spikes on that line that don’t come.
Denver’s body jerks as they try to bring her back to me.
I blink and a tear falls down my cheek, cold before it frees itself from my body and lands on the floor.
