Page 141 of Finding Denver

Wilder sighs deeply. “What a difference a year makes.”

A year. Has it been that long since Wilder shot up Denver’s wedding? When he’d ranted at me that she’d deserved it and so had Ranger, and he wouldn’t change a damn thing. He was wild with grief, anger, making no sense as he screamed at me down the phone.

Our world had splintered that day.

Months later, I’d called Denver and told her to leave my brother alone.

She said she’d meet me on the battlefield, and she did. I just never dreamed we’d be on the same side.

“I love you, Wilder,” I say. “You know that, right?”

He chuffs. “Loser.”

I roll my eyes and my phone rings. The number isn’t one I recognize, but I answer, hoping it’s about Ranger’s plane.

“Colt Harland.”

“Hey, Colt,” a man says, his voice light. “How’s your morning going?”

I frown and Wilder watches me with interest. “Who is this?”

“It’s Vince. You remember me, right? You broke a few of my bones not long ago. Don’t tell me you forgot.”

I roll my eyes. “Vince, what do you want? Still having trouble getting tables?”

“Nah, that was one-time issue,” he says. “I have a question for you, though. Indulge me. What’s it like, fucking Denver Luxe?”

I straighten up, fear tickling my spine as I watch Denver through the back window. She’s on the phone, laughing.

“She looks fucking cute. Is that a hockey jersey? I’m praying for a breeze.”

I click at Wilder to get his attention and cover the phone. “Call Finn.”

“Finn can’t do a fucking thing, Colt,” Vince says. “Now, let’s break some bones, shall we?”

And then there’s nothing but darkness, and heat, and a roaring in my ears as the world explodes around us.

Chapter 39

Denver

Rubbing my arms to fend off the chill, I dial Axel’s number, and he answers quickly.

“Perfect timing! I’m on my way home.”

I grin. “Good. Can I bring a plus-one to your wedding?”

He cheers and I laugh. “Yes! You’re really coming?”

“I really am.”

“As long as that plus-one isn’t Dad, that’s fine by me,” he says. “We’re thinking August. It cools down a bit, so you won’t be a lobster in the sun.”

I tut. “I buy stocks in sunscreen. I’ll be fine.”

“The sun hits different out here. I was pink for the first three months.”

I laugh. “Well?—”