Page 17 of Finding Denver

Alistair dumps his bag by the door and rolls his shoulder, looking as exhausted as I feel. Taf glares at me as he passes.

“I said I was sorry. I thought it would be fun!” I call out after him, and he gives me the finger before disappearing upstairs.

Five of us live in the townhouse. Taf and Alistair are here most of the time, their own apartments left cold, likely out of habit more than anything. Wilder lives here, too. We’ve always lived together or close to each other, with the exception of the two years when Callie and I were married and we lived in a brownstone close by. Even then, ourhouse was never quiet, but that’s how we liked it. Now, it’s noisy in a different way. Closer to a frat house, with less drinking and no dating.

I bought this place in a desperate attempt to escape my old home which sits cold and empty two blocks away, the keys gathering dust in my nightstand drawer. I tell myself every day I’ll empty that old house and let another family create their own memories there.

But not yet.

There’s still too much of Callie there. Of Amy. Of a family that kept me alive.

My gaze shifts to the sound of small feet, and Holly comes into view as she hops down the stairs. She grins when she sees me, her long, dark hair fanned over her favorite pink nightgown with the unicorn on the front. She darts over to me, arms out, and I swing her up, breathing her in. She’s getting taller, and I hate it. I want her to be six forever, tiny enough for me to carry around, but big enough that I can talk to her endlessly about silly things.

“What are you doing awake?” I whisper.

“Daddy fell asleep watching TV.” She plays with my beard. “He was sleepy.”

I kiss her temple. “Well, it’s bedtime now.” I ignore the pout that tells me I’m being the worst uncle in the world for insisting she get eight hours of sleep. “And brush your teeth.”

She wrinkles her nose. “I did.” She looks at Alistair. “Hi, Uncle Al.”

He smiles. “Hey, baby.”

“Open your mouth,” I say, and she does. I inspect her teeth. “You have a movie theater of popcorn in there. Brush your teeth properly, and I’ll be up in fiveminutes.”

I set her down and she considers me. “How long is five minutes?”

“Longer than a song, shorter thanBluey.”

This seems to please her, and she darts upstairs.

“You want me to come with you when you speak to Wilder?” Alistair asks. He knows it won’t be a pleasant conversation, but it’s one we’ve had so many times it’s rehearsed in my mind.

I shake my head. “Get some sleep.”

“Do I need to brush my teeth, too?” he asks as he passes.

“Yes, you fucking do,” I say, and he laughs as he takes the stairs.

I find my brother fast asleep on a couch in one of the upstairs living rooms. Credits are rolling on Holly’s favorite movie,Beauty and the Beast, and the table has three empty beer bottles and a half-finished glass of whiskey on it. Beside the glass is Holly’s juice.

Do I blame my brother for burying himself in a bottle? No. I can’t imagine the pain of not knowing. While I lost Callie, I know exactly where she is.

Wilder has no idea where his wife is. He doesn’t know if Marnie is alive, and if she is, what’s being done to her. She could be in pain right now. She could be on the other side of the city, begging for her life, and we’d have no idea.

All we know is that Spider took her three years ago, and we haven’t seen or heard from her since.

Not knowing is a splinter in the brain that never goes away.

But he’s losing out on his time with Holly, and he won’t accept mine or anyone’s help. I’m angry at him. Fucking furious sometimes—and nights like this, my patience runsout, because I’ve tried. I’ve fucking tried. But what else can I do?

I pick up a cushion from the easy chair and launch it at my brother. He jolts awake, wincing, one eye open as he looks at me.

“Fuck, Colt. What?”

“Your kid was watching a movie alone while you were passed out again,” I hiss quietly, aware that Holly is only a floor above us.

He sits up and runs a hand across his beard, his long hair disheveled and half falling out of its bun. “I can’t have a beer while I’m babysitting?”