Page 45 of Finding Denver

“A good son? A good brother?”

“Yes.”

“Is he sorry?”

I search her eyes, hating that she’s clearly fighting tears because she doesn’t deserve the pain. I’m angrier at Wilder now than I was back then, hating that his decisions hurt us all. “He is.”

Her exhale says so much. About what she’s gone through, what she’s going through, and the weight on her shoulders. We’ve all been through it at some point, knowing a decision will make or break at least one person. Winning isn’t an option; we just don’t lose as much.

She gazes at the television. We listen to “Moon River,” and I watch her side profile, counting the freckles I can see.

“Is it freeing?” she asks. “Letting go of the hate?”

A lie would work better than the truth.Yes, it’s the best. It’ll change your world. It’ll work wonders for the darkness you’re carrying.But I find myself unable to lie to this version of Denver—to bare feet and pajamas, to ponytails and freckles.

So instead, I say, “Sometimes.”

She keeps her eyes on the television. “I love this movie.”

“I’m more of aCasablancakinda guy.”

Her laugh is short. “Of course you are. That’s right up there with sayingThe Godfatherreally impacted you as a kid.”

“It did.”

She gives me a pointed look, her ponytail slipping over her shoulder, her smile knowing. In the soft light of the hotel room, her eyes are warmer, closer to blue than gray.

“You’re nothing like I thought you’d be, Deluxe,” I say quietly and immediately wonder why. I mean it as acompliment, but it feels like something I should have kept to myself.

Her smile softens. “Everybody says that.”

“Everybody is right.” A kind of peace settles over me, a smoothing of my heart where it had felt so jagged, and I wonder if it’s because of her. She hasn’t said she’ll let this go, but maybe it’s unfair to expect her to say it out loud.

“I should get some sleep.”

I nod and place my untouched coffee on the table, and we both rise. We stand at the door, the sound of the song drifting around us. This could be the last time we see each other without weapons drawn, without hate between us, with some kind of peace.

“What happens now?” I ask, and I dislike being the one unsure. I try to have the answers, the solutions, but right now, I’m coming up empty.

She shrugs gently. “Life goes on.”

“And my brother?”

Denver sighs so deeply I wish I could hold her again. “I have more important things to worry about right now.”

I guess we both do. The Capellis are moving against me, and Spider is still out there deciding what to do next, if he hasn’t already.

“Any word on Spider and I’ll let you know,” I say.

“I appreciate that.”

I nod in place of a good night, or a good morning—whatever the hell time it is. As I walk away from her, she calls my name. I pause and turn to her.

“Please stop calling me Deluxe.”

I smile. “Then what should I call you? I’m not calling you Denver. I got shot in Denver.”

She tsks. “People need to try harder to kill you.” Shefolds her arms and leans against the frame. “Call me Del. Del I can deal with.”