Page 55 of Freeing Denver

Axel gone.

Somewhere, in the far reaches of my mind, Ranger is roaring. He’s throwing his fists into the glass. Colt is holding me and whispering something. I don’t know what it is. I don’t know what’s happening.

There are other voices. JJ’s and Charlie’s, I think. I’m cold again. Colt is gone.

I’m on my knees. Ranger is on his knees, too, his knuckles cut and bloodied. The glass is coated in red, and he’s staring through it at his son.

His dead son.

Axel.

Our Axel.

My phone is at my knees. It lights up, an unknown number calling.

My hand trembles as I reach out and answer.

It’s a voice I’ve only heard once. A man I’ve only come face to face with a single time.

“Told you you’d pay, cunt.”

Chapter 15

Colt

Two funerals in two days.

Two kids lost in a senseless war.

All loss is pointless, but this is cruel.

Denver is just within my sight, sitting on the couch, staring at the same spot on the floor that she’s been looking at for the last twenty minutes. She stood at Ranger’s side at the funeral, shaking hands and accepting condolences, all with a sympathetic and grateful smile. Soon after, she came to me and whispered that she couldn’t do it at the wake, so I’m standing in her place.

We’re in Ranger’s home, the place where he and Denver shared a bed, where they were close to happily married for almost a year. It’s weird, to say the least, seeing a home with her photograph on the mantel, a wedding photo of her and Ranger, and one of Denver on a beach, her smile wide, her large sunhat shielding her eyes. There are others, too—ones of her and Wesson, some of her and Axel, and part of me wonders if they were always here, or if Ranger put them out as a reminder to me.

A silly, paranoid thought, but it’s hard not to assume manipulation when it comes to Ranger Luxe.

As we stand at the door and greet people, he’s the same Ranger as always. Stoic, gruff, cold. It’s as if he’s at any other funeral, but maybe that’s how he copes.

“Hi,” Danielle says, her voice small as she enters, casting a quick glance in Ranger’s direction before I pull her into a hug. She flew here with us to get out of the city, but I didn’t expect her to come to the funeral.

“You didn’t have to come,” I say quietly.

It’s been a week from hell for all of us. Grief stacked upon grief, agony upon agony. I’ve never seen Ronan’s mom cry like she has, as she buried her youngest in a closed casket.

“I wanted to be here for Denver,” Danielle whispers, her voice breaking. “Where is she?”

I nod toward her, where she sits with Lewis. He’s politely ushering away anyone who wants her attention, but I can tell his patience is wearing thin.

Danielle looks at Ranger. He watches her with the same indifference he’s given everyone. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

She’s his sister. His half-sister, but still his family. As far as I know, he’s never met Ronan, so this may be the first blood family he’s come across in a long time.

“I’m sorry for yours,” he says, with the kind of tone I’ve only ever heard him use for Denver.

“Thank you.” Danielle goes to Denver, sitting beside her on the couch, and the two women embrace.

When I look back at Ranger, he’s watching them.