Page 16

DENVER

“It’s looking mighty fine, Boss,” Jenson tells Sterling as we stand at the bar inside the newly refurbished Seasons.

“Sure is.” The corners of Sterling’s blue eyes crinkle as he surveys the space.

It’s been transformed. I swore we’d do whatever we had to do to make it better than before. All those late nights here helping the team out after I left Sinclair’s apartment. All the extra check-ins Killian and Jenson have been doing.

It was all worth it to see it finished.

“What’s she doing?” Killian asks Sterling as Halliday floats around the room waving something in her hand that’s emitting a light gray smoke.

Sterling chuckles. “Being my beautiful, unique fiancée.”

Halliday smiles as she passes us. “They’re sage leaves. It’s called smudging. It will help to cleanse the energy and make way for only joy.”

She carries on, approaching Sinclair and Molly who are slow dancing together to the music Vincent is playing on the new Grand piano. Sullivan’s standing watching them with Monty at his feet. Molly reaches up and pats Halliday’s stomach lovingly as she approaches them.

“Hello, baby,” she says.

“Too cute.” Jenson wipes at his eyes.

Killian nudges him in the shoulder. “One day if you can actually talk a woman into dating you, maybe you’ll be a dad.”

“Women love me,” Jenson replies. “I’m knocking back more proposals than a New York Ranger’s goalie.”

Sterling and Killian break into chuckles.

“How’s Dixie doing?”

“Good. She’s got all her friends to sign her cast now. She shows me a new drawing on it every time we video call. She’ll be disappointed when it comes off.”

“The benefits of youth, healing fast,” Sterling muses with a smile.

“You’re a lucky man, Denver. These women of ours are precious.

” Halliday looks over, catching his eye.

“Give Dixie and Lizzie my love, won’t you?

Now, please excuse me.” He leaves us to walk over to her, pulling her into his arms for a kiss.

“Fuck, he really does get laid more than me,” Jenson mutters.

“What about Liana? I thought you were seeing her again?” Killian says.

“I did. But then her boyfriend came home from work, and I had to go down the fire escape.”

“Damn.” Killian chuckles. “She never mentioned him.”

“No, but he knew about me all right.” Jenson shakes his head, looking horrified. “She wanted to watch him fuck me. I was a sacrificial lamb. The guy was fucking huge… and ugly.”

He shoves Killian as he breaks into laughter. “Don’t laugh, man. My ass would have been shredded. You’d have had to do all my work for a month while I sat on an ice pack.”

My eyes track Sinclair as Killian snorts with laughter. She twirls Molly toward Sullivan, and he pulls Molly into his arms. Sinclair turns with a bright smile that falters the moment her eyes meet mine. She looks away immediately, talking to Vincent as he plays the piano instead.

“She still not forgiven you?” Jenson asks.

I roll my neck to ease the tightness in it. “She says she has.”

“Women say one thing and mean another,” Killian says.

I exhale slowly as I watch her lean over the piano, her smile so easy as she talks to Vincent.

It’s been two weeks since I said those stupid fucking words.

And I’ve torn myself apart every day. She’s distanced herself from me.

The teasing is gone. The eye contact is gone. The vanilla coffee is gone.

The part of herself she was starting to trust me with is gone.

Now our car rides are silent again.

“You hurt me.”

Me. Those were her words. I hurt her. And I was meant to fucking protect her.

“She’ll come around,” Killian says. “Everyone screws up sometimes.”

“We can’t afford to screw up,” I hiss. “This is our job. If we make a mistake, people get hurt.” And die.

He and Jenson look at me in understanding.

“It’s better this way,” I murmur.

They shake their heads like they know I’m talking shit. But it is better this way. Sinclair doesn’t fight to open her own door anymore or roll her eyes when I insist on doing something for her. She just accepts it.

In silence.

She says goodbye to everyone and gives Monty a kiss before handing his leash to Molly. Then she walks over to us, smiling at Jenson and Killian before looking at me with a flat expression.

“We should go.”

She’s got a shoot for a fashion magazine booked. I collect her bag from near the doorway and gesture for her to go first. She walks a couple of steps ahead of me. Close enough for me to do my job. But far enough that it’s obvious she doesn’t want my hand on the base of her spine, guiding her.

I haven’t touched her since that hug. Since she cried the tears I was responsible for, and they soaked into my shirt as I held her.

Since I was a fucking asshole.

Maybe the boys are right, and she’ll come around, forgiving me completely.

But even if she does, I’ll never forgive myself.

“Beautiful, amazing! Lift your chin a little. That’s it. Stunning.”

The photographer clicks away as Sinclair leans back against the wall, her blonde hair tousled and falling around her shoulders in the black pant suit she’s wearing.

“Makes a change to see us with so many clothes on, huh?”

I flick my attention up to Theodora.

“I love the runways, but shoots are my favorite. Especially if they’re for commercials and not editorials. There’s something exciting about walking down the street and seeing yourself on a billboard, you know?”

“I’m sure there is.” I nod, my gaze already back on Sinclair.

“Have you ever thought about modeling? You’d kill it in men’s sportswear.” She reaches out to squeeze my bicep through my jacket. “Yeah, totally kill it,” she muses.

Sinclair finishes up and glances our way, before walking over to the wardrobe assistant who starts helping her to get undressed.

“Hmm, she didn’t come and stake her claim on you this time. Maybe that means you’re free later?” Theodora smiles at me seductively.

I clear my throat. “I’m working.”

“He gets off at eight,” Sinclair says as she walks past us in her own dress and over to where her bag is.

Theodora’s eyes light up. “You giving him permission then, Sin?” She giggles. “I’ll take good care of him.”

The muscles in my shoulders stiffen as Sinclair stops rummaging through her bag and flicks her gaze over to us. “Do what you like together, I really couldn’t give a shit.”

Theodora raises both brows at me. “That sounded like an invitation to me.” She grabs a pen from the table next to us and gestures to my arm.

I stare at her.

“For God’s sake, just let her give you her number. Then we can get out of here,” Sinclair snaps as she continues the assault on her bag, turning it upside down and shaking out the contents.

My eyes are glued to the fraught lines marring her brow as her search grows more frantic and she curses.

“Here you go.” Theodora grabs my hand and starts scrawling a number on the back of it.

“Oh my god,” Sinclair whispers. “No, no, no! Where is it?”

I rise from my seat, causing Theodora’s final digit to end in a jerk. I stride over to Sinclair.

“What are you looking for?”

Her eyes meet mine, and she blinks, shaking her head in a panic.

“It was here. I always put it in this pocket inside. See?” She wrenches her bag open and shows me the empty inner pocket.

“Your necklace?” I ask. I’ve seen her take it off before every shoot and runway we’ve gone to. And it’s the first thing she takes out of her bag once she’s done.

She makes a strange sound like she’s about to cry. I take the bag from her hands gently and run a hand around the inside, feeling around the silk lining.

“What are you doing?”

“Seeing if it’s fallen through,” I say.

Sinclair watches me, holding her breath, but her shoulders sag the second I come up empty.

“It’s got to be here.” Her eyes dart around, and she starts lifting the other models’ bags, searching under them. “Everyone, get everything out of your bags! We have to find it,” she screeches.

“Sorry, Honey, I have a cab waiting.” Another model grabs her bag and starts to walk away.

“It’ll take you one minute!” Sinclair yells at her.

“You lost it, not me. Just get another one.” The model shrugs like she couldn’t care less.

“It’s irreplaceable!”

Sinclair’s eyes have taken on a wild sheen as she steps closer to the other model.

“Not my problem. You should take better care of your shit.”

Sinclair steps toe-to-toe with her. “Empty. Your. Ugly. Fake. Chanel. Now!” she spits.

The other model tilts her head to one side. “What you going to do if I don’t? Call Daddy Beaufort to throw his money around and make me?”

“Quit being a bitch and just do it.” Sinclair seethes.

“What did you call me?” the other model snaps.

“I called you a bitch. Need me to say it louder?” Sinclair says.

“Why you—!” The other model advances on Sinclair, but Sinclair launches herself at her before she can take the first swing.

“And you can thank me when I rip those god-awful extensions out of your hair, bitch!” Sinclair screams.

All hell breaks loose. Gasps echo around us as Sinclair grabs the model by the hair and yanks it until the model stumbles, swiping for her bag with her other hand.

“You crazy psycho!” the other model yells, sinking her nails into Sinclair’s arm.

I’m on them in a flash, knocking the girl’s hand off Sinclair and lifting Sinclair off the ground, pulling her away. She fights against me, arms and legs punching and kicking out into the air.

“Put me down, Denver. I swear to God, I’ll?—”

“I’m not letting you go until you calm down,” I growl in her ear as she puts all her energy into trying to escape me.

“Fuck you, I hate you!” She throws her head back, trying to hit me in the face, but I’ve got her clasped so hard against me that it thuds uselessly against the base of my shoulder.

“Denver!” Her voice takes on a more desperate edge as the model scurries away, slamming the door on her way out. “Denver, please.”

She sags against me, letting out a wail.

“It’s all right. I’ve got you,” I say in her ear so only she can hear.

“You don’t understand,” she cries. “It’s him…” Her body trembles as sobs overtake her. “It’s all I have of him.”

I stand further away than I’m comfortable with, giving Sinclair the space she asked for. Her cries carry over to me in the open air as she kneels beside one of the two graves. Her head is bowed, and her slender frame is shaking with the force of her tears.

And all I can do is stand and watch.

Her mouth is moving, and I can make out the words, Sorry , and I love you , as she tends to the flowers that have been placed in planters around both graves.

Sterling told me she comes here often, asking him to bring her, instead of Sullivan, who hasn’t been here since the day they were both buried.

Today was the first day she’s ever asked me to come with her. But I know there’s nothing more to it on her part than desperation.

Desperation over losing her necklace. Now I understand why she was so distraught.

“It’s all I have of him.”

I called Sterling the minute Sinclair went to freshen up in the restroom after her outburst and he confirmed what I suspected the minute she collapsed into my arms, all her fight leaving her.

The diamond in that necklace was made from her brother’s ashes.

Sullivan was able to get what he needed from the medical examiner, and have it made before the funeral because the bodies were already so badly burned. Sterling said Sullivan hadn’t liked the idea, but he’d gotten it made for Sinclair when she insisted.

She’s worn it every day since.

Bringing her hand to her lips, she kisses her fingertips, then presses them to the headstone. She rises, walking around to the other and repeating the gesture. Then she frowns, reaching down to pick something up.

I walk closer and her eyes flick up to mine. They’re red-rimmed and the sight makes my stomach clench.

“Neil left Mom a note,” she whispers.

“May I?”

She hands the piece of paper to me.

“I’ll always live in the ‘what could have been’. If only you’d chosen differently, my darling, Elaina, then maybe you’d be living here with me.”

My jaw hardens. We don’t need a signature to know that it’s from him. It’s the note of a lover. One whose reasons for coming back to New York are still unclear.

“Do you think it’s…?” Sinclair chews her lower lip. “Forget it,” she adds, looking away.

“Do I think it’s threatening?” I ask, knowing exactly what the look in her eyes means. “I don’t know. But we need to go straight to your father and show him.”

“I want to go to Sullivan’s and collect Monty, and then go home,” she says in a weak voice.

I fold the note and put it inside my jacket pocket.

“Okay, let’s go. I’ll go and see your father after.”

I follow her back toward the car and she wobbles a little as her heel hits uneven ground. My hand curls around her elbow, steadying her.

“Are you okay?”

She blinks at me as if she’s remembering something.

“Are you okay?” I ask again, more softly as I look at her tear-stained cheeks.

She nods and swallows. “I want to go home.”

I let go of her elbow and she takes a couple of steps before pausing, inclining her face over her shoulder to see if I’m following her. But I’m right here, one step behind her. I’m always right here.

Her body is tense, and she holds her breath. As I draw level with her, she walks again, her pace matching mine so that I stay beside her instead of one step behind.

I place my hand on the base of her spine, and her shoulders soften.

And she breathes again.