Page 56

DENVER

THREE WEEKS EARLIER

“Do you like it? Mommy said we can paint it daffodil yellow.”

My heart squeezes as Dixie takes the photograph of Lizzie and Rick out of the packing box and places it on the nightstand in her new bedroom.

“I think it’s a great room,” I say, resting my elbows on my thighs as I watch her unpack. “And yellow’s a good choice.”

“Daffodil,” Dixie corrects, always a stickler for details. She gets that from her father.

My eyes settle on the frame on her nightstand, and I’m lost in thought, transported back to the day I took it.

“This one’s a kicker,” Rick says, his face breaking in half with a grin as he rests his hand over Lizzie’s stomach.

She laughs and looks up at him.

That’s when I take the photo, capturing the look of excitement between them.

None of us could have ever known it would be the last photo taken of them together.

“You’ve got that look again.”

I glance up at Lizzie standing in the doorway, her hip cocked as she leans against the frame, watching me.

“What look?”

“That sad one.” She spins her finger in a circle, gesturing to my face.

“No sadness,” Dixie trills, happily skipping around her new room as she adds another trinket to a shelf.

They’re both incredible. I don’t know how they do it every day.

But they do. Lizzie’s never been one to let life get her down, and Dixie’s inherited her positive nature.

Losing Rick was one of the worst things to happen to them, but Lizzie’s always told me that she’s grateful for the time she had with him.

And grateful that he gave her Dixie, despite him having to go before he even got to hold his own daughter.

I plaster what I hope is a less morose expression onto my face and Lizzie snorts.

“I guess that’s an improvement.”

She walks over and sits on the bed beside me. We watch Dixie together in silence for a few minutes as she happily continues unpacking and setting her new room up how she wants it.

“She’s excited to start her new school Monday,” Lizzie says quietly as Dixie runs from the room, saying she’s going to get another box.

“Yeah? That’s great.”

“It is,” Lizzie muses, a soft smile gracing her face. “I’ll send you a photo of her before I drop her off. And she can call you after to tell you about it.”

“Call me?”

Lizzie bumps her shoulder against mine in a move that’s so comfortable and familiar that a lump forms in my throat. “You’re not staying, Denver. You know it. I know it. Dixie knows it. I appreciate you flying over to help move us in. But?—”

“But it’s time I took my ugly ass back to New York?” I arch a brow at her.

She sighs. “I appreciate you more than I’ll ever be able to tell you in words. And Rick would be so proud to call you his friend.”

I clear my throat, willing the thick, aching lump in it to give me a fucking break.

“But we’re okay. We’ll be okay. ”

“I’ve always been close to you both,” I say.

“I know. And you can tell yourself you stayed in New York all these years because of us if you like. But we know that’s not the only reason.”

“You’re my family,” I rasp.

Lizzie rests her head on my shoulder, the weight a comfort that makes my chest burn. “We are. And we always will be. But you didn’t just stay for us, and you know it. You stayed for her.”

I swallow at the mere thought of who she’s referring to.

“You saw someone as lost as you felt, and you didn’t want to leave until you knew she was okay.

I saw the stories about what happened to her family.

Dixie and I… we’ve been doing good for a long time…

But Sinclair… She’s why you’ve stayed in New York all this time, and that’s okay,” Lizzie says softly.

I stare at my hands, letting her words soak in. “How did you know?”

Lizzie laughs gently. “The way you ran out of your apartment half-dressed after she knocked on your door and saw me there? Come on, Denver, you’ve never run after a woman in your life.”

“True.”

“You love her?”

“Yeah,” I rasp.

“Then she’s lucky to have you. You’re an amazing guy. It’s time you had some happiness of your own.”

My mind flits to Brad Garrett-Charles and his tiny hard prick as I hauled his ass out of Sinclair’s bed and my shoulders bunch up with tension.

“You’re going back, aren’t you?” Lizzie asks, lifting her head to study me.

I don’t answer.

“Mommy? Can you help me?” Dixie calls from the other room.

Lizzie pats my thigh and stands. “I’m needed, Big Guy. Back in a minute.”

I nod at her, then pull my phone out of my cargo pants as she leaves the room. I bring up the tracking app that I’ve been looking at multiple times a day. Monty’s small blue dot is at Sterling’s place again. But the larger one has disappeared.

I go to my contacts and hit call.

“She asked me to disable it.” Killian’s regretful confession comes the second he answers my call, sensing what I’m about to say.

“And you fucking did it?” I snap.

“I had no choice. She watched me until I did.”

I let out a low curse. “Sorry,” I mutter. “It’s not your fault.”

“No problem,” he says, giving me more grace than I deserve.

“How is she?” I ask, clearing my throat. I can’t bring myself to ask after her using her name.

Killian’s pause has me screwing my eyes shut and balling my free hand into a fist.

“She’s… I’ve seen her look better,” he admits.

“Jesus,” I rasp, squeezing until my knuckles turn white.

“What happened between you two?” he asks.

My eyes roam over Dixie’s new bedroom and my heart pangs at how excited she is about moving here and having a new adventure with her mom.

“Everything,” I confess. “Fucking everything.”

Two weeks earlier

I pin Molly’s picture to the cabin’s refrigerator and lean back against the kitchen counter to admire it. Sinclair’s hair takes up half of the paper as she holds Monty’s leash, and I look like a black blob with a giant frown. She’s even given me a mono-brow, drawn on with thick brown crayon.

I fucking love everything about it.

Even down to the smoothie sticker I have stuck on my head like a hat.

You want a peach of me? it reads, across the smiling fruit.

My eyes drop to the one sticking to the side of the now empty takeaway cup I picked up this morning. Orange you glad to see me?

“Pull it to-fucking-gether,” I berate myself, pushing off from the counter and heading outside to chop some wood for something to do.

I thought I’d come here for the night to check on the place. But the second I walked through the door, she was here. Smiling at me in the kitchen as I made her breakfast. Lounging in front of the fire, rubbing Monty’s belly as she chatted to me with an easiness she never had before.

Looking up with her trusting eyes beneath me on that damn gym mat.

Dropping to her knees for me in the shower.

Resting her head against my chest as she slept in my bed.

Even her damn panties from that first time are still here, tucked away in a drawer next to my bed, like a secret love note.

They still smell of her.

It’s the first thing I checked when I found them. I couldn’t get that tiny scrap of lace to my nose fast enough. I was a suffocating man given air with seconds to spare before his life would have ended. I bet I looked crazy as fuck sinking to the floor as I held them to me, groaning her name.

I can’t fucking escape her.

Nor do I want to.

I head outside and take out my frustration on a log, building up a sweat before discarding my T-shirt, and going back at it. The sound of approaching tires rolling over the dirt track makes me look up.

“Buck said you were back,” Georgia calls with a smile from her blue truck as she kills the engine and hops out.

“News sure travels fast around here,” I say, laying my axe down.

She used to do this, show up when I was here.

We fucked a few times, three, maybe four.

I can’t remember, yet it’s a low enough number that I should be able to remember them all.

She knew it was casual, I told her enough times.

I didn’t want a relationship. My job came before all else.

And that meant the Beauforts. That meant Sinclair.

Her eyes drop over my heaving chest as I get my breath back.

“Girlfriend not come this time?”

“She stayed in the city,” I reply, grabbing my water bottle and downing half of it.

Georgia doesn’t even try to keep her tone polite. “Best place for her. She was out of her depth here; a city girl like her. She’s a model, right?”

“Yeah,” I clip, knowing she must have looked Sinclair up since we were last here.

“Didn’t have you down as going for that type?”

“Really?” I say, uninterested as I screw the lid back on my bottle with a little too much force.

“Yeah, you know.” She shrugs. “The one’s without much going on up here.” She taps her temple.

“You’re right,” I agree, tossing my bottle back down onto the tree stump I had it on. “I used to mess around with those bitchy types. The ones who put other women down.”

Georgia falters, then breaks out into a laugh. “Denny, you’re funny.”

I level her with a look that makes her laugh die. “Sinclair’s smart. And compassionate. And yes, she’s beautiful, so sometimes people miss the other things about her and just judge the outside.”

Georgia bristles, picking up the cold detachment in my eyes as I look at her. “She’s also in Manhattan while you’re here. Alone. Didn’t she have time in her busy schedule to come and be with you? Or was one trip away from Fifth Avenue enough for her?”

“I’ll tell her you stopped by and asked after her,” I say with a tight look that is far from friendly.

Then I pick up my axe and split the piece of wood I have set up clean in half.

One week earlier

My coffee’s going cold, sitting untouched in the center console of my car. I haven’t been able to take a sip for the past hour. I’ve been too focused. Just like all the other times over the past three weeks.

But this time it’s different. This time I’ve gotten reckless and positioned myself so close that I don’t know how I’ve not been seen. Then again, people don’t always see what they’re not expecting to be there.

My phone rings and I hit the speaker button, my eyes remaining fixed on target.

“Denver?”

“Sullivan?” I reply, running a finger over my lips as another person enters from the street.

A woman with a toddler. Low threat.

“How’s LA?” Sullivan asks.

I purse my lips. “Warm, I expect.”

“I’m calling to ask you to come back,” he says, missing what I just said.

“I can’t do that.”

“The guys Dad is interviewing are shit.”

“I can send you some recommendations,” I say, not biting.

“Fuck off.” He exhales. “He doesn’t need some guy that’s like you. He needs you .”

My lips curl up. Sullivan can get straight to the point when he wants something.

“How’s Sinclair? She still working out with her trainer?” I ask, not bothering to work up to obtaining the confirmation I want from him.

If he’s going to get straight to it, so am I.

“Brad Garrett-Charles? That jerk?” He scoffs with disdain.

This time, my lips really do curl up. I’ve always liked Sullivan.

“She hasn’t worked out with him since before they tried to snatch Monty. And she won’t again. He’s moved to LA. His new girlfriend has some reality TV show she’s filming there, or something. Sinclair didn’t even go to his leaving party. Told me she was bathing Monty that night.”

My breath rumbles in my chest like a purr. “Good.”

Sullivan sighs. “My meeting’s about to start. Same fucking time tomorrow?” he grits.

I smirk. “Same fucking time. Same fucking answer.”

He curses me as he hangs up.

Our daily calls are always the same. He asks me to come back from LA. I tell him I can’t.

Because a person can’t return from a place they never moved to in the first place.

The door to the coffee place opens again as a young couple enter. My line of sight is obstructed for less than a second. But it’s long enough to have me tensing and sitting forward in my seat.

Blonde hair comes into view as they move out of the way, and my shoulders relax with my rough exhale.

“There you are, Princess,” I rasp, taking in the anguish on her face as she talks to Zoey. The sight of it is like a thousand swords to my heart.

But I know her, and she isn’t ready yet.

Almost. But not quite.

“Not much longer now,” I say, my eyes drinking her in like I haven’t spent the past two hours watching her like a hawk. “Not much longer, Princess. I promise.”