Page 59

SINCLAIR

The knocking at my door doesn’t register to begin with. I place my smoothie cup down on the kitchen counter to answer it. Monty flies past me, almost knocking me over.

“It’ll be Sullivan,” I tell him with a sigh.

It’s been heartbreaking seeing him race to the door every time someone calls.

He’s always pleased to see whoever it is, but I know he’s hoping it’s Denver.

And since I found my necklace on my pillow three days ago, a small part of me has still held out hope that it could him too.

But it’s not.

He’ll be back in LA now. When I told Killian he’d been here, he looked at me and shook his head. “Sorry, Sin. He was just here tying up some loose ends.”

He came all the way back to New York, and he didn’t even want to speak to me, or see me face to face. I can’t blame him. He probably thought I’d be with Brad.

Monty’s barking and scratching wildly at the base of the door. He can probably smell Molly if she’s with Sullivan. He adores her.

I open the door without checking the peephole and Monty flies out.

“Hey, Moll?—”

My eyes are cast down at the height I’m expecting my niece’s face to be. But instead of her, there are two black suited legs, and a large hand fussing Monty as he scrabbles against them like he’s trying to climb up to their face so he can assault them with licks.

“Go on, Boy. Sit,” a deep, authoritative voice commands.

Monty does as he’s told and backs through the doorway, his butt wiggling side to side as he sits beside me, obediently.

My throat goes dry as my visitor lifts his head, straightening up to full height.

And then I’m staring into gold-flecked green.

“Denver?” I breathe.

He doesn’t react. His eyes give nothing away as he stares at me with a cold detachment that has my heart falling to my feet. I curl my hand around the door for support, willing myself not to give in to the burning tears threatening my eyes.

His eyes drop, scanning over my body ruthlessly in my vest and sweatpants. I feel naked and exposed as his attention snags on where I’ve had to roll the waistband over itself to keep them up where I’ve lost weight. His brow furrows like he’s pissed.

He continues his inspection of me, and I shiver, goosebumps pricking up over my arms as I drag in a shaky breath and the scent of him fills my senses. I breathe in quickly again, just to convince myself that it’s real. That he’s really standing in front of me.

“Den—”

He lifts two fingers in the air, silencing me.

His eyes leave my waist and move up my chest. Air puffs from between my lips in a soft pant as my nipples pebble painfully beneath my vest at his attention. His eyes glide over them swiftly, and my stomach drops as he displays no interest.

Jaw set firm, his eyes dark and closed off, all muscle and solid strength. His gun holstered at his hip, just visible beneath his open jacket.

He looks downright terrifying.

Finally, he looks at my face. Really looks. He stares at my jaw, at my trembling lips, at my hair falling against one cheek.

Then he looks into my eyes.

I don’t move. I don’t breathe .

“I’m going to ask you once. And this time, you tell me the truth,” he says, his voice a rough, deep gravel that I desperately cling on to, taking in every note after weeks of silence.

I nod. “I promise.”

His eyes pinch at the corners a fraction, the tiniest fragment of emotion flashing through them before he blinks it away. “Brad Garrett-Charles?” he says.

The air leaves my lungs in a rush, and I lean into the door, my nails digging into the wood to hold me up. “No,” I sob. “What you saw at the party… he never touched me.”

“You knew I was coming, didn’t you?”

My voice shakes as I nod. “I called Sullivan, and he told me you were on your way back. I knew you’d come here.”

“You wanted me to walk in and find you in bed with another man.”

“Yes,” I whisper, my heart breaking in two at my confession.

“Not just any man, Sinclair…”

My breath catches as he says my name, and I clamp a hand over my mouth, willing myself not to throw up.

“… Brad Garrett-Charles,” Denver hisses.

His voice is so low, so dangerous, that I can barely keep my eyes on his. But I have to. He’s come here, demanding the truth. Lying to him the first time broke me. I can’t survive it again.

“I knew he was the one y-y-y…” I drag in a shaky breath. “The one who y-you’d hate to find me with the most.”

“Damn fucking straight.”

I blink as I hold his gaze. There’s no warmth in his. Nothing to ease the churning inside my gut at what I did to him. The way I let him think I would throw everything we had away like it meant nothing.

I hurt him. I thought I had to. But the second I did it and saw his reaction that night, the doubts started. And they’ve clawed and scratched at me ever since.

“How are Lizzie and Dixie?” I ask, a pathetic part of me needing to know that he’s happy. That they’re all happy and living in the sunshine together in LA. That I made the right choice. Because him hating me would be worth it, knowing that he has that.

“Keep talking!”

The venom in his voice makes the tears welling in my eyes spill over. I wipe them away with the heel of my hand. I can’t cry in front of him. Not when I did this. I chose this. I made him look at me in the way he is now—like he despises me.

And I have to live with that decision.

“Brad called over to see me that day I met them at your place,” I confess. “I was thinking about them moving away without you… and I was crying and he… he offered to help me. I knew you’d never leave New York if you knew how much I wanted you to stay.”

“Tell me about the party, Sinclair,” Denver prompts.

I swallow, hating the business-like brusqueness of his voice.

“I asked him to go into my room with me, so you’d find us together.

He wasn’t supposed to take his clothes off.

He did that himself. Maybe he thought…” I screw my face up, before I continue.

“I had a full body support set on beneath that T-shirt. He’d have needed industrial shears to get me out of that thing if he’d dared to try. ”

“Support set?” Denver clips.

“Yeah, it’s?—”

“I know what it is,” he grits.

“Oh.”

Silence stretches between us as I soak in every second of having his eyes on mine. Because this might be the last time I ever get to see them, to admire their beauty. To sink into the feeling of safety they’ve given me. Nothing else has ever come close to making me feel that way in years.

“I thought you believed it,” I whisper.

“No.”

That same response of his.

One word. Nothing more. So simple. Straight to the point.

“But you were so angry. You yelled and then you stormed off.”

“Because I knew exactly what you were doing.”

“I…”

“I know you, Sinclair. I know you better than you give me credit for. Tell me, what do you hate people doing for you?”

“Making decisions for me.”

“Making decisions for you,” Denver repeats. “And yet there you fucking were, willing to make one for me when I didn’t need you to. I told you I was staying. I told you I loved you. What else did you need?”

“I’m sorry,” I choke. “I’m so sorry. I know what it’s like to lose your family. I couldn’t be the reason you lost yours.”

“I wasn’t losing them. They were moving on with their lives, that’s all. And I’m happy for them. I thought I was moving on with mine too. With you .”

“But they’re your family, you told me yourself that they stopped you from drowning.”

“No longer drowning can mean you’re still only floating. Going nowhere. You gave me something to swim toward, Sinclair. I have loved you for so long. And I’ve been waiting for you to understand that.”

“Is that why you’ve not come back in all these weeks? You wanted to punish me for what I did?” I sob.

I would deserve it if that’s what this has been, some carefully planned retaliation to teach me a lesson. But it doesn’t mean that it doesn’t cut deep, stinging my flesh knowing that he would willingly put me through it. I haven’t been able to sleep or eat. I’ve barely been human.

“No, Princess,” he breathes with the first hint of tenderness in his eyes since I opened the door.

My chest caves in a giant whimper as I grab on to that sliver of softness, praying he doesn’t snatch it away again.

“I gave you the space you needed . I couldn’t come back until you knew what it was like to be apart. I needed you to understand what it’ll be like to live without each other. I needed you to be sure.”

“I hate it,” I confess in a haunted croak.

“I hate not waking up next to you. I hate not hearing your voice. I hate not feeling your a-a-arms around me.” My teeth chatter and I swallow hard to get control back over my body.

“ I love you, Denver . I love you so much…. so much that I couldn’t risk the chance you’d look at me one day and resent me for making you stay here. ”

“You love me, Princess?”

My heart leaps into my throat. “More than anything.”

His expression softens and I suck in a breath, willing myself not to collapse into a heap on the floor at the way his eyes roam over my face.

“I’m coming inside now,” he breathes.

“Okay,” I squeak.

I stand back and let him enter. His scent follows him, and it takes a lot of effort to close the door with my trembling hands behind him.

I wipe my palms on my sweatpants as I look at him, standing in my hallway, all big and broody, and real .

“I’m glad you’re here,” I say, hovering by the door, not knowing whether to move or not.

Monty is sitting by my feet and the gentle swish of his tail side to side against the floor brings a calm to me that I desperately need.

Because I want to ask Denver if he’s here for good.

If he’s staying. Or if this is just a visit.

Because as much as I want to grasp onto what he just said about giving me time, he hasn’t actually said?—

“I love you, Sinclair.”

I blink at him as he steps forward and pulls me to him, one hand curling around my hip, and the other taking hold of my neck.