Chapter 14
Denver
“It’s cold,” Lewis whispers.
I shush him and stare up at the townhouse. I wonder if I even have any lipstick left on my mouth after chewing my lips so aggressively. The snow is light, but even if it wasn’t snowing, Lewis is right. It’s freezing. And we’ve been standing outside the McEwans’ house for almost ten minutes.
“Am I gonna die out here? Because if so, I need to make some calls,” Lewis says.
I stamp my foot. “Fine, but you’re forcing me to do this.”
That’s what I’ll tell myself, anyway. Tonight, when night falls and I’m alone in my bed and I remember how devastated Ranger was when I even mentioned the McEwans, I’ll tell myself that Lewis forced me to come here and have lunch with Helena.
But really, it’s all I want to do.
Helena has asked me twice in the last few days to come over, so I’ve finally given in.
I want to know more about my mom, my dad, and their life here before I existed.
I want to dive into their world and hear stories Ranger won’t know or wouldn’t tell me if he did.
This is my chance to get to know the DeLuca and Gallagher world before I was born, and I’ll always regret it if I don’t.
I ring the doorbell and wait. Heels click against hardwood floors and the door is flung open to a bright-eyed, flushed Helena.
Her dark hair is down, the wisps of silver catching the light as she pulls me into a hug.
Her blue cashmere sweater brings out her eyes, and it’s soft under my hands as I hug her.
It’s a mom hug, the best kind, one I haven’t felt in over a decade.
“Come in, come in. You’re freezing!” She rubs my arms and leads me through a hallway, the walls busy with family photographs. A pair of kid’s shoes—Holly’s, I’m guessing—sit on the floor and a small, pink umbrella leans against a side table, a bowl on top filled with keys and sparkly hair ties.
“Is Holly here a lot?” I ask.
“Oh, all the time. We love having her,” Helena says as she leads me into the kitchen.
Delicious smells fill the open space, and a large, silver pot bubbles on a stove.
The mint green–decorated room is big and lived in—coloring books and newspapers are stacked next to a vase brimming with wildflowers, a glass half filled with chilled wine is by the wooden chopping board, and a loaf of bread half sliced is on top of it, crumbs scattering the counter.
“You made soup?” I ask.
She nods and pulls out a stool for me to sit at. Lewis hovers by the door. “Come in, there’s enough for all of us.”
She pours me a wine and Lewis a water as she drifts through the kitchen with ease, speed, and grace.
She whips up sandwiches that have my nails almost pressing into the counter they look so delicious, and when she places a bowl of steaming beef soup in front of me, I’m tempted to drink it straight from the bowl.
When we finish, Lewis stays in the kitchen and has a second helping, and Helena and I go into the living area and get comfortable on the couch, a board of sweet snacks and the half-finished bottle of wine between us.
“Now,” Helena says, tucking her legs beneath her. “Let’s really talk. Ask me anything, darling.”
Anything. Suddenly, I need more wine, but I resist finishing the glass, placing it on the coffee table instead.
“Why didn’t you come to my mom’s funeral?”
Helena lets out a breath. “We’re diving right in, okay.
Before I answer this, I need you to know, I loved your father very much.
He wasn’t perfect, but he loved your mom, and that was enough for me.
” I nod shortly, my heart hammering. “We weren’t there because before she died, your mom was considering leaving him, and I encouraged it. ”
All the wind is knocked from me. I stare at her, my cheeks flushed with the sudden urge to cry. I knew my parents weren’t exactly happy, but I didn’t know it had gone that far. They argued, and she worried, but they loved each other—even as a kid I could see that.
Helena takes my hand. “When your mom left the city, Nico promised things would be different. He said six months, a year tops, of this life and then he’d get out.
They just needed more money in the bank to be secure.
But it didn’t end. It never did. And your mom was terrified for you.
” She pulls her hand back, her expression one of pain.
“Your mom called me in tears, and I told her to come back. I said Finn and I would look out for the both of you. Your father found out, and he was devastated. He begged her to stay, promised he would really get out this time, so she gave him one last chance. He found out about Finn and mine’s involvement and cut us out, and then a month later, your mom had her heart attack and died.
” Her eyes are glassy as she continues. “We tried to make things up to Nico, but he was so angry with us. Then, when he died, we went to his funeral and weren’t allowed inside. Security told us we weren’t welcome.”
I frown. “But … who arranged that? Who—”
The answer is obvious.
Ranger. He knew the McEwans would come, and he blocked them from my life.
Helena must think the same. “Finn tried to talk to Ranger about it, but he refused to see or speak with us. Then, when we found out about Nico’s will asking you to go to Ranger, we tried to contest it. It made no sense to us. We’d all heard the rumors about Nico and Ranger falling out—”
“Ranger lied about it,” I interject softly, shame warming my cheeks. “I didn’t read the will; it was read to me. I believed the family lawyer.”
She takes a small sip of her wine. I pick up my own glass and do the same.
“We know he lied.”
I lower my glass. “You do?”
She nods. “Oh, lord. I knew this wasn’t going to be easy, but …
” She puts her drink down and opens one of the coffee table drawers.
She fishes out some paperwork, envelopes mainly, and sits back.
“On your twenty-fifth birthday, we received a letter from your dad. It was written before he died, and someone posted it, but we still don’t know who.
It said that he hoped looking after you was as much of a blessing for us as it was for him.
” My heart chills. “We didn’t understand it.
Nico never told us he wanted you to come to us. Not once.”
But the real will must have. My hand hovers by my mouth, and I try to breathe. Ranger read the will and saw my dad’s final wishes were for me to go to the McEwans—so he changed it.
“The moment we realized what Nico really wanted, we went to San Francisco. But by then, you’d married Wyatt, you were pregnant, and you seemed happy.
We didn’t want to disturb your happiness with drama,” she explains.
“Then Theo died … and Ranger told us we weren’t welcome.
He said you were grieving and didn’t need random people showing up to offer comfort.
It made sense, in a way, but Finn didn’t believe any of it. He went to you.”
But I didn’t see Finn. Not when Theo died. Not when Wyatt died, either.
“Ranger did everything to keep us apart,” I say.
She nods. “Finn came home devastated. I’ve never seen him like that.
He went to Theo’s funeral, and he said you looked so broken, but that you had Wyatt, and Ranger, too, and he …
he wanted to do something, but he didn’t want to disrupt your life any more than it already had been.
Then Wyatt was gone, and you disappeared.
We were worried sick, but Ranger said he had everything under control, he would take care of you, and we had no choice but to believe him because we didn’t know where you were. ”
I was on an island, hiding from my life, meeting Ethan.
“And then …” She exhales. “A few months ago, another letter arrived. But this one was for you.”
“Me?” I breathe out the word, and she hands me an unopened envelope, my father’s handwriting across the front. To Denver DeLuca, with the McEwans’ address underneath.
“It came in a package that said to give it to you on your thirtieth … but that’s not too far away, is it?” Helena says, encouraging me to open it.
I open it fast, almost tearing the envelope in two.
To my dearest Deedee,
Happy thirtieth birthday, baby. I hope you don’t think these letters are morbid. I wanted to write one for you every year but settled for just a couple. Your thirtieth was too important for me to miss.
I’m guessing by now you’ve moved out of Finn and Helena’s. Maybe you’re married and have kids of your own. I wonder if they’re as troublesome as you were. I hope they are, because the stories your mom and I had of you were exhausting at the time, but also the best memories to look back on.
I also wonder a lot about what your partner will be like. I know the marriage you saw between your mom and me wasn’t always great, and I regret every day that I didn’t set a better example of who a partner should be. But maybe I can now.
They should offer you more than you need, but never more than you want.
They should make you want to be better, with zero expectation of it.
They should love you, without question, every single day.
He should make you smile, laugh, and make you realize that all the time in the world isn’t enough for how much you want to spend with him. He should make you happy, Deedee.
When I think of you at thirty, I think of you laughing. You have a great laugh, baby. It sounds just like your mom’s. I hope you laugh a lot.
I also think of you walking the same streets your mom and I did. We fell in love in that city, and I hope you do, too. We missed it when we left. I’ll never regret taking your mother with me, but I regret that she couldn’t be in the place she loved most.
I hope you’re smiling, Deedee. I hope you’re happy, and thriving, and where you want to be, but if you’re not, that’s okay. You’re still so young, and you have a lifetime to do whatever it is you want to do with whoever you want to do it with.
And last of all, I hope you took my advice about Ranger, and I hope he took my advice about you.
I love you.
Dad.
The letter is trembling in my hands, teardrops landing on long-dried ink.
“Advice about Ranger,” I say, my voice low. “What advice?” Helena looks confused, and I hand her the piece of paper.
There were no letters left for me in my father’s will. Assets went to Ranger, and so did I. He must have taken all of it before I could get a chance to read it. What did it say? How many other letters were there that Ranger kept?
And why did this one arrive, but the others didn’t?
Helena finishes reading, tears in her eyes. “The only letter we got from your dad didn’t mention Ranger. Not once.”
But maybe there were others I should have received.
I take my phone out, my breath heavy as I dial Ranger’s number and put the phone to my ear. He answers quickly.
“My little bird,” he says softly. “Are you coming home?”
“Where are my letters?”
He sighs. “What letters, my love?”
“From my dad, you patronizing fuck,” I bite out, and stand. “I know he wrote some to me. And to the McEwans, too. Where are they?”
The quiet that follows the McEwans’ name is a chill I feel from thousands of miles away. “Denver, have you been spending more time with Finn McEwan? Because if I recall, I specifically told you not to.”
“And I wonder why?” I ask, pacing in front of the TV. Helena watches me, her brows pinched together, lips pressed tight. “Where are my letters?”
“Burned, with the rest of the shit he left behind,” Ranger hits back. “Shit that didn’t matter, because he wanted to keep you from me, and he was wrong, wasn’t he? Because no matter what he said, you fell in love with me.”
My cheeks are painfully hot. “You read them?”
“Yes, I read them, as is my right. You were living in my house.”
“Tell me what he said, Ranger.”
“Why? So you can listen to the words of a dead man? So you can regret marrying me when we both know I’m the only person who can ever make you happy? It’s pointless, Denver. You cannot change the past, and you’re not leaving me.”
I grip the mantle to steady my whirling head.
“Those were his last words to me, and you stole them. You stole them, and you stole me.”
“I took what I was owed.”
The words sting, nettle at my skin and make me recoil. I cover my eyes, darkening the room around me, as if to block out the choices that led me here.
“I’m not coming home,” I whisper.
“Do you love me, Denver?”
My throat dries. “I’m not coming home.”
“Answer my question.”
I squeeze my eyes closed, fighting the light. “Yes.”
“Then that’s all that matters. What I did, what Nico said, what the McEwans have told you, none of it matters.
You love me. I love you. Come home,” he says, and I don’t respond.
I can’t. I feel Lewis’s hand on my shoulder, feel him pull me against his chest. Ranger’s voice softens.
“Denver, your life is with me. What is the plan if you don’t come back?
Stay with people you don’t know? Start a new life?
Divorce me? You’re going to do all that over words on paper?
” I cling to Lewis, tears in my lashes. “We have a future together.”
“But you keep breaking me,” I whisper.
He sighs. “That’s what love is, little bird. It isn’t supposed to always feel good. We fit together because we’re broken, don’t you see that?”
But I don’t want to be broken. I don’t want to be pieces of the person I could be.
“I have to go.”
“Denver—”
I hang up.