Chapter 30
Denver
The noise of the evening is muted as I close the bathroom door.
Tonight has been a rollercoaster. One I didn’t ask to get on, and one I don’t even fully understand.
I have no reason to dislike Esme, but she was so fucking …
Esme. Bouncy curls, stable job, a ridiculous dating history and lipstick I wish I’d asked the name of so I could buy it for myself.
I fix my hair in the mirror. “I’m Esme,” I mimic. “I’m pretty and can do math.”
I take a minute to work through my childish behavior, fiddling with the Band-Aid on my palm before finally opening the door. I almost jump out of my skin when Colt is on the other side.
“Were you talking to yourself?”
I scowl at him. “I was peeing, you creep. Move.” Colt steps closer, and pure stubbornness keeps me in place. “I meant move away.”
“You didn’t specify.” His eyes dance with amusement, and I want to poke him in them. “Does it bother you when I’m this close? It didn’t last night.”
Swallowing suddenly becomes a priority and an impossibility, but somehow, I say, “Yes. Why don’t you go bug someone else? I bet Esme is available.”
His smile could turn a woman to murder.
“Are you … jealous?” I release a mouthful of air as a response, because I have nothing else to say. “Is that a yes?”
“Nope. Have sex with her. I bet she’s good at that. Oh wait, you already know what she’s like in bed.” I fold my arms, my shoulders straight. “I’m actually glad we’re talking about sex, because I’ve been thinking about Ronan.”
His smile disappears and a muscle feathers under his jaw. “You want to sleep with Ronan?”
“No.” I step close. “I want to have sex with Ronan.”
I’ve never seen his eyes so dark. “Fine.”
“Fine.”
“Fine. You have sex with Ronan. I’ll go see what Esme is up to.”
I flick off the bathroom light, give him an exaggerated thumbs up, and breeze by him.
I lose breath when he seizes my wrist and pulls me back into the bathroom.
The door slams closed, and he presses my back into it, his hands resting on either side of my head as he locks eyes with me.
The room is dark, and thick, sweet tension radiates in the small space between us.
I forget sometimes how tall he is, how broad, how strong.
His muscles strain against his shirt as he breathes quickly, never once breaking eye contact.
“You’re not having sex with Ronan.”
I lift my chin. “And why is that?”
“Because I don’t want to have to kill my best friend for fucking touching you.”
My heart hammers, my cheeks flood with heat, and I’ve forgotten how to breathe with him this close. He slides one hand down the door, the sound loud in the quiet of the room. His palm is cool as he cups my neck, his thumb running across my jaw.
“You said one night, so why are you trying to make me jealous?” His eyes are blue flame, heat and passion and something I’m too afraid to give a name to. My body thrums with delight at his touch, and if I could purr, I would.
He’s right. I’m being unfair. I set the rules, and he has every right to date whoever he wants to. I’m the one walking away, not him.
“Tell me it’s more,” he says quietly. He looks like he’s being held back by an invisible force, his body so close to mine he could crush me against the door if he wanted to. “Tell me you’re mine until you leave.”
I shouldn’t speak. Shouldn’t say the words on my mind. Shouldn’t drop to my knees and beg him for not just one night or two, but every night between now and forever.
Can I do this? Can I allow myself a taste of something I can never devour? It’s dangerous, and I’ll end up hurt.
But pain and I have always been the best of friends.
“I’m yours.”
The tension, his restraint, my control—they all snap. He’s fast, and the air I pull into my lungs is warm as his lips meet mine.
No time to doubt, no room for his brother or my husband.
Just the sliver of space between us that I close by pressing my body to his.
He kisses me, and I kiss him, and the foolishness of it all ebbs away.
I slide my palms up his chest and he holds my face and devours me.
The kiss is frantic from both our sides, months of dancing around who we are crumbling into this singular moment.
His tongue grazes mine, a silent request for more, and I allow it. His lips are soft, his body solid and strong, keeping me in place. My pulse is a throb throughout my body, my cheeks heated by him and what could happen, what should happen, what I want to happen—
He pulls his lips from mine, our breath mingling, our faces still close. My galloping heart starts to slow, the warmth of his body creeping over mine as our eyes remain locked.
“Come home with me,” he whispers against my lips. “The house is empty. It’ll be just us.”
My heart is beating too hard, too fast, but I nod. He leans forward to kiss me again and I place my finger on his lips. “If you let Esme anywhere near you, I’ll bury her in the garden.”
He grins.
I don’t have time to scowl before he kisses me again.
His palms glide up the back of my sweater, heated skin against heated skin, and his hardness, thick and solid, presses into my stomach.
I run my fingers through his hair, the passion growing too fast, a flame burst to life with nothing to stop it from spreading.
“Do we have to wait?” I whisper, and he shakes his head. My hands are immediately on his belt, unbuckling, desperate to get to him, to—
Someone knocks on the door.
“Denver, are you in there?” Ronan asks.
I bite back a laugh. “Yeah, I’ll be one minute.”
Colt frowns and mouths, ‘One minute?’
I smother a laugh. “I won’t be long, Ronan.”
“… Or I could come in?” Ronan says.
I frown. “What?”
“Do you feel it too?”
Colt looks close to murder, and I cover his mouth with my hand. “Ronan, I’ll be downstairs in a—”
“Let me in, Denver. Let’s not fight it. Colt is nothing compared to me and my—”
Colt bangs on the door. “Very fucking funny.”
Ronan laughs loudly. “I knew you were in there. Stop making out and come downstairs. Dessert is ready.”
Everyone is talking around the dining table when Colt and I walk in.
Finn is noticeably missing, but Helena looks like she’s on cloud nine as she watches us.
We eat tiramisu and talk like a family does—about Christmas, and what tomorrow brings.
It’s like every other dinner I’ve had here but bigger, louder, with more laughter.
And Colt is holding my hand under the table.
Danielle and Alison sandwich me in a hug before leaving, telling me I’d better be here for Christmas, and I nod as if I am, even though I know I won’t be.
Ronan tells me he needs help at work tomorrow if I’m up for it.
As Colt says goodbye to everyone, I wait outside, breathing in the cool air and snow.
It’s been such a perfect evening. One I’ll remember for a while.
I’m smiling as Finn’s car pulls up and he gets out.
“Where did you go?” I ask.
“A quick work thing. You’re leaving?” he asks, and I nod. He kisses my temple. “It was good having you here.”
“It was good being here.” His comfort is so similar to my father’s. An easy kind of relationship between us that I want to hold onto. He even smells the same, a spicy cologne mixed with …
He touches my chin, smiling at me. “See you tomorrow.”
I try to ignore the blood on his sleeve. The smell of iron mingled with cologne. The reminder that behind these evenings, behind the family and memories, we’re not good people.
Not even close.
Colt and Finn share some words on the street, but we soon set off to walk to Colt’s townhouse.
The last time I was here was too brief to appreciate the warmth of the place.
It smells like vanilla, and there are photographs across the walls and on the mantle above the unlit fire.
The couches are large and well used, and reminders of Holly are everywhere.
A fluffy pink blanket on the sofa, shoes by the door, a cardigan, and toys. Colt sweeps up things as he goes.
“Sorry, I didn’t think I’d be having anyone here.”
“No, I like it,” I say. “I like knowing she’s been here.”
Colt still tidies, and when he goes to get us a drink, I go to the mantle.
There are photographs of Holly, of Wilder with a baby in his arms grinning at the camera, and it shakes me a little to see him like that.
I’ve only ever seen darkness in his eyes, a wildness that seemed untamable, especially that night. But he looks … happy.
There are more of Colt and Wilder as teenagers in their hockey gear, arms around each other’s shoulders, grinning wildly at the camera. And one photo of a little girl with light brown hair and Colt’s eyes.
“Is this Amy?” I ask as he returns with wine.
He nods. “It is.”
“She’s so beautiful,” I say. “I thought she’d have dark hair like Holly.”
“No, she looked more like Callie,” he says, gazing at the photo. “Acted a lot like her, too. Which is strange, given that they never met.”
A thought like that keeps bothering me about Theo. Is he like me? Or like his dad? Or does he have traits of my mom, my dad?
“Do you have a photo of Callie?” I ask.
He nods and glances around, finally plucking a frame from a side table.
He hands it to me and my breath catches.
It’s from their wedding day. A four-tier wedding cake is in front of them, and Callie is feeding Colt a piece of cake.
She’s beautiful, light brown hair swept back and half hidden by her veil, blue eyes bright as she smiles.
Colt is looking at her like she’s his whole world.
I can’t remember what Wyatt and I looked like on our wedding day. I was pregnant and trying to hide it from the cameras, and he was isolated from most of the wedding party because no one wanted to be overly friendly to Deluxe’s new husband while Ranger was in the room.
Ranger and I didn’t have a wedding cake. We had a photograph during a wedding speech where I boasted about how invincible we were. I bragged about our kills, our power, and swore no mercy to those who got in our way.
How arrogant I was.
“No beard,” I say. “You look so young.”
“I look better now,” he says pointedly, putting the photograph back, and slipping his hand into mine as he walks us to the window. The snow is falling again, slow twists of white against a darkened street. My heart picks up as Colt pulls me close. “Say I look better now.”
I grin. “You look better now.” He nods approvingly and lowers his lips to mine, cupping the back of my head to angle my head back and deepen the kiss. He tastes like tiramisu and smells like his cologne, and I lean into him, my nerves taking a back seat along with my memories.
“Fuck, I love kissing you,” he growls against my mouth.
“Then keep doing it.”
The front door bangs closed, and a voice says, “I’m here for a coloring book that apparently is the best of all the coloring books Holly has, which given she has seventy thousand is—”
Wilder stops dead in the entryway to the living room.