Chapter 38
Denver
Lewis is mid-conversation with Taf and looks over after I call his name. He’s still smiling as he strides over and stands before me, brows raised in question.
My friend.
My protector.
A liar.
“Tell me your name.”
Lewis’s brow furrows in confusion, but he’s still smiling. “What?”
“Your. Name,” I repeat, my tone clipped. “Tell me your name.”
His smile falters. “Lewis Gozia.”
My heart slams against my chest, my blood hot as it pumps hot and quick around my body. It keeps me grounded, the beating frantic in my ears.
I step closer to him. “Tell me your name.” His expression falls. It’s a slow, dawning realization, and he searches my face, but he doesn’t speak. “I won’t ask you again.”
The others have fallen quiet. Taf has moved closer, his attention darting between Lewis and me. Alistair is watching from Dante’s abandoned chair, looking equally confused.
Lewis says, “My name is Lewis.”
“Lewis what?” I hiss.
His jaw hardens. “Ledger.”
My breath is robbed, even though Ronan’s guy confirmed it for me on the phone. We hired him a few days ago to dig into the name Kitrick gave us—because he may have recognized Lewis’s voice, but I needed to know why. Why would my friend do this?
And now I do.
“Wyatt’s mom finally hired the right guy,” I say quietly, trying not to unravel. I’m torn between the need to scream and cry. “Why? Why for so long? You could have just killed me. Why be my fucking friend?”
The kindness I’ve grown so used to is gone. Lewis is cold, detached, not the man who stood under a cold shower and begged me to snap out of it. Not the one who cheered when I told him Colt and I were married. Not the one who helped me get stronger, who worried for me, who I trusted.
“I needed to know for sure it was you who killed Wyatt,” he says, his voice low. There’s no gloating, no smugness. “You needed to trust me.”
I try to swallow the break in my voice, but I can’t. “Then you did a good job, didn’t you?” He stares at me and says nothing. “I told you what happened with Wyatt months ago. Why not just kill me then?”
“Because she would have wanted it to hurt,” he says tightly, bitterness crawling through his words. “She died. Did you know that? Did you even give a shit? Your mother-in-law died, never knowing what happened to her son.”
My throat thickens. “Wyatt wasn’t my fault.”
“You pulled the trigger!” His voice booms through the warehouse. “You’re smart enough to know Ranger was manipulating you, but you did it anyway. He was my cousin. He was a good guy. He deserved so much more than you could ever give him.”
“That’s enough,” Colt says. “Del, what do you want to do?”
Another choice. Another life in my hands.
“What?” Lewis asks, his laugh bitter. “You’re going to kill another Ledger? That’ll be Wyatt, Adam, Wyatt’s mom, and me.”
“Fuck you, Lewis,” Ronan says. “You had more than a year with Denver. You know she had no fucking choice. If you couldn’t see that, it’s on you.”
Lewis looks between Ronan and me, and the barrel of his gun is pressed to my forehead so quickly that I don’t even have time to blink. Taf shouts, and Colt darts forward, but Lewis pulls back the hammer.
And as the seconds slow, he focuses on me.
He’s breathing fast, perspiration shining across his forehead.
But even now, I can only see my friend. The nights we shared. How he made me laugh. His hand on my lower back. His reassurance in my ear. It was lies, but it felt so real. It all did.
I so desperately want to believe he won’t do this.
Tears fill my eyes, our gazes locked.
And he pulls the trigger.
The click is loud.
The bullets removed by me hours ago.
Because even though I wanted Kitrick to be wrong, I couldn’t take the chance.
Colt raises his own gun, and the shot bangs through the still air. I close my eyes before I can witness the death of a man I thought I could trust.
My eyes are still closed when Colt pulls me to him and walks me away. I trust him to guide me, to keep me safe from stumbling, because I can’t look at any of it—Lewis’s body, the sympathy of the others.
In the back of the car, Colt keeps me close. He kisses my cheek and whispers all the right things, but it doesn’t ease the agony of more loss.
Maybe nothing ever will.
We’re in bed, Holly between us, Wesson curled up at the end.
This is what I need after such an awful day—we came home, and Holly ran to the door to hug my legs.
She told me she missed me, said she needed help with homework, and only I could do it.
My responsibilities took me away from what I’d lost, and for a few hours, I allowed myself to focus on her and forget.
Colt told Helena and Antonia. Helena broke down in tears, insisting it must have been a mistake. If only it were.
Now, Holly is asleep, and Beauty and the Beast is still playing, and the tears want to fall so desperately that my throat aches from holding them back.
“I’m sorry,” Colt whispers.
I force a smile. “It isn’t your fault.”
“I’ll always be sorry when you’re in pain, regardless of why.”
I grit my teeth, tears burning my eyes. “Don’t make me cry; I won’t stop.”
Colt climbs out of bed, comes to my side, and takes my hand. He walks me to the balcony doors, unlocks them, and we step into the cold. The wooden decking isn’t too chilly, and Colt leaves the door ajar so the music of the movie drifts out to us.
“Dance with me,” he says quietly, and pulls me close.
I swallow hard. “I don’t feel like dancing.”
“I know.” He kisses me. “Dance with me anyway.”
So, even though I don’t want to, we dance.
My heart is tattered, my body tired, but I let him twirl me. The brisk air lifts my hair as I spin, and he pulls me close. It’s nothing like our first dance, filled with laughter and hope and new love.
But I lose myself in it anyway, and when I step on his feet, he grins.
Before long, quiet laughter escapes my lips.
And I forget.
Just for a little while.
The length of a song, really.
On a balcony in the moonlight, with so much loss behind us, we dance, and my world stops hurting for a little while.