Chapter 15
Ranger
Istand and launch my phone at the office wall. Gripping the desk, I try to steady my breathing, but the anger might just eat me alive.
Cal and JJ are in the kitchen talking when I stride in.
“JJ, you’re going to New York. Watch Denver. Tell me everything she’s doing. Then, when I tell you to, you bring her home.”
He nods. “Okay.”
And that’s why I like JJ. No questions fucking asked.
By the time I’m back in my office, Cal has followed me and closed the door behind him. “What’s going on, Ranger? Why isn’t Denver back yet?”
I snatch my phone from the floor and sit behind my desk. “A misunderstanding.”
“What kind? A run-of-the-mill marital dispute, or a you thing?”
I swear thunder rolls across me as I meet his eye. “And what does that mean?”
He stands before my desk without batting an eye. Maybe I’ve given him too much leeway, because he should at least hesitate before questioning whether I’ve fucked up my marriage.
“Is she leaving you?”
“Say that again and I’ll remove a piece of you, Cal.”
He frowns gently. “Fuck. What did you do?”
I ball my hands into fists, breathing through the overwhelming urge to hit him, a wall, or anything that will temporarily block the reminder that she isn’t here.
“It’s history being dragged up by the McEwans. Nothing I can’t fix.”
And I will fix it.
After JJ is on his way to the airport, I go to the walk-in closet Denver and I share. Her clothes are hung neatly, dresses, skirts, shirts all waiting to be worn again. Her shoes are lined up beneath and some are on spotlit shelves, alongside handbags. I go to her jewelry box.
I open it to glance at the endless necklaces, rings, and earrings I’ve bought her over the years. Diamonds. Gold. Platinum. Everything I thought she wanted but only wears once, or snubs in favor of the ring her mother gave her.
Is this where I went wrong? Putting price above family? Denver is materialistic, my credit card statement proves that, and she’s leaned into that more than ever in the last year. Dressing herself up. Acting. Pretending.
Does she pretend to love me, too?
There are six bottles of perfume lined up in front of a mirror, pink and peach liquids, and I bring one to my nose.
“You don’t need so many. You always smell good.”
Denver smiles at my reflection. “I smell good because I have so many, Grim Reaper.”
My chest twists, a familiar, dull ache beginning again. The kind of ache I haven’t felt since she killed Wyatt and ran.
I miss her.
I go to my side of the closet, pushing aside suits and watch boxes to find the simple box on the back shelf. I slide it out and place it on the center counter, lifting the lid. It’s somewhere I knew she’d never look, despite it holding the key to everything.
Nico’s real will. The one where he left Denver everything and said she was free to do what she wanted with the businesses, and to go wherever she’d like, but if she needed anyone, to go to Finn and Helena McEwan.
The letter he wanted to be sent to the McEwans to apologize for the way he cut them out before Cara died.
The letter to Denver telling her he loved her, always would, outlining the hundred ways he was proud of her.
And the final line that sealed my fate.
No matter what Ranger Luxe says, he will use you. He will hurt you.
Do not let him decide anything for you.
He was wrong then, and he’s wrong now. My intentions were darker when I first read this letter, but they changed the moment I saw her.
I love her. I want the best for her. Sometimes she just needs to be steered right.
I open the letter he sent to me. When I first read it, it had been close to six months since I’d seen Nico last, and that meeting had ended with him sporting a split lip. I hadn’t fared much better. Things were said that maybe I didn’t mean. But he did mean to leave this life and me behind.
Ranger,
I’ve updated this letter at least once a year to keep it current, and it’s a shame that things have only worsened between us. I never wanted that.
I thought once Axel grew up, you’d understand why I want to leave, but you don’t. I’ve said this before to you, but maybe it’ll hit home more if you read it.
Family is more important than power.
Denver is my family. She is my life. I failed Cara, but I won’t fail our daughter. I can only hope when you read this and I’m gone, that Denver and I left San Francisco, and she’s finally living a normal life.
I only ask one thing of you, Ranger.
Leave her alone.
Do not contact her. Do not go to her. Do not offer your help.
Let my daughter be happy and free of this life.
Do that one thing for me.
You were like a son to me. I’m sorry if I failed, but I did, I do, love you.
Nico
I’d decided long before I read this letter that I’d use Denver to ruin what was left of Nico’s legacy. The moment I got word he’d died, Cal and I went to Nico’s lawyer and put my plan into motion.
This letter only fueled my fire to hurt her.
If he knew how things had changed, if Nico knew how much I loved her, would he take these words back? Because I do love her. I protect her. She doesn’t want for anything.
That’s what he wanted for her, isn’t it?
I stare at my phone for so long that my eyes start to burn. I will her to call me back, to text me, to say she’s coming home.
The phone remains dark.
If this is what pushes her to the edge … what will she do if she learns the truth?
My grip loosens on Nico’s letter, and it flutters back into the box.
My chest feels weighted, and my stomach twists into a painful knot.
The walls of the walk-in seem to darken and press in on me, the space hot.
No, it’s fucking stifling. A sheen of sweat spreads across my back and chest, and my heart …
it’s rattling in my chest, galloping ahead of me, too fast. Too fucking fast—
Fuck.
I can’t breathe.
Am I having a heart attack?
I almost tear out of the closet and go to the balcony, throwing the doors open to the cool air. It rushes over me, goose bumps scattering across the sweat, and I grip the railing and try to heave in breaths. Small pockets of air fill my lungs.
My hand shakes as I run it down my face, staring out across the grounds, to the gardens where Denver walks Wesson. As if he knows I’m on his mind, claws pad across the balcony tiling, and the dog sits by my feet.
“I’m fine,” I say, my voice strained, and I place my trembling hand on his head. “I’m fine, boy.”
But am I?
More air fills my lungs. My heart rate settles. Cool rationality coats across the heated panic, and I organize my thoughts.
I’m fine. It’ll be fine. Denver will come home, and it’ll be fine.
“Come on, boy.” I pat my thigh, and Wesson follows me back into the bedroom. I shut and lock the balcony doors before striding back to the paperwork, digging through it to find the single slip of paper that would destroy my marriage for good.
I lay the piece of paper across the glass countertop, and I read the words I’ve read a hundred times. I don’t know why I kept it. Maybe I was hoping Denver would find it and I’d rid myself of this heaviness.
But I’ll hold that weight until the day I die if it means she never leaves me.
The matches rattle as I open the box, snatching one to life, the flame flickering and dancing as I hold it to the paper.
White becomes black.
Paper becomes ash.
And the truth is erased.