Page 110 of Taking Denver

“I don’t know how to be on my own,” he says.

I blink back tears. “I’ll text you the address to a lockbox with money and keys to an apartment and a car. I’ll send you more money soon, and I’ll make sure your dad doesn’t see where. This is your chance to be normal, Axel. This is your chance to be whoever you want to be. You have all the money, all the time, all the freedom. What are you going to do with it?”

Down the phone, I hear a car go by. People talking. I close my eyes and try to imagine him there. Free.

“Maybe I’ll become a famous skydiver,” he says.

I smile weakly. “Is that a thing?”

“I’ll make it a thing,” he says. “How about you?”

I palm away tears. “Ballerina. I’d look damn cute in a tutu.”

He doesn’t laugh, but I hope he’s smiling.

“Get rid of this phone and get a new one,” I say. “And if you ever worry that he’s found you, call me. But otherwise, this is it now. Okay?” He doesn’t answer. “I love you.”

“I love you too, sis.”

I hang up and barely hold back a sob. It feels like losing Theo all over again. A part of my heart is gone, and I don’t know how to fill the gap left behind. He’s my family. He loves me the right way, and I love him back.

But I can cry tomorrow. I need to play my part tonight.

The part of Mrs. Ranger Luxe.

I fix my makeup and leave the office. Before I can put a smile on my face, I bump into Martha. She has Wesson on a leash, his floral collar matching the other flowers on display.

“My precious pup!” I croon. “Who was the best ring bearer ever?” He wiggles his booty happily. My attention lands on Martha. “And look at you. You’re sexy, who knew?” Martha tuts but says nothing, and I finally have enough. “Why don’t you talk to me anymore?”

The older woman frowns. “I talk to you plenty.”

“You’ve barely said a word to me since I got home. You don’t even call me names anymore,” I say. “Why?”

It’s something that’s bothered me more than I’m willing to admit. I’ve never had a great relationship with Martha, but our teasing and barbed remarks were always something to look forward to. But since I returned, our relationship has chilled.

Martha sighs, her wrinkles deepening as she glances into the busy ballroom. “I liked your father.” That isn’t what I expected her to say, and my shoulders dip. “And I like Mr. Luxe, but… Mr. DeLuca would not want this.”

Tears burn my eyes. “That’s none of your business.”

“No, it is not,” Martha says, tilting her head, something close to concern in her eyes. “But I like you, too. And I worry.”

I chew the inside of my lip, refusing to cry and ruin my makeup again. “Ranger loves me.”

Martha presses a hand to her heart. “I know that.”

“Then what are you saying?” I cry, exasperated.

“You are better than this,” she says, gesturing at the room. “You are better than what your father settled for.” My lips tremble. “Oh, no tears,” Martha steps close, pulls out a handkerchief, and pats my cheek. “This is why I don’t speak. You’re ugly when you cry.”

I sniff. “Don’t be mean.”

“It’s true. You’re like a pale chipmunk.” An unexpected laugh bubbles free from me. “Much better. Now, I’m taking the puppy home.”

She squeezes my shoulder and turns to leave.

“Martha?” I ask, and she turns back to me, looking past impatient by this point. “What would my father have wanted?”

Her pale blue eyes sparkle. “A happy Deedee.”

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