Page 86 of Finding Denver
Colt drops his hand. “Sure. Sorry I ruined the … the movie.” He heads for the door, and I follow. I open it with a shaky hand, and he stands on the threshold. “Good night.”
“Yep.”
He walks away and I close the door, leaning back against it and closing my eyes.
That was almost so bad. So, so bad. What the hell was I thinking? It’s one thing to spend the evening with Colt; it’s another to invite him back and?—
“Great job, Denver,” I whisper, running my hands down my face. “Create more problems for yourself.”
Pressing my back to the wall, I search for the strength to ignore what my body is calling out for. It’s been four weeks without sex when I’m used to it daily. Sometimes multiple times a day. I’m horny, and lonely, and sad, and confused, and a crush is totally normal. Colt isn’t exactly bad to look at, and he’s saved me, protected me, made me laugh, taken me ice-skating, held my hand?—
“Stop it,” I hiss at myself. “Jerk off and go to bed.” My phone rings and I answer it so fast I’m surprised I don’t knock myself out. “Yes?”
Silence. I check the screen. It’s the mystery caller.
“Patricia? Please don’t hang up.” Mercifully, she doesn’t. But she doesn’t speak, either. I straighten up off the wall. “Are you Dr. Heller’s wife?”
She takes in a breath. “How do you know?”
“I had someone check,” I say gently. “Why have you been calling me?”
“I …” She pauses, and the line is painfully silent. “My husband died a few months ago.”
I sit on the couch. “I’m sorry.”
“He … he was sick for a while. We knew it was coming. He was a good man, you know? He was a good man.”
I’m unsure why she’s calling me or telling me this, but the pain in her voice is enough to keep me listening. “I’m sure he was.”
“He … he did … he did something terrible, Denver. And I don’t know how to fix it. I’m scared to fix it.”
Is that why she’s calling? She thinks I can help her?
“Is there something I can do?”
A small sob escapes her, and I realize I’m gripping the couch cushion. My knuckles are bleached white. “He wrote me a letter. A confession. A …”
My voice is quiet. “What did the letter say?”
“He said he was sorry, that he didn’t have a choice but to lie about the baby, that he was protecting me from … him.” My ability to speak gets lost in a realization that can’t possibly be true. My mind is being cruel. My imagination is torturing me. I focus on the floor. On the carpet. On patterns I’ve never noticed until now. They blur and mix and fade, and sound becomes distant. “He told you your baby died, Denver, but he didn’t.”
Chapter 21
Colt
“Go home, Colt,” I whisper to myself as I stare at the hotel, my feet unwilling to move, my focus entirely on that building. This isn’t the time for romantic fucking gestures, and she isn’t the woman to be doing them with. She’s Denver Luxe. Married. Unavailable. Would have killed you not long ago.
You have no business kissing her. Or even coming close.
But I wasn’t the only one who felt something. I could see it in her face, hear it in the panicked way she asked me to leave. She noticed it, too. I take my phone out and call the only person I can think to call.
Ronan is half asleep. “Be dying or dead.”
“I nearly kissed Denver.”
Silence. “Okay, that’s worse. What happened?”
“Nothing. But also something. We … had a moment. I took her ice-skating. We talked. Shared. Danced.”
