Page 18 of Keeping Denver

Nodding, I go about clearing the table as quickly as I can and take it to his office. By the time Mr. Hawk returns, I have completed the only task he asked of me this evening. I'm in hysterics and pissed as hell as I go to gather my things to leave. "I'll walk you out."

"No," I snap, tugging my coat on, my hands shaking.

"Is there a problem, Miss Hollis?"

"Yes. The problem is you making me stay late for nothing. There was no point in me being here, Mr. Hawk," I say through clenched teeth. "And without notice." At this point, I can't hold back the choking sound that comes out at the end of my last statement.

"What's the matter, Miss Hollis? Did I make you miss a date with that prick Lucas or something?" The question falls out of Mr. Hawk's mouth with venom. I don't bother wasting my breath on a reply, and walk away.

When I exit the building, Mr. Hawk is right behind me. In front of us parked on the curb is his car with the driver waiting at the back door. "Come on, Denver. I'll take you home."

"No. I don't need anything from you."

"Will you stop being pissy with me long enough to accept a damn ride?" I don't turn around, and I don't accept his invitation.

"Denver!" Callan calls out at my retreating back. "Get back here and get in the fucking car!"

I keep going until I round the corner at the end of the block. Only then do I allow the tears to fall. I should have swallowed my pride and accepted the ride, but that would require me outing myself and the secret I don't want him to know. Pride is an admirable trait, but it can also be a person's downfall, and I suspect it will one day cost me more than I can imagine.

As expected, when I arrive at the shelter, there is no room for me. Not knowing what to do, I wonder about a block from the shelter until I spot an alleyway between a dry cleaner and a liquor store. About twenty feet into the alley is a dumpster, and beside the dumpster is a pile of old cardboard boxes. There is a small awning above where the cardboard lays that will do little to protect me from the snow when I sit on them. I need to find somewhere else to stay. There is a bridge on 42nd street, two blocks from here where the homeless gather. Perhaps I should make my way there for the night. The walk from work in the cold has taken its toll on me. I need to rest my feet a minute. They're throbbing and starting to go numb since I am not wearing socks or stockings.

After awhile, my body becomes tired and sluggish, so I decide to rest here a little longer. Huddled beside the dumpster, I prop myself against the brick wall behind me. With shaky hands, I dig through my bag, finding my wallet, then sift through what money I have, only producing fifty-seven dollars and some change, not enough for a hotel room. Stuffing my money back into the bag, I hug it against my chest as my sobs wrack my body. I have never felt so hopeless or as close to giving up in my life as I do at this moment. I should have taken the ride from Callan. I should have reached out for help instead of letting my pride get in the way. When you spend your entire life depending on nobody but yourself, asking for help becomes difficult. And with asking for help comes embarrassment and judgment that sometimes comes with the stigma surrounding homelessness.

Drawing my legs up to my chest, I lay on my side and tuck into myself as best I can. I'm going to rest for a moment longer. Then I'm going to get moving. The numbing cold is starting to become unbearable, so I do the only thing I know to do…count. Using my coping mechanism, I start at three thousand and count backward, my teeth chattering. "Two thousand nine hundred ninety-nine. Two thousand nine hundred ninety-eight." I lose count several times, and start over. My counting does little to help keep my mind off of the fact that the temperature is beginning to fall. Eventually, my words slur, my mind becomes a haze and my eyes grow heavy. Time around me seems to stop as I start to doze off to sleep. Faintly hearing the voices of two men, I try with all the strength I can muster to open my eyes but fail. Then the voices become closer.

"Hey, Ricky. Look what we got over here."

"What is it, Henry?"

"Hey. Hey, there," someone nudges me.

"What you got there, girl." I feel a tug on the bag clutched to my chest, and let out a groan as I try to keep hold of it, only my attempt is fruitless, and my backpack is ripped from my hands.

"She sure is a pretty little thing, isn't she Ricky?" I feel cold fingertips brush the side of my cheek.

"Come on, Henry. Let's take her bag and go before someone sees us."

I faintly hear a sigh, before the detached voice replies, "You're right. Let's go." The sound of shuffling feet and shoes crunching on freshly fallen snow echo as the two voices retreat. My eyes open to slits to see two men walking out of the alley. "Stop," I croak, but the men keep moving, their silhouettes disappearing amongst the foggy haze forming around me. I go to get up, but my body fails to budge. I'm briefly aware of the thin layer of snow that is now covering my body and my cold, damp hair sticking to the side of my face.

CALLAN

Grinding my teeth, I watch as Denver walks away, and an uneasy feeling settles in my gut. Her sudden change in attitude and lashing out was not like her. Granted, she was right. I didn't need her to stay. The fact is, I have this insane need to keep Denver close. That woman has gotten under my skin, and I am powerless to stop the overwhelming urge to want her and have her within arm's reach at all times. It's taken all my strength not to touch her, kiss her and fuck her against the wall of my office anytime she is in my presence. There is no logic to my choices. I'm selfish. I know Lucas has his sights set on Denver, which is why I stepped in and squashed his plans of asking her out. It's also the sole reason I turned into a bigger asshole this afternoon, making her stay. The moment Denver insisted she couldn't work late and had plans, I saw red. I became green with jealousy. But something about the way she handed me my ass and took off in tears doesn't sit right with me. I never meant to upset her. Something else must be going on. And I'm going to find out what the hell that is.

Still standing in the cold, snow accumulating on the shoulders of my coat, I eye Mitch. For the past few moments, he has patiently stood by the car with a worried look on his face, his eyes trained on the now-empty street. "Find her." I climb into the back seat, slamming the door.

"Yes, Sir." Mitch hurries around the front of the car and climbs into the driver's seat. Checking for traffic, he does a U-turn and drives us in the direction Denver disappeared.

"Fuck, she's gone. Do you see any sign of her, Mitch?" Mitch brings the car to crawl as I roll down the window.

"No. Sir. I don't see her."

Taking my phone from my pocket, I pull up Denver's contact and address information. I emailed her file to myself the day she started working. "Take me to 8279 West Chapel Rd," I tell Mitch.

Twenty minutes later, we pull up in front of a shitty apartment building in a shady rundown neighborhood. Anger bubbles inside at the thought of Denver living in a place like this.

Flinging the car door open, I take off in a jog up the steps of the apartment building with Mitch directly behind me. Mitch is a good man and has my back in case we run into any trouble. Ignoring the drunken men loitering in the hall, I make my way up to the third floor. As I reach apartment 59, I stop, lift my fist and pound on the door. Feeling impatient, I bang a little harder. This time a gruff male voice calls out from behind the door, and my already sour mood turns murderous. "Hold on a damn minute. I'm comin'." The door bursts open. A plump man with greasy hair and a cigarette hanging from his mouth stands before us. "What the hell do you want?"

"I'm looking for Denver."