Blindside Beauty
The sun rose over Denver in a haze of gold and steel, but Jeremy Davis barely noticed. He stood at the window of his office, staring at the battered roof of the Denver Coliseum, feeling the city’s weight on his shoulders. The stadium looked almost fragile from up here, as if the wrong gust of wind could blow it away. He pressed his palm to the glass, thinking of Alexandra, the Cannibals, and the promise he’d made: “I can’t keep looking over my shoulder, Jeremy. Make it stop.”
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