Page 38 of Boss Daddy

“I’ve got this,” I tell her. My eyes flick down to the GPS. “We’re five minutes away. Just a little longer.”

She doesn’t push because she trusts me. She’s always trusted me.

Up ahead, I see it. Headlights. Too close. Too fast. Wrong lane.

“Samuel!”

I react instinctively, jerking the wheel to the side, but it’s too late. The oncoming car barrels toward us, the glare of its headlights blinding.Her scream slices through the air. I throw my arm over to protect her in whatever way I can.

Metal crunches. The car tilts and rolls. Pain tears through my chest as the seatbelt bites into my skin. Her scream cuts off abruptly—too abruptly.

The car spins, the rain blurring into alternating streaks of light and darkness.

And then there’s nothing.

Everything goes black.

The silence is absolute, choking, but her voice lingers, an echo in the void. She screamed my name.

I couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t save her.

I don’t feel anything anymore. Darkness pulls me under, and there’s no escape.

The soft glow of late morning filters through the curtains. I open my eyes and check my phone on the nightstand. It’s almost ten-thirty.I’m in my bed, not in the nightmare I was having.

Erin’s back is snug against me, her breathing soft and steady. My arm is draped over her waist, holding her close as if I’m afraid she might vanish if I let go.

I smile to myself. We’d had fun in the game room—too much fun, it seems. After I’d taken her on the Murphy bed, we’d gone to my room to relax and ended up tangled in each other again before falling asleep.

I don’t move, don’t dare disturb her. She looks so peaceful, her hair a mess of dark waves against the pillow, the blanket pulled low enough to reveal the smooth curve of her shoulder and the faint line of her spine. She’s stunning, even now, without trying.

I have no idea what the hell I’ve gotten myself into.

This bed—my bed—has been mine alone for eight years.

No one else has ever been in it.

Until her.

The thought is a heavy weight in my chest. Erin doesn’t belong in the same category as the one-night stands I’ve entertained in guest rooms or hotels.I can already tell she’s something else entirely, someone who’s managed to burrow under my skin in a way I can’t explain.

Yet as natural as this feels, it’s impossible to ignore the ghost lingering in the room.

My eyes drift to the nightstand. Kara’s picture is still there, same place it’s been since I moved in. Her face smiles back at me, soft and serene, her blue eyes filled with the kind of warmth that makes your world stand still.

Guilt grips me hard. I’m lying here with a woman in my arms, my late wife staring at me from the nightstand.

Losing Kara shattered me. It broke me in ways I’d never been broken before, ways that made me damn certain I’d never be whole again.

Erin has awoken something I’d thought died along with Kara.

She’s bold, daring, and infuriatingly stubborn, the complete opposite of Kara in so many ways. Yet she’s here, fitting into this space like she was always meant to, and it terrifies me.

I take a slow breath, careful not to wake her, and gently slip my arm from her waist. She stirs but doesn’t wake, and I study her for a moment—the way her lashes fan against her cheeks, the slight part of her lips, the soft rise and fall of her chest. I feelsomething I haven’t allowed myself to feel in years: hope.

It’s dangerous.

I sit up, dragging a hand down my face. The picture of Kara catches my eye again, and I know what I have to do. My chest tightens as I reach for the frame. My fingers brush the glass, and for a moment, I hesitate. Kara wouldn’t want me to bear this guilt.

---