Sophie (The Boss 8)

“I managed to step out of the public eye pretty successfully after my divorce,” Neil mused. “I was too busy having sex with you to get into any real trouble.”

“That was a good system. We should go back to that.” It was easy to joke, but no matter how big the house was, there were still three kids in it. That put the occasional damper on sexy times.

“You should go back to sleep,” Neil said softly. “A crash like yours takes a lot out of a person.”

“Are you staying?” I asked, hoping I didn’t sound as whimpery as I suddenly felt. I didn’t want to be alone in the hospital.

“I’m not sure they’re thrilled about it, but yes. I’m staying,” he said, standing so I could get comfortable. “El-Mudad went home to the girls. I told him you would understand.”

I pulled the thin, yet somehow way too warm, blanket up and rolled to my side. “How did your TV night go with Rashida?”

“It was lovely. We watched three episodes before she fell asleep.” A fond smile touched his mouth. “The program is dreadful. Far more violent than anything I would have allowed Emma to watch. But I certainly see why it appeals to a young teen.”

“Dean is hot,” I croaked. “And bi.”

Neil raised an incredulous eyebrow.

"Okay. Not canonically." I shifted, trying to get comfortable. "Yet."

"Go to sleep, or I'll call them in to sedate you," he gently threatened.

I felt a momentary stab of guilt as I watched him try in vain to find a comfortable position in the standard-issue hospital recliner. Still, I let it pass when I considered how many uncomfortable chairs I'd slept in through his health troubles. It didn't take him long to doze off, anyway; within ten minutes, he was snoring.

I reached for my phone on the rolling bedside table and positioned it so the light wouldn't disturb Neil. He had texted me earlier in the evening. I tapped the message open, and the picture that filled my screen melted my heart. It was a selfie from an extreme downward-angle to show Rashida curled up asleep beside him on the couch with her head on his knee. I pressed my hand to my chest at the look of love and happiness on his face.

And I thought about how worried he'd been just moments earlier. How helpless.

He needed me. El-Mudad needed me. The girls. And I'd been so reckless.

I turned off the phone screen, tipped my head back, and closed my eyes. I had to take care of myself. I had people who depended on me.

I'd never really been afraid of my death before. But there was a first, terrible time for everything.

Chapter Four

After my twenty-four hours observation period—and a thorough re-scolding from Neil—I’d returned to Sagaponack a bit less confident about my immortality than before. So much so that I’d made an appointment with a nutritionist, exerting my stamina and checkbook to get an appointment right away.

I went to the early morning meeting alone, despite Neil's protestations. Though much of the introductory information I received was old news from my good old diet fad days, I did walk away with an understanding of just how serious my condition was.

Pretty serious, as it turned out.

I drove myself home from the meeting crying, a folder stuffed with a meal plan and chart for tracking my blood sugar levels riding in the passenger seat beside me like the Grim Reaper. All I wanted to do was go home and curl up with at least one hot guy and languish in my poor health with near-Victorian levels of hysteria.

With the girls still at school and the cleaning crew not due until tomorrow, the house seemed super empty. I left my purse and folder on the table in the foyer and called, “Neil? El-Mudad? I’m home.”

When they didn’t answer—not a total surprise, considering the place’s size—I tried the intercom. Again, no answer. Then, I remembered the smoking lounge upstairs. Neil and El-Mudad had decided they needed a place to play snooker and smoke cigars and be manly, manly men together, so they’d remodeled a few of the rooms on the west side of the house. The intercom was almost always muted in there; I’d spoiled too many shots with ill-timed interruptions.

It seemed unlikely that they would be doing their male-bonding thing early in the day, but lord knew they did weirder stuff. I headed upstairs and fired off a text to our group message. Where the hell are you guys?

As I approached the lounge, an unmistakable, shuddering gasp stopped me. There was some “male-bonding” going on in there, but not of the lets-watch-rugby variety.

The door stood ajar, just a crack. I wondered if it was on purpose, an invitation. Curiosity, both of the sexual and the emotional nature, drew me closer. I leaned with one hand on the frame and angled myself so I could see into the room.