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“You’re like my dad,” I whisper.

His hand on my side tightens slightly. “Your dad, princess?”

“I-I—” My exhale is shaky. “I didn’t know him because he died on 9/11 just a few months after I was born.”

Hudson jerks. “Shit, baby.”

“But you remind me of the man I created in my head growing up—the hero, the person who would climb a hundred flights of stairs to save people, who would put himself on the line because he valued the greater good over his personal safety. And he was kind and caring and he loved me.” I close my eyes and a tear escapes. “Or at least, that’s what the surviving man from his crew, Jim, told me.”

Hudson wraps his arms tightly around me.

“The rest,” I say, “I created, held in my head and heart, desperate to have someone who loved me for me.”

“Princess,” Hudson rasps. “Christ, baby.”

“Jim gave me that,” I say. “And he tried to stay connected to me, tried to be that dad while I was growing up. But when I was seven, he was diagnosed with cancer and it wasn’t much later that he was gone. My mom…well, she took his loss hard, and I had far too much freedom for a young kid. It was pure dumb luck that I was spotted by a talent agent and not someone who truly wanted to harm me. Luckily, the agent was legit. Modeling came first. Then acting. Then…Hollywood.”

He settles his forehead against mine. “Damn lucky, princess.”

I nod. “I know.” Then I sigh and straighten. “I can deal with Dylan taking the house and almost everything inside. I can deal with starting over and an empty bank account. But—” My throat is tight and I just barely manage to push the words out. “I just…before Jim died, he gave me a box with a memory book he made and some of my dad’s belongings.” Tears cling to my lashes and my words are watery as I remember Jim’s handwritten stories, the medal issued to my dad, pictures, a trophy. The set of keys, a bottle of cologne, a sweatshirt that smells like my dad. Small things. Invaluable things. And most invaluable of all?

The only picture I have of my dad and me.

I dash away my tears, hold Hudson’s gentle gaze.

“I can’t let that box go. It’s all I have of him.”

Nineteen

Dash

Almost since the beginning, I’ve known what was eventually going to happen. That at some point I was going to have to confront Dylan. But I’ve been biding my time.

Technically, I’ve had no choice but to wait.

Partly because Willow needed to be ready, but also because I needed to be physically capable of handling things. Handling him. Yes, my team—they’re top-notch—is capable of taking care of just about anything without input from me. But this is personal. This is about my woman, not some faceless client.

I’m doing well. I’m young, strong, and otherwise healthy, so the hip is healing in record time. Despite that, it’s not a hundred percent yet. There’s nothing that will get me there other than time, and it’s only been six weeks. I can drive, work out—make love to my girl in the shower, on the bed, and against the wall—and do almost everything else.

But get into an unplanned physical altercation outside of the gym?

The doctor strongly recommended that I don’t do anything like that for at least three months. Six if I want to be safe and really give the hip time to heal. He understands what I do for a living, but I have to acknowledge my limitations. Something I’ve never had to do before.

And it pisses me off.

Especially now.

Willow wants and needs certain things from the house. They’re hers, and even if everything Dylan is saying about her was true, she still has the right to personal mementos and underwear.

So we’re going to get them.

I know it’s dangerous, and it pisses me off more than I’d like to admit, but this is our only alternative since her dad’s things mean so much to her. Besides, I know if Colt was here he’d kick my ass for even hesitating.

Some days, I miss him more than others.

Today, I long for his counsel. His warped sense of humor. And the deep, dark code of honor he lived by. There was no one more determined to right a wrong, protect the innocent, and take care of those in need.

But he’s gone, and I have to keep going.