Chapter: 48

As I walked up to my porch, I noticed a black vehicle idling at the end of the street. I didn't panic, though; I knew that it was a security detail, courtesy of Kieran. The car had followed Lucian and me from the hospital.

I took in a deep breath as I stepped into the house, noting gratefully that my chest didn't hurt from it.

I glanced at my phone, and my heart soared when I saw the time- Daniel would be back home soon. I'd missed my baby over the week I'd been in the hospital, and although Kieran assured me that he wasn't aware of my injury, I couldn't help but worry about him.

I went upstairs for a shower and a quick nap. Sooner than I'd expected, the doorbell rang through the house, and I rushed down the stairs to open it.

"Baby!" I gasped as Daniel threw himself at me, wrapping his arms around my waist.

I bit back a gasp as the force of his head colliding with my chest sent a jolt of pain through me.

He stiffened and immediately pulled away.

"Oh, my baby," I whispered, cupping his face. "I missed you so much." His dark eyes roamed over my face, glancing pointedly at my chest. "You... you lost weight," he said flatly.

I chuckled. "The training trip was rigorous, hon."

He raised a brow, and in that moment, he looked so much like his father. His searching gaze was so intense, I had to force back the urge to squirm.

I waited for him to call bullshit. Although I was wearing a thick sweater that covered the bandages around my chest, Daniel was eerily perceptive, and I wouldn't put it past him to somehow know the number of stitches the doctors had used to close the surgical wound or the serial number of the gun that had shot me.

But after another second of surveillance, he exhaled. "You need a home-cooked meal then."

I smiled, nodding. "I know, I'll get started on dinner right away-"

Daniel shook his head and stepped into the house, grabbing my hand as he pulled me along.

"No," he declared. "I'm cooking for you."

I let out a surprised laugh. "You are?"

He nodded and helped me sit on the island in the kitchen. "Grandma taught me how to make egg-fried rice."

"Did she now?"

He nodded, opening the fridge.

My smile was so wide, my jaw hurt as I watched Daniel move through the kitchen. I offered helpful tips like "Watch out for your fingers while you chop, hon," or "Add some oil to the rice so it doesn't boil over," "That's enough salt," and "You have to keep stirring or it'll burn."

Each comment was met with an endearing sigh of exasperation that made me giggle.

Finally, he turned to me, two heaping plates of fried rice in his hands. I slipped my phone out and took a picture.

"Mom!" Daniel whined as I giggled, staring at the picture.

He came over to sit beside me, and I glanced at the huge mess he'd left behind-dishes piled high in the sink, vegetable peels, scraps, and eggshells littered all over the counter-and winced.