Page 66 of The Boss

Chris’s lips parted, eyes locking onto mine. His throat worked, like he was about to say something—but then, just as quickly, he stepped away.

“See you around, Zac,” he murmured.

My throat tightened. I nodded once, turned, and forced myself to walk out. Every step felt heavier than the last. But I was doing the right thing. I was.

Then why the fuck did it feel like I was bleeding out?

29. Chris

I pulled into the driveway just as the first hints of dusk crept across the winter sky. The house looked the same as always—modest but warm, its gabled roof dusted with snow, twinkling Christmas lights wrapped around the porch railing. A wreath hung on the front door, the scent of pine, smoke, and firewood carrying faintly on the crisp air. Through the windows, I caught a glimpse of the Christmas tree in the living room, glowing softly in the dimming light.

For a second, I just sat there, hands resting on the steering wheel. This was home. It always would be. But as I stared at the familiar scene, a dull ache settled in my chest. For the first time, I wasn’t sure if coming back would make me feel any less lost.

I barely had a moment to dwell on it before a blur of black fur came hurtling toward me from the porch. As soon as I stepped out, Moose, our massive Newfoundland, launched his full weight against me, almost knocking me flat against the car.

“Hey, buddy,” I grunted, laughing and petting him as I staggered back under his enthusiasm. “Who’s a good boy?”

Moose let out a deep, happy woof, his tail thumping wildly as he tried to climb into my lap despite being a hundred and fifty pounds of fur and muscle.

“All right, all right,” I chuckled, scratching behind his ears while he drooled all over me. “You’re getting clingier in your old age.”

By the time I managed to detangle myself, the front door had opened, and Josh came bounding down the steps, looking every bit the ardent, wide-eyed teen he was.

“Took you long enough,” he said, grinning as he pulled me into a tight hug.

“Sorry, bro. The traffic was insane.” I squeezed him back, feeling a warmth settle in my chest. Josh had always been the most openly affectionate of the three of us—especially when we were younger and he followed me around like a shadow. Even now, at eighteen and almost as tall as me, my baby brother still looked at me the way he had as a kid—like I was some kind of hero.

Emily appeared in the doorway, arms crossed against the cold. “Jeez, you saw him, what, three weeks ago?” she deadpanned. “You’re acting like he just got back from war or something.”

Josh shot her a look. “Oh, look at me, I’m too cool to care,” he said in a mock feminine voice. “Spoiler alert: you’re not. And we all know you’re gonna turn into a total pest in about five minutes.”

Emily smirked, then turned to me with a more subdued, but still tender smile. “About time you showed up.”

“Hey, Em.” I pulled her in for a quick hug before stepping back. “Still rocking the bangs, I see.”

“If it ain’t broke…” she said smoothly.

Before she could add to it, another voice called from the doorway. “All right, don’t keep your mother waiting. Get inside before you all freeze.”

Dad stood on the porch, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans, watching us with that same calm presence that made him seem unshakable, no matter what life threw his way. He looked the same—an old flannel shirt layered over a faded tee, a baseball cap pulled low over his salt-and-pepper hair, the sharpness in his gaze always there, like he was measuring the world around him and filing away what mattered.

“Hey, Dad,” I said as I stepped up onto the porch.

He clapped a hand on my shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. “Hello, son.” He grinned. “Look at you. Every time you come back, you seem more like a real grown-up.”

That simple statement sent something warm and bittersweet curling in my chest. A smile ghosted across my lips. “Thanks.”

We all shuffled inside, Moose padding after us, his massive paws thudding against the hardwood. The warmth hit me instantly, the unmistakable scent of home wrapping around me like a blanket—wood smoke from the fireplace, something sweet baking in the oven, and the vague trace of my mom’s favorite holiday candles. The Christmas decorations covered nearly every surface—garlands over the mantel, stockings hanging in their usual spots, the tree blinking in the corner, its ornaments a mix of delicate glass baubles and messy childhood crafts.

I had only enough time to take it all in before Mom bustled in from the kitchen, her wavy blonde bob gleaming under the light, still holding onto that youthful softness despite the years. Her smile lit up her face, and her eyes twinkled with warmth, the kind that made you feel instantly at home. She opened her arms wide. “There’s my big boy.”

I let her pull me into a tight hug, exhaling against her shoulder. “Hey, Mom.”

She pulled back just enough to look at me, her keen gaze scanning my face. “You look tired. Have you been eating enough?”

“Yes, Mom.”

“Sleeping?”

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