**** Book 3/3 of the Bartending Trilogy ****
With a new life in the world to protect, will Hazel's men be able to protect both her and their new baby girl?
Protect them, or die trying.
+++ This is not a standalone book. It is part of a series that...
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She's a ghost.
It's been a week since Theo was in a car crash, and he's only been back home from the hospital for three days.
Hazel's definitely taken it the hardest.
I lean my head against the doorframe, observing her curled up in the armchair opposite his bed. They're both asleep, not having moved from their positions since he was released, apart from occasional trips to the bathroom.
I sigh, watching my broken girl's chest rise and fall as she sleeps in a curled up position, arms wrapped around her bent legs.
"How are they?" Dawson asks quietly from behind me. I move aside so he can see them and he sighs.
This is messed up.
Not being able to bear the pain of seeing them like this any longer, I turn around and walk downstairs to the kitchen.
Dawson follows and I pull out the ingredients for him to make breakfast.
He looks at me with eyebrows raised.
"We have to at least try," I shrug as I place the milk carton on the kitchen counter, "We can't give up."
He starts to make the pancake batter, and I sink down into one of the barstools, pulling my phone out of my jeans pocket.
My brows furrow as I scan over my emails. I've been neglecting them this week, and they're quickly piling up.
As Dawson transfers the batter to the crackling frying pan, Atlas enters the room, Lottie in his arms.
"Can you hold her for a second?" he asks me and I immediately turn my phone off, placing it on the counter for him to transfer Lottie into my empty arms.
I stare down at her as her wide, blue eyes blink up at me.
She's the spitting image of Hazel, as beautiful as her mother.
She stretches out in my arms, her short legs kicking out as she lets out a huff. I smile down at her, letting her hand wrap around my finger.
Her golden hair is still ruffled from her sleep.
A few hours after the birth, we realised she was probably mine, her blue eyes and golden wisps of hair being the giveaway.
I smirk at Dawson's choice in onesie when he put her to bed last night.
It's covered in pink polka dots, with the phrase 'My daddy's just jealous I had boobies for dinner and he didn't' printed in capital letters on her torso.
"Did you have this personally made or something?" I look up from her to ask him.
"Maybe," he shrugs at me, amusement in his eyes.
Just as he plates up the pancakes, Lottie begins to cry out and I sigh, standing up from my seat with her.
I carry her up to Theo's room, pushing the door fully open with my foot.
