Unfettered Vampire (Found & Freed: The Unfettered #5)

2. Chapter 2

Chapter two

Morgan

T he alarm clock rings out and scatters my dreams. I fumble for the off button and stare blearily at the ceiling. Then it hits me like a sledgehammer. Just like it has every morning for over a year.

Jennifer is dead.

The familiar ache in my chest builds and swells. Heavy and all-consuming. Grief is such a bitch. And I am so tired of it. As awful as that sounds, it is the undeniable truth. I’m so very tired. If grief would bring her back, I’d gladly suffer it. For eternity. But nothing can bring my wife back, and I’m weary of this constant pain. It is a weight that presses down on everything, pushing any happiness away and even physically slowing down my movements.

I rub my hands over my face and try to focus on what I need to do today. Think of the practicalities. One breath, then the next. Then a minute. Followed by an hour. And slowly, slowly, you get through the day.

Ned is meeting the kids today.

The thought of that nearly makes me smile. It is a glimmer of something to look forward to. He is an odd one, for sure. But I think he will be good for the kids. Someone different and new will be refreshing for all of us. Someone young, full of energy and not weighted with grief, could very well be a lifeline for us all.

I like that he didn’t gush with false platitudes. He simply said ‘okay’, when I explained our situation. He said it calmly. With no fuss. But his eyes showed how much he cares. I saw true and vivid pain in them. I suspect he has lost someone too. And I much prefer empathy to sympathy. Someone who has trod this long and arduous path and come out the other side, could be such a boon. A guiding light.

I heave myself out of bed and head to the kitchen to make the kids’ breakfast and myself some coffee. I really hope the kids like him, and this all works out. Because the final say, as always, is theirs.

Robotically, I go through the motions of making coffee. Despite the novelty and distraction of the children meeting Ned, I wonder if today is going to be a good day or a bad one?

It’s funny, in a strange way, how people think time heals everything. They expect grief to be this linear process, a journey with stages you move through, and at some point, you’re supposed to arrive at the ‘end’ and feel whole again. But grief doesn’t work like that. At least, not in my experience. It comes in waves, unpredictable and relentless. Some days are better than others, but even on the best days, it’s always there in the background, lurking like a shadow. That weight of loss has become a permanent companion, and though I try not to let it define me, it’s a part of me now.

I’ve tried, over the past year, to make things feel normal again for the kids. But the truth is, there’s no going back to the way things were before. Every routine, every moment, feels tinged with Jennifer’s absence. Her laugh, the way she’d reach out and touch my arm when she wanted to make a point. The sound of her voice as she sang lullabies to the children. The silence left behind is deafening.

Ned is a chance, though, for a new chapter. Not a replacement for Jennifer, not even close, but maybe a way to help the kids see that life can still be good. Different, but good.

I sip my coffee, trying to shake off the melancholy as I prepare for his arrival. The house is quiet except for the soft hum of the refrigerator. I should savor it before the kids wake up.

It feels strange to think about letting someone new into our lives, but the children deserve something positive. They deserve more than just a father who’s barely holding it together.

A couple of hours later, and I’m standing by the front door, grinning like an idiot because a car has turned into our driveway. Ned is on time. He’s here, and he hasn’t changed his mind.

He parks really close and then bolts out of his car. His shoulders are hunched, and he’s acting like it’s pouring with rain. I glance up at the sky. It’s cloudy, but there is no rain.

Ned skids past me into the entrance hall. His shoulders relax, and he stops hunching.

“Hi,” he says as he looks up at me.

He’s every bit as cute as I remember from the interview. I wasn’t imagining that. He’s all big brown eyes and well-defined cheekbones, with a mop of dark hair. Actually, in this light, I can see flecks of gold and green in his gorgeous eyes. Just like Jennifer had.

I shake my head to clear it. I really need to stop seeing her everywhere. It’s ridiculous. She’s gone, and she’s not coming back.

“The kids are in the playroom. Let me introduce you,” I say.

He nods, and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. Is he nervous? That’s strangely adorable. I don’t think my kids are that terrifying. But I guess that’s something he needs to decide for himself.

I turn and lead the way. I don’t understand why he wants this job. He’s young and absolutely stunning. Looks like that could get him anything he wanted. An acting career, a modeling job. A sugar daddy. Why on earth he’s choosing to be a nanny is beyond me. But I’m grateful that he’s here, whatever his reasons.

I open the door to the playroom and grimace. It was looking nice ten minutes ago. And the kids were looking fairly presentable. I’d put time and effort into both because I didn’t want Ned to think I was completely hopeless.

The kids pause their playing and stare up at Ned. A newcomer entering their domain. Fresh blood.

“Noah, Oscar, Lottie,” I say as I point to each of my little darlings. “This is Ned. He has come to meet you.”

Ned looks completely overwhelmed. He even looks a little pale. He’s staring back at the kids intensely. Then he gives them a little awkward wave.

He is such a dork. I love it.

“You’re pretty,” says Lottie, breaking the silence.

The boys giggle. I wince .

Ned drops down onto his knees, right beside Lottie. “So are you, sweetheart.”

Lottie thrusts her toy truck at him, and he takes it with a smile.

“You look just like…” he pauses suddenly and swallows audibly. “A princess!”

Lottie grins at him, all toothy and gummy.

“What about me?” demands Noah.

“And me!” adds Oscar.

Ned smiles. A true smile that lights up his eyes. It’s dazzling to behold. He looks like he thinks this is the best day of his life, and he’s never been happier.

“You look like a brave knight,” he says to Noah.

Then he turns to Oscar. “And you look like a scary dragon!”

Oscar roars loudly in delight, and Noah runs to a toy box and grabs a lightsaber. Then he waves it around his head.

I shake my head fondly and quietly back out of the room. I’ll leave them to it, since today is all about getting to know each other. I won’t leave Ned alone with my kids until I’m one hundred percent sure they’re comfortable with him. Which, judging how that just went, will not take long at all.

In the meantime, I’ll lurk in my home office and try to get some paperwork done. It’s only down the hall, so I’ll be able to hear if something goes wrong.

The house is unnervingly still, but not in a bad way. There’s a sense of peace I haven’t felt in months. Maybe it’s because for the first time in a long while, I’m not alone in managing everything. I pause with my hand on the handle to my office .

That’s strange. My mental image of something going wrong is Ned needing rescuing, not me needing to protect my kids from the stranger.

I’m not usually so quick to trust. Especially when my children are involved. I wonder what it is about Ned that has won me over so quickly?

There’s something about him. An unspoken understanding, maybe, a quiet acknowledgment of pain. It’s as though he carries his own scars, hidden just beneath the surface, and in that, there’s an odd comfort. I don’t feel judged, and I don’t feel pitied. For the first time in a long while, I don’t feel like I’m drowning alone.

I step into my office and let the door click softly shut behind me. Whatever it is about Ned, I’m glad for it. I’m looking forward to having him in our lives, and it feels damn nice to have something to feel hopeful about.

For once, the future is looking a little brighter. I can’t wait.