Page 54 of Her Football Star Ex

He tried to put his hands on my shoulders, but I pushed him away. “Don’t.” I slipped off the counter and onto the tile floor. “Please don’t touch me.”

His eyebrows knitted together, his brown eyes wide and full of so much confusion and hurt. “What did I do?”

I looked around the tiny bathroom, with its white walls that seemed to be closing in on me.

I had to get out of here. I needed air.

I pushed past Vincent and ran to the sliding glass door on the other side of his bed that I knew led to a balcony. I opened the door and practically flung myself onto the balcony, rushing to the guardrail and leaning over with hopes that the cold night air would make it easier to breathe again.

Breathe, Emerson. Just breathe, I told myself.In through your nose and out through the mouth. In through the nose and out through the mouth.

I closed my eyes and focused on the breathing techniques I’d learned when I’d taken up meditation last year—did my best to push away the image of the man I had loved giving what should have been meant only for me to another woman. And after about thirty seconds, as I focused on my breathing, I was able to replace that image with a mental picture of the sandy beach in Hawaii, the aqua blue ocean waves lapping at its shore.

And after a minute or two, my heartbeat slowed down to where it was only racing a little, and the tears that had sprung to my eyes the moment the cold air had hit me disappeared as well.

I turned to go back inside and found Vincent standing in the door with so much worry and fear in his eyes.

“Sorry,” I said, hugging myself to ward off the cold.

He stepped backward to let me in. Once I was inside, he shut and locked the balcony door then pulled the curtains closed.

He turned back to look at me, his eyes haunted.

“What’s happened?” he asked. “Did I take things too far?”

“No.” I shook my head and wiped at the moisture at the corner of my eye. “I just—” I sighed. “It just brought back bad memories.”

20

Vincent

If I thoughtI hated myself before, it had nothing on how I felt after Emerson explained what had happened in my bathroom. And if I had been delusional enough to think for a few fleeting seconds as we’d kissed that we might have a chance of working things out after all, those thoughts were dashed as soon as she said what she did.

Nothing had changed. Absolutely nothing.

Every time I thought things were possibly going to get better, every time I thought there was a flicker of a chance for us to get back together, that stupid night would always be there between us.

No matter how much I wanted it to just disappear, it never would. It would always be right there, waiting on the sidelines for the perfect moment to come back and torture me. To torture her.

“So I hope you can understand why we shouldn’t try that again,” Emerson said, referring to the kiss in the bathroom.

The kiss that had been everything to me…until it stabbed us both in the back.

“I’m really sorry, Emerson,” I said from my spot on the floor across from her, my back against the wall. “I’m so sorry for all the pain I’ve caused you.” I lifted my gaze to where she sat on the edge of my bed, hugging a pillow to her chest, and I wished she could understand just how badly I meant those words.

“I know.” She nodded and looked to the side. “I think there’s just some things you can’t come back from. And apparently, this is it for us.”

Her words scraped at me like sandpaper on my heart. But even though the finality of her words hurt like nothing I’d ever felt before, I said, “Do you want me to go sleep on the couch now?”

I wouldn’t want to sleep in the same bed as me if I was her. But she surprised me by shaking her head and saying, “No. I think it’ll still be okay. Your bed looks big enough to fit you, me, and all our baggage.”

Her lips lifted into a slight smile, and I couldn’t help but admire her all the more for her strength.

“I have a T-shirt and gym shorts you can wear if you want something more comfortable to sleep in,” I offered, taking in the T-shirt and jeans she still wore.

She set the pillow back on the bed beside her and stood. “That would be nice. I’m pretty beat now.”

The feeling was mutual. Over the past twenty minutes, we’d talked and she’d cried, and I had done my best not to cry because I wasn’t the person who deserved to cry about this situation, not when I was the one who caused it. And now, all my energy had completely drained from me.

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