Page 8 of Her Football Star Ex

“Ta-dah!”Jaxon said with a huge smile on his face as he gestured at the row of colorful dinosaurs he had lined up on the bookshelf next to his bed.

“Wow, those are so awesome!” I said, taking in the various dinosaurs that looked like they belonged in the movieJurassic Park. “Is that a Utahraptor?” I pointed to the brown ferocious-looking creature covered in feathers.

He nodded, his face growing more excited that I would know the name. “That’s my favorite one.”

“I thought so.” I smiled and went to sit on his bed so I could get a closer look. “It looks awesome.”

He grabbed another brown dinosaur, which had its mouth open and a spiky tongue sticking out. “And this is the Velociraptor. It’s my other favorite.” He put it in my hands and said, “Let’s fight.”

Jaxon picked up the Utahraptor, which was clearly the bigger dinosaur of the two, and we started a little dinosaur battle, adding in the others from the lineup as the game went on.

I was just about to have a green Tyrannosaurus Rex join in on the action when I noticed, out of the corner of my eye, that Emerson was watching us from the doorway.

“Is it time for Jaxon to go to bed?” I asked, setting T-Rex back on the bookshelf.

Emerson nodded. “It’s already eight o’clock.”

“Five more minutes?” Jaxon turned to Emerson with a hopeful look in his brown eyes. And I found myself hoping for more time with him as well. I hated that the amount of time I could spend with my son was now dictated by a custody agreement.

But she shook her head and said, “We have to wake up early in the morning, so you’ll have to play dinosaurs with your daddy another time.”

Jaxon sighed loudly, and I worried he would throw a fit. But he surprised me by saying, “Fine,” and started setting his dinosaurs back on the bookshelf.

And as he put his dinosaurs back the way he had them earlier, I glanced around his room for the first time. A wave of nostalgia hit me. Even though it had been a year since I’d been in his room, nothing had really changed. Emerson had changed a lot of the decor in the entryway and living room—switching out the old family photos for newer photos of just her and Jaxon. But on the wall across from me were the newborn photos Emerson had framed and the last family photo we’d taken all together in front of an old barn.

I studied the photo for a moment, remembering back to the day it was taken. Jaxon was almost three and Emerson’s hair had been shoulder-length at the time with a few streaks of dark pink underneath. My arm was around her waist, holding her tight against my side, and she was holding Jaxon in front of her.

I specifically remembered her telling me she wanted to hold Jaxon for the photos because she was self-conscious of the slight bulge she had in the stomach area after suffering a miscarriage the month before.

I’d told her she looked great and that it was hardly noticeable, but she had insisted on holding him anyway, because she didn’t want to look at those photos and remember the sad times.

I tore my gaze away from the photo and found that Emerson was watching me.

Could she see the regret that had washed over me as I studied what was onceourhappy family?

“That’s his favorite photo,” she said, an uncomfortable look on her face. “I tried to put it away one day, but he threw a fit and wouldn’t let me.”

And with those few words from Emerson, my heart broke a little for my son.

I watched my little boy who thrived on organization line his dinosaurs up in just the right way. On his bed, he had put his stuffed cat Petrie next to his raccoon, Bandit. He was already a little perfectionist like his mother, and though he may act like a normal four-year-old boy most of the time, the fact that he was so attached to a photo of his family back before I’d broken it reminded me of just how much damage I had caused.

One stupid night, when I’d let my guard slip too far, had ruined everything we’d built together in one fell swoop.

My stomach knotted, and I scrubbed a hand over my face. What I wouldn’t give to go back and redo everything.

Go back and tell myself not to drink so much before bumping into Victoria that night.

To stop feeling sorry for myself and my injury and the worries I had about my career.

To stop letting the pain from the miscarriage and infertility and Emerson’s desire to go back to work again put a stupid wedge between us.

To stop feeling threatened by the fact that I’d married a strong and independent woman who didn’tneedme like my patriarchal upbringing had told me a good wife should.

To stop letting the hard things in life put distance between us when we should have been holding onto each other tighter.

One night had ruined everything.

And I’d regret my decisions for the rest of my life.

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