Page 99 of Her Football Star Ex

I sighed, realizing I’d been holding my breath. “Definitely not.”

A minute later it was just Evelyn and me left in the kitchen. I patted her back, trying to see if I could get out one more burp, and then grabbed what looked like a cozy blanket. We sat in the new rocking recliner Vincent had bought recently to see if I could get her to sleep.

As I rocked her and watched her big eyes drift shut, I waited to feel the resentment I’d had for this baby over the past two weeks since I found out she existed to resurface.

Because I should instinctively hate her, right?

This baby with dark brown hair was the product of one of the worst nights of my life.

Looking into her heart-shaped face, I could see a resemblance to both her mother and her father—two people who hadn’t taken my feelings into account when they’d betrayed me.

But even as I waited to feel that hate and resentment flooding me, I just couldn’t feel it anymore. Because this baby was amazingly sweet as I held her, completely innocent of her parents’ mistakes.

And even though finding out she existed had rocked my world in a way, her life had been thrown into complete chaos.

She’d just lost hermother—the woman who had carried her for nine months, given birth to her, and then cared for her for the first eight months of her life. The person who had been her entire world until about three weeks ago had died.

And though this baby now had Vincent, and he was doing his best to take care of her, it wasn’t the same as having a mother. Evelyn would never be able to get her mother back.

It wasn’t like a divorce where if I really wanted to get my husband back I could still try. Death was permanent.

So despite all the anger I had felt over the past two weeks, my heart went out to this little girl. And even though it was crazy and I couldn’t understand how it was even possible, I couldn’t help but feel little seeds of love growing for her, too.

She had the same eyes as her daddy. The same eyes he’d given to our son. And she was beautiful.

She had half of the DNA that my own little girl would have had.

So even though I didn’t know what the future held for me and Vincent—or if there was even a chance for a future—I promised myself right then, with this sweet baby nuzzled against my chest, that I would at least try to be a positive influence in Evelyn’s life. Because I would be tied to her in at least a small way since I was her brother’s mother.

I’d make sure that even though Jaxon was having a hard time accepting his little sister and all the changes she brought with her right now, I would teach him to be a good big brother to her. Because that’s what family did for each other.

So I just sat there, rocking back and forth for the next long while, soaking up all the sweetness of this beautiful baby in my arms. Then when my eyes started to feel heavy, I stood as slowly as I could so I wouldn’t wake her and walked down to Jaxon’s room that was now also her room.

A white crib was along the wall opposite of Jaxon’s full-size bed. I pulled out the blanket that was already in the crib, and then stood on my tiptoes so I could gently put Evelyn down into the crib without waking her.

This was always the trickiest part. But I must still have the muscle memory in place from all the times I’d had to put Jaxon in his crib because I managed to put her in there without startling her awake.

Go me!

After tiptoeing out of her room, I looked in on Vincent and Jaxon, wondering if Jaxon had roped his dad into reading each book five times since they’d been in there for so long. But when I peeked through the open door, I found two very tired boys, sleeping with a few books open on the bed between them—like Vincent had fallen asleep halfway through and Jaxon had decided he might as well just go to sleep, too.

I leaned against the doorframe and smiled. They were precious together. And Vincent was obviously exhausted because he never fell asleep sitting halfway up like that.

I walked into the room and lifted the covers over that big man, taking in the serene and unworried look on his face as he slept. I used to love watching him sleep back when we were married—he was always in the news and everyone in the world was always interested in what Vincent Lake was up to, but I loved that I was the only person who ever really got to see him like this.

I watched his chest rise and fall with his rhythmic breathing, and for the briefest moment, I had the urge to smooth my fingers along his cheek to see if his scruffy beard felt the same as I remembered.

But since I really didn’t want to wake him or have him catch me having a sentimental moment, I turned my back to him to switch off the lamp on his nightstand. That was when I saw something that hadn’t been there the last time I’d been in here, and my heart doubled over.

He had a photo of me from our trip to Mexico sitting on his nightstand—along with one of the little love notes I’d written him in a past life.

I put a hand to my chest, trying to cover the sudden surge of pain that surfaced.

He’d been holding onto things and memories from our marriage, just like I’d kept his clothes.

I didn’t know if it was just because I was emotionally exhausted from everything or what, but the sight of this man’s obvious enduring love for me despite all the obstacles in our path made fresh tears spring to my eyes.

Was it possible that our love story really wasn’t over yet?

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