Page 78 of Her Football Star Ex

“Emerson,” I whispered against her ear.

“I’m too tired to move,” she said drowsily.

“I’ll carry you to your bed then,” I said. “You’ll sleep better there.”

This definitely wouldn’t be the first time I’d had to carry her to bed after a late night. Once Emerson hit a certain level of tiredness, it took a lot to get her to move.

After gathering some motivation of my own, I carefully maneuvered my way around her and off of the couch. Then squatting down low, I snuck my hands beneath her and lifted her into my arms.

She barely stirred as she cradled against me, and I was reminded of all the times I’d done this before. It’s funny how you don’t miss something until you’re reminded of it again, but I suddenly missed being able to do things like this for her. Missed how she’d taken care of me, too.

I stepped around the popcorn bowl I’d placed on the floor earlier and carefully made my way up the stairs to her bedroom.

The door was partially open, so I pushed it with my foot and stepped into her moonlit room. It was surreal being here in the dark. Ghosts of days gone by almost lingering in the air.

I looked at the king-sized bed we used to share and tried to figure out where to put her.

Did she still sleep on the same side that she used to when we were married, like I still did?

Or had she taken advantage of having the space to herself and slept in the middle?

Deciding to just do what I used to do, I carried her to the left side. With a little effort I was able to pull the covers back. Then I gently lay her down on the bed, covering her with the fluffy white comforter.

She rolled to her side, facing out toward me.

So maybe she still slept where she always had?

I couldn’t help but just watch her as she peacefully lay there. Her hair cascaded over her pillow, in soft curls. Her face was serene, the worries of her world wiped away as she dreamed.

She was beautiful. And I probably could have watched her all night. But I needed to go. So I bent close to her and gently pressed my lips against her forehead.

“Good night, Emerson,” I whispered against her smooth, warm skin, catching the faint smell of her shampoo again. “Thank you for tonight.”

When she didn’t stir, I turned to leave. But before I could step away, her hand reached out and grabbed my pant leg.

I froze. Had she been awake?

“Stay,” she whispered.

I frowned and looked back at her.

Had I heard her right? Or was my imagination just playing tricks on me?

When I didn’t move, her eyes opened a little, her gaze lifting to meet mine. “It’s late,” she said, almost a soothing quality to her voice. “Just stay.”

My stomach went to my throat and it took a moment for me to say, “Are you sure?”

She nodded her head drowsily. “I just want one night where I’m not alone.”

My fingers tingled with those words because I too didn’t want to be alone tonight. It was like living a dream that I never wanted to wake up from.

So once I managed to get my body to move, I went to the other side of the bed, pulled the covers back and climbed in. My body only released its pent-up tension when I rested my head on the pillow that had once been mine.

Emerson turned, so her body was facing me, but her eyes were still closed. “Good night, Vincent,” she whispered, reaching out and putting her hand on my arm.

“Good night,” I said, breathing through my nose so she wouldn’t hear how hard of a time I was having breathing beside her.

She was quiet after that, and her hand slowly slipped off my arm, telling me that she was asleep again.

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