Page 108 of Check & Chase
“Sounds familiar,” Emma mutters, and I feel her smile against my shirt. “You two have a lot in common. Oversized, demanding attention, secretly softies.”
“Oversized?” I repeat, mock-offended. “I prefer ‘impressively proportioned.’”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
“Youhelp me sleep at night,” I counter, the honesty slipping out before I can filter it. “Haven’t had a nightmare since you started staying over.”
She shifts to look up at me, surprise evident even in the low light. “Really?”
“Really.” I brush a strand of hair from her face, the gesture automatic now. “Used to get them after games sometimes, even before the concussion. Stress dreams about missing passes, letting down the team. They’ve stopped since you’ve been here.”
“I still get mine,” she confesses. “Less often, but they still come.”
“I know.” I’ve woken to her thrashing beside me more than once, her small cries breaking my heart. “But you let me help now. That’s progress.”
She considers this, then nods slowly. “I guess it is.”
The conversation drifts into comfortable silence, both of us watching the dance of candlelight on the walls, listening to the storm’s symphony outside. Exhaustion tugs at me, the warmth and Emma’s presence making my eyelids heavy.
“We should sleep,” Emma says, ever attuned to my needs. “Your brain needs rest.”
“Stay here,” I suggest instead of moving toward the bedroom. “We can camp out.”
She eyes the couch dubiously. “Your knee needs elevation.”
“So bring the pillows from the bedroom. We’ll make a nest. Like teenagers during a power outage.”
She rolls her eyes, but I can tell the idea appeals to her. “Fine. But only because it’s more efficient to conserve body heat.”
“Of course. Very scientific approach.”
While Emma heads toward the bedrooms, I rearrange the living room furniture to create space in front of the couch, pushing the coffee table aside and angling the armchair to block any drafts. The physical activity feels good after hours of sitting, even limited as it is.
She returns with an armload of pillows and what looks like every blanket in the house, her expression softening when she sees what I’ve started. “Look at you, building a fort without being asked.”
We work together to arrange our makeshift bed, layering quilts and positioning pillows until it resembles something from a luxury camping expedition. Emma immediately sets up an elevated platform for my leg and retrieves my pain medication.
“Take these,” she orders, and I comply without arguing.
Finally settled, we press close together under the pile of blankets, Emma curling against my side with careful attention to my injured knee.
“Comfortable?” she asks, resting her head on my chest where she can hear my heartbeat.
“Perfect.” And it is, despite the pain and discomfort, despite the storm raging outside. This moment feels like a gift: Emma in my arms, safe andwarm while the world beyond our windows disappears under snow and darkness.
Sleep claims Emma first, her breathing evening out against my chest, body growing heavy. I stay awake a little longer, savoring the moment, the simple rightness of holding her.
It occurs to me, in that space between wakefulness and dreams, that I’ve never felt this content with anyone before. Never welcomed the idea of building a life with someone, of creating a future beyond the next game, the next season.
“I’m going to marry you one day, Emma Anderson,” I whisper into her hair, the confession easier in the darkness, with her asleep and unable to hear my certainty. “Going to build a life so good with you that you forget there was ever a time when we were pretending.”
She doesn’t stir, but something in her expression softens even further, as if some part of her heard and welcomed the promise.
I press a gentle kiss to her forehead before finally succumbing to sleep, the storm’s distant howl a lullaby to dreams of futures yet to come.
Emma
Chapter Twenty-Two
