For six years.
Easton looked up, catching me staring. Even in the dim light, the intensity of his blue eyes made my breath catch.
"She's out," he whispered, gently extracting his hand from hers. "Poor kid was exhausted."
I nodded, lacking words for the gratitude flooding through me. Easton rose from the bed with the careful movements of an athlete accustomed to controlling his frame in small spaces. As he neared the doorway where I stood, the narrow space became impossibly small.
"Thank you," I managed, my voice barely audible. "I didn't know what else to do."
He was close enough now that I could smell his woodsy cologne, something that made my senses swim. When had the air between us become so charged?
"You did the right thing calling me," he said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated in the air. "I'm glad I could help."
We stood there, suspended in the hallway between Casey's room and the rest of the house, neither of us moving. The domesticity of the moment terrified me. Easton, in my home at one in the morning. Casey was asleep because he'd soothed her. The three of us under one roof, like a family.
"It's late," I said, stepping back to break the spell. "You're welcome to stay in the guest room. I wouldn't feel right sending you home at this hour."
Something flickered in his eyes. Surprise, maybe. Or something warmer.
"You sure?"
"Of course." I led him down the hall, acutely aware of his presence behind me. "The bathroom's there. I can lend you a toothbrush."
"I'm good. I keep one in my car for overnight road trips."
Of course he did. Professional athletes were always prepared. I pushed open the guest room door, flipping on the light to reveal the simple space with its queen-sized bed and mismatched furniture.
"It's not much," I said, eyeing the faded quilt and secondhand dresser. So different from what his sleek, modern, and expensive condo must look like.
"It's perfect." His tone made me turn to face him.
We were standing too close again. Close enough to see the faint stubble darkening his jaw, the tiny scar above his left eyebrow from a hockey injury years ago. His eyes dropped to my lips for a heartbeat, and my breath shortened.
"I should get you some towels," I said quickly, backing away. "And maybe a T-shirt to sleep in?"
He reached forward, his fingertips gently guiding a strand of hair behind my ear. The touch sent electricity down my spine. "I usually sleep shirtless, but thanks."
Heat crawled up my neck at the image that flashed through my mind. Easton in my guest bed, sheets pooled at his waist, his broad chest bare…
"Right. Well. Towels are in the closet there." I gestured vaguely, desperate to escape before I did something stupid. Like touch him. "Goodnight."
"Sadie," he said, stopping me as I turned to go. "Are you okay?"
He stepped closer and found my hand. The warmth, the solid presence… it made something inside me crumble.
For weeks, I'd been keeping him at arm's length, maintaining professional boundaries at the clinic, limiting our interactions to Wednesday dinners and Casey's hockey. But here, in the quiet intimacy of my home, after one in the morning, those boundaries felt paper-thin.
"I was terrified," I admitted, the confession easier in the darkness. "Not just of the nightmare, but… what if she quits hockey? It's her passion. And I can't help feeling it's my fault for not watching her more carefully at the lake."
He gently pulled my lip from between my teeth. I hadn't even realized I was biting it. His touch lingered as he traced soothing circles on the inside of my wrist. The soft pressure made it hard to concentrate.
"Kids are resilient," he said quietly. "And what happened wasn't your fault."
"I should have been paying closer attention." The guilt that had been gnawing at me since the accident spilled out. "If you hadn't been there—"
"But I was," he interrupted, stepping closer. "And she's fine. You're an exceptional mother, Sadie."
The compliment delivered with such certainty broke something loose inside me. Tears I'd been holding back all night welled in my eyes. Without thinking, I leaned forward, pressing my forehead against his chest.
