Page 114 of Tangled with the Tight End

She covers her face with both hands and peeks out through her fingers. “Sorry!”

“Don’t worry. It all worked out.” Her eyes droop.

“Are you good to drive?” I ask.

“I think so …” Her voice trails off and she stifles another yawn. “Maybe I could just close my eyes for like five minutes before driving. I don’t want to drive into a gate on my way out.”

Her laughter starts, softly at first, but then it grows—exhaustion loosening her until she’s giggling. And I can’t help but laugh along with her.

“It’s not that funny,” she says, still laughing and wiping at a tear coming out of the corner of her eye. “Those gates.” She laughs some more.

“Right?” I say. A sweet hum flows through me just looking at her. She’s so unguarded right now.

“The downstairs guest room is made up,” I say. “Want to rest for a few before you hit the road?”

“I don’t want to impose.” Her heavy-lidded gaze gives her face a sweet softness.

“You aren’t imposing. I offered.”

What I don’t say—can’t say—is that I want her here.

Every time she leaves, the silence gets louder.

“Okay,” she says, hesitantly. “But just a short power nap. Then I’ll be out of your hair.”

Her eyes linger on me while she stands from her chair and stretches.

My voice sounds slightly gruff with emotion when I say, “You’re not in my hair.”

I want you here.

I want you.

Our gazes lock and for a fraction of a second, I wonder if she’s reading my thoughts. She stares into my eyes, a cautious smile on her face.

Then she glances away and says, “Okay. Well, thank you.”

Without another look in my direction, she turns and walks toward the guest room. I watch her go.

I lower the volume on the post-game press conference and settle back into the pillow behind me. They interview Linc and then Treyvon about his game-changing catch. Then Coach comes on. A half hour passes and Winona still hasn’t come out of the guest room.

I text our kicker, Tanner Greene.

Declan: Way to save the day.

Tanner: Thanks, bro. Appreciate it. Come back asap. You’re missed.

I set my phone down and glance out toward the hallway. I don’t know if Winona wants me to wake her up. I grab my crutches and propel myself to the doorway of her room. It’s shut, but not latched, so I gently nudge it open a crack. She’s curled on her side, breathing softly, hair splayed across the pillow behind her.

The sound of a thunder clap shakes the house followed by rain hitting the window panes. Winona stirs, making a soft sound that dislodges something deep inside me. But then she curls in tighter, sighing and tucking her hands under her chin.

She’s still asleep—too peaceful to disturb.

I propel backward, heading to the kitchen. After I wash the dishes and throw away the trash from dinner, I head back to the front room, passing Winona’s door on the way.

Maybe I should wake her. But she doesn’t need to be driving when she’s this worn out, and now it’s raining. And …

I chuckle under my breath. Who am I kidding? I want her here. And I’m just searching for reasons to keep her right where she is.