Page 25 of An Ex Affair

“I’m staying here with you this time.”

Colson’s eyes burned into mine, several decades of communication that could have happened but didn’t, occurring now in the span of a few seconds. I didn’t know what I was offering. Had no idea what staying would mean for Colson and me. If it had to mean anything at all. All I knew was that when flames and smoke filled my vision, when terror gripped my heart and my body froze, Colson was there. He took care of the fire so my childhood home hadn’t burned down. He’d carried my aging mother to a place where she could rest. He’d bandaged my foot and talked to the fire marshal. He had a plan for tonight and the coming days.

Just like I knew I wouldn’t let Mama stay in this house until it was fixed, I knew I couldn’t leave Colson’s side. I craved the teamwork I’d felt for just a single second out there on the driveway when I had my arm around Mama and Colson came out of the house unharmed. I’d simply looked at him with concern and he’d charged in to take care of us both. It reminded me of all the times we’d silently communicated when we were dating. When we were married. We had always been an excellent team.

Mama’s words swirled in my brain, wrapping around the exhaustion creeping in and the terror trying to fade away.

You could have been someone if you’d stayed married to Colson too.

“Okay. I’ll make up some blankets in the living room. We should be able to still see into the kitchen. You take the couch, I’ll take the floor.” Colson put my foot flat on the hardwood floor and went to stand.

Without a single thought about whether this was a good idea or not, I leaned all the way forward and wrapped my arms around his neck, hugging the absolute stuffing out of Colson. He fell back onto the floor with an audible grunt.

He didn’t hesitate, because Colson never did when it came to me. His arms came around my body like a steel band of reassurance. He smelled of smoke and sweat and something that could only be uniquely Colson because it took me back to being sixteen years old, making out with my boyfriend by the river. Now he felt warm and comforting and downright dangerous, all at the same time.

“Thank you,” I managed to croak into his neck, gratitude for this man I tossed aside years ago the only thought in my head.

His arms tightened and suddenly I was swept off the chair and plopped down on his lap, my legs straddling him. All available oxygen left my lungs, and I became acutely aware ofhow intimate this position was. Thin cotton pajamas were no match for the hard angles and rough skin of Colson Wolfe. His hand cupped my hip like an iron brand while the other swooped up my back, leaving a trail of goose bumps. His fingers tangled in my nest of hair, stroking and soothing while he whispered words of encouragement in my ear. What flared into a sexual embrace in my head, he tamped down into a simple, painfully intimate gesture of comfort. I laid my cheek on his shoulder and let him.

My eyes flickered open as I was jostled. I realized with a start that I was still draped across Colson, fast asleep. He got up from the floor with a soft exhale of air. I knew he was strong, but his ability to stand up with my dead weight in his arms was impressive. His hands cupped my thighs, keeping me in place around his waist. His belt buckle dug into my backside as he walked us into the living room. I remembered being a little kid and pretending to be asleep when my father would pick me up and carry me to bed. Colson carrying me gave me that same level of absolute security. The woman who’d been fired, tossed aside, and abandoned by Hollywood ate up that comfort like a starved woman.

“Your breathing changes when you’re asleep,” Colson whispered into my hair.

I tensed, realizing I’d been found out. My lips brushed against his neck as I grinned. He flinched.

“Don’t tickle me, woman, or I might drop you,” he teased. He carefully laid me down on the couch, despite his warning. We both knew he’d never drop me.

I felt cold the instant he let go of me and straightened. He grabbed the throw blanket off the back of the couch and spread it over me, careful to tuck in my feet. “Be right back. Gotta get some more blankets.”

“They’re in the?—”

“I know,” he said simply, disappearing down the hallway to the cabinet where Mama kept her Afghans and throw blankets. He came back with a stack that almost covered his head. He dropped them on the floor and began to spread them out, creating a makeshift bed that still couldn’t be very comfortable. He saved the comforter to spread over me, ensuring I wouldn’t get cold during the night.

Without another word, he pulled off his belt, toed off his boots, and crawled between the blankets on the floor of Mama’s living room, his head resting on a decorative pillow. I stared at the top of his head, barely able to make him out in the dark. Everything from tonight mixed with the exhaustion of my midlife crisis and my eyes began to sting. I turned my head and buried my face in the couch pillow, not making a single noise as the tears came. I was a fucking mess, and tonight had just shown me how easily my mother could have been taken from me. All that time away from her, proving to the world that I was somebody, kept me from being with the very somebodies that mattered.

The blankets were ripped away and I turned my tearstained cheeks upward with a yelp. Colson stood above me, jaw clenched and a lock of that golden-brown hair hanging over his forehead.

“Come on.” He reached down and swooped me up in his arms for the second time that night, walking me over to his makeshift bed, and laying me down between the blankets. He crawled behind me, pulled the blankets over us, and wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me into his chest before letting go. Heat from his body unlocked all of my terror-soaked muscles, relaxing me almost instantly.

“I’m…sorry,” I managed to say, renewed tears flooding my eyes in the face of his kindness. I felt embarrassed as hell and yet these damn tears wouldn’t stop. I hadn’t cried once since being back in Blueball. Hadn’t cried over moving back in with Mama.Hadn’t cried over the loss of the life I thought I’d be leading at forty-two years old. But now that they’d started, I couldn’t get them to stop.

Colson’s hand, where it had been hovering above my waist, carefully not touching me, came down on my top hip, rolling me onto my back. He rested his head into his hand and held me in place.

“Hey. You’re killing me with the tears, Tully.”

I swiped at my face, but the tears kept coming. I could feel him staring down at me and everything about tonight felt like too much. My hands came up to cover my face, hoping I could shield him from the tears. Time and experience had proven I was an ugly crier. There was no way he needed to see all that, not after all he’d done for Mama and me tonight.

“Be mean to me!” I wailed from behind my hands.

Colson huffed a laugh from behind the wall of my hands. “What?”

“Every time you’re mean to me, I feel a little less guilty!” My hands came away from my face. Colson was staring at me like he didn’t understand me at all. “You’ve been so nice tonight. Caring. Going above and beyond. It’s making me feel…” I trailed off, not able to put the feeling into words. “You’re making me cry.”

As if to prove my words, my face crumbled and another wave of tears hit. I slapped my hands back over my face as I let the sobs wrack my body. Colson sighed and lay back down beside me, his arm around my waist again. Pretty soon the sobs died down and I felt the shake of his body against my side. I peeked one eye open and slid my hand to the side so I could see him.

“Are you…are youlaughingat me?”

He was. That fucker was laughing silently. Shaking with it, in fact. It did the trick though. The tears dried up and I was suddenly hot with anger. I sat up and drilled my finger intohis gut. He only laughed harder. When I did it again, harder this time, he snatched my hand and sat up, holding our hands between us. The laughter was gone, replaced by a fierceness that reminded me of the days when I told him I wanted a divorce.

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