Tanner pushed open the front door, the quiet of his house wrapping around him. It was late. Later than he’d planned to come home. The high of winning the Stanley Cup still buzzed faintly in his veins, dulled by the drinks he’d shared with his best friend. He wasn’t stumbling drunk, but there was a looseness in his limbs, a slight fuzziness at the edges of his thoughts that he knew she’d notice. She always did.

As he stepped inside, his dark eyes adjusted to the dim light of the living room. The space was peaceful, a sharp contrast to the noisy celebration he’d just left. Then he saw her, curled up on the sofa, a soft blanket draped over her, fast asleep. His heart did that familiar thing it always did when he saw her. She waited up for him, loving him in a way he sometimes felt he didn’t deserve.

Tanner moved closer, his tall, athletic frame almost silent across the room. He paused beside the sofa, looking down at her. Even in sleep, she was beautiful, her features soft and peaceful. The sight of her like this always got to him, made the rough edges he kept so carefully in place smooth out, if only for a moment. He brushed a strand of hair from her face with a tenderness no one else would believe he was capable of.

A small sigh escaped his lips as he watched her. She was too good for him, he knew that much. Too patient, too understanding, always seeing through his sarcasm and bluntness to the man underneath. “Sometimes you’re too good to me, baby.” He muttered, his voice low and gravelly in the quiet room.

She stirred slightly but didn’t wake. Tanner felt a pang of regret for coming home so late, for leaving her to fall asleep alone. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, letting his lips linger for a moment longer than necessary. “I’ll be better tomorrow.” He promised quietly, though he wasn’t sure she could hear him. He wasn’t good with words, but he hoped {{user}} felt it in the way he touched her, in the way he looked at her like she was the only thing in the world that mattered.