Chapter 5 #2
“Give me five,” I call back.
I finish quickly, knowing the drill. Win or lose, there are cameras waiting, questions that need answers, soundbites they want to package into neat little segments for the highlight reels. It’s part of the job, like the soreness and the travel and the constant pressure.
I dress in the suit I packed—navy blue, white shirt, no tie because I’m not that guy—and run a hand through my damp hair. It’s as good as it’s going to get.
Seb appears at my side as I’m walking to the press room, his eyes narrowed slightly as he studies me. “You okay? That hit in the third quarter was probably harder than it looked.”
“I’m good.” I tug at my collar. “Ready to get home.”
“Since when are you in a rush after a win?”
I shrug. “Maybe I’m just tired.”
“What was that about with Micah?”
I shake my head. “Absolutely nothing.”
Sebastian gives me the look. The one that says he knows I’m full of shit but is choosing to let it slide. It’s the same look he’s been giving me since we were kids. Some things never change.
“Uh-huh,” he says finally. “Well, whatever or whoever has you checking your watch every thirty seconds, try to focus on the reporters first, alright?”
Damn. Caught.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lie.
He smirks and walks away, leaving me to enter the press room on my own. It’s the same as every away venue; bright lights, team logos, and reporters with recorders and cameras ready to catch whatever comes out of my mouth.
I take my place at the podium, already feeling the weight of twenty sets of eyes and expectations. The questions start immediately.
“Shepherd, talk about that third quarter drive—”
“How did you see the defense adjusting—”
“What was the communication like when—”
I settle into the familiar rhythm of press conferences. Short answers. Praise the team. Credit the opponent. Deflect individual praise. It’s a dance I’ve perfected, giving them just enough to fill their segments without actually saying much at all.
“You seemed particularly fired up today,” one reporter notes. “More vocal than usual on the sidelines.”
Was I? I hadn’t noticed.
“Doing my job,” I say with a shrug. “Making sure everyone’s on the same page.”
“Any particular reason for the extra energy?”
I think about dark eyes and a sharp tongue telling me my pants are stupid.
“Good breakfast,” I deadpan, and a few reporters laugh.
Twenty minutes later, I’m free. The bus is waiting, and I scan the faces of my teammates as we file on board.
Some are already settled in, headphones on, eyes closed, riding the post-game high into exhaustion.
Others are still buzzing, phones out, probably texting family or posting highlights.
Sebastian slides into a seat near the front, already buried in his tablet, no doubt reviewing injury reports.
“Sitting with us tonight, Shep?” Boone asks, gesturing to the empty seat beside him where Jake is already sprawled, eyes half-closed.
“Think I’ll take my own row,” I say. “Need to stretch out.”
Jake cracks one eye open. “Man’s got plans. Look at him.”
“I don’t have plans,” I say automatically, but my phone is in my hand, thumb hovering over the screen.
Two hours to Portland, give or take traffic.
The bus hums low and steady as we pull away from the stadium, tires crunching over loose gravel before finding smooth pavement.
Outside the tinted windows, Seattle’s skyline glows against a sky that’s shifted from blue to deep indigo, the Space Needle lit up like a beacon in the gathering darkness.
Headlights from passing cars streak by in blurs of white and red.
Half the team is already asleep.
The other half is pretending they aren’t.
Boone has headphones in and Orry’s scrolling through highlights on his phone like he’s fact-checking his own reality. Bennett is arguing with someone across the aisle about whether a catch counts if the defender barely breathes on you.
It’s all normal post-win chaos. It doesn’t take long before Sebastian drops into the seat next to me, tablet balanced on his knee.
“Kyler’s fine,” he says without looking up. “Swelling’s minimal. I told him no running tomorrow.”
“I heard you tell him, but you know damn well, he’ll ignore you.”
“He’ll try,” Sebastian says calmly. “Then he’ll limp and pretend it’s not his fault.”
I grin because he’s right.
That’s the thing about him; he says it like a joke, but everyone listens anyway.
We merge onto the freeway. Traffic looks relatively light.
If we make good time…
I do the math automatically.
Forty-five minutes to the facility.
Twenty to my truck.
Another twenty-five across town.
If she’s working tonight—
“You’re doing it again,” Jake says, leaning over the aisle seat across from me.
“Doing what?”
“You’re thinking.” He grins. “I can see it all over your face.”
“You’re seriously accusing me of…thinking?” I say the word slowly.
Jake laughs. “Yeah, I fucking am. Because you look hyper focused on something and we won today so it can’t be the game you’re thinking about.”
Sebastian finally looks up from his tablet, eyes flicking between us.
“Oh,” he says.
That one word feels like betrayal.
Fucking Seb.
“What?” I ask as if I don’t know what he’s about to say.
He smiles slightly. “Nothing.”
Jake grins. “No, no. Just because you’re related doesn’t mean you get to keep secrets. Let’s hear it, Haynes.” He gestures to my brother. “What’s going on with Shep?”
Sebastian shrugs, completely calm. “He’s thinking about stopping at the Alley Tap when we get home.”
Boone turns in his seat having overheard our conversation.
“The Alley Tap?” His brows furrow. “That old dive bar? What for?”
Sebastian shrugs, still staring at his tablet. “The girl.”
The entire back half of the bus goes quiet for exactly half a second.
Then—
“No way,” Bennett says.
“You serious?” Boone asks.
Orry leans closer. “So, there is a girl!”
“It’s not a dive,” I defend automatically.
Jake gasps. “He’s defensive. Oh, this is real.”
“I just like the fries.”
The entire row erupts in laughter.
Sebastian doesn’t even look at me. “He has a crush on the bartender.”
“I do not have a crush.”
Asshole.
“You absolutely do,” he says.
“I talked to her twice.”
“Well, three times if you go tonight,” Orry announces.
I hesitate…and that’s a huge mistake. Jake slaps my shoulder. “Oh my God, he was planning to go.”
“I wasn’t planning,” I tell them. “I was…considering.”
“That’s worse,” Boone laughs.
Bennett leans into the aisle. “Bro, you can’t go three days in a row. That’s serial killer behavior.”
“It’s not three days…” I say, but my stomach twists with the realization that it would be.
“Friday with us,” Sebastian counts calmly. “And Saturday you went by yourself.”
My jaw drops. “What? How do you know that?”
Sebastian smirks. “Am I wrong?”
Fuck.
Just gave myself away.
“Knew it.” He chuckles.
“So, if you go today…” Orry adds.
“That’s consecutive emotional decisions,” Boone says.
I stare at them. “You’re all dramatic fucks, you know that?”
“Nah,” Jake shakes his head. “We’re saving you from looking like a desperate stalker.”
I open my mouth and then close it again, because fuck, they might be right. I lean back against the seat, exhaling slowly. But what if they’re wrong? What if tonight’s the night she’s expecting me? What if not showing up is worse?
“I just…” I start, then stop.
What am I going to say?
That she’s interesting?
That she doesn’t treat me like a brand?
That she looked at me like she already knew exactly who I wasn’t?
That I can’t stop thinking about her even when I should be focused on the game?
Sebastian watches me quietly. “You want to see her,” he says.
It’s not a question. I shrug, then nod, then shrug again.
“Then don’t ruin it,” he adds.
Jake nudges my shoulder. “Yeah, let her miss you a little.”
Orry nods. “I think they’re right, man. Let her wonder if and when you’re going to show up today. Plus, mystery is sexy.”
Boone snorts. “Easier said than done, we know, because you, Shep Haynes, are not mysterious.”
“Rude,” I say.
“But accurate,” Bennett replies.
Outside, the city comes into view. And for the first time since we left the stadium, I stop calculating how fast I can get to the bar. Then I start again. Then stop.
Maybe they’re right.
Maybe showing up tonight isn’t the move.
But maybe they’re wrong.
Maybe she’s waiting.
I glance out the window toward the direction I know she’s in. My fingers itch to search for her online and figure out a way to accidentally run into her, but I don’t even know her last name.
I wonder if she’s working.
And I wonder if she is, in fact, missing me…or if she’s relieved I haven’t walked through the door.