Chapter 23
SHEPHERD
Me
You busy Sunday?
Sutton
Suspicious opening. Try again.
Me
Do you have plans Sunday?
Sutton
Better. Why? Plan on cooking too much food again? Or did you buy too many gallons of ice cream? I think I’ve gained 10 pounds since I moved here.
Me
We have a home game.
Sutton
And?
Me
Aaaand I’d love it if you came.
Sutton
You’re inviting me into a stadium full of people who worship you?
Me
I wouldn’t say worship.
Sutton
Right. They just scream your name and wear your jersey.
Me
You scream my name and wear my clothes.
Sutton
*points finger*… Shepherd Don’t-know-your-middle-name Haynes! That is not the same!
Me
LOL! It’s Alan. After my dad. And okay, maybe not the exact same. So, will you come worship me at my game with the other thousands of people who will be there but I could give two shits about because I only have eyes for you?
Sutton
Well…when you put it that way.
Me
I’ll get you a jersey.
Sutton
I don’t need a jersey.
Me
You don’t have a jersey.
Sutton
Is that a problem?
Me
Feels like something we could fix.
Sutton
I’m not wearing your name on my back.
Me
You wear my clothes already. What’s the difference?
Sutton
That was one time.
Me
Uh, unless you changed after leaving this morning, you’re wearing my hoodie right now.
Sutton
That’s not the point.
Me
Feels like the point.
Sutton
You’re very confident for someone asking me to come watch him play tag.
Me
You liked watching me cook.
Sutton
That’s different. Food was involved.
Me
There will also be food. The nachos are great and if you want to put a wiener in your mouth, I can make that happen for you too.
Sutton
Hmm. Tempting.
Me
I’ll make sure you’re taken care of.
Sutton
That sounds dangerously like a promise.
Me
It is.
Sutton
You’re really leaning into this, huh?
Me
Into what?
Sutton
Whatever this is.
Me
So, is that a yes? You’re coming?
Sutton
Where would I even sit?
Me
Not “if.” Okay! I like that.
Sutton
Don’t read into it, Haynes.
Me
Too late…Price.
Sutton
Answer the question, quarterback.
Me
I’ll have a seat saved for you.
Sutton
Of course you will.
Me
Front section.
Sutton
What? Absolutely not.
Me
Why not? Don’t you trust me?
Sutton
I don’t trust the attention.
Me
Then I’ll sit you wherever you’re comfortable. Kill and Hop will be there too. I just want to know you’re there.
Sutton
Why?
Me
Because I’ll play better.
Sutton
That’s manipulative.
Me
Nah. Just honest.
Sutton
You’re annoying.
Me
You’re coming.
Sutton
What time?
Yes!
Got her with my charm!
Game days are predictable. That’s the whole point, I know.
It’s routine. It’s structure. It’s control.
The team responds best when we’re all under control.
I wake up at the same time every morning, eat the same breakfast, listen to the same playlist on the drive in, tape my wrists and lace my cleats the same way every time.
The mundane habits keep everything steady and quiet and it keeps me focused.
By the time I step onto the field for warmups, the stadium is already filling in. A low hum of noise builds in the stands, rising and falling like a wave that hasn’t quite decided how big it wants to be yet.
This part? This is easy for me. This is where I live.
My helmet in hand, I jog onto the turf, scanning automatically.
I note the sidelines, coaches, defensive setups from the visiting team warming up across the field and then I search the stands.
Not intentionally, at least not at first. It’s just a habit.
Sometimes I’ll look for my parents when they’re in town for a game.
Sometimes I check for my brothers, but they’re almost always in a suite so as not to cause unnecessary chaos with their celebrity status.
Today, though, they agreed to sit in the stands with Sutton so she would have someone familiar next to her.
The last thing I would ever want to do is make her uncomfortable.
I’m giddy as fuck that she even agreed to come and the second I spot her in the stands, everything shifts.
Right there, in Section 112, about halfway up, she’s standing with my brothers.
I cock my head as I study her. On the outside I smile shyly but on the inside my chest is fluttering like a thousand butterflies are about to burst from my stomach.
She’s wearing a pair of black jeans, ripped at the knees and a Portland Rush hoodie. My hoodie.
Of course she’s wearing my hoodie. It swallows her, sleeves too long, hem hitting mid-thigh over her jeans, but she looks fucking sexy as hell in it.
I know damn well if I were up there with her right now, I’d be sliding my hands underneath the soft fabric and reveling in the feel of her soft, warm skin.
Her hair is pulled up in a messy knot that’s already half falling out…
just the way I like it. It’s the look that says “I don’t give a shit” when I know she absolutely does.
She stares down at the field and I can feel her searching. She’s searching for me and that makes me feel…different than I ever have before.
“Yo,” Jake says, bumping his shoulder into mine. “You good?”
“Yeah.” But my eyes don’t move because she finds me, and the second she does her whole face changes. The way she lights up. It’s not polite and it’s not small and it’s not guarded. It’s just…real. And fuck me, that hits harder than anything I’ll feel all night.
Jake follows my line of sight. “Ohhh,” he drags out under his breath. “She came, huh?”
“Don’t start.”
“I’m not starting. I’m observing.”
“Stop observing.”
“Can’t.” He shrugs with a grin. “It’s too obvious.”
I drag my gaze away before I do something stupid like wave or smile like an idiot in front of my entire team.
But she came!
She came for me.
And that’s enough to fuel me through this entire game. It’s time to focus. If I stand here staring at Sutton all day, I’ll never be able to do my job. I force myself to turn away, jogging toward the sideline where Coach Wilson is reviewing play sheets.
“You ready, Haynes?” he asks, not looking up.
“Born ready, Coach.”
He glances at me, his weathered face unreadable. “Your head in the game today?”
“Always is.” I adjust my wristband, trying to keep my eyes from drifting back to section 112.
“Good. Kansas City’s corners are quick. Watch for those underneath routes.” He hands me the play sheet. “Study these adjustments.”
I nod, scanning the formations. Football makes sense to me. Always has. There are rules, patterns, cause and effect. Not like relationships, which are messy and unpredictable and terrifying in the best possible way.
The stadium continues to fill as kickoff approaches. The energy builds with each passing minute, that familiar electric buzz that comes before battle. I go through my warm-up routine on autopilot—stretches, short throws, long bombs—my body remembering what to do without conscious thought.
I try not to look at Sutton during warmups, but it’s almost impossible. Every time I complete a drill, my eyes automatically scan the crowd until they find her again. She’s laughing at something my brother said, her head tipped back, completely unaware of how she’s hijacked my focus.
And now I’m fucking jealous of Killian for getting to sit next to her for the entire game.
What are they talking about?
What made her laugh like that?
He better buy her some fucking nachos.
“Earth to Haynes,” Coach barks, snapping his fingers in front of my face. “You planning on joining us for this game or what?”
“Sorry, Coach.” I shake my head, trying to clear it. “Yeah. I’m locked in.”
He gives me a skeptical look. “Better be. Portland’s counting on you.”
I nod and force myself to concentrate on the remaining drills.
The stadium fills steadily around us, the energy building with each passing minute.
By the time we head back to the locker room for final preparations, the place is electric.
The guys are hyped, talking trash and pumping each other up.
I’m usually right there with them, but today my mind keeps drifting to Section 112.
“Alright, listen up!” Coach’s voice cuts through the chatter.
“Kansas City thinks they’re coming into our house and walking out with a win.
Not happening.” Coach’s speech continues, his gravelly voice rising with each point, but I find myself nodding along mechanically.
Usually, his pre-game talks light a fire in me, but today that fire started burning the moment I saw Sutton in the stands.
“Haynes, you’re our leader out there,” Coach says, fixing his gaze on me. “I need your head in this game. One hundred percent.”
“Yes, sir.” I meet his eyes, steadying myself. “I’ve got this.”
The team breaks with our usual chant, and then we’re jogging through the tunnel toward the roar of the crowd. That familiar rush hits me—the wall of sound, the stadium lights, the energy of thousands of people—but today it feels different. It’s more personal somehow.
As we burst onto the field, the crowd explodes.
I scan the stands again, finding her instantly.
She’s on her feet like everyone else, but she’s not cheering wildly.
She’s just watching me, her eyes tracking my movements as I jog to the sideline.
Even from this distance, I can feel the weight of her gaze.
Kansas City wins the toss and elects to receive. I stand on the sideline, helmet under my arm, watching our defense take the field. I can’t help myself, I keep glancing up into the stadium, drawn to Sutton like a magnet.
“You afraid she’ll leave mid-game or what?” Sebastian stands next to me, his arms folded across his chest as he follows my gaze to where our brothers are sitting with Sutton.
“No,” I mutter, forcing myself to look away. “I’m just—”
“Excited,” he says, nodding. “I get it. I’ve just never seen you this distracted before a game,” He smirks. “Must be serious.”