Chapter 25
SHEPHERD
The drive home is too quiet. Not the good kind of quiet. Not the comfortable kind we’ve slipped into before. This is the kind that presses in on your ears. The kind that makes every small sound—the turn signal, the tires on pavement, her uneven breathing—feel too loud.
I keep both hands on the wheel and my eyes forward, but I see her in the reflection of the window. She’s curled in on herself and it feels like she’s gone all over again and I fucking hate it.
“He said something to you.” It comes out calm. Probably too calm compared to the alarm bells going off in my head. “Micah. He said something.”
She doesn’t even look at me. “No.”
Bullshit.
I nod once, like I believe her. Like I’m not already replaying every second in that hallway.
The way she looked when I came out.
The way she wouldn’t meet my eyes.
The way her voice didn’t sound like hers.
I tighten my grip on the wheel. “He’s a creep, Sutton. Nobody likes him. He runs his damn mouth and doesn’t seem to have much respect for women,” I say evenly. “So, whatever it was—”
“It’s nothing, Shepherd.”
That stops me. Not the words but her tone. Flat and shut down.
Fuck.
I’m losing her.
I glance over at her. She’s staring straight ahead now, her jaw tight, her arms wrapped around herself like she’s holding something in…or holding something back. Whatever it is, she’s not ready to talk and I have no choice but to respect that. I refuse to be like him.
“Okay,” I say quietly, biting my tongue so damn hard I’m surprised I don’t draw blood. I know that pushing her right now is not the answer. I want her to trust me. I want to be her safe place, not the guy who makes her as uncomfortable as Brannigan clearly did.
I don’t want to lose her.
I love her too much to lose her. And that thought hits me like a freight train.
I love her.
God, I really do. It’s not just wanting her or caring about her. It’s this deep, almost painful need to protect her, to make her smile, to be the one she turns to. I didn’t expect to fall for her this fast or this hard, but here I am, terrified of saying the wrong thing and watching her drift away.
When we pull into my driveway, I shut off the engine but don’t move to get out.
For a second, we just sit there in silence, the car ticking as it cools.
Normally, she’d hesitate or make some sort of comment or even roll her eyes at something I might say, but tonight?
Tonight, she’s already reaching for the door handle.
“I can help you inside,” she says finally, her voice small but determined. “You’re hurt.”
I want to laugh at the irony because I’m not the one who looks shattered right now. But maybe I should let her. Maybe her taking care of me would make her feel better.
“I can manage,” I tell her instead, immediately regretting it.
She nods silently and then says, “Okay. I’ve got some things to do.” She gestures out the window toward the guest house. “At my place.”
She doesn’t look at me, and she doesn’t wait to open her door.
My chest tightens. “Sutton—”
“I’m tired, Shepherd.”
She’s not tired. She’s retreating. I see it for exactly what it is. Her walls are going back up brick by fucking brick.
“Hey.”
She pauses but doesn’t turn.
“Did he touch you?” The question comes out sharper than I intended.
Shit.
I shouldn’t have asked that.
Too direct.
Too demanding.
But I need to know.
If he touched her, I’ll kill him.
Her shoulders go rigid and then she shakes her head. “No.” She pauses for a beat and then finally turns her head to look me in the eye. “He didn’t touch me.”
But he hurt you.
Why won’t you tell me?
Why don’t you trust me?
What did he tell you?
I want to follow her. I want to give her space. I want to shake the truth out of her, beg her to talk to me. I want to hold her until she stops trembling and show her that she’s safe with me. I want to love her the way she deserves to be loved.
But I can’t do any of those things.
I have to allow her to be in control, to work through whatever it is that’s hurting her.
“Okay,” I nod, knowing I have no choice but to accept whatever she gives me even though her unwillingness to talk to me is ripping my heart wide open from the inside out and it hurts like a fucking bitch. I hate myself right now for not knowing what she needs. “I’m here, though…if you need me.”
“Good night, Shepherd.” She steps out of the car and then she’s gone. And just like that the space beside me feels empty in a way it hasn’t since she moved in.
I stay in the car until I see her step inside the guest house and close the door behind her. Once I finally make it to my front door, I pull my phone from my pocket and send a mayday to the guys I know will always have my back.
Me
I need help.
My phone buzzes almost immediately.
Kill
What happened?
Me
It’s Sutton.
Kill
Is she okay? Are you okay?
Me
She ran into Brannigan at the stadium. I think something happened.
Seb
Wait, Micah Brannigan? The equipment guy?
Me
Yeah. When I came out of the exam room, he had her cornered. She won’t tell me what he said, but he was a smug piece of shit and now she’s shut down completely.
I pace the kitchen, wincing as my ribs protest the movement. The pain is nothing compared to the knot in my chest.
Hop
What do you mean by “shut down”?
Me
She won’t talk to me. She keeps saying everything is fine, but I know it’s not because she doesn’t want to be anywhere near me. She went straight to the guest house when we got home. I know he had to have said something to her. Something’s wrong, and she won’t let me help.
Kill
Fuck. That guy’s always been a creep. Remember when he got suspended for harassing that cheerleader last season?
I hadn’t remembered that until now, but the memory makes my blood run cold.
Me
I need to know what happened between them, but I can’t force her to talk.
Seb
Did they know each other before?
The question hits hard. I never thought of asking if they knew each other before. She’s never mentioned him.
But the way she reacted…
Me
I don’t know. She’s never said anything about him. But he did mention something about catching up with an old friend.
I set my phone down and press my palms against the counter, trying to breathe through the pain in my ribs. But it’s nothing compared to the ache in my chest when I think about Sutton alone in the guest house, wrestling with whatever demons Brannigan stirred up.
“Fuck!” I shout before my phone buzzes again.
Hop
Give her space, man. If something happened between them, pushing won’t help.
Seb
But let her know you’re there. That you’re not going anywhere.
Me
I did tell her that.
Kill
And if Brannigan comes near her again, we’ll make sure he regrets it.
I appreciate my brothers, but their advice isn’t helping the helpless feeling spreading through me. I should be able to fix this. That’s what I do. I fix things. I solve problems. I make things better.
But I can’t fix what I don’t understand.
I look out the window toward the guest house. The lights are still on, but the curtains are pulled tight, and I imagine Sutton moving around inside, probably pacing like I am. Is she crying? Is she angry? Is she afraid? I have no fucking idea because she won’t let me in.
My phone rings, startling me. When I see it’s Sebastian, I answer the call.
“Hey,” I say, my voice rougher than I expected.
“You sound like shit,” he says bluntly.
“Thanks. Really helpful.”
“I’m serious, Shep. You took a massive hit today. You should be resting, not stressing about—”
“Don’t,” I warn him. “Don’t tell me not to worry about her.”
He sighs. “That’s not what I meant. I just…” He pauses. “Look, we’ve never seen you like this over anyone before.”
“Because there’s never been anyone like her before.”
The words hang in the silence between us. I’ve never admitted that out loud, not even to myself, but it’s the truth. There’s never been anyone who’s gotten under my skin the way Sutton has. Who’s made me feel this desperate need to protect, to cherish, to…love.
“I know,” Sebastian says finally. “I can see that. We all can.”
“I’ve never felt so powerless, Seb. Not on the field, not in my life. I can read defenses and make split-second decisions under crushing pressure. I can take hits that would level most men, but I can’t figure out how to reach the woman I love when she’s shutting me out.”
“You really love her.” It’s a confirmation, not a question.
“More than anything,” I say softly. “And I’ve got no idea what to do with that right now.”
“Give her time,” Sebastian says, his voice gentler than usual. “Whatever Brannigan said or did, it’s clearly triggered something and she’s processing it.”
“What if she doesn’t come back from it? What if whatever he said makes her leave?” The fear that’s been gnawing at my gut since we left the stadium finally has a voice. “What if this is it? What if I’ve already lost her?”
“Then you fight for her,” Sebastian says simply. “But smartly. Not like some caveman beating his chest.”
I laugh despite myself, then wince as my ribs protest. “Noted.”
“I mean, what could he possibly tell her that would make her run?”
“Honestly, I have no fucking clue because I have nothing to hide so whatever he might say about me would be a goddamn lie.”
“Right, so the hope is that she’s smart enough to see through him because she knows you. Whatever it is, she’ll know he’s lying. In the meantime, you should get some rest, Shep. Doctor’s orders.”
“You’re not that kind of doctor,” I remind him.
“Close enough. I’ll check on you tomorrow.”
After we hang up, I find myself standing at the kitchen window again, staring at the guest house.
The lights are still on so I know she’s awake.
Part of me wants to march over there right now and beg her to talk to me.
Instead, I force myself to get a shower.
I stand under the spray for longer than I should, letting the water pound away at my aching muscles, washing off the grime and sweat from the game.
My mind keeps drifting back to Sutton, to the way she looked in that hallway.
Like she’d seen a ghost.
Like something inside her had broken all over again.
Like she was already somewhere else entirely.
I cut the water off and step out, wrapping a towel around my waist. The mirror shows me exactly what I already know; dark bruising spreads across my ribs, an angry purple-red that will look worse tomorrow. I press my fingers gently against it, testing, and hiss at the sharp pain that follows.
It’s nothing.
Just pain.
I’ve had worse.
I pull on a pair of sweatpants and a loose T-shirt, then grab my phone, checking for any messages from Sutton, but there’s nothing. The screen is empty, just like the space beside me. I pace the living room, stopping occasionally to look out the window toward the guest house.
Is she okay?
Is she crying?
Is she packing her bags?
That last thought sends a spike of panic through me. I can’t lose her. Not like this. Not without understanding what happened.
I grab my phone and pull up her name in my contacts then stop before hitting send. Pushing her right now might just drive her further away. I drop the phone on the couch and rake my hands through my damp hair, frustration building in my chest alongside the physical pain.
Every instinct I have is screaming at me to go to her, but I force myself to stay put. My eyes drift to the clock. It’s been almost two hours since we got home, and she hasn’t gone to bed yet. What am I supposed to do?
Fuck this. I can’t just sit here.