29. Sutton #2
Shepherd’s smile grows impossibly wider as he punches the air triumphantly.
His teammates swarm him, slapping his back and shouting things I can’t hear over the crowd’s roar.
But his eyes never leave mine, and he mouths something that looks undeniably like “I love you too” before Coach Wilson finally grabs him by the shoulder pads and physically turns him toward the sideline.
I collapse back into my seat, my heart pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat.
“Holy shit,” Mari whispers next to me, her eyes wide. “Did you just—”
“Yep.” I can’t stop the smile spreading across my face.
“In front of the entire—”
“Yep.”
“You know this is going to be all over social media in about thirty seconds, right?”
“Oh, it’s already happening,” Killian says, showing me his phone screen where notifications are lighting up faster than I can read them. “#HaynesDanceParty is trending.”
I should feel mortified. I should want to crawl under my seat and disappear. Instead, I’m laughing—actually laughing—as Bishop scrolls through comments on his phone.
“‘Quarterback with the moves!’ ‘Who’s the lucky girl?’ ‘Did anyone else hear her yell back?’” he reads aloud. “Oh, and my personal favorite: ‘Is this what they mean by unnecessary celebration?’”
Mari bumps my shoulder. “So much for keeping things private, huh?”
“I guess when you’re dating a guy who makes grand gestures in front of thousands of people, privacy isn’t really an option,” I say, but there’s no regret in my voice. How could there be? This ridiculous, beautiful man just lip-synced a love song to me with his entire team backing him up.
The teams are lining up for kickoff now, and I can see Shepherd being lectured by Coach Wilson, who’s gesturing wildly at him while Shepherd just nods, looking completely unrepentant.
I can’t hear what’s being said, but his expression tells me everything I need to know.
He doesn’t regret a single moment of that performance.
“I can’t believe he did that,” I say, still feeling the aftershocks of what just happened. “For me.”
“Believe it,” Bishop says. “My brother has never done anything like that for anyone. Ever.”
“Never?” I ask, watching as Shepherd finally jogs down the sideline, putting his helmet on.
“Not even close,” Killian confirms. “Shepherd’s always been the serious one. The responsible one. The guy who follows rules and keeps his head down.”
“Until you,” Bishop adds with a laugh.
My heart feels too big for my chest as I watch Shepherd on the sideline.
“So,” Mari says, leaning close. “When exactly were you planning to tell me you’re in love with him?”
I feel heat rush to my face. “I wasn’t hiding it. I just…I didn’t know until right now.”
“Bullshit,” Killian mutters, grinning like he knows all my secrets. “Admit it. You’ve known for weeks.”
I hesitate, my fingers playing with the hem of my jersey. Maybe I have known for weeks but saying it out loud—especially in front of thousands of screaming fans—wasn’t exactly part of my plan. Then again, when has anything with Shepherd gone according to plan?
“Fine,” I admit, meeting Killian’s knowing gaze. “Maybe I’ve known for a while. But it’s not like I had a timeline for when I was going to say it.”
“Well, you certainly picked a memorable moment,” Mari says, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “Most people just text it or say it over dinner.”
Killian makes a gagging noise beside me. “God, you two deserve each other. Both completely hopeless romantics.”
“Says the guy who cried during The Notebook,” Bishop mutters.
“It was allergies!”
“In a movie theater?”
“Fuck you, Hop,” Killian hisses, but there’s no heat in his words as we all enjoy the moment.
I look back at the field where Shepherd is now focused on the game, all business despite what just happened.
Even from here, I can see the intensity in his stance, the way he watches every play unfold with complete concentration.
He seems unrattled by the spectacle he just created.
While I’m still processing what happened, he’s already switched gears, focused entirely on the game ahead.
But as engrossed as he is, I can tell the moment he remembers what just happened—what I just shouted—because his posture changes slightly.
His shoulders straighten, his head lifts, and I can see he’s smiling.
“I think you broke him,” Bishop says, handing me some nachos. “I’ve never seen him this distracted before a game.”
“Is that bad?” I ask, suddenly worried I’ve messed with his concentration.
Killian shakes his head. “Nah. Watch, he’s going to play out of his mind today. Nothing motivates my brother like having something to prove.”
“What does he have to prove?” I ask. “I already told him I love him.”
“That he deserves it,” Mari says quietly beside me, and her insight hits me square in the chest.
The first quarter flies by in a blur of action.
Shepherd plays like a man possessed, making perfect throws, evading defenders like he can see the future.
The crowd roars with every completed pass, but I’m watching him differently now.
I can see something in him that maybe I’ve never fully noticed before, a perfect balance of focus and joy, like he’s exactly where he belongs, doing exactly what he was born to do.
It makes my chest tighten with a feeling I’m still getting used to.
A whole lot of pride, loyalty, and…love.
When halftime comes, the Rush are up by two touchdowns, both thrown by Shepherd with a precision that has the commentators raving. I haven’t checked my phone, though I can feel it constantly vibrating in my pocket with notifications.
“You might want to turn that off,” Mari suggests, noticing my hand hovering over my pocket. “Unless you want to see yourself becoming a meme in real time.”
“Is it really that bad?” I ask, finally pulling out my phone to find it flooded with text messages, social media notifications, and even a few calls from numbers I don’t recognize.
“Not bad,” Bishop says, leaning over to look. “Just…viral.”
I open social media to find #ShepherdHaynesLoveStory trending alongside clips of both Shepherd’s performance and my shouted response.
There are already fan edits set to romantic music, slow-motion versions, and countless comments analyzing every second of our exchange.
I scroll through my phone, dumbfounded at how quickly this moment has spread across the internet.
Someone’s already created a fan account called “@HaynesGirlfriend” with my blurry stadium photo as the profile picture.
There are countless comments analyzing my reaction, Shepherd’s dance moves, and what it all means.
“Oh my God,” I mutter, showing Mari a particularly dramatic edit someone’s made with hearts and sparkles floating around Shepherd’s face as he mouths the lyrics. “This is surreal.”
“Welcome to dating a football star,” Killian says with a smirk. “Hope you’re ready for this level of attention.”
I should be panicking. Public attention has always been something I’ve actively avoided. Staying under the radar, invisible, was how I survived for so long. But strangely, I don’t feel that familiar anxiety clawing at my throat anymore. Instead, there’s something almost…liberating about it all.
“I thought this would terrify me more,” I admit, putting my phone away. “But I’m actually okay.”
Mari squeezes my hand. “That’s because you’re not hiding anymore. There’s power in being seen on your own terms.”
Her words hit me with unexpected force.
There is power in being seen on my own terms.
“You’re right,” I whisper, feeling something shift inside me. “I spent so long trying to be invisible because it felt safer. But this…” I gesture vaguely toward the field where Shepherd is returning for the second half, “this doesn’t feel scary.”
“Because it’s real,” Bishop says quietly. “And because he made sure you weren’t alone in it.”
“He wasn’t the only one.” I look around at the three people sitting with me; Mari, my constant support through everything; Killian and Bishop, who’ve somehow become protective older brothers I never knew I needed.
And down on that field, Shepherd, who just made himself completely vulnerable in front of thousands of people just to make me feel safe.
“I’ve never had this before,” I admit, my voice catching. “People who would stand by me no matter what.”
“Well, get used to it,” Killian says, throwing an arm around my shoulders. “Haynes men are notoriously loyal. And annoying. But mostly loyal.”
A laugh forces its way out through my tears. “I’ll take annoying and loyal any day and be grateful for it.”
The second half starts with the same intensity as the first. I find myself on my feet more often than not, cheering louder than I ever have before, my voice joining the chorus of thousands.
I try to analyze plays, asking Bishop and Killian questions about strategies, learning the rhythm of the game in a way I never cared to before.
Because now it’s not just football. It’s Shepherd’s passion.
It’s his world, and I want to understand every part of it.
When the final whistle blows, the Rush have won by three touchdowns, and Shepherd has thrown for over three hundred yards.
The crowd is delirious with excitement, and I find myself jumping up and down like a child, high-fiving Mari and Shepherd’s brothers.
“He was incredible,” I say, my voice hoarse from shouting.
“He was showing off for you,” Killian laughs, checking his phone. “Come on, we’ve got field passes.”
“We what?” I stare at him.
“You didn’t think he’d leave you up here after all that, did you?” Bishop grins, already guiding us toward a nearby stairwell where a security guard is waiting.
My heart races as we’re escorted down to field level.
The energy here is completely different, raw, immediate, overwhelming.
Players tower over us, sweaty and triumphant.
Reporters with microphones and cameras hover at the edges, waiting to pounce.
But I barely register any of it because there he is, standing at the center of it all, scanning the crowd until his eyes find mine.
Shepherd’s face breaks into that smile—that one that’s just for me—and he excuses himself from an interview, jogging over to where we stand. He’s still in his uniform, his hair matted from his helmet, and I’ve never seen anything more beautiful in my life.
He doesn’t keep his distance and he doesn’t ask permission this time.
The moment he makes it to where I’m standing he picks me up and swings me in his arms and then his lips are on mine soft but urgent.
The kiss leaves me breathless, my body molding against his as if we’ve done this a hundred times before.
When he finally pulls back, his eyes are shining with a mixture of victory, adrenaline, and something much deeper.
“Hey.”
“Hey, yourself.”
“You said it,” he whispers against my lips, his hands still holding me close. “You actually said it.”
“I did,” I admit, unable to stop smiling. “In front of thousands of people. What have you done to me, Haynes?”
He laughs, the sound vibrating through his chest and into mine. “Fuck, I love you so damn much.”
“I love you too,” I tell him. “That was quite a show you put on,” I reach up to brush a strand of sweaty hair from his forehead. “You and the entire team. How did you even convince them to do that?”
“Didn’t take much convincing,” he says with a grin. “Turns out they’re all hopeless romantics at heart and they love you almost as much as I do. Plus, I may have promised to cover any fines they get.”
“Speaking of fines,” I glance toward Coach Wilson who’s watching us with a mixture of exasperation and fondness. “Are you in trouble?”
Shepherd laughs. “Oh, hell yeah. I’m in trouble.” He kisses me one more time and then smirks when he says, “But it’s worth every fucking penny.”