Her eyes widen at my words, something vulnerable flickering across her face. I can feel her heart racing where our chests press together and then she sighs, her eyes closing as she inhales another deep breath and releases it slowly.
“I should probably…” She gestures vaguely downward, reminding me we’re still connected.
“Right.” I ease out of her carefully, both of us wincing atthe loss of contact. “I’ll be right back.” I head to the bathroom to dispose of the condom, catching sight of myself in the mirror. I barely recognize the man in the reflection—my eyes bright, my expression open in a way it hasn’t been in years. Maybe ever.
When I return to the bedroom, I’m struck by the sight of Sutton sitting up against the headboard, my shirt pulled back on, her knees drawn to her chest. She looks small and vulnerable, and something protective surges through me. I grab a clean towel from the bathroom and bring it to her.
“Here,” I say softly. “If you want to clean up.”
“Thank you,” she murmurs, taking it from me with a small smile. She excuses herself to the restroom while I get us both a glass of water and turn out the lights in the living room and kitchen. When she’s back in my bed, I climb in beside her, leaving a respectable distance between us, unsure if she needs space after what just happened and all we’ve talked about. The storm has passed but the rain continues to drum against the windows, creating a calming sound around us.
“Are you okay?” I ask, searching her face. “Really okay?”
She nods slowly. “Better than okay, actually.” Her hand finds mine on the mattress between us, her fingers threading through mine. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For…” She hesitates, looking down at our joined hands. “For being gentle. For making me feel safe. For seeing me. Even the parts I try to hide.”
Something in my chest cracks open at her words.
For seeing me.
Such a simple phrase, but I know exactly what she means. In a world where people look at me and see a jersey number, statistics, or a ticket to social media fame, Sutton sees beyond all that. And I see her too. Not as the defensive bartender or thewoman with walls, but as someone brave and beautiful who’s fighting her way back to herself.
“I do see you, Sutton. And everything I see, I…” I trail off, not wanting to overwhelm her with words she might not be ready to hear. “I admire. I respect. I want.”
She slides closer to me, and I lift my arm so she can nestle against my chest. Her hair tickles my chin as she settles in, her breathing starting to even out. I press a kiss to the top of her head, inhaling the scent of my shampoo in her hair. There’s something deeply intimate about that. Her wearing my clothes, using my soap, sleeping in my bed. Like she belongs here.
“I’m not sure how good at this I’ll be, Shepherd. What if I can’t be everything you need me to be?”
“Hey.” I tip her chin with my finger so she can see my face. “I don’t need you to be anyone but who you are. I’m head over heels for the girl who likes toothpaste flavored ice cream and collects broken teacups.” I shake my head. “The girl who challenges my every thought and argues with herself in the pouring down rain is the girl who makes me happier than I’ve been in a long time. I want you, Sutton. Nobody else. Just you. Okay?”
Her eyes are getting heavy. I can’t blame her one bit after the night of emotional turmoil she’s been through. But she nods and gives me the faintest of smiles as she tucks herself against my chest a little more and whispers, “Okay, Shepherd.”
22
SUTTON
Consciousness finds me before my eyelids lift. The warmth pulls me from sleep—not from blankets or morning light streaming through windows, but from the solid weight draped across my middle. His arm forms a barrier between me and the rest of the world, both anchor and sanctuary. I lie perfectly still, lungs barely drawing breath. One wrong move, one stray thought, and this moment might dissolve like morning mist, leaving me alone with just the memory of being held.
Behind me, Shepherd shifts slightly, his arm tightening instinctively around my waist like his body knows I’m awake before I do. “Don’t go anywhere,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep, his breath warm against the back of my neck.
My heart stutters. “I wasn’t going to,” I whisper. It’s not entirely a lie. I hadn’t planned on moving. I just…hadn’t necessarily planned on staying either.
His thumb drags slowly across my stomach, just beneath the hem of the shirt I’m wearing—his shirt—and my body reacts before my brain can catch up. A quiet inhale. A small shift closer. God, this is dangerous. Not because of him but because of how easily I could get used to this. Outside, raindrops cling tothe branches, falling occasionally to tap against the window glass—quiet afterthoughts of the downpour that moved on while we slept. Inside though, it feels like something has changed. Something I don’t know how to name.
“You’re thinking too loud,” he says softly.
I huff out the smallest laugh. “You can hear that?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s concerning.”
“Nah. Just one of my superpowers,” he corrects.
I roll in his arms so I can face him, and the moment I do, I regret it immediately because holy fucking shit. Morning Shepherd is unfair. His hair is a mess. His eyes are still heavy with sleep. There’s a faint crease on his cheek from the pillow, and he looks so relaxed—sounguarded—it hits me right in the chest. This version of him? This isn’t the big strong quarterback from the Portland Rush and this isn’t the calm fixer. This is just…Shepherd. A beautiful man who is looking at me like I’m his favorite thing in the world.
