“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?” Sebastianstands 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.”
