Shepherd doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch, but his posture changes. He becomes more solid somehow, more immovable. “Funny, she doesn’t look like she’s enjoying the conversation.
“You okay?” Shepherd asks me quietly, his eyes never leaving Micah.
I nod, unable to trust my voice. My throat feels raw, like I’ve been screaming for hours even though I haven’t made a sound.
“We’re done here,” Shepherd says to Micah, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Micah’s face darkens, but his smile remains fixed in place like a mask that doesn’t quite fit. “Of course we are.” He looks me up and down one more time. “For now.”
My stomach twists into knots as he turns and walks away, his footsteps echoing down the hallway. “Good game, Haynes!”
Oh, my God, I feel like I might throw up. The world around me seems too bright and too loud, and I can’t catch my breath.
“Sutton.” Shepherd’s voice cuts through the fog. His hands hover near my shoulders, not quite touching me. “What was that? What did he say to you?”
I shake my head, not wanting to form words in fear that I’ll vomit all over the place. “Nothing. It’s…it’s fine. What did they say?” I ask, turning the conversation back to him.
“Bruised ribs. I’m out the next game but I’ll be fine.” He cups my face in his warm hands. “Are you sure you’re okay? Brannigan can be a real douche. Did he say anything to you? Because I swear to God, I’ve wanted to pound his?—”
“No. It’s fine, Shepherd,” I lie. “Let’s get you home.”
Shepherd’s eyes search my face, his concern evident in the slight furrow between his brows. I can feel him trying to read me, to see past the wall I’ve hastily constructed. But I can’t let him in right now. If I do, everything might come spilling out, and I’m not ready for that. Not here. Not with Micah’s presence still lingering in the air like a toxic cloud.
“Are you sure?” he asks, his voice low. “Because you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
That’s exactly what it felt like. A ghost from my past materializing in the one place I thought was safe. The irony isn’t lost on me.
“I’m fine,” I insist, forcing a smile that feels brittle even to me. “Just worried about you.”
He hesitates, clearly not buying it, but mercifully doesn’t push. Instead, he nods, wincing at the movement. “Yeah, okay. Let me get dressed and grab my stuff. I’ll shower at home.”
As we make our way through the stadium’s back corridors, I can’t shake the feeling of Micah’s eyes on me, his words slithering through my mind on repeat.
“They’re all animals in heat, Sutton. You’re just fresh meat.”
“That’s all you’ve ever been good for, Sutton. All you’ll ever be”
What if he’s right? If Micah works with the team like he says he does, he probably sees and hears more than I ever would. What if he notices all the women who hang out with the players? What if he knows for a fact that’s how Shepherd plays? What if he’s seen all the women Shepherd has been with? Why would he pick me, anyway? I have nothing to offer him. Hell, he even put me up in his guest house and for what? A couple of fucks?
Oh God…
No.
He wouldn’t…
Would he?
Fuck.
What if…
What if Micah and Shepherd are playing the same game…together?
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.
