“I don’t know how to do this,” she admits, her voice breaking. Her eyes meet mine, filled with a vulnerability that makes my whole body ache. “What if I can’t ever fully trust anyone again? What if I’m too broken?”
“You’re not broken, Sutton. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met. And I’m so unbelievably sorry for what happened to you. The amount of guilt I feel because I can’t undo what he did to you is unfathomable. I wish to God I could, but I can’t.” I sigh trying like hell to show her as much sincere compassion as I can. “All I can do is show you, day after day, that I’m not him,” I say bringing my hand to my chest. “That what I feel for you, what we have together, isn’t at all what you had with him.”
Sutton’s pinky finger hooks into mine, a tiny connection that feels like the most important touch in the world right now. Her tears are slowing, but her eyes remain locked on our joined fingers like they hold some answer she’s been searching for.
“I want to believe you,” she whispers, her voice steadier than before. “I think part of me already does.”
My heart leaps at her words, but I keep my expression calm. This moment feels too fragile, too important to rush. “That’s all I can ask for,” I tell her. “Time and a chance to prove it to you.”
She takes a deep, shuddering breath and steps closer, closing the distance between us until she’s standing right in front of me. I can smell the vanilla of her shampoo, see the tiny flecks of gold in her dark eyes. “Will you hold me, Shepherd?”
Oh, thank fucking Christ.
The question slams into me, knocking the breath from my lungs. For a moment I don’t move, afraid that if I reach for her too quickly, she might change her mind or disappear altogether.
“Always,” I whisper, opening my arms to her. “Come here.”
I gently wrap my arms around her, mindful of my bruised ribs, and pull her against my chest. She feels so small in my embrace, so fragile yet impossibly strong at the same time. Her body trembles as she presses her face into my shirt, her hands clutching the fabric like she’s afraid I might disappear.
“I’ve got you,” I whisper into her hair. “I’ve always got you, Sutton.”
We stand like that for what feels like forever, just holding each other in the quiet of my workshop, surrounded by sawdust and half-finished projects. Her breathing gradually steadies, her body relaxing incrementally as if she’s finally allowing herself to let go of some of the tension she’s been carrying since we left the stadium.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbles against my chest.
I pull back just enough to look at her face, my hands moving to cup her cheeks. “Don’t. You have nothing to apologize for.”
“I shut you out.” Her eyes are red-rimmed but clearer now. “I let him get in my head. When I saw him today, it was like…like all the progress I’ve made over the years just vanished. Like I was that scared girl again, trapped and powerless.”
“You’re not powerless, Sutton. Not anymore,” I add, my thumb brushing away the last of her tears. “The fact that you’re standing here, telling me your truth, trusting me with it? That takes more courage than anything I’ve ever done on a football field.”
She leans into my touch, her eyes closing briefly. When they open again, there’s something different there. A quiet determination replacing the fear.
“I don’t want him to win,” she says softly. “I don’t want him to ruin this too.”
My heart swells at her words. “He won’t,” I promise. “Not unless we let him.”
Sutton nods, her hands still clutching my shirt. “I’ve spent so long running, Shepherd. So long looking over my shoulder and keeping people at a distance. I’m tired of living that way.”
“You don’t have to anymore.” I brush a strand of hair from her face, letting my fingers linger against her skin. “Whatever happens next, whatever you need—space, time, protection—I’m here. We figure this out together.”
She nods, her fingers curling tighter in my shirt. “I need you to promise me something.”
“Anything.”
“If you see him—if he comes near me again—you won’t do anything stupid.” Her eyes lock with mine, serious and intent. “I don’t want you risking your career over him. He’s not worth it.”
Every instinct in my body rebels against this promise. The thought of letting that bastard anywhere near her makes my blood boil. But I understand what she’s asking. She doesn’t want me to become the monster he is.
“I promise I won’t do anything stupid,” I say, my voice roughwith restraint. “But I won’t stand by and watch him disrespect the woman I love either.”
The corners of her mouth inch up, a fragile hope blooming across her face. She licks her lips, her voice soft and wishful when she asks, “Perhaps, if the day ever comes, maybe you would be willing to stand next to the woman you love while she tries to take her power back from the man who stole it from her?”
I nod, choking back my own tears when I tell her, “It would be my proudest moment.”
27
SUTTON
