“And volunteering?” I prompt.
“Yeah, I volunteer at a homeless shelter not far from here actually,” she says with a nod. “And the local food pantry across town.”
“That’s impressive.”
Her eyes flicker with something, surprise maybe, or wariness at having shared something personal.
“It’s just a few hours a week,” she says with a shrug that’s meant to minimize her efforts, but I can tell it matters to her. “Nothing special.”
“It is special,” I counter. “Most people talk about helping others. You’re out there doing it.”
She lifts a shoulder. “I wish it was more. So many people in this town are in need, you know? Nobodyhas enough money. Money for a warm house or money to put food on the table or clothes for their kids. It’s frustrating to watch people struggle or suffer. They’re no different than me.” She gestures to me. “Or you.”
I huff a quiet breath. “Except that I get paid millions to play a game,” I say softly. I’m beginning to see why she was ranting about professional sports the first night I saw her. She wasn’t just complaining to complain. She sees the underprivileged life. She works with them and for them. Her heart is massive and that…hell, that makes me feel a certain way.
She turns abruptly, a blush crawling up her chilled cheeks. “I’m sorry, Shepherd, I wasn’t trying to?—”
“It’s okay,” I interrupt with a brief shake of my head. “Like I said that first night I saw you, you’re not wrong.”
“It’s just frustrating,” she says, looking away. “I see people struggling every day while others have so much.”
“I get that.” I hesitate, then decide to ask, “Is that why you were so hard on me when we first met? Because of what I represent?”
She walks a few steps in silence, and I wonder if I’ve pushed too far.
“Partly,” she admits finally. “But also, because most people with money and status…they don’t see the rest of us. Not really. They look through us, or they see what we can do for them.”
Her words hit me in the chest. I’ve seen it happen, teammates who forget where they came from, who start treating service workers like they’re invisible.
“For what it’s worth,” I tell her, “I try really hard not to be that guy.”
She glances at me, her expression softening. “I’m starting to believe that.”
We’ve reached the edge of the park now, where the path splits in different directions. She stops, and I realize our timemight be running short. I’m not ready for it to end but this being our first semi-date, I don’t want to push too much either.
“Which way is home for you?” I ask.
She smiles and points to a group of apartment buildings on the other side of the street. “Actually, I’m right there.”
A mix of disappointment and curiosity washes over me.
We’re at her place already?
“This is you?” I ask, looking up at the older brick building. It’s not in terrible shape but it definitely needs some maintenance. The fire escape zigzags down the side like an afterthought, and several windows have makeshift curtains that look more like bedsheets.
“Yeah,” she says, a hint of defensiveness in her voice. “Not quite what you’re used to, I’m sure.”
I shake my head. “Actually, I grew up in a place not much different than this. Until we moved to a small house in middle school we were four boys in a three-bedroom apartment with paper-thin walls and neighbors who fought at two in the morning.”
Her eyebrows lift slightly. “Really?”
“Really.” I smile, remembering. “My mom worked two jobs. Dad was a high school basketball coach. We didn’t have much, but we had enough. If nothing else, we had each other.” Glimpses of memories swim through my head at the mention of those years. The moments after we moved into a house where my parents couldn’t afford heat, or the few times our electricity was turned off.
She studies me like she’s trying to reconcile this information with whatever image she had of me. “I didn’t know that.”
“Why would you? It’s not exactly the story they tell in those player profiles.”
A chilly breeze sweeps through, and Sutton shivers slightly.This time I don’t hesitate. I shrug out of my sweatshirt before she can protest.
