Chapter 63
Sienna's POV
That evening after dinner—which had been another quiet, almost domestic affair where Hayes had insisted on cutting my food—I retreated upstairs, telling myself I needed to properly organize the day's data.
But sitting at the desk in the misty blue bedroom, staring at my laptop screen, I couldn't focus on work at all. My mind kept circling back to the training field, to Hayes's knowing look when he'd caught me watching him, to the way my body had responded to his proximity in the car.
I stood up abruptly, pacing to the window. The view looked out over Silver Pine Valley's rolling hills. The moon painted everything in silver-white tones.
Maybe water would help clear my head. I headed downstairs, padding quietly in the slippers.
When I reached the first floor, the living room lights were dim, only the TV screen glowing. I paused at the bottom of the stairs, and my breath caught.
Hayes sat on the couch, just like last night, with an ice pack on his left knee. His data tablet lay on the table beside him. Game replay footage played on the television—some other team's match, defensive formations and offensive plays flickering across the screen.
I should have turned around. Should have gone back upstairs before he noticed me.
Instead, I found myself walking toward the kitchen. Found a glass, filled it with water. Stood at the counter drinking slowly, trying to gather my courage.
When I walked back through the living room, Hayes had paused the footage. His eyes tracked me as I approached, questioning but not demanding.
I stopped beside the couch. On the TV screen, frozen mid-play, I could see the opposing quarterback's cleats clearly—RapidStep's latest mass-production model, distinctive tread patterns visible even in the paused frame.
I stared at the image for a few seconds, my mind automatically cataloging the design flaws I could see even from this distance. Then, before I could second-guess myself, I spoke.
"I'll watch too."
Hayes looked up at me, surprise flickering across his features.
I added quickly, trying to keep my voice professional even though my heart was pounding, "I need to see how other players' shoes wear, their force generation patterns. It'll help with adjustments to your footwear design."
I spoke fast, the words tumbling out as if I could convince both of us that this was purely work-related. As if I wasn't choosing to sit beside him because I wanted to be near him.
Hayes was quiet for a moment. Just watched me with those steady gray-blue eyes.
Then, without a word, he shifted over on the couch, making space beside him. Picked up the remote and lowered the volume slightly, as if he'd been expecting this all along.
I sat down slowly, acutely aware of how close we were. Close enough that I could smell the faint cedar scent of his body wash mixed with the cool dampness from the melting ice pack. Close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his body.
I tried to relax but my entire frame stayed tense, perched on the edge of the cushion like I might need to flee at any moment.
Hayes pressed play and the game resumed. Footage switched to slow-motion replay: the quarterback dropping back, scanning for receivers, releasing the ball in a tight spiral. The camera followed the play development, cutting between different angles.
I stared at the screen, forcing myself to focus on analyzing mechanics and footwork patterns. But my attention kept fragmenting, pulled toward Hayes beside me.
Every so often his throat would move when he saw a particularly good play, or his shoulders would shift as he leaned forward to watch a replay more closely.
The ice pack on his knee had melted halfway, water droplets sliding down the plastic bag. I watched one drip onto the hardwood floor, then another.
My gaze stayed fixed on that slipping ice pack. I knew from experience that melted ice was useless—it needed to stay cold to be effective.
I hesitated for several seconds, then my body moved on its own.
I went to get a fresh ice pack from the freezer and applied it to his knee.
The moment my hand made contact, Hayes went completely still.
I felt it—the way his breathing stopped for a heartbeat, the way every muscle in his body seemed to lock up. But I didn't pull away, just finished adjusting the pack with careful precision, making sure it was positioned exactly right over the painful area.
"At least twenty minutes," I said quietly, my voice barely above a whisper. "Don't take it off early."
The words came automatically. The same instruction I'd given him countless times before, back when taking care of him had been as natural as breathing.
Hayes turned his head to look at me, and I finally forced myself to meet his eyes.
Something that looked almost like confirmation, like relief.
Confirmation that I still instinctively cared for him. That six years hadn't erased the habit of looking after him.
I realized what I'd just done and my fingers froze. Heat flooded my face as I quickly pulled my hand back, tucking it against my side.
"The ice pack melted," I said, the words coming out defensive and too fast. As if I could reframe this as casual assistance rather than the deeply ingrained care it actually was.
But we both knew this wasn't casual.
Hayes was quiet for a long moment. Just kept watching me with that intense, searching gaze. Then, slowly, he turned back to face the TV screen.
The atmosphere in the living room shifted, becoming something quieter and softer. The game continued playing but neither of us was really watching anymore. We sat there in the dim light, close enough that I could feel the warmth of his body beside mine, far enough apart that we weren't actually touching.
As if we'd finally sat back down beside each other again.