Chapter 67
Sienna's POV
After putting the finished lemon tarts in the refrigerator and giving Cindy instructions, I rushed to the stadium...
At 1:15 p.m., I stood outside Behemoth Stadium with my staff credentials, my heart racing abnormally fast.
The stadium's scale was more overwhelming than I'd imagined. The massive silver exterior gleamed in the sunlight, crowds surging in from all directions, excited chatter rising and falling like waves.
I followed staff directions, passed through security, and made my way toward the field-level technical zone.
When I actually entered the stadium interior, the sound hit me like a wall.
The roar of sixty thousand people compressed into something almost physical, bouncing between concrete and steel, vibrating in my chest. The air smelled of hot dogs, turf, and the electric charge of anticipation.
I was led to the field-level technical zone—a small area separated by railings, filled with equipment staff, team doctors, and other personnel.
I found a spot near the sideline and opened my clipboard. Tried to make myself look professional, objective, just here to do a job.
But when the Saints ran out from the tunnel and the entire stadium erupted in deafening cheers, my facade nearly crumbled.
Because Hayes was right there.
Number 7. Deep blue jersey. Warming up on the field, high-fiving teammates, running passing drills.
It had been too many years.
For six years, I'd forced myself not to watch his games. Because seeing him standing at the center of the field reminded me of my decision to leave. Reminded me of the disappointment and anger in his eyes.
But now, I didn't have to hide anymore.
I could openly watch him.
Watch him do what he did best. Watch him shine in his world.
The whistle blew.
The stadium exploded.
The game began.
---
The first quarter passed in a blur of motion and noise.
The Saints offense moved well, steady and controlled, but the opposing defense kept adjusting coverage, forcing Hayes into increasingly improvised decisions.
And Hayes rose to every single challenge.
Watching him work in real time, I viscerally understood why he was considered one of the best in the league. It wasn't just athleticism. It was the way his brain processed the field—the quarter-second pause before the snap where you could almost see him recalibrate everything, reread every defender, and then execute with absolute precision.
By the second quarter I'd basically given up pretending to look at anything else.
I watched him take a hit on a third-down scramble and absorb it cleanly, his body angling away from contact exactly as trained. Watched him shake it off and jog back to the huddle without breaking rhythm.
I exhaled slowly.
---
Second quarter, the Saints were at the opponent's 30-yard line.
Third down, 7 yards to go.
Hayes took the snap, dropped back three steps. The defensive line pushed through, he moved in the pocket, eyes scanning for receivers.
One second.
Two seconds.
Then he found the gap, arm raised, the ball flying in a perfect arc—
The receiver caught it in the end zone.
Touchdown.
The crowd erupted.
Sixty thousand people on their feet simultaneously, the cheers ringing in my ears.
Hayes's chest heaved violently. He turned to celebrate with teammates, high-fiving, embracing.
Then he did something.
His gaze swept toward the field-level technical zone.
Not a casual glance. A purposeful search.
Then his eyes stopped on me.
My breath stopped.
Across forty yards of turf, through noise and chaos and sixty thousand cheering fans, Hayes looked at me.
Less than two seconds. But enough to make my heart race almost to suffocation.
Because I suddenly realized—
He still instinctively looked for me.
Just like many years ago.
---
The rest of the game I spent oscillating between tension and elation.
With thirty seconds left, my breathing stopped completely.
Hayes took the snap, turned, started sprinting.
A defensive player charged from the side, Hayes made a sharp cut, the opponent missed completely.
20-yard line.
10-yard line.
5 yards.
Hayes burst into the end zone, dropped to one knee, ball firmly pressed to the turf.
Touchdown.
The stadium instantly went insane.
The clock froze—game over. 28-17. Saints won.
---
Hayes's POV
The locker room was chaos.
Music pounded, making eardrums throb, champagne bubbles mixing with teammates' cheers, someone singing an off-key victory song, someone livestreaming on their phone, the entire space filled with sweat, analgesic spray, and the smell of victory.
I sat in front of my locker, slowly removing my pads. The sweat-soaked jersey clung to my body, my right knee throbbing dully—that final touchdown sprint had pushed too hard.
But worth it.
Completely worth it.
Because she was watching.
"Yo, Hayes!"
Tyler strolled over with a champagne bottle, grinning like an idiot. "Dude, what did you eat today? I've never seen you run that fast!"
I pulled off my jersey, ignored him.
"I know the reason." Jamal walked over from the other side, wearing that punchable smile. "Doesn't Sienna come with a hidden buff? I swear, after today's touchdown his first move was looking at the sideline, I thought he was going to rush over and kiss Sienna."
The locker room instantly erupted in laughter.
Someone whistled, someone started chanting "Kiss! Kiss!", and some asshole pointed his phone at me recording.
I grabbed a towel to wipe my face, let out a low laugh. "Shut up."
But I knew there was zero threat in my tone.
Tyler immediately seized on this opening, dramatically clutching his chest: "Oh my God, he laughed! Hayes actually laughed!" He turned to the others, "Bros, remember this moment, we're witnessing history!"
"Get lost." I said, but my mouth was still curved.
"So," Tyler leaned in, voice low but loud enough for everyone around to hear, "when are you going to make it official?"
I shot him a look. "Mind your own business."
"He's basically admitting it!" Jamal shouted. "I told you they definitely have something going—"
I threw the wet towel at his face.
Another burst of laughter in the locker room.
But I didn't deny it. Didn't coldly tell them to shut up like I used to.
Because honestly, I didn't know how to deny it.
She came today.
Standing in the field-level technical zone, I knew she was watching me.