Chapter 66
Sienna's POV
Game day morning arrived faster than I was ready for.
I woke at 7 a.m. to the sound of movement downstairs—Hayes, already up and going through his pre-game routine. I lay there for a few minutes, staring at the ceiling, my mind still processing everything from yesterday.
I forced myself out of bed, pulled on a soft gray long-sleeve shirt and leggings, and headed downstairs.
When I reached the first floor, Hayes was standing in the entryway in his Saints travel gear—a fitted navy quarter-zip and dark athletic pants. His duffel bag sat by the door, tactical tablet and car keys arranged neatly beside a pair of training shoes he'd set out.
He was bent over slightly, lacing up the shoes—specialized pre-game trainers, not the cleats he'd wear on the field, but engineered with the same principles.
He looked up when he saw me, his movements pausing for a beat. "Morning."
"Morning." My voice came out tight.
Hayes finished with the laces and straightened, checking his watch—a habitual gesture. He picked up the bag and headed for the door.
"Wait."
The word escaped before I could think.
Hayes stopped, turned to look at me, confusion flickering in his eyes.
I walked up to him quickly. "Sit for a second," I said, gesturing to the bench by the entryway.
He hesitated, then set down his bag and sat.
I knelt in front of him, not giving myself time to overthink, and began adjusting his laces.
Left foot—slightly tighter. His left foot lands first, needs stronger support.
Right foot—slightly looser. Old ankle injury means too much compression restricts flexibility.
My fingers moved over the laces, pure muscle memory taking control. Every movement so familiar, as if I'd never stopped doing this.
The air suddenly went very quiet.
I could feel Hayes staring down at me.
I finished the last adjustment and stood up. My face was burning.
"The new sole design requires readjusting to landing angles," I said quickly, not daring to meet his eyes. "Lace tension affects force feedback. If they're not calibrated right, you'll feel it during your cuts—"
"Sienna."
Hayes's voice was low, cutting off my words.
I finally looked up.
His eyes were so deep I could barely breathe. Like he was confirming something, or restraining something.
"Thank you," he finally said, his voice carrying an emotion I couldn't fully read.
He picked up his duffel and walked to the door. His hand paused on the doorknob.
"Game starts at 2 p.m." He didn't turn around, but his voice was clear. A pause. "There'll be a spot in the technical zone. I've cleared it."
He was inviting me to watch the game live.
Not ordering, not arranging. Inviting.
"I'll be there," I heard myself say, my voice steadier than expected.
Hayes's shoulders relaxed just a fraction—a change so subtle it was almost invisible, but I caught it.
Then he opened the door and left.
I stood in the empty entryway, staring at the closed door, my heartbeat still not back to normal.
After Hayes left, I wandered the villa for a while, thinking about how to celebrate his birthday but coming up completely blank.
I stopped at the kitchen doorway, watching Cindy organize the breakfast dishes. I realized what I should do.
I stepped into the kitchen.
"Cindy?"
She looked up, saw me standing in the doorway, and smiled warmly. "Good morning, Sienna. Need something?"
I took a deep breath. My fingers clutched at my sides.
"Can I... ask you something?"
My voice came out lower than usual, clearly uncertain.
Cindy immediately set down her cloth and walked to the island. "Of course." She poured me a glass of water, her movements natural and gentle. "Take your time, don't be nervous."
I took the glass, trying to make my tone sound casual.
"I want to... make dinner myself tonight." A pause. "I mean, Hayes has done so much for me, I wanted to... show my appreciation."
The words came out halting. I knew this excuse didn't hold water, but I said it anyway.
A knowing look flashed in Cindy's eyes, her smile gentle.
Of course she knew what day it was. She'd been taking care of Hayes for so many years, she'd never forget his birthday.
"That's a lovely idea," Cindy nodded, her tone as natural as discussing an ordinary work arrangement. "What would you like to make? Do you need help preparing ingredients?"
I felt relieved, but immediately faced a new dilemma.
I bit my lip. "I... actually don't know what he likes to eat now."
I quickly added: "I mean, I don't want to make a whole table of food he doesn't like, that would be... wasteful."
Another practical excuse.
Cindy watched me trying to maintain composure, her eyes growing softer.
She wiped her hands on her apron and walked to the fridge. "Hayes's tastes are actually quite simple. He doesn't like overly complex seasonings, prefers natural flavors."
She pulled out several ingredients, placing them one by one on the island.
"Steak, medium-rare, just sea salt and black pepper, no sauce."
"Roasted vegetables, he likes asparagus and Brussels sprouts, simple olive oil and garlic treatment."
"For the main course, he prefers roasted potatoes over pasta or rice."
She paused, something complex flickering in her eyes.
"Dessert... he used to love lemon tart. But I haven't seen him eat it in years."
Lemon tart.
Memories washed over me like a tide.
In high school, I'd made lemon tart for Hayes a few times. He always said "sweet and sour, just like you." Then he'd save the last piece until late at night, eating it slowly after finishing his homework.
I lowered my eyes, my voice dropping. "...I can make lemon tart."
Cindy looked at me, her eyes warm. "Then make it. He'll be so happy."
As if suddenly remembering something, she added: "Oh, David and I have plans tonight, we won't be at the villa." She said it naturally, like stating an ordinary arrangement. "You two can... enjoy dinner without worrying about interruptions."
My face instantly turned red.
"It's not—don't misunderstand, I just—"
I stumbled over my words, not knowing how to explain.
Cindy smiled and patted my shoulder. "I'm not misunderstanding anything."
But her eyes clearly said "I know exactly what's going on."
She walked to the storage cabinet and pulled out a bottle of wine. The deep red bottle bore an elegant French label.
"This is his treasured Lafite, perfect with steak tonight." She handed me the bottle, saying seriously: "He deserves to be treated well, Sienna."
The words were spoken lightly, but I understood.
Cindy was telling me that Hayes had had a hard few years. He needed someone to genuinely care for him.
I took the bottle, my throat tight. "...Thank you, Cindy."
"You're welcome." Cindy smiled gently. "I'll prepare the ingredients for you." She paused, looking at me. "Go watch his game early."