Crossing lines (Noah and Aiden) novel Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Noah

This moment was the culmination of everything I’d fought for.

So why did an overwhelming urge to run away grip me so tightly?

The air was thick with the scent of fresh wealth and manicured lawns. The campus spread out before me like a scene from a glossy magazine—pristine, polished, and utterly unwelcoming to someone like me. A place like this only opened its doors to guys like me if there’d been some tragic vacancy or a scandal to clear the way.

Yet, here I was. The rookie quarterback for the Texas Wolves. The top pick from the brutal summer tryouts. A one-in-a-million chance that somehow landed in my lap.

I’d arrived that very morning, flown in and handed a branded duffle bag, a dorm key, a printed schedule, and a congratulations that barely pierced the roaring in my chest. Everything was moving at a dizzying speed—too fast to catch my breath.

They told me I’d earned this spot. Said I was a natural. Said I had potential. And yeah, I did. But still, a knot of panic clung to my throat like smoke, choking me.

This wasn’t just college football. This was the big leagues.

This was everything.

And I wasn’t about to show up looking like some charity case who’d slipped through the cracks. I knew how this worked. If I wanted respect, I had to earn it from the very first snap. No excuses. No second chances. No room for mistakes.

I wasn’t here to make friends.

I was here to dominate.

Still…

A good first impression never hurt anyone.

Especially when you came from the garbage heap I’d just escaped. Now, I stood outside a frat-style mansion where the team’s summer welcome party was already in full swing.

I’d dressed down—tight jeans, a sleeveless tee, and my Wolves cap pulled low over my eyes. I looked like I cared, but without trying too hard. That was the trick. Walk in, smirk, toss out a few cocky one-liners, act like I’d been part of this world forever. Fake it ‘til you own it.

No one was going to treat me like a fluke here.

Like they had my entire life.

Still, my palms were slick with sweat as I pushed open the front door.

Inside, chaos reigned. Loud music pounded from speakers, red Solo cups littered every surface, a beer pong game raged on one side, and a pool table was crowded on the other. The air was thick with testosterone and sweat.

Heads turned as I stepped in.

I smirked.

Gave a nod.

The classic cocky, “Yeah, I’m that guy” look.

Someone clapped me on the back and shouted, “Yo, QB1!” like we were old friends.

I chuckled, sharp and shallow, but inside I was scanning the room for exits.

I grabbed a drink and nursed it slowly, letting the others talk, letting them size me up. I stayed cocky enough to earn a place in the circle but not so much as to come off like a jerk.

Then the conversation shifted.

“—Nah, man, some of those subs on ObeyNet are legit famous. I swear I recognized one last year. Looked like he played for the Panthers.”

“Bullshit. No way they’d risk that.”

“You’d be surprised. It’s all anonymous. Full of freaks. Even betas like you could get some action.”

Laughter broke out. Someone made a choking noise with their beer. Another guy joked, “I signed up once—some dude tried to get me to call him Daddy and bark. I was out.”

My heart slammed against my ribs.

ObeyNet.

I’d heard the name whispered online before. Nothing I’d ever dared to click on. But something about it gave me chills, like a spider crawling up my spine.

I forced a laugh. “Sounds like a blast. Maybe I’ll sign up and show them how a real man handles a leash.”

More laughter. One guy nudged me with his elbow. “Damn, rookie’s freaky. Respect.”

I played it cool. Smiled, sipped my drink.

But inside, my mind wouldn’t shut up.

By midnight, I found myself back in my dorm room. Alone. Restless. The bitter aftertaste of cheap beer and false bravado still lingering on my tongue.

The silence was deafening compared to the party.

I sat on the edge of my bed, my phone in hand, thumb hovering over the browser.

Just curiosity, I told myself. Just a quick look. Nothing weird.

ObeyNet.

I typed it in and set up a simple account.

Inside, the site was a maze of shadows and neon lights.

Forum threads, profiles, recordings.

Everything from commands to confessions to… audio clips.

That’s where my eyes locked on.

Mr. A.

Top-rated. Anonymous. His profile picture was a stark black-and-white image—a polished suit and a gloved hand gripping a belt.

I clicked.

And time seemed to freeze.

His voice hit me like gravity.

Low. Calm. Controlled.

Not loud or aggressive—just steady and commanding. Every word measured and precise, like he was already inside your mind, no need to raise his voice to make you obey.

My skin flushed. My mouth went dry.

Half of what he said went over my head—but damn if I wasn’t hard anyway.

Shame flared hot in my chest.

What the hell was wrong with me?

I shouldn’t be into this. I wasn’t into guys. I wasn’t into this kind of thing. Not like that. Not for real.

Still…

My fingers hovered over the message button.

I stared. Hesitated. Heard my father’s voice echoing in my mind—my worst demon—shaming me, calling me weak. I squeezed my eyes shut.

Just once, I told myself. Just messing around.

Right.

Before I could think twice, I typed:

“I bet you can’t handle me.”

I hit send before I could back out. Smirked. Then waited.

I read it again.

Baby boy.

God…

Fuck.

I dropped the phone like it was burning me.

The screen lit up again.

Mr. A:

“Sleep tight. You’ll be mine before you’re ready to admit it.”

The chat ended. He was gone.

But that line—breathe, baby boy—echoed in my mind like a whispered command, not just typed words.

The next morning was worse.

I barely slept. My head throbbed. I looked like hell and felt even worse, but we had our first team meeting with the new star coach. I threw on my gear, splashed cold water on my face, and jogged across campus to the team facility.

The Wolves’ training hall was all steel, glass, and sweat. Players poured in, loud and confident. Some still carried the haze of last night’s partying. I tried to keep my head down, sitting near the back, but everyone knew who I was.

New QB. New hope.

I already hated it.

Someone shouted, “Heads up! Coach’s coming!”

The room shifted instantly. Postures straightened. Voices dropped.

I turned—and the world narrowed to a single moment.

He entered like he owned every inch of us.

Tall, broad, impeccably put together. Solid. Like a wall you couldn’t budge even if you tried. Dressed in black slacks and a team polo that hugged his arms like armor.

But the moment he spoke, my blood froze.

“Morning, boys. I’m Coach Mercer. You already know what’s expected this season. I’m not here to babysit you—I’m here to push you, break you, and rebuild you into the best version of yourself. The one that will bring us a win.”

The room fell silent.

I forgot how to breathe.

It can’t be…

I looked away, each word echoing the voice from last night still seared into my brain.

The rest of the meeting blurred around me. My heart refused to settle. My thoughts scrambled, trying to convince myself it was just a coincidence. Right?

Then—his eyes locked on mine.

Blue steel. Impossible to read.

“Blake. You’re distracted. Your attitude needs work.”

My stomach dropped. Every warning bell in my head screamed, I know that voice.

And there was no denying it.

Keeping my head in the game was going to be a brutal fight.

He paused—just long enough to make it hurt.

“See me in my office after training. Alone.”