Crossing lines (Noah and Aiden) novel Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Aiden

There was a time when I would have been the one standing beneath those glaring stadium lights—not pacing the sidelines barking orders or clutching a clipboard like some corporate drone. No, I was made for the chaos of the field, for the roar of the crowd, for the pressure that crushed and fueled you all at once.

I had made it—starting quarterback, at the peak of my career, living the dream that so many chased. But then everything shattered in an instant: a car crash that tore through my ACL, MCL, and cartilage like paper. They called it a clean break. I knew better. That was just a polite way of saying my playing days were over.

After that, my world shrank to the size of a rehab room. The noise faded away—no more roaring crowds, no more adrenaline-fueled glory. Just isolation, endless physical therapy, and a gnawing hunger to still mean something, to still matter.

That desperate need brought me here.

Coaching had never been part of the plan. But from the wreckage, I built something new. I got good at it—damn good. And now, they’d hired me to do what no one else had managed in a decade: lead the Wolves to a championship.

They were broken. Undisciplined. They needed structure, fear if necessary, and someone who could push them beyond their limits.

I’d spent months preparing for this moment.

Every player on the summer roster was handpicked, but there was one I fought hardest for.

Noah Blake.

Undisciplined, arrogant, raw as hell.

But insanely talented. He had the instincts, the drive, the fire—things you can’t teach. Beneath all that defiance was potential. A player I could shape into a weapon.

If I could break him first.

That was the plan for today: get through drills, test the new recruits, start building the wall of discipline.

But my mind wasn’t on the practice.

It was stuck on last night.

I shouldn’t have opened ObeyNet. Not during camp, not with my schedule already packed. But some part of me needed it. That hidden side of myself—the one craving control in a world that only respects winners, not those who hunger for power in the shadows.

It was supposed to be a simple outlet. A way to control, to release.

Then he messaged me.

Anonymous. Bratty. Arrogant as hell.

But beneath that bluster, something cracked.

He was angry, defensive, scared of how much he liked what I offered. Yet he kept responding. When he insisted he was straight, firing messages like bullets, trying to outrun himself—I knew I had him.

My new baby boy.

And then he disappeared.

But the taste lingered.

So when I stepped onto the field this morning, my thoughts weren’t on team strategy or dynamics.

They were on control.

That’s when I spotted him—my brand-new quarterback.

Tall, broad-shouldered, muscles straining beneath the team polo. His eyes sharp, almost dangerous.

He glanced at me like he’d seen a ghost, then looked away, his mind clearly somewhere else, half-absent.

I didn’t hesitate. That was my excuse to call him into my office after practice.

There was something about him—the hunted look in his eyes, or maybe the silent dare he threw at me to dig deeper. I’d already guessed he’d be my biggest challenge… and, if I was lucky, my most rewarding one.

Practice resumed after a short break.

My gaze locked onto him immediately.

His blonde hair caught the sunlight, damp with sweat, falling over tanned shoulders as he jogged toward us, towel in hand—

And late.

He joined the line twelve seconds after I blew the whistle. Just enough to irritate me. Not enough to call out without seeming petty.

But I noticed.

That look—the one players wear when they’re trying too hard to seem indifferent.

Relaxed arms, loose shoulders, a fake smirk plastered on. But his jaw was tight, eyes flicking toward me and away, like I made him nervous and he didn’t want me to see it.

Intriguing.

His form was solid. But his timing was off. Slow to react to snaps, to pressure, to my voice.

Not lazy.

Distracted.

That annoyed me more than it should have.

I’d seen what this kid could do on tape—fast, natural, born to lead.

But this version of him?

Half-present, second-guessing, holding back?

I wouldn’t stand for it.

If I was going to trust him with my offense, he needed to step up.

And he would.

I’d make damn sure of it.

I kept my eyes on the rest of the team through the final drills, but every time he moved, I clocked it. Every glance, every flinch, every missed chance to dominate the field like I knew he could.

He was underperforming. Worse—he was holding back.

And I was going to find out why.

When training wrapped, I grabbed my water, checked my notes, and headed back inside.

No need to call him.

He already knew where to find me.

I was behind my desk when he walked in.

No knock. No apology. Just that confident swagger—shoulders tense, eyes carefully neutral, like he hadn’t just blown half of today’s drills.

He stood a little too tall, like he was trying to hide something. He didn’t say a word. Good.

I let the silence stretch, watching him shift uncomfortably under my gaze. They’d warned me he was trouble—he looked the part.

But he also looked like a damn highlight reel. If only I could get him to pull his head out of his ass.

“Close the door,” I said.

He complied.

“You talk like you’re in charge,” I said quietly, “but deep down, you’re terrified.”

He stiffened.

“You don’t know me,” he muttered. “You don’t know shit, Mercer.”

I stopped.

Leaning in just enough to feel him freeze.

“It’s Coach Mercer,” I corrected softly.

“Sir… to you.”

He stayed silent.

I waited.

One breath. Two.

Then, voice tight and barely audible:

“Y-yes, Sir.”

His ears reddened.

His hands clenched into fists.

He tried to hold it together, but his body betrayed him—tense shoulders, shallow breath, that flicker in his eyes, somewhere between anger and something darker.

I watched it all—studied him carefully.

My curiosity was pulling me into dangerous territory.

“I expect obedience when I give an order. No hesitation. Understood?” I softened my tone just enough.

He nodded.

“Yes, Sir.”

I swallowed.

It was almost the same thrill I’d felt last night—

That delicious edge. The bratty tone. The defiance barely held back.

No.

It couldn’t be.

I hadn’t heard the boy’s voice online.

But something about Noah…

The tension. The attitude. The fire—

Felt unmistakably familiar.

I stood there a moment longer, watching him leave my office as if he hadn’t just flipped a switch inside me.

And I knew—

If I wasn’t careful, this was going to become a very dangerous game.