Crossing lines (Noah and Aiden) novel Chapter 223

Chapter 223

Noah

“Why can’t I stay with you tonight?” Lexie’s lower lip quivered in that familiar, almost childlike pout that always made me feel like the bad guy.

“Lex,” I said softly, using the nickname because I couldn’t bring myself to say any of the others anymore. “I already told you—the team has to stay at the hotel.”

She tried to reason with me, her voice gentle but persistent. “I thought that rule was just before the game. I heard some of your guys are heading downtown to celebrate the win.”

I ran a hand over my face, exhaustion weighing heavy on me. “Then go with them. I’m wiped out. Took a brutal hit out there.”

I knew what she really wanted—some time alone with me, away from her family’s watchful eyes. But honestly, I wasn’t in the right shape. That tackle had rattled my head hard enough that even Coach nearly benched me for good. He was furious I went back in.

“We’ve got the semifinals in two days, okay? We can celebrate after that.”

Her expression softened, a flicker of guilt flashing across her face. “Right. Sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed you when you’re still hurting. It’s just… it’s so rare for us to be away together.”

We stood just off the field, the buzz of reporters and flashing cameras swirling around us. My pads were half off, dirt and sweat caked on my skin, and the last thing I wanted was another photo of us together. But her parents held season tickets, and the cameras adored her. Every few minutes, her radiant smile lit up the jumbotron, glittery signs waving like she ruled the stadium.

She meant well. The media devoured the story—the quarterback and the heiress.

Her gaze shifted past me, and I already knew who caught her eye. I turned slightly and saw Aiden standing near the benches, chatting with a couple of reporters, his expression calm, unreadable. Our first real interaction in weeks had been during the game when he rushed over to check on me after that hit. That brief moment—his hand hovering on my shoulder, his familiar scent, his presence—kept replaying in my mind.

Before that, we hadn’t spoken since Christmas. Not since that message shattered everything.

God, what the hell had I been thinking?

He deserved the truth, and I hadn’t given it to him. I’d been too scared—scared of his reaction, of William, of the threats. Then angry, when I found out about Micah. The chaos churned inside me until I felt like I might break just holding it all in.

Lexie’s voice broke through my thoughts. “Do you want me to come by later?” Her hands slid up my chest, fingers tracing the edge of my collarpads.

I gave her a look that said, please, not now. Then, aware of the cameras still hovering nearby, I wrapped an arm around her and pressed a quick kiss to her hair. I even glanced up at the box where I knew her parents sat and waved, pretending to care.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Lex. I really need to crash.”

She nodded, satisfied, and turned toward the tunnel, her heels clicking sharply against the concrete floor.

Inside the locker room, chaos ruled—music blared, guys shouted, and someone was already popping open champagne. As I walked in, the team erupted in cheers.

“Magic Noah!” they chanted, slapping my shoulders, tossing towels my way.

I managed a weak grin. “I’m not feeling great, guys. My head’s still ringing. Have a drink for me, yeah? We’ll party big next time, okay?”

They groaned in protest, but I slipped away before they could drag me into the celebration. I showered quickly, changed, and slipped out while most of them were still caught up in the excitement.

The hallway was quiet, the kind of silence that made every sound sharper: the hum of the vending machine, the soft buzz of the ceiling lights, the steady thud of my heartbeat.

I stopped in front of his door.

For a full minute, I just stood there, overthinking everything—the way my shirt clung to me, whether I looked desperate or determined, whether this was the dumbest idea I’d ever had. Probably was.

My hand hovered just inches from the wood. One knock. Then another, softer.

Nothing.

I swallowed hard and told myself I’d turn around if he didn’t answer. That I’d walk away, forget it, wait until morning—until the ache in my chest didn’t feel like it might split me in two.

I knocked again, slower this time.

The hallway remained silent.

Just as I was about to step back, I heard it—footsteps on the other side. A subtle shift in the stillness.

My pulse jumped.

The handle turned.