Crossing lines (Noah and Aiden) novel Chapter 227

Chapter 227

Noah

The January chill bit deep, a cold that sliced through pads and adrenaline alike. The stands were packed tight, the band blaring with fierce energy, and every shout sent clouds of breath into the frosty air. We were trailing by four points, the final minutes of the fourth quarter slipping away, and the tension tasted metallic, sharp with nerves.

Coach Mercer paced relentlessly along the sideline, his headset pressed firmly against his jaw. Even when I wasn’t looking, I could feel his presence—an unyielding pull, like gravity itself gripping me, refusing to let go. His eyes barely met mine for more than a fleeting second, but that brief connection was enough to anchor me.

Every single play now carried the weight of the entire season. One misstep, and everything would unravel.

I crouched behind the center, my breath fogging the inside of my helmet visor. “Blue seventy-two, set!” The snap landed square in my hands. I dropped back, eyes scanning the field as the pocket began to collapse. Keon cut sharply across the middle, and I released the ball just before the linebacker could reach me. The spiraling football sliced through the night air, landing perfectly at the hash mark. First down. The crowd erupted in a thunderous roar.

But I didn’t celebrate. I couldn’t. Each surge of adrenaline twisted inside me into something darker—grief, maybe even anger.

Between plays, the crowd’s chant of “Wolves! Wolves!” echoed through the bleachers, but all I could hear was the echo of Aiden’s words—the way he told me he was leaving. That he’d rather accept defeat than fight for us.

That thought gnawed at me, fracturing my focus.

At first, it was a sharp, raw pain—like a cracked rib. Then came the fury. How could he choose Micah and his damn calm over everything we had? Aiden was anything but calm. He was chaos incarnate, a storm raging inside me… and now he wanted peace. With someone else. After dragging me into this fire, he wanted to pretend none of it ever mattered? I wanted to scream it across the field, to shake him awake.

Then denial took hold—the kind that drives you to push harder, to prove you’re not breaking. If he thought I couldn’t handle this without him, that I’d fold and fall apart—

He was dead wrong.

So I threw myself into every snap like it was a battle I couldn’t lose. Because it was personal.

The crowd was wild now—chanting, stomping, deafening. The Harts sat in their box seats: Lexie’s father stone-faced, her mother clapping politely, and Lexie herself looking uncomfortable in her cheerleading uniform after sitting out a few games. Unlike what everyone assumed, she wasn’t really into cheerleading. Forced to pose for the crowd, she didn’t even notice I barely glanced her way.

I wasn’t playing for them.

I was playing for him.

Every pass, every call, every ragged breath—I gave it all, hoping I could reach Aiden through it. Because even if he refused to fight for us, I wouldn’t give up.

My body screamed in protest. My legs burned from every sprint, my shoulders throbbed from each hit, but I kept moving forward. I wanted to show him I could endure it all—the pain, the noise, the heartbreak—and still stand tall.

Between plays, I glanced toward the sideline. There he was, headset crooked, arms crossed, eyes locked on me. No words were needed. The look he gave me was enough—torn between pride and something close to regret.

I nearly broke right then.

I turned away, hiding whatever my face might have revealed behind my helmet. My lungs burned, but I wanted him to see what I could be. That I could still fight. That even shattered, I was unstoppable.

The game had turned into a war between us—him holding his ground, me refusing to surrender.

When the next play began, the roar of the crowd hitting its peak, I pushed through the pain and ran, thinking only this:

This is it.

My proof.

My answer.

Touchdown.

The stadium exploded. Cheerleaders went wild, Lexie among them. My teammates swarmed me, helmets clashing, voices roaring. But through the chaos, I pushed past the sea of bodies and found him—Aiden.

He wasn’t celebrating. Just standing there, headset dangling, watching me with that same look—pride and pain tangled together in a way that nearly undid me.

Every part of me wanted to run to him. God, I wanted it so badly. But instead, I raised my hand—quick, subtle, almost invisible. His nod in return was just as small. Our secret language, shared in a stadium packed with sixty thousand people.

I joined the celebration like I was supposed to—yelling, laughing, shouting with the rest, my throat raw from adrenaline. To everyone else, I was just another player basking in victory. But when I pointed toward the stands, grinning wide for the cameras, I wasn’t saluting the crowd or my future in-laws.

I was pointing at him. My coach. The only person there who truly understood what that moment meant.

And he was fighting hard not to smile. Because he fucking knew.

I let the moment swallow me—the cheers, the flashing lights, the crush of my teammates pulling me into their victory huddle. When Lexie threw her arms around me, radiant and proud, the perfect fiancée, her kindness almost made it impossible to hate her the way I wanted.

After the interviews, the handshakes, the endless congratulations, I finally slipped away to the locker room. Outside, the noise had dulled to a distant roar, echoing through the concrete corridors. I peeled off my pads, stepped under the hot spray, and let the water pound down until the steam blurred the edges of everything around me. For a few precious minutes, I could pretend I was alone. That none of this was real.

But I couldn’t stay there. Not yet. I had a role to play—press photos, dinner with the Harts, the team party. I’d smile, toast, answer the same questions until my jaw ached.

And then—when the cameras were gone, when the crowd had gone home and the night grew quiet—

I had plans of my own. Dangerous, reckless plans.