Crossing lines (Noah and Aiden) novel Chapter 25

Noah

I had never been the type to shy away from a challenge.

In fact, I actively sought them out.

From the moment I took my first steps, I was determined to prove I could run. Whenever someone older insisted I couldn’t do something, I made it my mission to do exactly that. If someone stronger or faster beat me, I pushed myself harder, training relentlessly. It wasn’t simply about winning; it was about earning approval. That subtle nod from a coach, a quiet pat on the back from a teacher—those rare, unspoken moments of recognition meant everything to me. The simple, almost whispered, “Good job, son,” was what I yearned for.

My life has been full of those small cracks—moments where I chased love that was never freely given, sought pride only to be met with shame in return.

As a child, I asked too many questions. Not aloud, but in my mind. Questions about bodies, rules, and why other boys seemed to understand things I didn’t. Things that confused me, things I was curious about but afraid to voice.

When I was seven, on a scorching summer afternoon, I was playing with my best friend, Max. We ran through the sprinklers in our neighbor’s yard, laughing and soaked to the skin. When we finally collapsed on the grass, our clothes clinging to us, I noticed something unsettling—Max, even though he was a year younger, seemed to have a much larger bulge in his shorts than I did. A wave of self-consciousness washed over me. Was something wrong with me?

The next time I found myself hiding in a shed during a game of hide-and-seek with an older boy, I took a risky step. I lowered my pants and asked him to show me his. It was innocent curiosity, nothing more.

But he freaked out—pushed me down, called me disgusting and sick. Before long, the entire school knew what had happened.

I had acted on a simple question swirling in my mind. And it blew up in my face.

I never intended any harm. I just wanted to understand if I was normal. But growing up in my home, curiosity didn’t bring answers. It brought punishment. Harsh and unforgiving.

I got in trouble at school. Then worse trouble at home. My dad made sure of that. What I remember most isn’t the pain itself, but the humiliation. The look in his eyes, like I’d confirmed every terrible fear he had about me. From that day forward, the name-calling, the cold silences, the slaps—not discipline, but pure disgust—became my reality.

So, I overcompensated. I started dating girls. I hit the gym hard. I became a football player. Straight A’s. A walking contradiction, desperately trying to bury every part of myself that might disappoint him.

And here I was, craving the very thing I thought I had left behind—the desperate need to impress, to be seen, to prove I could be everything if only someone offered the right guidance, the right direction, the right purpose.

I didn’t want to be pushed around. I wanted encouragement. Not orders, but leadership.

I needed structure. Focus. Discipline.

More than anything, I needed someone who believed in me.

As I folded the same hoodie I’d worn for three days straight, packing my things, my mind kept drifting back to Aiden. The way he looked at me—like he saw all of me: the worst parts, the need, the ache, the chaos. But instead of turning away, he embraced it.

I zipped up my bag and sat on the edge of the bed. Exhaustion should have taken over, but instead, my entire body hummed with a nervous energy I hadn’t felt in years. The kind of energy that comes before a big game—standing under the stadium lights, helmet on, heart racing, waiting for the whistle to blow.