Crossing lines (Noah and Aiden) novel Chapter 254

I waited silently, heart pounding in the stillness of the locker room.

I knew without a doubt that he always showered last.

Sure enough, as I stepped into the warm, mist-filled corridor, I spotted him in the farthest stall. His head hung low beneath the steady cascade of water, his hands planted firmly against the tiled wall, as if he were trying to hold up the weight of the entire world pressing down on him.

“Noah,” I called softly.

His shoulders tightened immediately, but he didn’t turn around. “You shouldn’t be in here,” he said, voice sharp.

“We need to talk,” I insisted, stepping closer.

He took a deep, controlled breath, the kind someone takes when they’re on the edge of breaking but desperately trying to hold it together. Glancing over his shoulder—not at me, but past me—he scanned the room nervously.

“There’s nothing to talk about, Coach.” The word cut deep, sharper than any blade.

I lowered my voice, closing the small distance between us. “Noah, please.”

His breath hitched painfully as he turned his face away, hiding whatever torment flickered there.

“You have to leave,” he whispered, voice trembling. “Someone could walk in—”

I stepped fully into the stall, water splashing around us. “Now they won’t,” I said firmly, then softer, “I can’t just let this go. Not like this.”

When I reached out to touch him, he flinched—not pulling away, but trembling. My hand came to rest lightly on his shoulder, barely pressing, water running over us both.

“Baby, please—”

“Don’t call me that.” His voice cracked, raw and fragile, and it nearly broke me.

“I’m sorry,” I admitted, voice barely above a whisper, filled with regret and truth. “I’ve done a lot of stupid things, but I never betrayed you. I didn’t choose him. I swear to you, Noah. I swear.”

He let out a single, broken laugh—angry, humiliated, crushed. “You were with him. In bed!”

I took a hesitant half-step closer, my chest almost touching his. “What you saw that night—it’s not what you think. I was asleep. I didn’t know. I thought—”

He shoved me hard. The slick tile beneath my feet betrayed me, and I stumbled.

“Are you delusional?” he spat. “What kind of excuse is that? You didn’t know? You were wide awake—at least your body was, coach. And if you didn’t know someone was doing that to you, then you seriously need help.”

His eyes were filled with such deep pain it seemed to consume him from the inside out.

I opened my mouth to speak. “Noah—”

Suddenly, a voice echoed from around the lockers.

“Sorry,” Micah said softly, stepping inside. “It’s just me.”

The disappointment hit me like a punch, nearly bringing me to my knees. “What are you doing here, Micah? You should go.”

“I just wanted to check on you,” he replied gently. “You haven’t answered any of my messages. Are you okay?”

I let out a rough, ragged breath. “No. I’m not okay. I lost the man I love. And I ruined him. Tomorrow’s the championship, and he’s falling apart. And so am I.” My voice cracked under the weight of it all. “Forget my future—his is on the line, and he can’t even lift his head.”

Micah looked at me with eyes shining with a mixture of tenderness and pain. “Do you love him that much?”

“More than I love myself,” I whispered.

There was a long silence.

Then Micah nodded slowly, resignation heavy in his movement. “Then you need to tell him.”

“I’ve tried,” I said quietly. “He won’t talk to me.”

Micah took a deep, steadying breath. Leaning in, he pressed a soft kiss to the top of my head—the gentlest, most human touch either of us had left.

“Then,” he murmured as he straightened, “he’ll have to talk to me.”