Crossing lines (Noah and Aiden) novel Chapter 260

Chapter 260

Noah

The stadium lights blazed down with an almost painful intensity, their harsh white beams bouncing off helmets and gleaming metal railings, slicing the night air into sharp, almost surreal shapes. Cameras popped relentlessly, flashes erupting like miniature suns in my peripheral vision. Our defensive line had just crushed the opposing offense at the forty-yard marker, and the crowd erupted as if someone had detonated fireworks beneath them. The roar wasn’t merely loud—it shook me to my core, vibrating through every bone.

I stood at the sideline, clutching my helmet under one arm, letting the overwhelming rush wash over me—the stifling heat, the deafening noise, the pounding adrenaline, and the heavy weight of expectation. And lurking behind all of it were the scouts. NFL scouts. Real, serious scouts. I’d spotted a few earlier, shaking Aiden’s hand with polite, practiced smiles. They barely spared me a glance, but I could feel their eyes on me—calculating, measuring, silently weighing my worth.

“Blake!” Aiden’s voice cut sharply through the chaos as he jogged over, his face taut with focus and intensity—the unmistakable look of a coach in command, no room for hesitation. “What are you standing around for? Get your tight ass out there!”

I blinked, genuinely surprised. Did he just say that loud enough for the front rows to hear? My chest tightened, caught somewhere between a laugh and a painful memory. I wasn’t sure if he realized what he’d said or if he was just too fired up to care.

Before I could even process it, I noticed from above the bench—right where I expected—William Hart’s gaze was locked onto us.

No cheers.

No smiles.

Just cold, measured observation.

His eyes weren’t warm; they were calculating. Possessing.

A faint, ambiguous curve tugged at his lips—not quite a smile, not quite a threat—something in between. Something that said: I saw that.

Something that said: Remember what you owe.

And I did. God, I did.

I quickly averted my eyes and sprinted onto the field before my face could betray any hint of what I was feeling.

William probably already suspected that Aiden and I were still in contact behind his back.

Hell, he’d always suspected.

William watched everything. The moment I lingered too long on Aiden, whispered too softly, stood too close—he filed it away like ammunition. Because he’d warned me that he would tolerate no disrespect, every glance became a challenge, every breath an act of defiance, every silence a declaration of war.

But this was the championship game, and Aiden was my coach, so William could choke on it.

No one had reported anything.

So I had to believe William was keeping his word.

I had to.

The Harts were out in full force tonight—not just attending, but performing. Lexie was in her cheer uniform, bouncing with rehearsed enthusiasm, glittery signs taped to her back like makeshift wings, shouting my name as if we were the poster couple for America’s Sweetheart Victory Tour. Her parents waved sparkling banners, and a cluster of influencers hovered nearby, livestreaming the “future First Family of the Wolves” like it was a royal coronation.

And me?

Round after round, sprint after sprint, I watched it all unravel—the tangled threads of my future slipping through my fingers as the game wore on.

I was exhausted. I stood on the grass, gasping for air, the ache in my chest deep and relentless.

7:39 p.m.

Crossing Lines