Crossing lines (Noah and Aiden) novel Chapter 262

Chapter 262

Noah

“We need a miracle,” someone muttered.

“We need a Hail Mary,” another answered.

“Should we call the kicker?” One of the linemen asked, voice thin.

“No,” I said. My voice wasn’t loud-but it was solid. Final. “He can’t make this distance.”

Jace met my eyes. He was the quarterback. The captain. The leader. But right now? He was exhausted, too. Everyone was.

“Just get me the damn ball,” I told him.

A slow, sharp smile crossed his face. He nodded once.

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“I’m counting on those magic hands, Noah.”

I clapped my gloves together, grounding myself in the weight of my body, my breath, the turf beneath my cleats. We lined up. The world

narrowed and widened all at once.

The crowd blurred into background static.

My heartbeat became the drum.

The field became the only reality.

I drew in a breath and looked to the sideline.

Aiden stood with his arms crossed loosely, clapping once, twice-calm, steady, sure, as he already knew I was going to make it.

Like he believed for both of us and could see the outcome before it had even happened.

Like he believed in me more than I ever had in myself.

And that-more than the crowd, the stakes, the entire fucking world watching-

That was what lit the fire in my chest.

Everything slowed. The stadium, the noise, the lights-all of it dimmed like someone had muffled the world. The only sounds left were my own breathing and the heavy pulse of blood in my ears, steady and deliberate like a war drum. And beneath it, Aiden’s voice-soft,

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intimate, unmistakable-echoed in my head: Win for me, Noah.

Jace called the play. The snap came fast and clean. He dropped back three steps, and LSU’s defense shifted immediately, already reading us for a pass. That was the opening. I feigned right, sold it with my whole body, then turned back just in time for Keon to place the ball into my hands. The line collapsed around me in a crash of bodies and muscle and impact, but I planted my foot, lowered my shoulder, and

broke through.

A linebacker came in hard from the left. I slipped past him, felt the collision behind me shake the ground, but I didn’t look back. Another two tried to close in and I drove straight through them, legs burning, ribs screaming, lungs pulling fire. There was no room for hesitation -no room for pain. I pushed forward, broke free, and suddenly the field opened in front of me. Turf and painted white lines stretched

toward the end zone, bright under the stadium lights.

I lengthened my stride, tucking the ball tight against my side. Someone yelled my name from behind, footsteps closing for a second before fading. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but the line ahead of me. Forty yards. Thirty. Twenty. I didn’t slow. I didn’t look back.

I crossed into the end zone.

For a heartbeat, there was silence-like the world held its breath. Then the sound hit me all at once-deafening, explosive, the kind of noise that rattles ribs and shakes air. I didn’t spike the ball; I just let it fall from my hand, bouncing once on the turf as I stood there

breathing.

My teammates were sprinting toward me, shouting, helmets raised, but I barely heard them. My eyes were already searching.

I scanned the sideline until I found him.

Aiden.

He didn’t rush the field. He didn’t shout. He walked-calm, steady, like he knew exactly where he belonged. His eyes were on me the entire time, and there was nothing restrained in them now. Pride. Relief. Awe. Something deeper. Something that had been there long

before either of us dared to name it.