Crossing lines (Noah and Aiden) novel Chapter 27

Chapter 27

Aiden

There had to be a clear boundary.

A defined line. A firm structure. Absolute control.

That was the promise I made to him—and the rule I had to uphold, especially now that he had entrusted me with his confidence.

On the field, he was my quarterback. My player. My responsibility.

But away from the public eye? He was something entirely different.

If I blurred those boundaries—if I gave him any special treatment in front of the team, if I let my gaze linger too long, praised him too easily, or softened my approach when he needed a firmer hand—I would fail him.

Worse still, I’d weaken him.

So, as the team gathered for our first morning practice back at campus, I did what was necessary.

I didn’t greet him.

I didn’t offer a smile or meet the hopeful spark in his eyes. I didn’t allow my gaze to rest on him, even though every fiber of me wanted to.

God, how I wanted to.

He looked more striking than ever—his large blue eyes brightened when they found me, lips slightly parted, reminding me of their warmth, their softness…

Noah straightened immediately the moment I stepped onto the field, though I caught the subtle tremor in his hand. He was ready. Ready for anything.

Instead, I passed by him as if he were just another player on my roster.

Because here, that’s exactly what he was.

But this wasn’t a slight I was giving him.

It was a test. A challenge. One I knew he would feel deep in his bones.

I barked out the morning drills. Assigned laps. Paired him with teammates he’d never quite clicked with since day one. I pushed him harder and longer until the confusion in his eyes shifted to frustration.

Good.

I was relentless. Every step he took, I was there—correcting his form, his posture, the way he gripped the damn ball. “Noah,” I snapped as he finished a sprint. “Straighten your spine. You’re dragging like you’ve got weights strapped to your legs.”

“Yes, Sir,” he muttered, breathless.

“Louder.”

“Yes, Sir,” he barked this time, drawing a few glances from the other players. I didn’t care. Neither did he.

The guys were used to me being tough, but today they saw something different. I wasn’t just hard—I was precise. Especially with him.

The practice game began. The air was thick with heat and anticipation. I put Noah in as quarterback, matched him against our best defenders, and gave him zero leeway. He stumbled once—slipping on a cut route—and I was instantly at his side.

“You call that footwork?” I growled, voice low and dangerously close. “You plant like you’re playing hopscotch.”

He opened his mouth, probably to explain, but I cut him off sharply. “Run it again. You do it right, or you don’t stop.”

Noah bit down on whatever retort hovered on his tongue and nodded. “Yes, Sir.”

The drills dragged on. Every mistake, no matter how small, came with a consequence.

A bad pass? Extra push-ups.

A late pivot? More sprints.

Wavering focus? A reprimand in front of the entire team.

Some of the others flinched. One of the linemen muttered under his breath, “Damn, Coach.”

But this wasn’t about punishment—it was about conditioning. Discipline. Trust.

I needed Noah to understand that if he could withstand me at my toughest, he could handle anything the world threw at him.

I wasn’t just building his body. I was building the man.

But he didn’t know that. Not yet.

By the final run-through, his shirt clung to his back, soaked with sweat, chest heaving. His throws were sharper, tighter—but his fuse was dangerously short.

I watched him closely, noticing the tension rising in his neck. His jaw clenched tightly, and his hands gripped the ball too fiercely.

Then, when I called out one last drill—another rep, no break—he snapped.

“For fuck’s sake, what more do you want from me?”

Silence fell.

Everyone froze.

Even the sun seemed to hold its breath.

He obeyed. Sweat dripped down his temple, breath shallow, but he stood tall—waiting.

I nodded toward the empty bleachers. “Come with me.”

He followed silently.

Once seated, I let the silence stretch between us. This was still training—just a different kind.

“I know what you were expecting this morning,” I said finally. “You thought it would be different. Easier. That now, after crossing that line, you’d get something softer.”

He didn’t answer.

“But that’s not what you need, is it?”

His voice was quiet. “I… I don’t know.”

“You do. You need to grow, Noah. To push beyond the boy who craves approval and become the man who doesn’t wait for it. I will never humiliate you in front of others. But I will never hand you what you haven’t earned either. Not out there. Because I see your potential, and I won’t let you settle for less. Not on the field. Not in life.”

He swallowed hard, something in his expression cracking open. But he remained silent.

“You’re not just a submissive. You’re a leader. And my job—on both fronts—is to make sure you become the best version of yourself. Even when it hurts.”

He looked up at me slowly. “So… this morning wasn’t about ignoring me.”

“No.” I leaned in slightly. “It was about respecting you.”

That word hit him. I saw it. Felt it.

When I placed a hand gently on his shoulder, he didn’t flinch.

“This is how we do it, Noah. Two worlds. One goal. You give me everything, and I’ll make sure you never have to walk alone again.”

He nodded once. Quiet. Grounded.

And just like that, the boy who had come to me seeking rules and punishment sat beside me, craving so much more.

And I would give it to him.

In time.

I stood, pausing for a moment before dismissing him. Then I changed my mind.

“Follow me.”