Crossing lines (Noah and Aiden) novel Chapter 63

Chapter 63

Later on, somehow we found ourselves sitting together on the couch. I couldn’t even pinpoint how it happened—one moment I was standing, the next I was curled up beside him again, my head resting gently against his chest. His fingers moved slowly through my hair, tracing soft, soothing patterns.

He never forced anything. That was one thing I always appreciated about Aiden—his patience, his quiet respect.

But after a while, he finally spoke, breaking the silence.

“Noah,” he said softly, “I want you to tell me what stirred those feelings you shared earlier. Or better yet… who caused them. Will you talk to me?”

I hesitated, my throat tight, but then I gave a small nod. “I’ve never told anyone before. I always knew he hated me, saw me as worthless. Weak. Like I was just dirty trash. But I never realized how much I actually believed him… especially for not stopping him from hurting us.”

My voice was barely above a whisper, but those words cracked something deep inside me wide open. I hadn’t even noticed the tears until I tasted the salt on my lips.

God, I was really broken.

“Who, Noah?” Aiden asked gently, his voice barely audible. “Who hurt you?”

And just like that, with barely any encouragement, I began to share everything—the stories I’d told you and even more.

As I spoke, Aiden’s hold on me shifted slightly. Not much, but enough. His arm tightened around my shoulders, and his thumb traced slow, steady circles on my arm, like he was trying to ground us both in that moment.

One painful story led to another until finally, I told him about the phone call from last night—my sister’s trembling voice, barely holding herself together. Her fear, her desperation, her pleading warning to stay away. How I couldn’t help her now—not without risking him pulling me back into that nightmare. Back to him.

I felt the change in Aiden’s breathing—deep, measured, the kind of breath you take when you’re fighting the urge to lash out.

“So,” he said after a pause, “you said your father was a football coach?”

I nodded slowly. “Sort of. But it’s not on my records. It just says he’s retired.”

I let out a bitter laugh. “Not exactly retired. He had me late—he was already in his late thirties when I was born. But he wasn’t old enough to retire. He was fired. Discharged from his last school, probably because of drinking. After that, we kept moving—from town to town. He couldn’t hold a job anymore. Eventually, no one would hire him. We survived on his unemployment checks and my mom’s paycheck.”

I swallowed hard. “Yes, Sir.”

—

“Good.” His grip on me tightened. “Now, about your father. He’s not taking you anywhere. We will do whatever it takes—I will do whatever it takes—to keep you and your family safe. If he ever shows up here, if he lays a finger on you… I will end him.”

My eyes blinked rapidly, my heart skipping a beat.

“You are mine now, Noah. My responsibility. My job. And no one—no one—is going to hurt you. Not now. Not ever.”

Something inside my chest cracked open—something I’d been holding shut for years. Before I could second guess myself, I reached out to him, desperate for something, anything to hold onto.

And I kissed him hard.