Invisible To Her Bully (Jessa and Noah) novel Chapter 16

Noah

I stayed sitting there long after Jessa ran out the door, staring at the spot where she’d been like some kind of idiot.

At first, the room went quiet, the laughter dying off like everyone suddenly realized maybe they’d gone too far. But only for a heartbeat. Then, as if they couldn’t stand the silence, people started chuckling again, tossing out little jokes to cover up what had just happened.

They didn’t seem to care that Jessa had bolted like someone had just ripped her heart out.

Me? I couldn’t stop seeing her face.

The way her eyes had gone wide and shiny with tears when the bottle landed on her.

The way her breath caught like she couldn’t even get air as everyone laughed.

And the way she’d looked at me—like I was the final nail in the coffin of every awful thing she’d ever believed about herself.

My gut twisted.

God, I hated that look.

And I hated myself for being the reason she’d worn it.

But what was I supposed to do? Stand up in the middle of the circle and defend her?

No way.

That would’ve been social suicide—especially with Jackson sitting right there.

Jackson Lombardi wasn’t just my best friend. He was our team captain, the golden boy, the star quarterback everyone worshipped. If he said something was funny, you laughed. If he told you to shut up, you did it. No questions asked.

And if he thought I was getting soft? That I was… protective of his twin sister?

Game over.

Not just for my reputation but maybe for my spot on the team, too.

So I sat there like a coward, pretending like none of it mattered, even though it mattered more than anything.

Jackson broke the tension first, throwing his head back in a laugh.

“Man, that was brutal,” he said, wiping his mouth like he’d just witnessed the highlight reel of the night. “Jessa is so sensitive. She’s gonna be sulking for a week.”

I clenched my jaw so hard it hurt. Sensitive? That wasn’t the word I’d use.

Crushed.

Humiliated.

Shattered.

Those were more like it.

“Yeah,” I muttered, trying to force a smirk so no one would see the storm going on in my head. “She’s always been dramatic.”

The words tasted like ash, but nobody noticed. Not even Jackson.

Daniel dropped into the seat on my other side, grinning like an idiot.

“Dude, that was epic,” he said, giving me a playful shove. “I mean, of all people for the bottle to land on? Talk about bad luck.”

My stomach knotted.

I wanted to tell him to shut his mouth.

To wipe that smug grin right off his face.

Instead, I laughed weakly, because that’s what was expected of me. Because if I didn’t laugh, they’d start asking questions—questions I wasn’t ready to answer.

The game fizzled out after that, people drifting away to grab drinks or dance like nothing had happened.

I stayed where I was, pretending to scroll through my phone, when really, I was replaying the last ten minutes over and over.

The way Jessa had trembled when the teasing started.

The tremor in her voice when she’d said, “I’m done.”

And worst of all, the look in her eyes right before she’d run out the door.

I’d been teasing Jessa for years.

It was just… our thing.

Or at least, that’s what I’d told myself.

Because the truth was, teasing her wasn’t harmless fun.

It was a cover.

It was easier to make jokes than to admit the truth—that she got under my skin in a way no one else ever had.

I noticed everything about her.

The way her laugh was just a little too loud when she was nervous.

“Yeah,” I said automatically, though my mind wasn’t really in it.

I couldn’t stop wondering if Jessa would come.

Probably not—not after tonight.

But a selfish, messed-up part of me hoped she would.

Because if she didn’t… that would mean she was done with me for good. And I wasn’t ready for that.

“Jessa better not show up,” Jackson joked, taking a swig of his soda. “Last thing we need is her killing the vibe again.”

“Yeah,” Daniel added with a smirk. “Talk about a buzzkill.”

I forced myself to laugh, though it came out hollow. “She won’t come,” I said flatly.

The words hurt more than I expected.

As the night dragged on, I kept doing what I always did—laughing at the right moments, making dumb jokes, acting like nothing got to me.

But the guilt never went away.

When I finally left, I saw Mariah’s car parked down the street, headlights off. I didn’t see Jessa, but I knew she was in there. Probably curled up in the passenger seat, fighting to hold herself together.

My chest ached with the need to go to her.

To say something—anything—that might make this better.

But I didn’t.

Because if I did, it wouldn’t just be a conversation. It would be a confession.

And I wasn’t ready to admit, not even to myself, how much she mattered to me.

So I shoved my hands into my pockets and walked away.

The perfect teammate.

The loyal friend.

The guy who didn’t care.

Except I did care.

Way too much.