Crossing Lines Chapter 40

**Aiden**

Noah was asleep in my arms.

His breathing was soft. Steady. His body pressed close, skin still warm, lashes trembling faintly like he was still dreaming.

And God, he looked beautiful.

I held him tighter.

There was something sacred in this—having him like this, undone and trusting, curled into me like I was his shelter. Like I was *safe*.

But the truth was... I wasn’t always.

I stared at the ceiling, my chest tight with something I didn’t want to name. Because beneath the peace, beneath the high of dominance and release, there was weight. Crushing, unbearable weight.

*He trusts me.*

That shouldn’t have scared me—but it did. Because I knew what that meant.

It meant he’d given me more than his body tonight. He’d given me his heart. His healing. His hope. And now I was responsible for helping him become all that he could be. Not just on the field. But in life.

I wanted that for him. More than I’ve ever wanted anything.

But as I looked at him now, I remembered someone else who had once looked up to me the same way he did.

Micah.

*God, Micah.*

The only boy who ever saw through everything—the control, the mask, the quiet storms behind my eyes—and didn’t flinch.

He gave me everything. His submission. His affection. His loyalty. And I couldn’t give him back even half of it.

Not because I didn’t care.

But because I had nothing to give.

When Micah came into my life, I was already broken. That injury—*the* injury—took more than just my leg. It took my entire fucking future and the future of the person I loved more than myself.

I was supposed to stay with the team that night.

We’d just won. The energy was electric—Coach was proud, scouts were watching, the dorms were packed with girls, drinks, the whole “we’re gods” kind of buzz you get after a game like that.

But the only person I should’ve stayed with was my little brother.

He was fifteen. He’d come all the way out just to watch me play. His eyes lit up every time I made a throw, like I was everything he wanted to be.

Jamie was already training to be the next quarterback in my old high school. Fast. Sharp. Better than I was at that age. God, he was determined. Stubborn as hell. I took him under my wing early—taught him everything I knew, and he soaked it up like a sponge.

That night, he asked to stay in with me—watch game replays, talk strategy, maybe sneak a pizza and celebrate like brothers do. He was proud of me. Idolized me.

And I told him no.

Not directly. I just… smiled, said we’d do it next time, and offered to drive him home so I could get back in time for the party.

The weather had already turned by then. Coach had warned us all. “Stay put. Don’t drive. No exceptions.”

But I didn’t want to miss the celebration. I wanted the girls. The attention. The validation. I thought I deserved it.

So I got my brother in the car and told myself it would be fine.

It wasn’t.

The snow was already coming down hard when we left. I kept driving. Told him not to worry. Made dumb jokes. Cranked the heat.

We never made it home.

I lost control on the curve just outside the highway. Black ice. The car spun out and tumbled down the hill.

Jamie broke his spine. And I broke everything else.

My ACL tore from the impact. My leg was wrecked. I was told it could heal with surgeries, rehab, time. But I didn’t care. Because no one could tell me what to do about *him*.

He spent the next year learning how to use a wheelchair.

I spent the next year learning how to hate myself.

No more football. No more stardom. No more brother looking at me like I hung the stars. Just silence. Cold. Shame. And the sound of that night on replay every time I closed my eyes.

And when I couldn’t be Aiden anymore—when I couldn’t face the person I’d become—I became someone else.

*Mr. A.*

Mr. A gave me my life back. In that space, in that name, I was someone again. I could lead. I could teach. I could fix others even if I couldn’t fix myself—and that’s what I tried to offer Micah.

But Micah wanted *Aiden*.

And Aiden didn’t exist anymore. Not really.

He was too ashamed to show up. Too scared to try again.

So when Micah looked at me with all that hope, all that devotion—I pulled away. I held him at arm’s length and pretended I didn’t care. But I did. More than he ever knew.

And in the end, I lost him.

I lost *everything*.

So now, lying there, holding Noah—this bright, broken boy who already meant more to me than I was ready to admit—I was terrified.

Because if I failed him too… if I couldn’t be who he needed, who he deserved… I didn’t think I’d come back from that—not this time.

Noah stirred beside me just as the sun slipped through the curtain. I watched the light touch his skin, gold and soft, and my heart melted.

His eyes fluttered open—blue, sleepy, still wrecked from the night before.

I leaned down and kissed his temple, then his cheek, and finally his lips.

“Good morning,” I whispered.

His breath caught. “Sir…”

Before he could say anything else, he jolted, eyes darting to the clock. “Shit—sorry, I didn’t—breakfast. I was supposed to—”

He was already scrambling out of bed, still naked, still half-asleep as he darted toward the kitchen.

Then his voice, soft and stunned, called out, “You made breakfast?”

I walked in and leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Just this once.”

He turned toward me slowly, blinking in disbelief at the table already set. Eggs, toast, fruit, coffee—nothing fancy, but done with care.

“You’re full of surprises,” he murmured.

I stepped closer and kissed the corner of his mouth again. “Sit. Eat. You’ve got rules to discuss.”

He sat, still watching me like I might vanish. Then, over toast and orange juice, he cleared his throat.

“So… the rules.”

I raised a brow. “Go on.”

“I’ll ask permission before making or changing plans. No touching from anyone else. I show up here on Fridays and stay until Monday morning. The rest of the week, I come after training.”

I gave a small nod. “Good boy.”

He flushed.

After breakfast, I took him outside and opened the garage. Inside, tucked under a dusty tarp, was an old motorcycle—sleek, dark blue, and a little scuffed from time.

I uncovered it and looked at him. “You know how to ride one of these?”

Noah’s face lit up like Christmas morning. “Yes, Sir.”

I handed him two keys. “It was my brother’s. It’s been a few years, but it still works fine. You’ll use it to come here on your own every evening.”

He took the keys like it was something holy.

“If you get here before I do,” I said, “you know what to do.”

He nodded slowly, eyes wide with reverence.

“Tonight is Friday,” I added. “But on weekdays, it’s better you go home at night—to avoid questions. And as I said yesterday…”

I stepped closer, brushing his jaw with my thumb. “From the moment we became sexual last night, there will be no one but me. Are we clear?”

“Yes, Sir.”

And in that moment, with the sun warming his skin, the keys in his hand, and that soft submission in his voice, I realized something else.

I wasn’t just stepping into this as his Dom; I was putting myself on the line. Not just as a Master....

But as a man.