Crossing Lines Chapter 42

**Noah**

I couldn’t sleep that night.

I stayed on the phone with Emily for a while, trying to comfort her from twelve fucking hundred miles away, using every breathing technique Aiden had drilled into me this week. But it still felt like suffocating.

And as she whispered about how he’d been all week—short-tempered, looking for something to take out on someone—I felt that old, familiar pull in my chest. The same one I’d felt a hundred times before. The one that always ended with me stepping in, taking the hit so she wouldn’t have to.

That’s how it had always been in our house.

Dad drank. Mom tried to disappear into the background. Emily hid. And me? I was the wall. The target. The one who could take a hit and keep standing.

It hadn’t started that way. At first, his temper swung wild—sometimes toward Mom, sometimes toward Emily if she was unlucky enough to be in the room. But I learned early that if I stepped in, if I put myself between them and him, he’d redirect. Every single time.

So I made it my job.

I got good at reading the signs—the heavy footstep in the hall, the bottle hitting the counter harder than it should, the low mutter before his voice rose. I’d get in his line of sight before he could even reach them. A smart comment, a shove, anything to make him turn on me instead.

And he always did.

Eventually, I didn’t even have to try. If he was mad, if he was drunk, his eyes went straight to me. All that rage, all that venom—it had a home. And it was almost always mine to take.

It was hell. But it meant my mother didn’t flinch every time he walked in the room, and Emily could go to bed without the sound of him screaming in her head.

By the time I left for Texas, his abuse was almost exclusively focused on me. I told myself that meant they’d be safe if I wasn’t there to provoke him. I never thought he’d just… find someone else to break.

****

By morning, it felt like I hadn’t slept at all. My head pounded, my body felt heavy, and my focus was shot to hell.

On the field, every pass came a beat too slow, every read a fraction off. Coach’s voice cut sharper than usual—maybe at me, maybe not—but it still landed like a hit. I kept my eyes down, avoiding everyone, especially Aiden. I could feel him watching from the sidelines, and I didn’t want him seeing me like this.

After practice, I tried to slip out before anyone stopped me, but Keon was leaning against my locker, grinning like he’d been waiting.

“You look like crap,” he said.

“Thanks,” I muttered, trying for a smirk but only managing something halfway there.

His grin faded. “You okay?”

I hesitated, staring at the inside of my locker a moment too long. “Just… stuff at home,” I said, my voice flatter than I meant.

“What kind of stuff?”

My fingers tightened around the strap of my bag. “Family crap. It’s fine.”

He tilted his head. “You wanna come out tonight? Clear your head? The guys are grabbing food.”

I shook my head. “Nah. I just… need to be alone for a while.”

“Alone?” His brow furrowed. “No offense, man, but you’ve been ghosting us for weeks. You can’t just lock yourself in your dorm every night after training.”

I shrugged. “I’ve got it handled.”

“Maybe,” he said, watching me closely, “but it doesn’t mean you have to handle it alone. You know that, right?”

The words landed heavier than I expected, but I still kept my mouth shut. “Really. I’m fine.”

He studied me for another beat, like he was deciding whether to push. Then he nodded slowly. “Okay. But I’m here. And so are the rest of the guys. Don’t forget that.”

I promised I wouldn’t, even though we both knew I probably would.

By the time I left the locker room, the sun was already dipping low, and a sinking feeling hit my stomach. For the first time since getting the keys, I wasn’t on my way to Aiden’s when I should’ve been.

As I headed there, part of me wished I could’ve opened up to Keon. Told him the truth about everything—about my family shit, the constant weight in my chest from wondering if Emily was safe, and my dysfunctional, unshakable pull to spend my evenings doing chores, kneeling at someone’s feet, and being sexually denied and dominated by our coach.

But telling him all that? I’d probably lose one of the only friends I had.

Even now—terrified of being late, wound so tight my skin felt too small, and stressed out of my mind about home—I still craved what waited for me at Aiden’s.

Not the punishments. Not the rules. Not the control.

The peace.

The safety I felt when we were in the same room, even if he was ordering me around. Even if he was withholding everything I wanted.

It didn’t make sense. But it was real. And it was mine.

****

By the time I pulled up at Aiden’s, the knot in my stomach felt like it had tripled in size. I braced myself for the look I’d get when I walked in—that sharp, assessing stare that made you feel like he’d already decided your fate before you spoke.

But when I stepped inside, he didn’t say anything.

The gin and tonic was already on the side table. The music was already playing—slow, low jazz—which meant I was late enough for him to have done both himself.

I kicked off my shoes, stripped down, and went to kneel like always, waiting for him to close the distance between us. Instead, his voice came from across the room.

“Here.”

I looked up. He was sitting in his chair, one leg crossed over the other, gaze steady but unreadable. He motioned to the spot in front of him.

I crossed the room on my knees and settled there, eyes dropping to the floor.

For a long moment, he didn’t speak. The only sound was the faint clink of ice in his glass.

Finally, he set it down. “Rough day?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“I noticed,” he said simply. “At practice. And here.”

I swallowed. “I wasn’t… focused.”

“Why not?”

My throat tightened. I could’ve told him—about Emily, about the phone call, about the way my father’s shadow had reached all the way across the country to crawl under my skin and shake me until I could barely think straight.

But I didn’t. I couldn’t bear the shame, couldn’t let him see how messy my life really was—how broken I was.

“I don’t know,” I lied.

Silence stretched between us. He studied me like he was trying to see through my skin, but whatever answer he was searching for, he didn’t find it.

When he spoke again, his voice had shifted—softer, but with a weight that left no question who was in control. “Tell me, Noah… What do you think I should do now?”

I looked up, startled. “Sir?”

“You were distracted on the field, you avoided me after practice, and you arrived late. I could decide for you.” His gaze locked on mine, unblinking. “Or… you could tell me what you need from your Master tonight.”

Of all the things I could’ve said—pampering, forgiveness, release—every single thing I truly needed… I couldn’t imagine feeling comfort through any of them.

Truth was, I didn’t think I deserved comfort. Or relief. Or the privilege of being here at all—craving sex, playing games—while my sister was suffering in my place.

The guilt was a weight in my chest. The shame was worse. And there was only one way I could think of to burn it off, to get the kind of redemption I wanted.

I met his eyes, steady and certain. “I need you to punish me, Sir.”