Crossing Lines Chapter 45

**Noah**

I didn’t even realize I’d said the words aloud until the silence that followed started to suffocate me. *I hate myself.*

It echoed inside me like a confession I hadn’t meant to make, one I didn’t even know I believed until I heard my own voice say it. And yet… I had said it. To *him*.

To Aiden.

The walls I spent so long building, the persona I kept polishing… all of it had crumbled in an instant. If there was ever a moment I looked cool, proud, or in control in his eyes—if I’d ever come across as the confident brat who didn’t need saving—then that illusion was gone now. Shattered.

And still, his arms were around me. Still, his hand was in my hair, grounding me. Still, his voice was soft, not disgusted, not distant. He didn’t let go.

Why?

I didn’t know if the warmth in his embrace was comfort or a temporary mercy, and part of me braced for the moment he’d pull away—tell me to get dressed, send me home. Tell me this wasn’t what he’d signed up for.

I felt his chest rise beneath my cheek, felt the steady beat of his heart like a promise I didn’t believe yet... But I couldn’t stop the thought from bleeding through. *You showed him too much. Too fast. Too broken.*

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, barely audible.

He shifted slightly, just enough to look down at me. “Why?”

“For… not being what you were hoping for.”

A pause. I couldn’t read his face. Couldn’t look him in the eye. So I kept going, raw and hollow. 

“Not the kind of handling you were expecting, am I?” I laughed weakly, no humor in it. “Guess I’m not as tough as I pretended to be.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just pressed his hand against my back and held me there, like he didn’t want me running—like he already knew I might.

“Noah, it wasn’t the cocky, bratty boy who challenged me that I was drawn to… It was the boy *underneath* all that. The one trying so damn hard to be seen and not to be seen, all at once.”

He moved his hand to my cheek, lifting my face gently, making me look at him. “And I just found him.”

My breath caught.

“I want *all* of you,” he said. “No lies, no masks, no pretense. Just… talk to me. Tell me who you really are.”

I swallowed hard, my voice tight. “I don’t know if I even *know*.”

“Then let’s find out. Together.”

***

I could’ve gotten up. I didn’t know what time it was, but by the time I noticed the sunlight was gone, I figured I probably should have. My backpack still sat by the door, untouched. It was late enough to head back to the dorms. Late enough for him to send me off like he did every night.

But he didn’t.

“You’re not going anywhere tonight,” he murmured, voice low and rough with emotion as he held me close. “We’ll get to practice separately in the morning. Stay.”

I didn’t argue. I just nodded against his chest, my face still damp, my ribs aching with the weight of everything I’d spilled. He held me until my breathing calmed, then guided me to the kitchen like I might fall apart if he let go.

Dinner was simple. Quiet. We moved in sync, side by side, like we’d done this a hundred times before. I watched him set two plates instead of one, and he didn’t explain.

“I’d like the company tonight,” was all he said.

And just like that, it became one of those rare nights I was allowed to sit and eat with him.

We didn’t talk much at the table, but it wasn’t awkward. It was… peaceful. I don’t think I’d ever had dinner like that before—not in silence that felt safe. Not with someone who’d seen me unravel and still wanted me close.

Later, we ended up on the couch. I didn’t even know how—just that I found myself curled beside him again, head resting on his chest, his fingers sliding slowly through my hair.

He didn’t push. He never did.

But eventually, he asked.

“Noah, I would like for you to tell me what caused those feelings you expressed earlier. Or better yet… who. Will you talk to me?”

I hesitated, then nodded faintly. “I’ve never told anyone—I always knew he hated me, saw me as useless. Weak. Dirty garbage. But I never realized how much I believed him… for not keeping him from hurting us.”

The words were quiet, but they cracked something wide open. I didn’t know I was crying until I tasted salt.

Holy shit. I really was broken.

“Who, Noah?” Aiden whispered. “Who hurt you?”

And just like that, with such little coaxing, I told him everything I told you—and more.

Aiden’s grip shifted as I spoke. Not much. But enough. His arm tightened across my shoulders, his thumb brushing slow, steady circles along my arm like he was grounding both of us.

One dramatic tale led to another until I finally told him about the phone call last night. My sister’s voice, barely held together. Her fear. Her desperation. Her warning to stay away. That I couldn’t help her now—not without risking him dragging me back into it. Back to him.

Aiden’s breathing changed. I felt it. Deep and deliberate—the kind of breathing you use when you're trying not to punch walls.

“... So, you said your father was a football coach?” he asked after a moment. “Doesn’t show on your records. It just says retired.”

I huffed a bitter laugh. “Not exactly. He had us late—he was in his late thirties when I was born. But he was not old enough to retire. He was fired. Discharged from his last school, probably for drinking. We moved after that. Town to town. He couldn’t hold a job anymore. Eventually no one would hire him. We lived off his unemployment and my mom’s paycheck.”

Aiden didn’t speak. But I could feel the tension building in him, tight and sharp, like something just beneath the surface was clawing its way up.

And maybe I should’ve stopped there. But I didn’t.

I wanted him to know. Everything.

So I told him. Not just about the drinking or the moving, but about how I used to think it was my fault. That maybe if I’d been better—tougher, stronger, less of a screw-up—he would've been a proud father. Not a drunk. 

“I wasn't the son he dreamt of having,” I said, with a crooked little laugh. “He should see me now!”

Aiden didn’t laugh; he didn’t move, and that silence—sharp, suffocating—wrapped around me like a noose, but I couldn’t stop. Not anymore.

“If he finds me like this—finds out how fucked up I am now…” My voice wavered. “He’ll drag me back. And that'll be the end of me.”

Aiden's hand flexed against my back as he exhaled through his nose, slow and hard.

“Noah,” he said, low and steady. “You are none of the things he made you believe. And I will not tolerate you speaking about yourself like that in my presence. Is that clear?”

I swallowed. “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.”

I blinked. My heart stuttered.

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

Something in my chest cracked open—something I’d been holding shut for years. Before I could think better of it, I reached for him, needing something, anything to anchor me.

And I kissed him hard.