Chapter 161

Noah

The days leading up to the final felt like running on fumes and adrenaline. Every muscle in my body ached, every practice felt longer than the one before, but I couldn’t stop pushing. This was it — the end of everything we’d worked for. One more game for glory, one more game for him.

What kept me going wasn’t the trophy or the cameras; it was the memory of our last night together. That memory lived under my skin like oxygen. The way he’d touched me, the way he’d looked at me afterward — calm, sure, like he’d finally stopped fighting himself — that was what carried me through every sprint, every tackle, every sleepless night.

And he hadn’t pulled away since. Not really.

His eyes still found mine across the field. A brush of fingers when no one was watching. A quiet word in passing that no one else would notice. They weren’t accidents anymore, and that was enough to keep me breathing.

So I kept my head down. I trained. I smiled for the cameras when I had to, and the rest of the time I focused on getting through it—on winning this damn championship, and on figuring out how to end that contract with William once and for all.

Everything was holding together—barely—until the call came.

It was late, after practice, when my phone started vibrating in my locker. I almost ignored it, but the name on the screen made my stomach twist.

Mom.

She almost never called. Not since his sister’s “accident”, not since my life had turned into a show for the Harts’ reputation.

I hesitated, then answered. “Hey, Mom?”

Her voice trembled on the other end. “Noah… we need to talk.”

Her breathing was uneven on the other end.

“Noah, your father knows.”

My stomach dropped. “Knows what?”

“About the engagement. About all of it.” She hesitated. “We tried not to let him see anything, but he’s been following your games, bragging to everyone. He says his son is a star now and getting him out of this hole…” Her voice cracked on the last words.

I rubbed a hand over my face. “Mom—”

“He’s saying you owe him, Noah. Like it’s payback time.”

“What do you mean?”

“He took what money we had left, even sold a couple of things and said he was going to Texas. Said he’d find you.”

For a second I couldn’t breathe. “He’s coming here?”

“Yes.” Her voice lowered, the way it always did when she was trying not to let me hear her cry. “If he shows up, don’t argue with him. Don’t try to reason. Just tell him there isn’t any money yet, that these things take time. Tell him you don’t have anything to give him. Please, Noah… just stay calm and stay safe.”

“Mom…” My throat felt dry. “Are you and Emily alright?”

“I tried to stop him, and he got… aggressive. He wouldn’t listen. He never does. We’re okay, though. I’m so sorry.”

Silence stretched between us, full of everything neither of us could say.

“It’s not your fault, Mom. I love you. I’m getting you out of there, I swear—but not with him,” I assured her.

“I love you too, baby. Be careful,” she whispered. “Promise me.”

“I will.”

When the call ended, I stayed sitting there, phone still pressed to my ear.

He’s coming.

The locker room noise came back in waves—water running, cleats clattering against tile, laughter from the showers that felt a world away from me.

“Hey, man.”

I looked up to find Keon standing a few feet away, towel slung around his neck, brows drawn together. “You okay? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

“Not yet,” I said before I could stop myself.

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing.” I forced a small laugh. “Just… stuff at home. Things going on.”

“Anything I can do?”

I shook my head. “No, I need to handle it myself.”

He nodded slowly, still watching me like he wasn’t convinced. “Alright. But listen—Saturday night I’m having a small thing at the dorm. Just a few people, nothing wild. You should come.”

I tried to muster a grin. “Trying to get me out of my cave?”

“Exactly. And maybe you’ll finally meet my girlfriend.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Wait, the mystery girl? The one you keep disappearing to call every night?”

He chuckled. “That’s the one. She’s coming up soon, actually. Maybe this weekend if she can get off work.”

“I’ll be there,” I said. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

“Awesome.” He gave my shoulder a quick tap, the way he always did after practice.

“Did you practice your guitar last night?” I raised a brow.

“Of course! I plan on serenading my girl as soon as I know enough…”

That got a real smile out of me. “You’re getting there, man. We’ll go over some chords after the game.”

“Deal.” He started toward the showers, then glanced back. “Hey—whatever’s going on, you’ll figure it out. You always do.”

I nodded, grateful for the normalcy.

For a few minutes after he left, I let the sounds of the locker room wash over me. The guys talking, laughing, planning their weekends. Life still moved. For now, I could pretend everything was fine.

Saturday. A party. Maybe a night to breathe—before the next storm hit.

The next few days crawled by in a haze of nerves.

Every knock, every ring, every shadow outside the window made me flinch. I kept expecting to see him there—my father—standing in the doorway like some ghost from the life I’d tried to outrun.

During practice I couldn’t stop scanning the stands, searching faces that weren’t supposed to be there. Sometimes I’d swear I felt eyes on me, a shape in the crowd that vanished when I looked twice. My body went through the drills, but my mind was somewhere else, waiting for the hit that hadn’t come yet.

He was out there; I could feel it.

And the longer he stayed invisible, the worse it got. Whatever he was doing before finding me was deliberate—measured. Like a hunter circling, watching, learning the distance before he pounced. I was the prey now, and he was counting his steps.

I tried to shake it off. I laughed when the others laughed, answered questions when they came, but my head was spinning with what-ifs. Even Aiden noticed. Once or twice he caught me zoning out during drills, eyes searching the bleachers instead of the ball.

“Everything good with you, Blake?” he asked quietly once.

I nodded, lying. “...Home stuff….”

But I wasn’t.

God, I wanted to tell him everything.

I wanted to pull him aside, away from the team, and whisper it all: My dad is coming. I’m scared. I don’t know what he’ll do. I wanted his arms around me, his voice grounding me, that quiet assurance that always made the world make sense again.

There was never a chance. There were always people around, always noise, always eyes.

Still, I kept telling myself I’d find a moment in person—I didn’t wanna discuss this over the phone—before it was too late. I had to. Because the fear was growing louder than the crowd, and the only thing that could silence it was him.