Chapter 173

Aiden

Game day shouldn’t have felt like this.

The locker room was loud—music, laughter, guys hyping each other up—but all of it felt far away, like I was listening from underwater. I moved through the motions: calling roll, checking equipment, handing out travel bands, giving last-minute reminders. To everyone else, I was composed. Steady. The coach they needed.

Inside, I was bone-tired. I hadn’t really slept. Not last night, not the night before, not the night before that, but it went beyond my physical needs.

I was the kind of tired that sits behind your ribs and doesn’t leave.

I kept expecting today to break him completely. The way Noah had been moving all week—quiet, hollow, like someone had scooped him out from the inside—made me fear he wouldn’t make it through the game. And I didn’t know what I would do if I was the reason he fell.

Players began filing out toward the buses in loud, loose knots of excitement.

Noah was the last.

He walked slowly, not stalling, not unsure—just… bracing. His duffel hung from one shoulder. His hair was still damp from the shower. He looked exhausted, pale, drained—but there was something different in his eyes.

Just a flicker of himself.

I was a few steps behind him as we crossed the parking lot. Ahead, William stood near the athletic department staff, talking to one of the coordinators, his gaze falling on him and his every move.

Noah looked away.

Something flickered across his face—pain, maybe, or resolve.

And then, just as he stepped up onto the bus, he turned his head—only slightly—but enough that his voice reached me.

“We need to talk,” he said.

His voice was thin, strained, but steady.

My heart stopped.

He added, barely above a whisper, “After the game.”

I swallowed hard. “Of course.”

It came out rougher than I meant.

He gave me the smallest grin—not an obvious smile, not really, but something like the idea of one. A cautious, worn, fragile curve at the corner of his mouth. Like hope remembered what it used to feel like, even if it wasn’t sure it belonged yet.

My heart melted.

Then he walked down the aisle and sat with his teammates, head bowed, earbuds in, shoulders drawn in tight.

I stood there for a second too long before climbing in after him.

The bus engine roared to life.

The entire town lined the street, waving signs, cheering, chanting our team name.

The city was electric.

But none of that was what made my chest ache.

It was that tiny flicker in Noah’s eyes every time our eyes crossed.

And just like that I could almost breathe—really breathe—without it hurting.

For the first time since I lost him,

I let hope in.

By the time we reached the hotel, everything felt like routine done on muscle memory. Check-in. Key envelopes. Trainers unloading gear. Coordinators reviewing schedules. The lobby was full of noise — reporters outside, families gathering, fans trying to peek in through the glass.

The team ate together in a private conference room. People talked. Laughed. Tried to settle nerves.

Noah didn’t speak.

But he wasn’t shut down anymore.

He was… focused.

After the meal, just before the team was dismissed for quiet time, Noah stepped toward me. Not close, not obvious — just enough that his voice reached me.

“Coach,” he said, tone even. “I want to run a couple routes with you. Before we go.”

It was the first time all week he’d spoken to me in front of others.

I played it steady.

“Yeah. Lobby lounge. Five minutes.”

I didn’t let myself look at him too long.

But I saw the moment William’s gaze shifted toward us.

We walked to the lounge separately. I sat first, setting my tablet and a play sheet on the table between us. A prop. A cover.

Noah sat across from me.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The silence was thick. A living thing. The kind that hurts.

I finally drew in a breath. “Noah—”

He shook his head gently. Not to stop me. To say he already knew.

“I know,” he said quietly.

My heart stuttered hard enough that I had to grip the edge of the table.

“I talked to Micah,” he went on. No judgement. No accusation. Just truth. “He told me what happened.”

I closed my eyes for a second. Not from relief — from the sheer force of everything I’d been holding back.

“Noah,” I said, voice rough. “I am so sorry. For everything. For all of it. I—”

He cut me off again, but softer this time.

“We can’t do this right now.”

There was no coldness in it.

Just steadiness.

Strength I thought I had broken in him.

“I just need you to know,” he continued, “that I know the truth. And that I’m not walking away. Not from this. Not from you.”

I swallowed hard, emotion burning behind my ribs.

“I’m going to win tonight,” he said, breath trembling just slightly. “I’m going to win this. And then… we’ll talk. We’ll figure out what's next. And we’ll do it on our terms.”

Something inside me almost gave out right there.

His hand reached for the pen on the table at the same moment mine did. Our fingers brushed.

It was the smallest touch.

Barely anything.

But it felt like being given air after drowning.

I wanted to take his hand so badly my muscles ached with the restraint. But William was watching from across the lobby — I could feel it even without looking, so I didn’t move.

I only breathed.

“Together,” Noah said, voice raw, quiet, breaking just a little.

I met his eyes — and this time, I didn’t hide anything.

“Together,” I answered.

When Noah stood and walked away, I stayed seated, hands still resting on the table, breathing like I’d been sprinting. It took everything in me not to get up and go after him. Not to pull him into my arms and kiss him right there in front of God and William and the entire damn state of Texas.

But there would be time.

He wasn’t walking away from me.

Not anymore.

Not from us.

I didn’t know how the hell we were going to make this work, or what we’d have to lose to keep it. I didn’t have a plan. I didn’t have a safety net. I didn’t have guarantees.

But I didn’t care.

Not about my reputation.

Not about my career.

Not about my future.

The only thing that mattered was him — and the life he still had in front of him. If I had to stay in the shadows forever to protect that, then fine. If I had to disappear when the world wasn’t looking, fine. If I had to give up everything I had ever built to hide by his side, fine.

I had already lost him once and I would be damn if I was ever going to lose him again.

But first—

We had a championship to win.