Chapter 175

Noah

“We need a miracle,” someone muttered.

“We need a Hail Mary,” another answered.

“Should we call the kicker?” One of the linemen asked, voice thin.

“No,” I said. My voice wasn’t loud—but it was solid. Final. “He can’t make this distance.”

Jace met my eyes. He was the quarterback. The captain. The leader. But right now? He was exhausted, too. Everyone was.

“Just get me the damn ball,” I told him.

A slow, sharp smile crossed his face. He nodded once.

“I’m counting on those magic hands, Noah.”

I clapped my gloves together, grounding myself in the weight of my body, my breath, the turf beneath my cleats. We lined up. The world narrowed and widened all at once.

The crowd blurred into background static.

My heartbeat became the drum.

The field became the only reality.

I drew in a breath and looked to the sideline.

Aiden stood with his arms crossed loosely, clapping once, twice—calm, steady, sure, as he already knew I was going to make it.

Like he believed for both of us and could see the outcome before it had even happened.

Like he believed in me more than I ever had in myself.

And that—more than the crowd, the stakes, the entire fucking world watching—

That was what lit the fire in my chest.

Everything slowed. The stadium, the noise, the lights—all of it dimmed like someone had muffled the world. The only sounds left were my own breathing and the heavy pulse of blood in my ears, steady and deliberate like a war drum. And beneath it, Aiden’s voice—soft, intimate, unmistakable—echoed in my head: Win for me, Noah.

Jace called the play. The snap came fast and clean. He dropped back three steps, and LSU’s defense shifted immediately, already reading us for a pass. That was the opening. I feigned right, sold it with my whole body, then turned back just in time for Keon to place the ball into my hands. The line collapsed around me in a crash of bodies and muscle and impact, but I planted my foot, lowered my shoulder, and broke through.

A linebacker came in hard from the left. I slipped past him, felt the collision behind me shake the ground, but I didn’t look back. Another two tried to close in and I drove straight through them, legs burning, ribs screaming, lungs pulling fire. There was no room for hesitation—no room for pain. I pushed forward, broke free, and suddenly the field opened in front of me. Turf and painted white lines stretched toward the end zone, bright under the stadium lights.

I lengthened my stride, tucking the ball tight against my side. Someone yelled my name from behind, footsteps closing for a second before fading. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but the line ahead of me. Forty yards. Thirty. Twenty. I didn’t slow. I didn’t look back.

I crossed into the end zone.

For a heartbeat, there was silence—like the world held its breath. Then the sound hit me all at once—deafening, explosive, the kind of noise that rattles ribs and shakes air. I didn’t spike the ball; I just let it fall from my hand, bouncing once on the turf as I stood there breathing.

My teammates were sprinting toward me, shouting, helmets raised, but I barely heard them. My eyes were already searching.

I scanned the sideline until I found him.

Aiden.

He didn’t rush the field. He didn’t shout. He walked—calm, steady, like he knew exactly where he belonged. His eyes were on me the entire time, and there was nothing restrained in them now. Pride. Relief. Awe. Something deeper. Something that had been there long before either of us dared to name it.

He wasn’t looking at his players.

He was looking at me.

And I felt it—like something inside me had been dead for weeks and was suddenly breathing again.

Aiden Mercer.

My coach.

The man I loved.

And in that moment, with the stadium roaring around us, the world finally made sense.

I didn’t wait for anyone. The moment the whistle blew and the scoreboard confirmed the win, I walked straight toward him. My teammates surged in around me, hands raised, helmets slamming together, shouts echoing through the stadium—but they were background noise. The stands erupted and people flooded onto the field, students and fans spilling over the barriers like a living wave. The whole world felt like it was collapsing inward, but my focus didn’t waver. I only saw him.

Aiden met me halfway between the sideline and the end zone, without hesitation or caution. He wrapped his arm around me and pulled me into his chest, holding me like something he’d been dying to touch. My helmet was the only thing that kept our mouths from meeting, and the ache of that almost knocked the air out of me. His voice came low, too soft for anyone else to hear, too intimate for the center of a stadium. “I am so proud of you,” he murmured, breath unsteady. “Jesus, Noah. I just—fuck—I love you.” My eyes closed for a heartbeat. Just long enough to feel it.

Then chaos hit. Someone drenched us in freezing sports drinks—players laughing, shouting, spraying water everywhere. Arms wrapped around my neck. Helmets clanked. The moment was gone, broken open by joy and noise and celebration. Aiden stepped back just enough to be appropriate again, but his eyes stayed on mine. The look we shared held everything the world wasn’t allowed to see.

Then my teammates lifted me off the ground and carried me across the field, chanting my name, chanting Wolves win, the stadium roaring around us. When they finally put me down, the reporters swarmed. Microphones shoved forward. Cameras flashed. Voices called over one another, asking how it felt, how I did it. I kept my breathing steady and answered what I could. “It was a team win,” I said. “Every single guy on that field earned this. I didn’t do it alone.”

Someone asked what changed—how I pushed through when everything seemed impossible. “I had a coach who believed in me,” I said. “Who never let me slack. He rode my ass harder than anyone ever has.” Some reporters laughed, assuming intensity. Some didn’t get it. But Aiden did. I saw him turn his face away, shoulders tightening to contain a laugh—because we both knew what those words meant. And so did William who stood just outside the camera arc, jaw clenched, eyes fixed on me, calculating every second. But for once, I didn’t feel owned. I didn’t feel caged. I didn’t feel controlled. I simply looked away.

My gaze found Lexie next. She was cheering, smiling, giving me space. And something inside my chest tightened—not with dread, but with the quiet, steady knowledge that I owed her the truth. Not today—but soon. I didn’t want her father’s wrath, I didn't wanna break her, but I didn’t want to lie anymore either. She deserved more than this arrangement. If we both had to pretend together, at least there would be no cheating on my part. One way or another, that conversation was coming.

But not tonight.

Tonight, there was only one thing that mattered:

We won.

Aiden and I had survived.

And we were done suffering in silence.

I already knew exactly where I was going.

And who was waiting for me there.