Chapter 181

Noah

I left before sunrise.

The sky was still the deep blue of early morning, the streetlamps buzzing faintly, the world half-asleep. I moved quietly but fast as I sneaked out the side door and into the garage. The last thing either of us needed was someone seeing me walking out of Aiden’s house at five in the morning.

But I couldn’t bring myself to regret the risk.

My skin still held the warmth of his hands.

My lips still tingled from his kiss.

My whole chest felt full—like I was carrying a heartbeat that wasn’t just mine anymore.

For the first time in months, the road ahead didn’t feel like a cage.

We had a plan.

A messy one, yes. Thin around the edges and stitched together with faith and maybe a little desperation—but it was ours.

Aiden would be safe. Whether he stayed with the Texas Wolves or found work somewhere new—he would still have his career, his dignity, his future. I would stay under William’s management long enough to get my signing bonus—the money that would get my mother and sister out of West Virginia and somewhere safe. Then I’d save the rest. Wait for the right moment. And before the wedding ever became real, I’d break the engagement, break the contract, and break free.

And if everything went to hell and he sued the fuck out of me…

If football was taken from me…

If the world turned against us…

If I lost every bit of fame and future they kept promising me…

I would still have enough to live a small, quiet life with him.

A life where love was still worth something.

A life where coming home to him would be enough.

A life that belonged to us, not to anyone else.

The plan wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t clean. It required patience and secrecy and timing.

But for the first time, I wasn’t walking into the future alone.

I had him.

And I had already decided—there was nothing in this world I wouldn’t do for him.

The sun was rising by the time I walked across campus toward the dorms. The air was cold, crisp enough to wake me fully, but I felt weightless. Smiling like an idiot. My teammates would tease me if they saw it. William would dissect it. Lexie would misunderstand it.

But I couldn’t help it.

I was in love.

And this time, love wasn’t a tragedy.

It was the point.

I showered quickly, dressed, and headed to meet the Harts for whatever surprise William had planned. Something “special,” he’d said. His tone had been carefully pleasant—just polished enough to make me uneasy.

On the way, I called my mother.

Straight to voicemail.

I called again.

Then my sister.

Nothing.

No answer. No message. No call back.

The smile I’d been carrying faltered. Why the hell weren’t they answering?

At this point, I knew something was wrong. My father had left the club furious that day… and as grateful as I was for William stepping in, his intervention didn’t account for the one thing that mattered most: my father’s greed. His rage.

His threats.

And he wouldn’t direct those toward William or me.

He would aim them where it hurt the most—

at the two people waiting back home who couldn’t defend themselves.

I dialed again.

Voicemail.

The silence pressed against my ribs—cold now, not warm.

They always answered me. Always.

Especially since my dad had shown up here.

Something in me went still. No panic yet. Just certainty.

I needed answers. And I’d get them. If William didn’t have information, I would fly home tonight. I didn’t care about meetings. I didn’t care about optics. I didn’t care about expectations.

My family came first.

Aiden would come with me.

Everything else could burn.

As I walked toward the entrance where William and Lexie were waiting, I straightened my jacket and tried to smooth the worry from my face.

We had a plan.

But today, I needed to find out whether it could still work—or if the timeline had just collapsed around me.

I didn’t ask where we were going.

William didn’t tell me.

He only said, “You’ll want to see this for yourself.”

Lexie sat beside me in the back seat, her hand resting lightly on mine. She was glowing—excited, happy in a way I didn’t know how to match. I tried. I smiled when she squeezed my fingers. I listened when she talked about colors for the reception and venues and floral arrangements. I nodded in the right places.

But my mind was somewhere else entirely.

Somewhere far away.

Somewhere scared.

We drove out past the busy streets and into quieter neighborhoods—tree-lined, calm, untouched by campus noise or traffic. The further we went, the heavier my heartbeat felt, the closer something inside me tightened.

William parked in front of a house.

Not a mansion. Not a showpiece. Something warmer. Lived-in. Real.

Soft-white paint. Big kitchen windows. A porch light on, though it was daylight now. Curtains open. A place where people lived, not where they were displayed. The perfect American dream house. And then it hit.

Oh, God… Our wedding was coming, so this house had to be—oh, God, this was our house. He had bought us a fucking house!

William stepped out, smoothing his suit jacket like this was a business meeting and not the earthquake of my life.

“I wanted this done before the championship,” he said, voice even. “But legal processes move how they move.”

William looked toward the house. “C’mon, go inside.”

My feet were moving before I consciously decided to move.

The front door opened easily when I tried the handle, and immediately I realized it wasn’t empty… Had I assumed wrong? Whose house was this?

The house smelled like laundry detergent and coffee. A faint orange-blossom candle—familiar. Something soft was playing in the kitchen—a type of music I knew well… the music my mother always loved.

I stepped forward, and something inside my chest cracked.

My sister was the first to see me.

Her breath caught.

Her eyes went wide.

She dropped the dish towel in her hand and ran.

I barely had time to open my arms before she crashed into me, clinging hard enough to knock the air from my lungs.

“Noah!” she sobbed, voice muffled against my shirt. “Noah—Noah—Noah—”

My mother turned at the sound.

She froze.

Her hand lifted to her mouth.

Her eyes filled.

And then she was there, arms wrapping around both of us, her face pressed into my shoulder, crying in that way that isn’t sound, just breath and shaking and release.

I held them both tight, unable to speak for a long time. I couldn’t.

Relief like this was violent and too intense for neat words.

Too big for the body to contain.

When my mother finally pulled back, she cupped my face in both hands.

“You’re okay,” she whispered.

I swallowed hard.

“So are you. I was so worried, Mom! But, I don’t understand… How…? And Dad—?”

Behind us, near the entryway, William stood with his wife. Just watching. When he finally turned to me, he spoke gently.

“Your father can’t come near them. Not legally. Not physically,” William said. “The emergency protective order went through Friday afternoon. My attorneys filed the restraining order the same day. The police have already served him. He knows.”

A cold wave rolled through me.

If he knew, then he was furious—murderous.

The kind of rage that didn’t burn loud, but slow and calculating.

The kind that sought revenge where it hurt most.

I swallowed hard, forcing the concern back where my mother and sister couldn’t see it. “And this house…?”

“This is one of my properties in town,” William replied, tone even. “And my gift to our new family. Your mother’s house will eventually revert to her—since it was hers to begin with—but until your father is removed and she decides what to do with the property, I can’t think of anywhere safer than here. Close to us.”

His hands folded behind his back, posture composed—not smug, not demanding thanks.

Just… certain. Because despite the incredible gift he had just given us, I knew this wasn’t just kindness.

Not really.

This was ownership, leverage. This was the gift you couldn’t ever repay—so you didn’t dare leave.