Chapter 182

Aiden

The week after the championship passed in a strange kind of haze.

Everyone was still buzzing—players walking taller, professors stopping them in hallways, the athletics department acting like we’d handed them the moon. And I was proud—God, I was proud—but none of it mattered the way it should have. Not without him beside me.

Sunday dragged.

I tried grading film. Didn’t focus.

Tried reorganizing training schedules. Forgot what I was doing mid-sentence.

Tried sleeping—failed entirely.

I kept checking my phone like an idiot, waiting for his message, his name, anything.

When his call finally came, it was late. Later than I expected. The kind of hour where silence sits heavy on the walls and you can hear your own heartbeat too loudly.

I answered before the first ring had even finished.

“Noah?”

There was a pause, as if he was still trying to wrap his head around whatever he was about to say.

“I… have news,” he began, his voice low, unsteady in a way I couldn’t read. “Today was… surreal. And you’re not gonna believe this but—”

a shaky breath,

“—guess who’s here.”

I sat up straight. “I don’t know, baby, who—”

“My mother,” he said. “My mom and Emily. They’re here. Here.”

I went still. “What? Here where? How—?”

“William,” he said, the disbelief still leaking through every syllable. “He brought them. He… he got them out. He put them in a house—one of his. My father can’t come near them; there’s a restraining order. Lawyers, paperwork—everything moved fast. And I just—” His words broke off, not emotional, just overwhelmed. “They’re safe, Aiden.”

For a moment, I didn’t know how to responde to every red flag in my head.

“Baby… that’s—” My voice cracked, and I had to try again. “That’s incredible.” A quiet exhale. “I… I’m so shocked right now.”

Another breath.

“And congratulations,” I said, meaning it. “I’m so happy for you. Really—”

“Babe,” he cut in, a tired half-laugh in his voice. “I swear you’re so cute when you struggle... I know you’re about to give me the whole ‘this is a blessing’ speech. And I am happy. I’m… I’m fucking relieved. I walked in and saw them safe and fed and smiling and I almost dropped to my knees right there.”

His voice faltered, not from tears—just from the gravity of it.

“But I also know exactly what you’re really thinking.”

I didn’t try to pretend otherwise.

He exhaled, slow and shaky. “This is another debt. Another leash. Another thing I owe him that I can’t possibly pay back.”

“Noah,” I said softly, “you’re right. And I won’t lie to you—when you told me, that was the first thought I had too.”

Silence. Not offended. Just waiting.

“But,” I continued, steady, “we’re framing it differently. Your mother and Emily are safe now. Not next month. Not after your signing bonus. Not after we figure out lawyers and contracts. Now. And that matters more than the strings attached to it.”

He didn’t answer at first. I heard shuffling. The sound of him sitting down. Maybe running a hand through his hair.

“So what?” he asked quietly. “I just… pretend everything’s okay? Play along? Smile and nod and keep letting him pull the strings?”

“For now,” I said. Not apologizing for it. “Because once your NFL contract is in place, once you get the signing bonus, once your first checks start coming in—you buy them their own place. You move them out of his house. You thank him politely, and you take over. As their son. Not his dependent.”

“Then I’ll cancel the wedding too,” he repeated our initial plan.

The word tasted like poison.

“That’s right. Once they’re safe and financially secure,” I said, “we walk away. From all of it. You get out before the vows. And later on, we see how to get out of your professional contract with him. We cut ties clean.”

A beat. Then, quietly:

“You think he won’t go after them? Out of spite?”

“No,” I said immediately. “William’s cruel, but he’s not stupid. He’s building an image. He wouldn’t touch an innocent woman and child. There’s no gain in that for him—only ruin. And you’re not alone anymore. He knows that. He knows you have me.”

The silence on his end warmed—softened—settled.

I heard him breathe, just breathe, like someone finally stepping off a ledge.

“Okay,” he murmured. “Yeah. Okay. That’s the plan.”

“For now,” I echoed.

Another quiet moment. Not heavy—full.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, voice softer than sleep. “At practice.”

My chest tightened in the best possible way. “Yeah. Tomorrow.”

“And after practice…” His tone changed into a tease. A promise disguised as a suggestion.

My hand tightened around the phone. “After practice,” I repeated.

We didn’t need to say what came next. We already knew.

The days that followed settled into something strange—both familiar and entirely new.

The championship glow still clung to everyone on campus. Reporters called. News clips aired. Noah’s name became a headline by itself.

But the season wasn’t actually over.

Not for us.

We had earned something bigger—the Bowl bid.

The one held in California.

The one every college program drooled over because it meant prestige, sponsors, attention… and scouts.

It was still a month away, but training didn’t stop. If anything, the pressure doubled. Every reporter expected Noah to recreate the impossible. Every scout expected him to be a miracle twice.

I knew what that did to a player’s mind.

So practices became lighter in contact but heavier in discipline. I walked the field, corrected technique, shouted plays, reviewed formations. I did my job and always pushed for his best interest.

One afternoon, I received a call back from two powerful and influential scouts—ones who were willing to negotiate with Noah, not through William. I called Noah to my office, eager to tell him, because this was fantastic news. The door shut behind him with a quiet click.

He leaned against it, arms crossed, smile sharp and knowing.

“Like in the old days,” he murmured.

For a moment, I forgot the news. I crossed the room in three strides, my hands cupping his jaw as I pulled him up into a kiss hard enough to bruise. His back hit the wall with a soft thud. His fingers curled into my shirt, dragging me closer like he needed me inside his lungs to breathe.

It was fast. Too fast. Too much.

But it was also necessary.

His mouth was warm, eager, familiar in ways that nearly broke me open. For one reckless second, I thought I would drag him onto the desk and fuck him right there before my next meeting, but footsteps sounded in the hall.

We broke apart just before reality crashed back into place.

His breathing was heavy.

Mine was worse.

He straightened his collar. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. We didn’t speak—didn’t need to. The silence between us felt like a pulse.

“After practice,” he whispered, leaving the room first.

And it was like that every day.

A touch when no one looked, a hand brushing mine as we passed in the hallway, kisses in dark corners, late nights in the showers…

We were walking the tightrope, never knowing if it would hold, but unable to stay on safe ground.

At night, I lay in bed, staring at my ceiling, counting the hours until I could have him again.

I didn’t care where or how, and I didn’t care about the risk. To a point, of course. I wasn’t reckless. Yet I could never deny him.

If he wanted a stolen minute behind the weight room, I’d take it.

If he wanted to sit in my car in silence just to breathe the same air, I’d do it.

If he rode to my house in the middle of the night, I would take him in my arms every time.

He was worth the caution. Worth the danger. Worth the wait.

“I hate leaving in the middle of the night… I feel like a cheap whore,” he pouted once.

“Babe, it’s the expensive ones you can’t keep for the night.”

I kissed him with a laugh. “I hate it too, but it won’t be forever… Besides, I have a surprise.”

He threw his arms around my neck, kissing me with the enthusiasm of a kid at Christmas.

“Really? Tell me!”

“I rented us a place for the Bowl weekend. Far enough from the team’s accommodations. Just you and me. All night.”

It wasn’t much, and it was risky as fuck—but those were the moments that kept us both breathing.