Chapter 190

Aiden

The second that door opened—when the world shattered around us—I didn’t think about myself.

Not once.

Not about escape.

Not about my career.

Not about the humiliation that was already spreading like wildfire through that narrow hallway.

My brain locked onto one single instinct, sharp enough to cut through bone:

Protect Noah.

If we had planned for this moment—and maybe we had, maybe we hadn’t—it didn’t matter. It had always been my decision: to take the blame if it ever came to this.

From the first night I let myself fall for him, from the first time I touched him knowing damn well I would burn the world before letting it hurt him again… this was the price I had already accepted.

My punishment.

My cross.

And the only thing that destroyed me wasn’t the screams I could already hear in my future—it was the anguish in Noah’s eyes. His shaking. His fear. His suffering undid me in ways no board, no police officer, no fucking judge ever could.

By the time they marched me into one of the private offices deep in the stadium’s administrative wing, my jaw was locked and my heartbeat steady, ready to take every hit meant for him.

But nothing prepared me for the faces waiting inside.

Men and women who had once praised me. Admired me. Trusted me with their sons, their school, their legacy. Board members who had called me “the best thing that ever happened to Hawkswell athletics.” The director who once told me he wished every coach on campus was like me.

Fucking hell... Where did all these people come from? They all turned pale when they saw me.

The room changed in seconds into something closer to a courtroom than a disciplinary meeting. Papers hit the table. Doors shut. Phones silenced. Eyes narrowed with a horror so sharp it was almost pity.

And then someone said it.

The word that cleaved straight through my ribcage.

“Predator.”

My throat burned but I didn’t flinch.

I didn’t fight it.

I gave them what they needed.

I stood straighter.

“I’ll speak for myself,” I said.

The dean folded his hands. “Mr. Mercer… we need your statement.”

I nodded. “I understand.”

I forced the words out, each one cutting me open.

“I have never behaved inappropriately with any player before. Not in my college career, not as a coach, not once.” My voice wavered, but I didn’t let it break. “I have never been attracted to a student. I have never abused my authority before this.”

Gasps.

A few curses under someone’s breath.

I kept going.

“What happened tonight… what you walked in on… wasn’t forced. My feelings for Noah Blake are genuine.” I swallowed. Hard. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I had the position of power. I used it. And that means—whether he consented or not—I coerced a student into intimacy.”

A woman on the board whispered, “Oh God…”

I looked each of them in the eye, even when it burned.

“For that, I am guilty.”

Silence spread like poison.

The director spoke first. “If Noah Blake wishes to press charges there will be no way to stop this from spreading—”

He won’t, I thought to myself. Not unless someone forces him.

And I knew exactly who that someone was.

They exchanged looks heavy with meaning. Fear. Strategy.

The dean cleared his throat.

“... But if the family doesn’t wish to pursue legal action, for the protection of the institution… and the player involved… we intend to keep this incident private.”

I knew what that meant.

They didn’t care about me.

They didn’t care about Noah.

They cared about the school.

About the scandal.

About the name Hawkswell.

Cowards.

But it worked in my favor, and I would take any scrap of mercy if it meant shielding the both of us from the monstrous headlines this would generate.

I bowed my head.

“Thank you.”

The director didn’t return the politeness.

“You are fired, Mr. Mercer. Effective immediately.”

The final blow.

I let it hit me in the chest like a hammer.

I imagined Noah on campus… and then forced myself to stop imagining it. Because it would no longer be my campus. My team. My locker room. My Saturday mornings. My office.

I would never again stand on that field with my boys.

I would never again see my baby boy walking across the quad with that shy smile he pretended he didn’t have.

I wouldn’t hear him laugh in my office.

Wouldn’t see him in his jersey.

Wouldn’t feel him sneak looks at me from the weight room…

And for now, I wouldn’t be able to see him at all.

The dean stood. “Mr. Mercer, you’ll remain off campus indefinitely. A full investigation will follow on Monday.”

I nodded.

My voice barely existed.

“Understood.”

My heart stayed behind in that office, bleeding out.

But my face remained cold, controlled, unreadable. Because Noah depended on that, and I would die before I made this harder on him.

I didn’t remember the walk out of that office. I didn’t remember how I got my bag, or how I crossed the parking lot, or how I managed to drive without crashing into something. The world outside had become a blur—too loud, too bright, too wrong to belong to the same night my life imploded. Somehow, without being fully aware of my own steps, I made it to the hotel. Not the one booked for the team, not the one filled with players, reporters, and cameras waiting to devour whatever story they could find… but the one I had secretly reserved days ago. The one meant to be our private celebration—the start of our stolen honeymoon before reality swallowed us again.

Walking into that room nearly crushed me. The champagne I’d ordered earlier sat untouched in a silver bucket, water dripping down the sides. Two glasses waited beside it. The white linens had been turned down, and a small card with a handwritten “Congratulations!” from the hotel staff was propped next to the pillows. My chest tightened until I could barely breathe. I poured myself a drink from the minibar—whiskey, something expensive and pointless—and for the next hour I stood by the window staring out at the glittering Los Angeles skyline, my heart thundering in the dark.

Every instinct in me screamed to call him. He had to be terrified, shattered, worried sick about what they had done to me, what they might do next. I needed to hear his voice and tell him I was okay, tell him it was not going public and I could still teach somewhere else, that losing my job meant nothing compared to losing him. I wanted to reassure him that we still had a future and that one day, when the dust settled, I would still be there waiting for him. I wanted him to hear how much I loved him, needed him, missed him. But every time my hand reached for my phone, the image of William Hart’s face stopped me cold.

William would be hovering over Noah like a vulture. He would have eyes on him, ears on him, pressure wrapped around him like chains. A call from me could ruin everything. It could force Noah to say something under duress. It could turn a “private incident” into a legal disaster. So I set the phone down and poured myself another drink, my hands shaking so hard the bottle nearly slipped. Tears blurred my vision—silent, hot, unstoppable—as the hours crawled by. Maybe three, maybe five. I didn’t keep track. I just sat there on the edge of the bed meant for the two of us, choking on every second of silence.

Then my phone rang.

The sound tore through the room like a bullet, ripping me out of the stupor I’d sunk into. My heart slammed against my ribs as I looked at the screen. An unknown number. A spike of ice shot through my veins as a dozen scenarios fired through my mind at once: the police calling, charges being filed, a demand to turn myself in, a court order I wasn’t prepared for. My throat tightened as I answered, my voice rough. “Aiden Mercer.”

There was a breath on the other end—fragile, shaking—and then a voice so broken it nearly brought me to my knees.

“Aiden…”

Noah.

And in the same heartbeat, I died and came back to life.