Chapter 212
Noah
I couldn’t stop shaking.
Guilt. Fear. Shock. All of it slammed into me the second we walked into the bright, sterile hallway of the ER. My chest felt too tight, my head buzzing like someone had stuffed a hive of angry bees behind my eyes. Aiden kept a hand on my back as we entered, steadying me, but even that felt too fragile. Too breakable. Too much like a lie, we were barely holding up.
Lexie had been cleared of the worst already—superficial cuts on her forehead, a bruise blooming across her temple, a scrape down her arm, seatbelt marks on her shoulder. They said she had no concussion, nothing internal. She was just shocked. Terrified. Crying in waves.
Micah…
Micah was somewhere behind double doors, getting scans, unconscious.
I kept replaying it in my head:
If I hadn’t asked her to help me…
If we hadn’t gone to Houston…
If we hadn’t done the reunion…
If she hadn’t been driving for me—
It was my fault.
Mine.
Aiden knew what I was thinking. He squeezed my hand. “Don’t,” he whispered. “Don’t put this on yourself.”
But I couldn’t stop. I was pacing a line in the waiting room floor like I was wearing grooves into it. Lexie sat on the bed they’d wheeled her into for observation, holding an ice pack to her cheek, flinching every time a door opened.
“We have to tell my father,” she said eventually, voice thin. “If he finds out from the police instead—”
“Yeah,” I breathed. My stomach dropped. “Yeah. Call him. Before they do.”
She nodded, pulled in a trembling breath, and hit his number.
I stood frozen, every nerve stretched tight as piano wire.
“Daddy?” she whispered when he picked up. “We’ve had a small accident. Yeah, I’m okay. I promise. I’m okay.”
Her voice cracked.
“Yes, Noah is here. Yes, he’s fine. We’re both fine.”
She swallowed, glancing between me and Aiden.
“No… It was me driving… It was a drunk driver. He ran the light.”
Her hand shook so hard she switched the phone to the other.
“They’re running tests...”
Another pause.
“…Okay. I’ll be here. Drive safe. I’ll wait. I love you.”
She hung up, exhaled a shaky breath, and looked at us.
“He’s on his way,” she said, voice breaking. “He sounded terrified. Angry. Both. He’ll be here in thirty minutes.”
That was all it took.
Aiden stiffened.
Lexie looked at me, then at him. “Aiden… you need to go.”
“No,” he said immediately. “Micah is my—he’s my responsibility. I’m not leaving him.”
“And what happens when my father walks in?” She shot back, desperation rising again. “He knows who you are. He knows where you work. He knows how close we were to that area. Noah and I can protect the story. You can’t.”
Aiden clenched his jaw. Everything in him screamed resistance. His eyes kept darting toward the doors Micah had disappeared behind.
“Aiden,” I whispered, stepping closer. “She’s right. If William sees you here…”
I swallowed hard. “…he’ll connect everything.”
He looked at me then—torn, pained, furious at the situation, scared for Micah, scared for us.
“I don’t want to leave him,” he said, voice cracking. “I don’t want to leave any of you.”
“I know,” I whispered. “I know. But right now… we need you safe. And we need this lie clean.”
He stared at me for a long second, then pressed his forehead to mine, breathing in slow, like he needed that moment to anchor himself.
“Text me with every update,” he said. “I don’t care what time. I don’t care what happens. I need to know.”
“I will,” I promised. “I swear.”
He kissed me—quick, desperate—then turned to Lexie.
“You did the right thing calling him. Stay calm. Now, you two plan a believable story, and don’t add any details.”
She nodded, eyes wet. “I’m so scared…”
“We’re all scared,” he said gently. “But you’re brave. Just breathe.”
Then he stepped back, took one last look at those hospital doors, and forced himself to walk away. I watched his shoulders tense as he pulled out his phone, already calling Hale, already setting backup plans in motion.
The second he was gone, Lexie broke again, covering her face with both hands.
“Noah… what if he finds out? What if he realizes I wasn’t with you? What if he asks too many questions?”
I sat beside her, wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and pulled her in tight.
“Okay, that’s why, like Aiden said, we need to plan our story,” I said softly, even though my own heart was sprinting toward a cliff. “We drove to Houston for dinner and music. We barhopped a little. At the jazz bar we ran into a friend, and he sat with us.”
“Yeah, that sounds good. Then, we can say Micah wasn’t feeling well. I offered him a ride, and you stayed behind holding our table because we thought I’d be right back. That’s all.”
“Perfect. Then just the truth about what happened.” I agreed.
“And if he doesn’t believe it?” she whispered.
“He will,” I said, praying I wasn’t lying. “Because he doesn’t know that you know about Aiden.”
She swallowed hard, pressing her cheek into my shoulder.
I didn’t show her how terrified I really was.
Or how much guilt was eating me alive.
Or how badly I wanted Aiden back beside me.
My phone buzzed.
Aiden.
I’m home. With Hale. Keep me updated. Stay strong, baby.
I closed my eyes and exhaled shakily.
Strong.
Right now, I felt anything but.
While we waited, I stepped into the hallway long enough to call my mom and sister. My voice shook the whole time.
I told them the truth—that I wasn’t in the car, that I was fine, that Lexie had been driving and she was bruised but okay, that Micah was hurt but alive.
I didn’t say anything more, just reassured them in quick, clipped breaths before hanging up and returning to Lexie’s side.
She was curled forward on the hospital bed, hands clasped, breathing in fast little bursts. Each minute felt like hours.
And then William arrived.
He didn’t walk in—he stormed in, that mixture of power and panic only he could pull off, his wife hurrying behind him.
“Where’s my daughter?” he demanded to the nurse at the station.
Before she could answer, Lexie’s voice cracked from inside the room.
“Daddy—”
He was through the doorway in two strides.
He didn’t look powerful then.
He looked scared.
He cupped her face, kissed her forehead, looked her over like he expected to find broken bones. “Lexie. Sweetheart. Oh God. Are you alright? Are you hurt?”
“I’m okay,” she whispered. “Just bruises.”
He pulled her into a hug so tight she winced, then loosened his grip immediately, brushing her hair back. “Jesus… baby girl…”
Then he turned to me.
I stood from the chair, my heart climbing into my throat.
He wrapped me in a quick, fierce hug.
“Oh thank God,” he breathed. “Thank God you are well.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I just nodded.
But then the questions came.
He took a seat beside her bed, holding her hand. “Alright. Tell me exactly what happened.”
Lexie looked at me. I looked at her.
We both knew the script.
So I told him—we told him—the version we had rehearsed, each line exactly as planned, down to the part where some car blew the intersection and hit them.
We didn’t need to fake the fear or the shaking.
The panic in her voice, the rawness in mine—it was all real.
William listened without interrupting, expression darkening.
“And this… Micah?” he asked, glancing at me.
“He’s a friend,” I said simply. “Lives in Houston. We ran into him by chance. He’s… he’s hurt, but alive.”
Lexie squeezed his hand, voice trembling. “I just wanted to help someone, Daddy. He looked really sick. I thought it would take ten minutes. And then… and then this car—it came out of nowhere. I didn’t even see it. Just lights and then—”
She broke off, crying again.
That did it.
William’s face softened, every line of suspicion erased under the weight of her tears. He gathered her into his arms again, rubbing her back. “It’s okay. It’s alright, sweetheart. You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”
A knock at the door pulled his attention.
A police officer stepped inside, hat in hand. “Mr. Hart? We’ve confirmed the tire tracks. Looks like a hit-and-run. Likely intoxicated driver. We’re searching the route now, but without a plate or vehicle description…”
William’s jaw flexed as he turned to the cop—voice low, dangerous.
“If you don’t find the motherfucker who did this… I will.”