Chapter 227

Aiden

Life didn’t return to normal after that fateful night, not even close. Trauma didn’t let you pick up where you left off. It didn’t respect calendars or routines or classes or training schedules. It just sat in the room with you, heavy and breathing, reminding you that everything familiar had been rewired.

Just like Micah needed time for his physical scars, the rest of us needed time for the kind you can’t see.

Especially Noah.

For days, he didn’t rest. Not really. He held himself together like a dam at its breaking point—protecting everyone but himself. He stayed strong for his mom, who couldn’t stop shaking, for Emily, who wouldn’t sleep unless Noah was in the room, for Lexie, whose world had changed forever.

He dealt with police statements.

He faced lawyers from both families.

He kept the press as far away from us as possible.

He shielded his mom and sister from reporters.

He fielded calls he never wanted to answer.

He blocked conversations he wasn’t ready to have.

And every time someone else broke, he caught them.

But he never let himself crack.

Not once. Until that night.

We were at my place for the first time since the wedding—or what should’ve been the wedding. Soft music played low, some calming playlist I didn’t remember turning on. Noah was curled into me on the bed, his head against my chest, my fingers gently tracing lazy lines up and down his arm. His breath had a slow rhythm to it, the kind that told me he was finally letting himself feel safe.

For a moment I thought we’d both drift off like that—wrapped in warmth, exhaustion, love.

He even smiled once or twice in his sleep, the tiny kind, the ghosts of real smiles that used to live on his face before the world tried to erase them.

I kissed his hair and whispered, “I’ve got you, baby. You’re safe.”

And I meant it. Every word. Every damn breath of it.

“I’m safe… I’m with you. God, I’m with you…” His voice broke down a little.

Before he could crumble any further, I cupped his face and kissed him—his forehead, his closed eyelids, the bridge of his nose…

“You are, baby… you are.”

And once I had him close, once I felt his skin against my mouth, it was over for me. I couldn’t stop.

I kissed his cheeks, his jaw, the edge of his ear, the warm stretch of his neck. Then his lips—soft, trembling, familiar and brand new all at once. I kissed him tender, then harder, then like I was starving for him.

We kissed like we’d never kissed before.

Slow. Deep. Desperate.

Like we were relearning each other with our mouths.

And God, everything in me wanted to take it further.

To pull him under me.

To undress him inch by inch.

To enter him slowly and fuck him until sunrise… remind his body what mine felt like.

But I couldn’t. Not tonight.

Not when he was hanging together by threads and pretending, they weren’t fraying.

Despite that tough façade, Noah wasn’t okay—and taking him like this would’ve been selfish, careless, wrong. So I stopped myself. I held him instead.

I pulled him against me, tucked him under my chin, and breathed him in. His arms slid around me, clinging without thinking. His warmth, his weight, his heartbeat pressed into mine.

For the first time in days, his mind drifted.

His body loosened against me, breath evening out.

The Noah I knew—or the closest version of him right now—sinking into sleep.

Tears ran down my face… and when the hell did I become this emotional? Holy shit…

I followed him, eyes closing, wrapped around the only thing in the world that mattered.

But sometime after midnight, everything changed.

Noah jolted upright with a gasp so sharp it punched the air out of my lungs. His whole body shook violently, breath ragged, hands clawing at the sheets like he was trying to escape something only he could see.

“Noah?” I sat up fast, reaching for him. “Baby—hey—look at me.”

He didn’t hear me.

He was somewhere else entirely.

His chest rose too fast, his eyes wide and wet and unfocused. He was trembling so hard the mattress shook with him. A choked cry tore out of him—not loud, but broken, like someone had ripped sound straight from his ribs.

I pulled him into my arms, and he flinched, then clung. Clung like he was drowning and I was the only solid thing in his universe.

“Oh, sweetheart…” I whispered into his hair, rocking him gently. “It’s okay, I’ve got you. I’m here. You’re safe.”

But he wasn’t calming down.

His breathing was spiraling.

His fingers dug into my shoulders like he was terrified I’d disappear.

Finally he choked out, “A-Aiden—”

“I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

He gasped again, shaking harder. “I—I was there again… Dad, William, Lexie… blood—so much, so fast, I should’ve—”

His voice broke entirely. And he collapsed.

Sobbing.

Not softly, not quietly—but in body-wracking, soul-twisting waves. Like everything he’d been holding in finally detonated all at once.

I tightened my arms around him, one hand stroking his back, the other cupping the back of his neck.

“Oh, baby boy…” My voice cracked. “You’ve been carrying the weight of the whole world alone. Why didn’t you tell me?”

He shook his head violently. “I had to—Mom, Emily, Lexie—everyone needed someone… strong, and I—” His breath hitched painfully. “I feel broken, Aiden. I don’t know if I can ever be whole again.”

I pulled back just enough to hold his face in my hands, forcing him gently to meet my eyes.

“You don’t have to be whole yet,” I whispered. “You don’t have to be anything but here. With me.”

He sobbed again, leaning into my touch like it hurt to be seen.

“I’m scared,” he whispered.

“I know.” I kissed his forehead. “I’m also scared, baby. Scared for you. Scared of losing you. Scared of what they did to you. But you’re not alone anymore.”

His fingers trembled as they clutched the front of my shirt. “My mind is overwhelmed, my heart hurts, and I’m so tired, so exhausted… What if I never get better?”

“Then I’ll hold you through every bad moment,” I said softly. “And when the good moments come—and they will—I’ll be right there too.”

His breath trembled, but it slowed, just barely.

“You need help, sweetheart,” I whispered into his hair. “Real help. A therapist. Someone trained to untangle all this pain. Someone who can guide you through the nightmares and the trauma.”

Noah didn’t answer at first.

Then—barely audible:

“Will you… go with me?”

“Every time,” I promised. “Every single time. I’ll sit with you, I’ll wait for you, I’ll walk you through whatever comes next. But please, baby… let me help carry this with you. You don’t have to do it alone anymore.”

He collapsed into me again, arms around my waist, face pressed against my chest, tears soaking through my shirt.

And for the first time since the shooting, since the accident, since the blackmail… Noah finally let himself fall apart.

I held him while he did, for as long as he needed, and as long as it took.

Outside, the world was still spinning in chaos—headlines, investigations, lawyers, the aftermath of a death none of us fully digested yet.

But here, in my arms, it was just him.

Just us… breathing. Breaking. Healing.

Together.