Chapter 230

Noah

“I’m scared,” I said.

The words came out flat, almost casual, like I was admitting I didn’t like roller coasters. But my hands were shaking, fingers digging into the fabric of the couch cushion.

Aiden didn’t interrupt. He didn’t rush in with comfort or platitudes. He just waited, sitting across from me, elbows on his knees, eyes locked on mine.

“Of what?” he asked gently.

I let out a breath that felt like it had been trapped in my chest for twenty years. “Court.”

That got his attention. Not surprise—concern. Real, grounded concern.

“Facing him,” I went on. “Talking in front of him. Saying it all out loud. What he did. What he’s always done.” I swallowed hard. “I don’t know if I can sit in the same room with him and not… shut down.”

Aiden leaned back slightly, considering me. “Your father has been the axis of your life, Noah. Everything you did was either to survive him or escape him.”

I gave a humorless laugh. “Yeah. He was my first bully. My first monster. Every bad decision, every fear—it all traces back to him.”

“And now,” Aiden said softly, “you’d be taking that power away.”

I shook my head. “Or giving it back to him. What if I freeze? What if he looks at me and I’m twelve again and I can’t speak?”

Aiden shifted closer, lowering himself so we were eye-level. “Then we prepare. And if you freeze, we pause. If you break, we pick you back up. You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to be honest.”

I stared at the floor. “It feels like if I don’t do this, I’ll never be free. But if I do… I don’t know what it’ll cost me.”

“It will cost you pain,” he said plainly. “But not your future.”

Silence stretched between us.

Then I whispered, “I think it’s the only way he ever stops haunting me.”

Aiden nodded once. “I agree.”

That should’ve terrified me more than it did. Instead, something inside me settled.

“But that’s not the only thing we need to talk about,” I said.

He exhaled slowly. “No. It’s not.”

I looked up at him. “What happens after?”

“With court?” he asked.

“With us,” I corrected. “With football. With… reality.”

He didn’t dodge it. Didn’t sugarcoat it. That’s one of the reasons I loved him.

“The NFL isn’t college,” he said. “It’s brutal. Conservative. Hypocritical as hell. There are openly gay players, but they’re still rare, still scrutinized, still treated like a headline instead of an athlete.”

“So if we go public—”

“You’ll be watched,” he finished. “Every move. Every mistake. Some teams won’t touch you. Others will, but with conditions.”

“And you?” I asked quietly. “Coach. Former coach. Whatever we are now.”

Aiden’s jaw tightened. “We cannot announce anything while you’re still under contract negotiations. That would be career suicide for both of us.”

“So what,” I snapped, frustration bleeding through, “we just hide again?”

“No,” he said firmly. “We choose timing. Strategy. Protection.”

I rubbed my face. “I don’t want to lie anymore.”

“I know.” His voice softened. “But this isn’t lying. This is surviving a system that isn’t fair yet.”

I looked at him, heart pounding. “Would you ask me to quit football?”

He didn’t answer right away. And that scared me more than if he had.

“No,” he said finally. “I would never ask you to give up your dream.”

“What if that’s what I want you to do? To ask me to quit and just run away with you?” I pressed.

Aiden smiled, hugging me tight before kissing my forehead, my nose, then my lips. “Even if you asked me, I would tell you, not a goddamn chance, baby boy. We made it this far without breaking, and we’re gonna put up a fight. If this fucking system wants to cheat us, we will cheat back. I will find you the best contract. You’re America’s hero right now—a survivor. The public loves you, the media loves you, and we will exploit that. And once you’re secure, we will drop the bomb. Fuck them and their morals.”

I raised an eyebrow. “So the plan is… I testify. I sign. I play. And we keep us private until I cash that check.” I laughed.

“Yes,” he said. “And when you’re established—when you have leverage, which won’t take long at all—we decide how public you want to be.”

“As public as it gets!” I smirked. “Like indecent-exposure public…”

Aiden’s eyes burned with quiet certainty and a little teasing. “Then we fight. Or we pivot. Or we walk away with our heads high. I don’t give a damn, baby. But you will be where you deserve first. And, most of all, we don’t make that decision now, in the middle of trauma.”

I laughed bitterly. “God, I hate how reasonable you are.”

He smiled faintly. “That’s my job.”

I turned toward him again. “Promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“Don’t let me run,” I said. “Not from court. Not from us. Not from myself.”

Aiden reached out and took my hand, squeezing it hard. “I won’t. And you promise me something too.”

“What?”

“That you won’t confuse fear with failure,” he said. “Being scared doesn’t mean you’re weak. It means you’re doing something that matters.”

I nodded, throat tight. “Then I’ll testify.”

He didn’t cheer. Didn’t congratulate me. He just said, “I’ll be there.”

I looked at him, and for the first time in a while, he let his overprotective guard down and took a chance.

Cupping the back of my neck, he pressed his body against mine, the warmth of his chest seeping through my shirt.

My breath hitched, but not in fear—this time, it was anticipation. His eyes searched mine, asking for permission I hadn’t realized I was ready to give. I nodded, a barely perceptible movement, and he leaned in, his lips brushing against mine tentatively at first, then with more certainty.

The couch cushions sank beneath us as he shifted, his weight a grounding presence. My hands found his shoulders, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt as if to anchor myself in this moment. The trauma had left scars, but here, with Aiden, I felt them fading, replaced by the slow, steady rhythm of our hearts beating in sync.

He deepened the kiss, his tongue tracing the seam of my lips, and I opened for him, a silent surrender to the trust we’d rebuilt piece by piece. His hands roamed, one sliding down my spine to rest at the small of my back, the other tangling in my hair. The air thickened with unspoken words, but I didn’t need them—his touch said enough.

I arched into him, and my body responded in ways it hadn’t in weeks, a flicker of desire reigniting like a dormant flame. He paused, pulling back just enough to whisper my name, his voice rough with emotion. “Noah… are you sure?”

I met his gaze, melting at how much he cared and how much I fucking loved him. “I’ve never been more sure.”

And with that, the last of my hesitation dissolved, leaving only the raw, unfiltered intimacy we’d both been craving. And this time, I didn’t have to run.