Chapter 233

Aiden

A couple of weeks had passed since the wedding.

Weeks filled with therapists, lawyers, statements, silence, and nights where Noah slept curled into my chest like he was afraid the world might come back for him if he let go.

Everyone was dealing with the past.

I wasn’t.

I was building the future.

I’d already scrapped half the plans I’d made months earlier. Back then, I’d been thinking like a coach, like an agent chasing the best numbers, the biggest spotlight, the fastest climb. Oregon. Florida. Places that made sense on paper.

Not anymore.

I wasn’t about to drag Noah across the country just to chase a deal.

Not after everything.

What mattered now wasn’t just football.

It was location. Stability. Distance without isolation. A place Noah could heal without disappearing. A place Micah and Lexie could reach without turning every visit into a logistical nightmare. Somewhere Hale could still keep a hand on things without hovering.

And somewhere a conversation I’d had weeks ago could finally stop being hypothetical…

Once I stopped chasing numbers and started thinking about lives, Louisiana made more sense than anywhere else. Close enough to Texas to stay connected. Far enough to start clean. The New Orleans Saints checked every box I hadn’t been brave enough to prioritize before.

From that point forward, I hunted.

The meeting room was glass and steel, expensive without trying.

The scouts were from New Orleans. Big franchise. Bigger expectations. Exactly the kind of pressure Noah could handle—on his terms. A general manager. One legal advisor already scrolling through numbers like this was just another rookie on the list.

They thought they were interviewing a college star.

They weren’t.

“Let’s start with this,” I said, sliding Noah’s performance metrics across the table. “You’re not buying potential. You’re buying consistency. His injury recovery time is faster than league average. His field IQ puts him in the top five percent. And he’s barely scratched his ceiling.”

One scout smiled politely. “We’re aware he’s talented.”

“No,” I said calmly. “You’re aware he’s useful. There’s a difference.”

That wiped the smile clean off his face.

They brought up exposure. Brand risk. Media pressure. “Recent events.”

I didn’t raise my voice.

“You don’t get to discount him for surviving trauma, which, I might add, had turned him into America’s favorite,” I said. “And if that’s your angle, we’re done.”

The GM leaned back. Studied me.

“Let’s talk numbers,” he said.

Good.

We started with the signing bonus. They opened conservative.

I countered with double.

The legal advisor blinked. “That’s… ambitious.”

“It’s market value,” I replied. “You just haven’t caught up yet.”

We went back and forth—guaranteed years, performance incentives, injury clauses that went beyond the league minimum. I demanded full coverage for physical rehab and psychological support, written in language so airtight the NFLPA lawyer paused twice before nodding.

Then I brought up the clause I actually cared about.

“No morality clauses tied to personal life,” I said. “None. No vague ‘conduct detrimental’ bullshit that can be weaponized later.”

The room went quiet.

“That’s nonstandard,” the GM said carefully.

“So is his talent,” I replied. “You want him pretending to be someone else, you don’t want him. And if you think I’ll let him sign something that can be used against him the moment he stops fitting your image, you’re mistaken.”

Another pause.

The scouts exchanged looks. One of them finally laughed—short, impressed.

“You ever thought about managing players professionally?”

I didn’t smile. “I might.”

They adjusted the offer.

Upward.

By the time we shook hands, the deal on the table had a signing bonus that made even the legal advisor look satisfied, guaranteed protection that actually meant something, and language so clean it couldn’t be twisted later.

When I walked out, the contract was already waiting in my inbox.

Unsigned.

Right where I wanted it.

All we needed was final confirmation that William’s contract was legally dead.

Then I made the second call.

“Hale,” I said when he answered. “That club idea we talked about?”

A pause. Interest sharp as a blade. “I was wondering when you’d call. Is there any news on your end?”

“I think so, my friend. Let’s talk again.” I suggested.

We didn’t do a phone conversation.

We met.

No ceremony. No pretenses. Just two men who knew exactly what they were building.

“The location is absolutely perfect,” Hale said, spreading documents across the table. “New Orleans was my first choice without a doubt. BDSM and underground club culture, amazing nightlife and tourism… Discreet. Growing scene. Enough distance from familiar eyes.”

“That’s what I thought,” I commented. “Not only for the club, but for our new life.”

Hale nodded with enthusiasm, looking at the charts. “I like it! If you are up for it, so am I.”

“I’m done coaching,” I said. “But I’m not done leading.”

His gaze lifted, assessing. Calculating.

“I’d want you involved beyond operations,” he said. “Management. Direction. Equity.”

I didn’t hesitate. “Then we structure it that way.”

His mouth curved, approving. “Good.” He leaned back, fingers steepled. “And it’d be good for our boys too. I think they all need new scenarios—literally.”

My expression softened despite myself. “I think they do. And Louisiana is close enough for them to stay in touch and ease into it together.”

“This could be good for him,” Hale continued. “New spaces. New energy. No ghosts. I want him exploring again—safely. With me.”

I nodded. “He’s getting there.”

Hale hesitated only a second before adding, “And Lexie.”

I looked up.

“There’s potential there,” he said calmly. “Curiosity. Strength. Chemistry.” A pause. “Between all three of us.”

I didn’t pretend not to understand.

“Somewhere new,” Hale continued, “away from history and expectations… It could be a clean start. For all of us.”

I considered it.

Then nodded once. “One step at a time.”

His smile was slow. Satisfied. “Of course.”

By the time we stood to leave, it wasn’t a fantasy anymore.

It was infrastructure.

A club. A city. A future where none of us had to choose between who we were and who we loved.

I went home that night and sat in the dark for a moment, letting it settle.

Then I picked up my phone.

“Hey, baby,” I said when Noah answered. “How are you?”

A pause. His breath. “Tired. But… okay. I’ve missed you. What have you been up to all day?”

“I’ve been thinking about you,” I said. “About us. About the future… And, like the sucker I am, I’ve been counting the minutes before talking to you.”

“Awww… Then I’m a sucker too. I can’t go even a day without hoping I was with you…” he whispered. “Any news?”

“No, baby boy. I just wanted to hear your voice.”

I didn’t tell him yet.

There was time.

First, we still had to face the past.