Chapter 143 Chapter 143

Chapter 143 Chapter 143
Noah's POV

I didn’t call her. Not because I didn’t want to. Not because I was trying to prove a point. Mostly because if I was being honest, I wanted to. Too much. That was the problem. Space sounded mature until you were the one trying not to fill it. Two days. That’s all it had been. Two days. Objectively not long. Emotionally, offensive.

I learned things.
One: The apartment was too quiet.
Two: I apparently talked to Emily more than I realized.
Three: I reached for my phone constantly.
Four: Self-control was deeply overrated.

Training helped mostly. Coach noticed. Of course. I wasn’t distracted. That would've been easier. I was focused in the wrong direction. Like my body stayed on schedule while my brain kept opening unfinished conversations. Practice ended late. The sun was low. The field was mostly empty. The equipment staff was cleaning up. Players were leaving. I stayed. Not because I needed extra work. Because movement felt easier than waiting.

I stood near midfield. Helmet in my hand in the cold evening air. I looked up at the empty stands. Funny how places changed. This field used to feel like everything. Now, it felt important. Different thing. I rolled my shoulder. Recovery felt good. Draft projections felt unreal. The future kept moving. And all I could think was, I missed somebody.

My phone buzzed and I looked. It was Emily. Everything in me reacted immediately.

Emily: Are you at practice?

I stared. Then typed a repy.

Me: Yeah.

Three dots appeared.

Emily: Okay.

That was it. I looked at the screen. Then locked it.

Five minutes later, I heard footsteps. I turned around. It was Emily, walking slowly across the field. Hands in her pockets. Wind moving her hair. She stopped a few feet away and looked at me. I looked back. Because suddenly, I realized. Nothing felt dramatic. No music. No disaster. Just two people standing in the middle of a football field looking tired. She stopped. “Hi.”

I smiled slightly. “Hi.”

She looked nervous. That got me. Emily usually got quiet when she was upset. Not nervous. I waited. She looked around. “Can we sit?” I nodded. We climbed into the empty stands. Not close. Not far. Enough space to feel intentional. Sunset stretched across the field. Neither of us spoke. Eventually, she looked down. “I talked to Lucas.”

I smiled once. She noticed. Then narrowed her eyes. “You knew.” I shrugged. She stared. “He’s annoying.” I nodded in agreement. That almost made her smile. Then she looked away. “I should tell you everything.”

My chest tightened. Not because I didn’t know. Because she said should. Like confession. I stayed quiet. She started slowly. She told me. The ex. The messages. The coffee. What she said. People loving and leaving. People caring and still choosing themselves. Then Richard. Every word. Every conversation. Every warning. Every certainty. She told me everything. And I listened. Not because I was trying to be mature. Because suddenly, I understood something uncomfortable. If she hid this, she probably thought she was protecting us. Which felt familiar.

When she finished, the field stayed quiet. She looked at her hands. “I know how this sounds.”

I looked out at the field in thought. “Can I ask something?”

She nodded. I looked at her. “You asked everyone except me.” Her face changed immediately. I quietly continued. “You trusted people who knew old versions of me.” I looked at her. “But not me.” No anger. No accusation. Just truth. Her eyes dropped immediately.

She swallowed. “I know.”

I looked away in thought. “I understand why.”

Her eyes lifted immediately. That surprised her. I leaned forward. Hands together. “If somebody met old versions of you and told me things…I would listen.” She looked at me. I continued. “Because they existed. They would probably tell the truth.” I looked at the field. “I think that's what bothered me.” She stayed quiet. I swallowed. “Not that you listened. That you believed people who knew old me were more qualified than current me.”

Her eyes filled immediately. She looked away. I kept my voice calm. Because this wasn't anger. It hurt. Different thing. I looked down. “I don't blame you. My track record isn't clean.” I laughed once without humor. She looked up immediately. I shrugged. “I hurt people. I avoided things. I left emotionally.” I looked at her. “People don't invent versions of me.”

Her throat moved. “Noah...”

I shook my head. Then continued. “But…” I looked directly at her. “I also stayed.” Her eyes changed. I continued. “I stayed through rehab.” “Through headlines. Through your internship. Through being scared. I'm not asking you to believe I'll never fail.” Her breathing caught. I looked at her. “I'm asking you to notice I stay.”

Everything got quiet. The sun was lower now. The wind was softer. She stared at me. “What if pressure changes things?”

I smiled. Then shrugged. “Pressure always changes things.” Her face shifted. I looked out at the field. “I'll probably change.” She stared. I looked back. “You too.” I smiled slightly. “That's not the scary part.”

“What is?” She whispered.

I thought long. Then answered honestly. “Thinking change means you stop choosing.” I looked at her. “My dad thinks people become who they really are under pressure.” I shrugged. “I think pressure just removes excuses.” Her eyes stayed on me. I continued. “You don't suddenly become somebody else. You just stop hiding parts.” I looked at her. “And right now? I still want this. I still come home.”

Her eyes closed briefly. “I wasn't trying to punish you.”

I nodded. “I know.”

She looked surprised. “I got scared.”

I smiled once. “Yeah.”

She looked at me. “You didn't fight me.”

I looked at her in thought. Then laughed quietly. “Do you know how badly I wanted to?”

That surprised her. Good. I looked down. “I wanted to explain. Convince. Fix.” I looked at her. Then smiled. “But… I don't want to win conversations anymore.”

Her face changed. She looked away immediately. “What if I ask for space again someday?”

I thought. Then shrugged. “I'll probably hate it.”

That made her laugh. I smiled. “But I'd rather you leave the room than disappear inside it.”

Her eyes filled. Mine felt suspicious. We sat quietly. Then eventually she moved. Not dramatic. Just shoulders touching. I looked at her. She looked ahead. “I asked everyone except you.”

I smiled once. “Yeah.”

She swallowed. “Sorry.”

I thought. Then looked at the sunset. “Next time.” I looked at her. Then smiled. “Ask me yourself.”

And for the first time in days, it felt less like surviving. More like building. Not certainty. Not guarantees. Just two people sitting in an empty stadium deciding fear didn't get final authority.