Chapter 147 Chapter 147

Chapter 147 Chapter 147
Noah's POV

I knew it was going too well. That should've been the first warning. The morning after whatever had quietly shifted between me and Emily felt suspiciously normal. She made coffee. I complained about coffee. She accused me of having the palate of a twelve-year-old. I defended myself. She lost. Then she left for campus and kissed my cheek on the way out like she forgot to overthink it. Which should've made me suspicious. Because life had a pattern. Things stabilized. Then something arrived. Usually professionally dressed.

Today, it arrived through my agent. He called while I was leaving training. His voice immediately sounded wrong. Too upbeat. I answered. “What.”

He laughed. Bad. “Big interview.”

I got into my car. “Okay.” He paused. “National sports network.”

I leaned back in thought. Then shrugged. “Fine. There’s one thing.”

There it is. I closed my eyes. “Say it. They will probably ask.”

I stared ahead. “The relationship?”

He hesitated. “And the resurfaced stories.”

There it was. Old articles. Old clips. Old versions. I looked out the windshield in thought. “Okay.”

He sounded surprised. “Are you sure?”

I thought. Then shrugged. “Yeah. If they ask.” I looked at the parking lot. “I answer.”



The studio looked expensive. Everything controlled. People with headsets. Makeup. Lights. Large screens. My face in places it shouldn't be. I sat in makeup. Deeply offended. A woman adjusted something near my eye. I looked at myself in the mirror. I looked normal. Which felt strange. Because lately, my life kept becoming public. And somehow, I still felt mostly like the same person. The interviewer came over. Professional. Friendly. Warm. Good. We shook hands. We made small talk about football. Recovery. Draft.

The Producer counted down. The lights changed. I smiled. The show started. And honestly, the first half went well. Questions. Recovery. Performance. Scouts. Pressure. Routine. It was all easy, then the pivot. You learn to recognize it. The tiny shift. Voice softer. Question broader. Smile more careful.

The interviewer leaned forward slightly. “You've had a really interesting public year.” I smiled politely. He continued. “We've seen injury recovery. Public scrutiny. Relationship attention.” There it is. I nodded. He smiled. “Recently old stories resurfaced. People naturally compare.” I stayed calm. He looked at me. “So what makes this relationship different?”

The room got quiet. I looked at him in thought. And immediately understood. Not because it was malicious. Because it was the wrong question. What makes Emily different. What makes this one work. What changed. Like people become fixed when somebody good arrives.

I sat quietly. The interviewer waited. People off-camera watched. And suddenly, I realized. I didn't want to answer. Not because of Emily. Because I didn't want to compare women to explain growth. I looked towards the camera. “I don't think that's a fair question.”

The interviewer blinked. Not offended, just curious. He nodded. “What do you mean?”

I looked down briefly. Then back up. “I don't want to talk about people like they're lessons.” The room shifted. I continued. I cared about people before. I hurt people before. I got hurt before.” I looked towards the camera. “And I don't think current happiness means old relationships weren't real.” The interviewer stayed quiet. I continued. “I think people grow. Sometimes badly. Sometimes late.” I swallowed. Then smiled slightly. “I'm not proving somebody deserves trust.” I looked directly ahead. Then finished. “I'm building it.”

The room got quiet. I heard somebody move off-camera. The interviewer looked at me. “So you're saying this isn't about certainty?”

I smiled. “I don't think anybody earns permanent trust. I think people show up again.” I looked down. “And people decide.”

The interviewer nodded slowly. “Do you want to address the recent attention involving your ex?”

There it was. The room got very quiet. I looked at him. Then smiled politely. “No.”

He blinked. I continued. Not defensive. Just steady. “I don't want to explain current relationships by reopening old ones. I don't think that's respectful.” I looked at the camera. “I don't need to rewrite my past to protect my present.”

The interviewer looked surprised. Then nodded. And moved on. That was it. Interview continued. Football. Draft. Recovery and then it finished. The lights were off. There was applause. People relaxed. I stood up, the mic was now off. And immediately wanted to go home. The producer thanked me. The agent appeared, it looked weirdly emotional and concerning.

He looked at me. “That was good.”

I shrugged. “Okay.”

He stared. Then laughed. “You don't know when you're saying important things.”

I ignored him and grabbed my bag and walked out. My phone was buzzing with notifications and messages. I ignored them. Then there was one text from Emily. I opened it. No context. No explanation.

Emily: You looked calm.

I stared.

Emily: I liked that.

My chest tightened. I typed a reply.

Me: Coming home. Would you like anything?

Three dots appeared.

Emily: Yeah, you.

I smiled immediately and locked my phone. And walking out of the studio, I realized something. For years, people asked the wrong question. Who changed you? Who fixed you? Who made you better? But maybe, that wasn't what happened. Maybe people didn't rescue each other. Maybe they just stopped making survival the only version of love. And for the first time, I walked out of an interview feeling like I protected something. Not my image. Not my future. Just what was true.

The parking lot was quieter than I expected. Even with security. Even with cameras. There was always a strange moment after something public ended. Like stepping off a stage and realizing the world didn’t pause with you. Cars moved. People talked. Somebody laughed somewhere behind me. Life continued. I got into my car. I sat there for a second. My hands on the wheel, just breathing. Not overwhelmed. Just aware.

My phone buzzed again with more notifications. Mentions. Tags. Clips already circulating. I opened one. It was a muted video. Captions already added. My face mid-sentence. “I don’t want to talk about people like they’re lessons.” I watched it once. Then locked my phone again. I didn’t feel like analyzing myself today. I didn’t feel like turning something honest into something strategic.

I started the car and pulled out slowly. Traffic wasn’t bad. Which felt like a reward. Or maybe just coincidence. Hard to tell lately. At a red light, my phone buzzed again. It was a call this time from the Agent. I answered on speaker. “What.”

He laughed immediately. “You’re trending.”

I sighed. “Great.”

“No, like good trending.” I waited. He continued. “People are quoting you. Respectfully.”

That was new. I leaned back slightly. “Okay.”

“You didn’t dodge anything.”

“I did.”

“No, you redirected.” I thought about that. Maybe. Or maybe I just refused. He kept talking. “Clips are everywhere. Even analysts are saying it was… mature.”

I frowned. “I’ve always been mature.”

He laughed harder. “Sure.”

I rolled my eyes. “Anything bad?”

“Not really.”

“Some people wanted drama. But you didn’t give them any.”

I nodded slowly. “Good.”

He hesitated. “You know this changes things, right?”

I frowned. “How.”

“You’re not just the athlete anymore. You’re… controlled.”

I didn’t like that word. “Controlled?”

“Not in a bad way. In a… intentional way.”

I thought about that. Then shrugged. “I just answered.”

He laughed again. “You always say that.” Because it was true.

We hung up a minute later. I drove the rest of the way in silence. No music. No distractions. Just thinking. Not about the interview. Not really. About the feeling after. The absence of regret. That was new. Usually after something public, I replayed everything. What I said. What I should’ve said. What people would twist. What I missed. Today nothing. Just quiet. And that felt… earned.



When I got home, the apartment was warm. The lights were on. Soft music playing somewhere. I dropped my bag near the door and walked in. She was in the kitchen. Hair tied up. Sweater slightly too big. Barefoot. Cutting something. She looked up when she heard me. Then smiled. “You’re back.”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

She studied me for a second. “How was it?”

I leaned against the counter. Then shrugged. “Fine.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Define fine.”

I smiled slightly. “I didn’t say anything stupid.”

She laughed softly. “That’s a low bar.”

“It’s an important one.”

She set the knife down and walked closer. She stopped in front of me. Close enough that I could see the tiny crease near her eye when she smiled. “You didn’t look nervous.”

“I wasn’t.”

She tilted her head. “Really?”

I thought about it. Then nodded. “Yeah. I knew what I didn’t want to say.”

She watched me carefully. “And what did you want to say?”

I looked at her. “The truth.”

Something softened in her expression. She reached up. Adjusted my collar slightly. Unnecessary. But intentional. “I liked that answer.”

I smiled. “Which one.”

“All of them. But especially the one where you didn’t answer.”

I laughed quietly. “Yeah.”

She stepped back slightly. “People are going to talk about it.”

“I know.”

“Are you okay with that?”

I thought. Then nodded. “Yeah. I didn’t do it for them.”

She smiled again. Approving. “Good.”

Silence settled between us. Then she turned back toward the counter. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

I watched her for a second. “What are we having?”

She didn’t turn around. “Something you will complain about.”

“Probably. But I’ll eat it.”

She glanced over her shoulder. “Growth.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

She laughed. And just like that everything felt normal again. Not because nothing complicated existed. But because we weren’t trying to solve it all at once. We were just here. Together. And for the first time, that felt like enough.