Chapter 23 Chapter 23
Noah's POV
The apartment went quiet after Emily walked away. Not the kind of quiet that felt peaceful, but the kind that pressed in heavily and was unfinished. The TV screen remained black where she had turned it off earlier. My controller sat loose in my hand, forgotten. The game didn’t matter anymore. Her words did.
Why do you care this much?
You care too much about fixing me.
I leaned back against the sofa and stared at the ceiling. She hadn’t denied it.
“I care about my job.” It had sounded rehearsed, like something she told herself but not something she believed.
I dragged a hand over my face. This was exactly why I didn’t do this. The arguments that didn’t end clean. Conversations that stuck in your head longer than they should. People who didn’t fit into simple categories and Emily didn’t fit anywhere, not in the way I was used to. She wasn’t impressed by me and she wasn't intimidated, she wasn’t trying to get anything from me beyond the deal we signed. That made her harder to ignore.
I stood up from the sofa and walked to the kitchen. I grabbed a bottle of water and took a long drink, it still didn’t make me feel better.
The hallway light was off. Her door was closed and everything was quiet but something felt off like the argument hadn’t actually ended but has just paused. I set the water bottle down on the kitchen counter and walked towards the balcony. The sliding door was slightly open. The cool night air drifted inside.
So she wasn’t asleep. I stepped outside. Emily sat on the small balcony chair, her knees pulled slightly in, her arms wrapped loosely around herself. The campus stretched out below us, quiet and dim under the streetlights. A few distant voices echoed from somewhere across the courtyard, but up here, tt felt still.
She didn’t turn when I stepped out, which meant she knew it was me and chose not to react. I leaned against the railing, neither of us spoke.
The silence wasn’t awkward, it was more about being careful like we were both deciding whether to continue the argument or let it go.
“You’re not asleep,” I finally had the courage to say.
“Obviously.” She said with sarcasm.
“You usually are by now.”
“Not tonight.”
“Because of me?” I asked.
She exhaled slowly. “Yes.”
I nodded once, feeling how that answer hit me right in the chest. “Fair.”
There was more silence between us. The air felt cooler out here and easier to breathe.
“I didn’t mean to...” I started but then stopped myself.
Didn’t mean to what? Push her? Start a fight? Make things complicated?
I tried again. “I didn’t mean to make it worse.”
She glanced at me but only briefly. “You didn’t make it worse.”
“Really?”
“You just said something I didn’t want to hear.”
That was honest. “About fixing you?” I asked.
Her gaze shifted back out towards the campus. “Yes.”
I leaned my elbows on the railing. “You do that.”
“Do what?”
“Try to fix things.”
“That’s my job.”
“That’s not what I meant.” She didn’t respond, which meant I was right.
“You don’t just fix injuries,” I continued. “You fix everything.”
“I don’t...”
“You do.”
Her jaw tightened slightly. “I create structure,” she said. “There’s a difference.”
“Is there?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Because from where I’m standing,” I said, “It feels like control.”
That hit something. I saw it in the way her shoulders stiffened slightly.
“I don’t control people,” she said.
“No,” I agreed. “You control outcomes.”
She didn’t argue, which surprised me. “I have to,” she said after a moment. Her voice was quieter now, it was less sharp.
“Why?”
The question hung between us. She hesitated. “Because if I don’t, things fall apart.”
I turned my head slightly, looking at her. I didn't expect that answer. This wasn’t the Emily from the training room, nor the one with the clipboard and perfect posture and controlled tone. This version of her was… softer.
“Things fall apart anyway,” I said.
“Not if you plan well enough.”
“That’s not how it works.”
“It is for me.”
I shook my head slightly. “That’s exhausting.”
“It’s effective.”
“It’s lonely.”
She stilled. I saw it in the way her fingers tightened slightly around her sleeve. “I’m not lonely,” she said.
But the way she said it... was careful, like she was choosing the words instead of believing them. That made something in my chest tighten.
“You don’t let people in,” I said.
“I don’t need to.”
“Everyone needs to.”
“I don’t.”
I watched her for a second. “You don’t trust people.”
Her expression shifted slightly, she was more closed now.
“That’s not relevant,” she said quietly.
“It is if you’re living with me.”
She let out a small breath. “I trust you enough to do your rehab.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“No, it’s not.” She said and there was silence again, but this time it was different, it was heavier.
I leaned back against the railing. “Why sports rehab?” I asked.
The question caught her off guard. “What?”
“Why that?”
She looked down for a second and then back out at the campus. “ Like I said, I like fixing things.”
“Obviously.” I rollled my eyes.
She almost smiled. “Not like that.”
“Then how?” I asked.
She hesitated. “Because it’s measurable.”
I frowned slightly. “What does that mean?”
“It means there’s a clear outcome,” she said. “Injury, treatment, and recovery. Progress can be tracked. Improvement is visible.”
“So you like control.”
“I like clarity.”
“And people?”
“What about them?”
“They’re not clear.”
“No,” she admitted.
“They’re unpredictable.”
“Yes.”
“Messy.”
“Yes.”
“Complicated.”
She glanced at me. “Yes.”
I nodded. “And you don’t like that.”
“I manage it.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
She didn’t answer, because it wasn’t.
I exhaled slowly. “My mom used to say that.”
She looked at me again. “What?”
“That people are messy.” I hadn’t planned to say that. It just came out. She didn’t interrupt and she didn’t ask questions. She just… listened. “She said that was the point,” I added.
Emily’s voice was quiet. “What happened to her?” The question was careful and gentle.
I stared out at the campus lights. For a second, I considered shutting it down, changing the subject, deflecting like I always did, but something about this moment, the way she wasn’t pushing, made it harder to lie.
“Car accident,” I said. She nodded, looking down as if she already knew. I wouldn't be surprised if Lucas mentioned anything to her about it before, or if she heard it from someone else.
“I’m sorry.”
I shrugged. “It was a long time ago.” But it still felt like yesterday at times. I rubbed the back of my neck. “My dad was driving.”
Emily didn’t speak, she just kept listening, which somehow made it easier. “They were arguing,” I said. “Loud about everything.” The memory hit sharp. “I remember the wheel jerking,” I added quietly. “Then nothing.” There was silence between us. “I don’t like things I can’t control,” I said finally.
Emily’s voice was soft. “That makes sense.”
I let out a short breath. “Yeah.”
We didn't speak after that. The air felt different now. I glanced at her. She was looking at me differently, not like a project but more like a person.
“See?” I said lightly. “Now you know I’m complicated.”
She smiled faintly. “I already knew that.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“You don’t act like someone who doesn’t care.”
The words caught me off guard. I looked away. “That’s debatable.”
“It’s not.”
“You have known me for two weeks.”
“Long enough.”
I huffed a quiet laugh. “You’re very confident.”
“I’m observant.”
“Same thing.”
“Not always.”
She shifted slightly in her chair. I shifted too, leaning a little closer to the railing. The space between us felt charged. Neither of us moved. We didn’t close the distance, we didn't pull away. We just remained where we were, not leaving, just breathing the same air, existing in the same quiet moment.
Emily’s voice broke the silence. “Your session is still at six.”
I smiled slightly. “Of course it is.”
“You still need sleep.”
“So do you.”
“I know.”
Neither of us moved. I guess we just enjoyed this moment of being together.