Chapter 33 Chapter 33
Noah's POV
I shouldn’t have agreed to this. That thought sat heavy in my chest as I adjusted my cuffs for the third time in the reflection of the apartment window. The city lights outside blurred slightly against the glass, but I wasn’t looking at them. I was looking at myself. There was tension that I couldn't hide. The way my shoulders were tighter than usual, it wasn't from training or from rehab, it was from something older and deeper.
“Stop doing that.” Emily’s voice came from behind me.
I glanced at her reflection. “Doing what?” I asked.
“Fidgeting,” she said, stepping closer. “You have adjusted your cuffs three times.”
I dropped my hands. “I’m not fidgeting.”
“You are.”
I exhaled slowly. “Great. Add that to the list of things I’m apparently doing wrong.”
She didn’t smile or tease. She just watched me carefully.
“You’re tense,” she said.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not.”
I turned around to face her fully.
“I said I’m fine. Apparently, your night with Lucas was a success. Apparently, we have trouble in paradise, according to the media.”
“And I’m saying you’re not, and yes, it was a success, I guess couples need some trouble in paradise once in a while, it makes the performance seem real.” The words should have annoyed me, but because of the person that I am, it sounds like me in the media, and she wasn't wrong about that statement either and now we were heading out to dinner.
“It’s just dinner,” I said more to myself than to her.
“With your father.” she stated.
I looked away. “Yeah.”
“You didn’t mention him before.”
“There wasn’t a reason to.”
“There is now.” She said.
I ran a hand through my hair. “I don’t want this to be a thing.”
“It already is.”
I let out a quiet breath. Nothing about tonight felt simple. Especially the fact that my father specifically asked me to bring her. Emily. He didn't mention her as my rehab specialist or colleague, instead he said “Your girlfriend.” The word felt wrong in my head, but we had to make it look real. Lucas might be the only one knowing that Emily is a PR performance girlfriend.
“Are you going to tell me what to expect?” she asked.
I hesitated, because I didn’t know how to explain him to her. How do you explain someone who doesn’t raise his voice but still makes you feel small? How do you explain someone who looks at you like you’re something to evaluate instead of someone to understand?
“He’s…” I started and then stopped. “Controlled,” I said.
Emily nodded slightly. “And?”
“Distant.”
“And?” She pushed further.
I swallowed. “Don’t expect warmth.”
She studied me for a second. “Is that a warning?” She asked.
“It’s reality.”
“Okay.” There was no hesitation coming from her, it didn't seem like she had fear, maybe she was hiding that well. She didn't have any other questions either. I felt like it made it worse, as if she already knew much more.
It was exactly the kind of place my father would choose, it was expensive and quiet. It screamed wealth without needing to prove it. The lighting was soft and there was conversations that were low. It was just like my father. He was already there when we arrived. One thing about him is that he's always punctual.
He was seated at the table, his posture was straight, expression unreadable, as he glanced up when we approached. Time hadn’t changed him. He still had the same sharp features and his presence. He still had the same eyes that never missed anything.
“Dad,” I said.
He stood up from his seat, extending his hand. “On time,” he said, acknowledging my time.
“This is Emily,” I added.
He turned to her. “Emily,” he said, his tone was polite.
“Mr. Harris,” she said, her voice was steady and confident.
He nodded once. “Please, sit.” He said.
Emily and I both took a seat across from him. The waiter appeared almost immediately, pouring water, offering menus, disappearing just as quickly. Silence settled over the table. It was uncomfortable, but nothing I wasn't used to.
I glanced over at Emily. She looked composed and calm, her game face on as if she was stepping into any other formal setting, she probably didn't feel the weight of this.
“I’ve heard about your work,” my father said, looking at her.
Emily met his gaze. “I hope it’s accurate.”
“It is,” he said. “Your reports are thorough.”
“Thank you.” She smiled.
“You’ve improved his condition.” I guess Lucas informed him about it. My father was now evaluating this progress.
“Yes,” she said. “He’s responding well to structured rehabilitation.”
My father nodded slightly. “Structure is important.” I nearly laughed at that. Of course, he would say such a thing. He turned his attention to me. “And you’re following it?” He asked.
“Yes.”
“Consistently?” He raised an eyebrow.
“Yes.” I answered.
His gaze lingered, assessing me like he was trying to decide if I was telling the truth or just saying what he wanted to hear. I held his stare, I didn't look away and give him that satisfaction. “Good,” he said and then he looked back at Emily. “You must find him… challenging.”
Emily didn’t hesitate. “He’s disciplined when he chooses to be.”
I didn't expect her to say that. My father’s brows lifted slightly. “An interesting distinction.”
“It’s accurate,” she said.
He studied her longer, he was interested, like she had just said something worth noting. “You’re precise,” he said.
“I try to be.”
“It’s effective.”
“Thank you.” She smiled.
The conversation moved from there. My father asked questions about her studies, her goals, her approach to rehabilitation. Emily answered each one with clarity. She didn’t overexplain and definitely didn't try to impress, she just spoke. I was surprised that my father was actually listening... Well, to her. That meant that he respected her or just a little bit. That was rare when it came to my father.
“She has ambition,” he said at one point, glancing at me.
“Yeah,” I said.
“She should.” Emily’s gaze flicked to me briefly and then back to him.
“I plan to specialize further,” she said.
“In sports medicine?” He asked.
“And research.” She added.
My father nodded. “Good. You should aim higher than average.”
“I do.” She was so confident. She even impressed me even though she wasn't here to impress anyone. She didn't even shrink under his attention, she wasn't intimidated either.
Our dinner arrived and the conversation continued until he focused on me. “Your performance this season has been inconsistent,” my father said.
“I’ve been injured,” I said.
“That explains some of it.”
“There were other factors.”
I clenched my jaw slightly. “Handled.”
“Questionable,” he said.
Emily’s posture shifted slightly beside me. “This isn’t the place,” I said.
“It’s always the place,” he replied calmly. Of course it was. “You have always lacked consistency,” he continued.
“And you have always expected perfection,” I shot back.
The air tightened instantly. My father’s expression didn’t change. “Perfection isn’t required,” he said. “Discipline is.”
“I have discipline.”
“In moments. Not consistently.” He said.
Emily chimed in softly. “He’s improved,” she said.
My father turned his attention to her. “And you attribute that to your work?”
“To his effort,” she said. She didn't take credit for it. She didn’t position herself above me.
My father studied her again. “You defend him.”
“I state facts.”
He nodded slowly. “Interesting.”
Dinner finished not long after that. The tension never fully disappeared. It just settled into something quieter, like everything else in that room. When we stood up to leave, my father looked at Emily. “You’re impressive,” he said.
She held his gaze. “Thank you.”
“Continue as you are.”
“I intend to.”
He nodded once before looking at me. “Don’t waste it.”
“I won’t,” I said.
We left after that. I just wanted to be away from him. Of course there was no hugs and any affection. That was always the case. Once we stepped out into the cool night, it was easier to breathe. I walked a few steps ahead before stopping, running a hand through my hair trying to shake something off that wouldn’t leave.
Emily stepped beside me. “You didn’t tell me everything,” she said.
I let out a short breath. “What did I miss?”
“The way he talks to you.” I didn’t respond because I couldn’t argue with that. “He doesn’t listen,” she added.
“He listens.”
“He evaluates.”
I glanced at her. “That’s how he communicates.”
“That’s not communication.”
“It is for him.”
She shook her head slightly. “That’s not the same thing.” I knew that. “He’s always been like that?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“And you just… adapted?”
I shrugged. “What else was I supposed to do?”
She didn’t answer immediately, just looked at me. “That’s why,” she said softly.
“Why what?”
“You don’t let people in.” Well, I guess she was right about that.
I looked away. “Don’t overanalyze it.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I’m observing.”
I huffed a quiet laugh. “That’s my line.”
“I know. Come on,” I said. “Let’s go.”
She started to see me, and I'm not sure if I even liked that.