Chapter 51 Chapter 51
Noah's POV
By the time we got to the training center, she had already rebuilt the wall. It wasn’t obvious. If someone walked in and watched her, they would see the same Emily Taylor they always did, precise, composed, and efficient with a clipboard in hand, her posture straight, and voice steady being professional and untouchable. But I knew the difference now.
I knew what she looked like when she let something slip, when she stopped managing every reaction, every word, and every breath. But this wasn't that. This was her putting everything back where it “belonged.” Which meant that she was avoiding it and avoiding me. Avoiding what happened between us last night and what it meant that she didn’t step away.
I sat on the edge of the treatment table, rolling my shoulder slowly, feeling the familiar tightness settle into place, not just from the injury but from everything else. She moved around the room with quiet efficiency, setting up resistance bands, adjusting the mat, and organizing equipment like she needed everything in the right place before she could start and face me.
I watched her. I didn't pretend that I wasn't watching her. But I could tell that she felt my stare on her. In the way her movements were just a little faster than usual. She didn’t look at me once. “Let’s start with stabilization,” she said.
Her expression and tone were neutral like last night didn’t happen and the conversation didn't matter like standing that close to me, choosing not to move away, didn’t change anything.
“Sure,” I said. She handed me the resistance band without meeting my eyes.
“Slow extension. Controlled movement. Don’t overcompensate.”
“Yeah,” I muttered.
I started the movement.
I extended my arms out. Then held it before bring it back towards my chest. I did it again. She stepped behind me. Her hand pressed lightly against my upper back. “Posture,” she said. “Engage here.” Her fingers shifted to my shoulder blade, guiding the movement.
Every point of contact and adjustment was professional. I finished the set and started another. She moved to my side, kneeling slightly so that she could see the alignment better. But she was still not looking at me. She was still pretending this was just another session. “You’re compensating,” she said.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“Feels fine.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
Her fingers pressed into the muscle just below my shoulder. It was firm and intentional. Finding the tension. I inhaled sharply not just from the pressure, but from the proximity. She didn’t react or acknowledge it. She just kept going and remained focused like if she let herself pause for even a second, something would slip.
“You’re hiding again,” I said. The words came out quieter than I had expected.
I felt it in the way her hand paused for just a fraction of a second before continuing that stilled. “I’m working,” she replied.
She was still not looking at me. “No,” I said. I turned my head slightly, trying to catch her gaze. “You’re avoiding.”
Her jaw tightened. “I’m doing my job.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about.”
“Then stop talking and focus on the exercise.”
I nearly laughed. Because it was predictable, because this was exactly what she did when something got too close to real. She was deflecting and redirecting last night.
I finished the movement and let the band fall slack in my hands before I turned towards her fully. She didn’t expect it. The way her eyes flicked up for a second before she caught herself. “Look at me,” I said.
“I am looking.”
“You’re not.”
“I am.”
“Then stop acting like I’m not here.”
Her expression hardened slightly. “Don’t do this right now.”
“Why not?” I asked.
“Because we are in the middle of a session.”
“That’s convenient.”
“What is?”
“The fact that you can hide behind that.”
“I’m not hiding.”
“You are.”
“Noah...”
“You think if you stay in ‘professional mode’ long enough, this just goes away?”
Her eyes flashed with emotion. “Not everything has to be about this,” she snapped.
“It does when you won’t talk about it.”
“I am talking about it.”
“No,” I said. “You’re managing it.”
“That’s how I function.”
“I know.”
“Then stop acting like it’s wrong.”
“I didn’t say it’s wrong.”
“Then what?”
“I’m saying it’s not working.”
Her breathing shifted slightly and I noticed. “Continue the set,” she said, her voice was quieter now but still controlled.
“No.”
Her brows pulled together. “No?”
“No.”
“This isn’t optional.”
“Neither is this conversation.”
“We are not having this conversation right now.”
“Then when?”
“When we are not in the middle of your rehab session.”
“That’s just another excuse.”
“It’s not.”
“It is.”
Her hand reached for the band. “Give it to me.”
I didn’t. She frowned. “Noah.”
“Look at me.”
“I said give me the band.”
“Look at me.”
Her patience snapped. “Stop.”
I moved before she could step back. I caught her wrist. I made sure that the grip wasn't tight or forceful, it was just enough to stop her movement and hold her there. Her breath caught. Finally, she looked at me and not through me as if I were a ghost.
“What are you doing?” she asked. There was no anger in her voice.
“Getting your attention,” I said.
“You have it.”
“Not really.”
“I’m standing right here.”
“Physically,” I said. “Not mentally.”
Her eyes searched mine like she was trying to figure out where this was going or maybe she already knew. “You don’t get to decide that,” she said.
“I’m not deciding it.”
“Then what are you doing?”
“I’m calling it out.”
Her pulse jumped slightly under my fingers. And I knew she felt me noticing. That didn’t help. “Let go,” she said.
“Not yet.”
Her jaw tightened. “This isn’t appropriate.”
“That’s not what this is about.”
“It is for me.”
“No,” I said quietly. “It’s about the fact that you felt something last night and now you’re pretending you didn’t.”
Her breath faltered. There was the truth she didn’t want to say out loud. “That’s not-”
“Don’t,” I cut in. “Don’t lie.”
“I’m not lying.”
“You are.”
“I’m not.”
“Then say it.”
“Say what?”
“That nothing changed.”
She hesitated. That was all I needed. “I’m not doing this,” she said instead.
“That’s what I thought.”
“That doesn’t mean you’re right.”
“It means you don’t want to admit it.”
“Because it complicates everything.”
“It already is complicated.”
“And this makes it worse.”
“Or clearer.”
Her eyes flashed again. “You don’t get to decide that.”
“I’m not deciding anything,” I said. “I’m just not ignoring it.”
“I’m not ignoring it.”
“You are.”
“Noah...”
“You didn’t step away last night. And you’re still here now,” I added.
Her lips parted and then closed again because there was nothing she could say to that. I loosened my grip slightly. Not letting go yet, but not holding her in place either, just giving her the choice.
She didn’t pull away. “You don’t get to feel something and pretend you don’t,” I said quietly. Her breathing was uneven now. I slowly let go of her wrist, giving her space. Waiting to see what she would do with it.
She didn’t move. She didn’t retreat into that controlled version of herself again. She just stood there, looking at me. She didn't argue. She remained.