Chapter 66 Chapter 66
Emily's POV
I ignored my mother’s calls for eleven hours. Not because I didn’t want to talk to her, because I knew the second I heard her voice, every carefully stacked emotional wall I had been balancing lately would start cracking. And I couldn’t afford that today.
The apartment was quiet except for the soft hum of the dishwasher and the distant sounds of traffic drifting through the windows. Noah had left for evening training an hour earlier, tossing me a casual don’t work yourself into a stress injury over his shoulder before leaving. Which unfortunately meant he knew me too well now.
I sat cross-legged on the sofa surrounded by notes I hadn’t actually read in almost forty minutes, laptop glowing uselessly in front of me while my phone buzzed again against the coffee table. It was my mother again.
I stared at it. The screen eventually went dark. Then immediately lit up with a text.
Mom: Emily Grace Taylor. Call me before I fly there myself.
Despite myself, I smiled faintly. Then groaned and dropped my head back against the sofa cushions. Because she absolutely would. My mother believed in two things with terrifying conviction, proper hydration and aggressively loving her children.
Another buzz followed. This time from my father.
Dad: Your mother has entered “concerned woman with internet access” mode. Save me.
A laugh escaped me before I could stop it. And just like that, avoidance stopped working. I exhaled slowly and grabbed my phone before I could change my mind. The video call connected almost immediately. My mother’s face appeared first, close enough to the camera that I could mostly see forehead and concern.
“There she is,” she said dramatically. “Our missing daughter.”
“Hi, Mom.”
The camera shifted violently before settling into a better angle. My parents sat together at the kitchen table back home, evening light spilling warmly through the windows behind them. The familiar sight hit me harder than expected.
My mother looked worried. My father looked calm in the way fathers did when they were worried but trying not to make it worse. “You look tired,” Mom said immediately.
“You say that every time we video call.”
“Because you’re always tired.”
“That’s med school culture.”
“That’s unhealthy.”
“Probably.”
Dad leaned slightly closer to the camera. “Are you okay, Em?”
“I’m fine,” I said automatically.
Both of them looked unconvinced instantly. My mother crossed her arms. “That sounded rehearsed.”
“It wasn’t rehearsed.”
“It absolutely was.”
I sighed quietly. “I’m handling it.”
Dad’s expression changed slightly at that. “Are you okay,” he asked carefully, “Or are you protecting everyone else again?”
The question landed directly in the center of me. Because that was the problem, wasn’t it? I had spent so much of my life being the responsible one. The composed one. The one who absorbed pressure quietly so nobody else had to worry. It became instinct, smile calmly, manage the situation, and handle everything internally. Even now, part of me wanted to give them polished answers until the conversation ended neatly and no one had to see the messier truth underneath.
“I’m okay,” I repeated more softly.
Mom tilted her head slightly. “That’s not the same answer.”
I looked away from the screen briefly. The apartment suddenly felt too quiet. “I just…” I stopped. Why was this hard? Because saying things out loud made them real. And lately, the truth felt too big once spoken.
Dad’s voice softened. “Emily.”
That nearly undid me all by itself. Not because he sounded angry. Because he sounded patient. And patience had always been more dangerous for me emotionally than confrontation.
“I didn’t want you guys to worry,” I admitted quietly.
Mom’s face immediately softened. “Honey, we were already worried.”
A humorless laugh escaped me. “I know.”
My mother spoke gently. “Tell us the truth.”
I swallowed hard. “The truth is…” I stared down at my hands. “This whole thing got bigger than I expected.”
“That’s obvious,” Dad said dryly.
“Frank.”
“What? It’s true.”
Mom ignored him expertly. “What part is affecting you the most?”
Another dangerous question. I leaned back against the sofa slowly. “The part where people think they know who I am based on headlines.”
Mom frowned immediately. “They don’t know you.”
“I know that logically.”
“But emotionally?”
I closed my eyes briefly. “Emotionally, it still hurts.”
That felt honest enough to loosen something painful in my chest.
Dad nodded slowly. “People are loud when they think they’re entitled to opinions.”
“That’s one way to put it.”
His expression sharpened slightly. “You worked too hard to let strangers define your character.”
The thing my parents had spent my entire life teaching me. Work hard. Stand steady. Know who you are even when other people misunderstand you. Usually, that advice grounded me. It just made me emotional tonight. Because lately, someone else had been helping hold me together too. And the realization rose so suddenly that I spoke before I could stop myself.
“Noah’s actually been…” I hesitated.
My mother immediately noticed. “Been what?”
I looked away again. “Protecting me.”
My parents exchanged a glance. And the reason that moment felt so significant was simple. I never talked about people like this, especially not romantically.
My mother blinked slowly. “That sounded important.”
Heat climbed into my face immediately. “It’s complicated.”
Dad leaned back slightly in his chair, studying me carefully now. “You care about him.”
“I...” I didn’t know how to answer. Not because it wasn’t true. Because it was terrifyingly true.
Mom’s expression softened completely. “Oh,” she whispered quietly like suddenly everything made sense. The way I had been unraveling slowly over someone who was supposed to be temporary.
Dad folded his arms loosely. “What’s he like when cameras aren’t around?”
The question surprised me. And suddenly Noah’s face appeared in my mind instantly. Sleep-heavy eyes on the sofa. Quiet morning coffee. His hand brushing mine absentmindedly like closeness had become instinct. The way he looked at me now without hiding any part of what he felt. “He’s…” I exhaled softly. “Different than people think.”
Mom smiled faintly. “That answer alone tells me everything.”
I laughed quietly through the tightness in my chest. “He’s frustrating.”
Dad snorted. “There’s the honesty.”
“He’s impulsive and stubborn and emotionally chaotic sometimes.”
“Sometimes?” Dad muttered.
“Frank.”
“But he’s also…” My voice softened before I could stop it. “Good. Not performatively good,” I continued. “Not because people are watching. He just…” I swallowed once. “He cares in ways he doesn’t always know how to explain.” My mother looked emotional now. Which immediately made me suspicious. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Because,” she said softly, “You have never sounded like this about anyone.”
I had crushes before and dates before. People who made sense on paper. But nobody had ever unsettled me emotionally the way Noah did. Nobody had ever made me feel simultaneously calmer and more vulnerable at the same time.
Dad studied me quietly for another moment. “Are you happy?”
“Yes.”
Mom smiled. And suddenly my eyes burned unexpectedly. Because I hadn’t realized how badly I needed someone to understand this wasn’t destroying me. It was changing me. There was a difference. We talked a while longer after that. About school, home, about literally anything other than the scandal for a few precious minutes. And by the time the call ended, my chest felt lighter than it had in weeks.
I grabbed my coat and headed outside. Campus was mostly quiet now, evening settling fully over the university in soft gold lights and cold air sharp enough to wake me up instantly. I walked without direction at first. Past the library. Past the athletic complex. Past groups of students laughing loudly outside dorm buildings. Eventually I ended up near the old stone steps beside the humanities building. I sat down slowly. Pulled my knees slightly toward my chest and breathed.
The cold air stung my lungs, but it felt good. For a while, I just sat there listening to the distant sounds of campus life moving around me. Then footsteps approached. I knew who it was before I looked up. Noah stopped a few feet away, hands shoved into the pockets of a dark hoodie, hair still slightly damp from practice.
“You disappeared,” he said quietly.
“I needed air.”
He nodded once like he understood that instinct intimately. Probably because he did. “Are you okay?”
I looked up at him under the glow of the campus lights. And suddenly the truth felt easier than it used to. “Yeah,” I said softly. "I talked to my parents.”
His brows lifted slightly. “That sounds serious.”
“It was.”
He moved closer slowly before sitting beside me on the cold stone steps. Our shoulders brushed lightly. Neither of us moved away. “How did it go?”
I stared out across campus quietly. “They know.”
“About the scandal?”
I glanced at him. “Noah.”
Realization crossed his face slowly. “Oh.”
A small smile tugged briefly at his mouth. “And?”
I exhaled softly. “And apparently I’ve never talked about anyone the way I talk about you.”
The words hung between us quietly. Noah looked at me carefully.
“That scares you?” he asked softly.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Because you matter. Because I could lose you. Because you have somehow become part of my life so deeply that the idea of this ending feels physically painful now. But what I actually said was quieter. “Because I’m not used to needing people.”
Noah looked down briefly before speaking. “You don’t need me.”
I frowned slightly. “That’s not what I mean.”
“I know.”
His voice softened. “But Emily… I don’t want you staying because you feel trapped into it.”
I stared at him. At the honesty in his face. At the care underneath the words. And suddenly my chest hurt with how much he mattered.
“That’s not why I’m here,” I whispered.
His eyes held mine. And in that moment, sitting beside him under cold campus lights with the world still messy around us, I realized vulnerability didn’t feel weak anymore. And maybe honesty had been the thing I was actually afraid of all along.