Chapter 259
Chapter 259
Noah
A year had passed.
I know. Wild. I blinked, and suddenly I was permanently living in New Orleans, my life wasn’t on fire anymore, and I had a fiancé who insisted butter wasn’t a main food group even though he cooked like it absolutely was.
Our house (kinda small for now, but cozy) always smelled like coffee, cinnamon, and Aiden’s cologne, which honestly should be illegal. We kept our relationship private in public—neutral interviews, polite smiles—but inside these walls?
Yeah. We were engaged.
And stupidly in love.
And annoyingly happy.
Football had gone great. Better than great. Not “charity case who survived murder scandal” good, but actual “this guy deserves to be here” good. Coaches trusted me. Teammates roasted me lovingly. Reporters used words like “discipline” and “grit,” which basically meant, this dude nearly died emotionally, but now he’s thriving.
And tonight?
Tonight was huge.
If I nailed this game—if we closed the season strong—the Saints were ready to talk long-term contract. Big-boy deal. Career-secure. Life-changing.
Cue dramatic music.
And if that happened…everything else clicked into place.
Like our dream house.
Oh, my God. There was this house we had seen… cozy porch, vintage windows, sunlight that could cure depression. A yard where future-baby Mercer-Blake or the other way around, could toddle about. Aiden pretended he wasn’t already mentally budgeting furniture. I pretended I wasn’t already fighting wallpaper samples in my head.
If tonight went well…it could actually be ours.
Mom and Emily could finally move down permanently. They’d already found a rental near the house—we had not even gotten yet—and Emily had already picked her bedroom. Twice.
Mom got emotional staring at kitchen pictures. Hale said he’d “keep an eye on things,” which is like God saying he’ll pop by sometimes.
Micah and Lexie swore they were staying in Texas, then sent me New Orleans apartment listings at 1:38am like, “Just curious, bro.”
And the big one?
We could finally go public.
No scandals. No leaks. No headlines weaponizing us.
Just…love.
Aiden slid a mug in front of me and kissed my hair like a man who had accidentally adopted a caffeinated puppy.
“You’re quiet,” he said.
“More like I'm thinking, babe,” I replied. “I’m deep.”
He smiled. “Thinking about the game?”
“Thinking about the game, the house, our families, God, destiny, capitalism, how many carbs are in this muffin. Everything.”
He leaned on the counter, crossing his arms in that dangerous way where he looks casual but actually he’s studying my soul.
“Whatever happens tonight,” he said softly, “I am already proud of you.”
I swallowed. Because I had too many feelings. Ugh.
My phone buzzed.
Micah:
We just got here! Thanks for the tickets! We traveled 6 hours to see a superstar. Remember that… No pressure or anything 😘
Lexie:
We checked into the hotel. Don’t argue. You’ve got enough on your plate tonight.
I laughed and typed back:
Me:
I seriously don’t get why you guys didn’t just stay here.
Three dots.
Then Lexie again:
Lexie:
Because we are a LOT of chaos. You focus. Be the star of the night. Then we’ll celebrate and get drunk after, deal?
Micah:
And if you don’t win, I’m switching to underwater chess.
I rolled my eyes so hard I saw God.
Aiden glanced over. “Good?”
“Yeah,” I said softly. “Good.”
Aiden just looked at me like I’d already won.
Tonight mattered for my career, for our future, our family, our wedding...
Our everything.
And just by having Aiden next to me, I didn’t feel sick with fear.
I felt ready. I wanted it… All of it.
The day blurred after that.
Interviews. Walk-through. Meetings where coaches repeated things we’d already tattooed into our brains. Guys clapped my shoulder and told me they were glad I was here. Equipment staff double-checked everything twice. Reporters hovered like hungry pigeons waiting for crumbs.
And through it all, I kept thinking…
If tonight goes right, our whole future shifts.
By early evening we were at the stadium—and the second I stepped through the tunnel, the world opened into noise and lights and that electric hum that vibrates under your skin. The air smelled like turf and adrenaline. Somewhere far above me, fans were already finding their seats.
“Blake!”
Handshake.
“Good to see you, man.”
Another handshake.
Helmet bump. Shoulder tap. Grins. Game faces.
It was surreal—going from the kid who barely believed he belonged to the guy teammates trusted enough to anchor plays with.
I warmed up, threw, ran, focused.... But my heart kept drifting back to him.
And apparently, the universe loves drama, because five minutes later a staff member quietly said, “your manager, Mr. Mercer, wants to see you for a second.”
My manager… I smiled to myself, already excited.
I followed through a side hallway—quiet, concrete, echoing with the distant roar of the crowd.
And there he was.
Waiting.
We didn’t talk at first.
We just walked toward each other until the space between us stopped existing. His forehead leaned into mine, and suddenly I was nineteen emotions at once. Nervous. Hopeful. Stupidly in love. And yeah… there was still that spark. That dangerous, forbidden thrill of being alone together, where no one should see.
We kissed once.
Quick, soft, but it hit like a defibrillator to the soul, and soon we were kissing passionately, lost in each other's need.
His hands rested at my waist. My fingers curled in his shirt. We both froze when footsteps echoed nearby—then laughed under our breath like teenagers sneaking around. Hearts pounding. Faces flushed. Checking the hall like criminals.
God… I loved him.
He steadied me with those eyes.
“You’re ready,” he said quietly. “Go show them who you are.”
He turned to leave.
Impulse jumped out of me.
“And hey!” I called.
He paused—half-turned—brows up.
I swallowed, my heartbeat punching through my ribs.
“I’m gonna win this for you… coach.”
His breath caught.
A slow smile tugged at his mouth—proud, wrecked, undone.
“You already have, baby boy,” he said softly.
And he walked away.
Leaving me standing there in the quiet hall, grinning like an idiot.
Ready.
Hungry.
Alive.
I headed back out toward the tunnel, helmet under my arm, pulse steady. The noise hit first—that deep, living roar of a stadium breathing as one creature. Lights flared overhead, bright enough to steal the edges off the world. The second we stepped out as a team, it was like walking into a universe made of sound.
Cameras. Fans. Music. Heat.
And somewhere out there—my people.
I couldn’t see them at first. Too many faces. Too much glare. But then the noise shifted, rising in a way that made my chest tighten. Signs lifted. Names painted. Words like BELIEVE and HEART and YOU GOT THIS, BLAKE.
And yeah. My name.
Everywhere.
I searched the crowd—instinct more than sight—and I didn’t have to find them to know where they were. I could feel it. That thread of belonging tugging me toward them like gravity.
For half a second, I could swear I heard Micah’s voice above the American hymn, absolutely losing his mind.
“THAT’S MY BEST FRIEND!”
I didn’t actually see him… But in my head he was already waving his arms like a deranged air traffic controller, probably risking security intervention.
I laughed under my breath, and I smiled, because Aiden had been right.
Whatever happened tonight—contract or not, perfect or messy—I’d already won. I had a life. A family. A future that didn’t scare me anymore.
I pulled in one breath. Rolled my shoulders. Let the noise wash through me instead of over me...
Then I stepped forward onto the game—ready to give everything I had.