Chapter 266

Chapter 266
Aiden

During those four days, the hotel balcony became my favorite place in the world.

Warm evening air. The steady hush of the sea below. Noah beside me, our legs tangled together, my glass of wine forgotten at my side because I was too busy watching him breathe.

“Do you ever think,” I asked quietly, “about the future?”

“All the time,” he said.

“What do you see?”

He inhaled slowly, like he was taking the whole world into his chest. “I see us. Still laughing. Still annoying each other. Still kissing like teenagers.”

I smiled, my heart tightening in the best possible way.

“And maybe…” he hesitated, eyes flicking up to mine. “Maybe one day…a little someone?”

Something warm settled deep in my chest.

“Yeah,” I said softly. “One day.” I brushed my thumb over his knuckles. “But before that,” I added, barely above a whisper, “we tell the truth. To everyone.”

He nodded, calm and sure.

The silence that followed carried more weight than the rest.

“There’s one loose end you still need to face too,” Noah said gently. 

I turned fully toward him, his hand sliding into mine like it belonged there—because it did.

“I know you needed time,” he continued, steady but kind. “But it’s been years. Before we bring new beginnings into our lives, there’s a part of your past that needs closure.”

My breath caught.

“I know,” I admitted quietly. “I just…couldn’t. Not without you. But now…” I swallowed. “Now I think I can forgive myself. And maybe then—maybe he can forgive me too.”

Noah pulled me into his arms, firm and certain, like there was nowhere else I could possibly belong.



When we came home from Italy, there was no real easing back into life.

No gentle landing.

The honeymoon glow followed us through unpacked suitcases, early alarms, and schedules that snapped back into place the moment Noah’s feet touched American soil. Training resumed. Meetings stacked. Commitments returned. The NFL didn’t pause for newlyweds—not even happy ones.

Still, before we let routine swallow us whole, there was that something we both knew had to happen.

So we worked around it the only way we could—late nights, favors called in, calendars shifted inch by inch—carving out a rare long weekend at the end of summer, when preseason obligations loosened just enough to breathe.

It wasn’t a vacation.
It wasn’t a celebration.
It was unfinished business.
And I wasn’t going to run from it again.



I hadn’t been back in a long time.
Not because I didn’t know the way—my body remembered it too well—but because guilt has a way of turning familiar roads into something you avoid.

The house looked smaller than it did in my memory. Or maybe I’d just learned how to carry bigger things since the last time I stood there.

I sat in the car for a full minute before getting out.
Breathed. Reminded myself why I was here, because hiding hadn’t saved either of us.

When I knocked, the door opened almost immediately.

Jamie looked the same. And not the same at all.

Older. Sharper around the eyes. Stronger in ways I hadn’t known how to see back then. He sat in his chair like it belonged to him—not like something that defined him—but the sight of it still hit me straight in the chest.

He stared at me for a long second.
Then, flatly, “You gonna stand there all day, or are you coming in?”

I swallowed. “Hey, Jamie.”

He rolled back just enough to make space. “You look…different.”

“So do you.”

That earned me a snort. “Yeah. Funny how time works.”

Inside, everything felt too quiet. Like the house itself was holding its breath.

“You alone?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Yeah.”

“I should’ve come sooner,” I said finally. “I know that.”

“You disappeared,” he replied. Not angry. Just factual. “Again.”

I nodded. “I did. And I’m so sorry.”

That word—sorry—felt too small. It always had.

He studied me, eyes sharp. “Is that why you’re here?”

“No,” I said. “I’m here because I ran for a long time, and I don’t want to anymore.”

That got his attention.

I moved closer, crouching, so we were eye level. “I need to say this out loud. Not to ease my conscience. Not to fix anything. Just…because you deserve to hear it.”

He didn’t interrupt.

“That night,” I continued quietly, “I made a selfish choice. I thought I was being responsible. I thought I could handle it. I couldn’t. And the cost…was you.”

His jaw tightened.

“I lost my career,” I said. “But you lost your future as you’d imagined it. And I walked away because I didn’t know how to live with that.”

His voice was low when he answered. “You didn’t just walk away from football.”

I closed my eyes. “I know.”

Silence stretched between us.

Then, softer, “I don’t need you to forgive me today. Or ever. But I need you to know that I’ve carried you with me every single day since I took off one last time. And I hate myself for not coming back sooner.”

Jamie looked away for a moment.
When he spoke again, his voice wasn’t angry. It was tired.

“You were my hero,” he said. “You know that, right?”

My chest cracked open.

“I wanted to be like you. I wanted to be you. And when everything went wrong…you disappearing hurt worse than the chair ever did. Even while you were still here, you'd already left me.”

I swallowed hard. “I was afraid.”

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Me too.”

Another pause.

Then he glanced back at me. “So. You finally grew a spine, or did someone drag you here?”

I almost laughed. Almost.

“Honestly,” I said quietly, “I couldn’t live with myself anymore. I’ve never been fully happy again—never whole, never free—from guilt, pain, remorse, and hating myself. I didn’t need anyone to know that, but…someone else noticed. He made me see I couldn’t have a future if I was still living in the past.”

I swallowed hard.

“You are not my past, Jamie. But my fear of facing you was.”

“I could’ve told you that, brother,” he whispered. “Helped ease your fear…but you took that from me too.”

“Jamie…” My voice broke. “I’m so sorry. I’ve been a selfish, self-centered asshole—too busy throwing myself a damn pity party. Playing the victim. Hiding in my own pain…when the only real victim here was you.”

I shook my head, breathing through it.

“But I’m done running. I know I’m years too late, but I’ll spend the next ones trying to make amends if you let me—if you can forgive me.”

As the words poured out, I felt the weight of a decade slip from my shoulders, along with the part of my heart that would always belong to him.

A tear slid down my face.

Jamie looked at me, his lip trembling just slightly. “And what’s the name of the person who made you realize how big of an ass you are?”

“His name is Noah.”

“You love him?” he asked.

“Yes, Jamie. We love each other very much. We—we just got married.”

That earned a raised brow. “That so?”

“I didn’t invite you to the wedding,” I said quickly. “And that’s on me. I didn’t trust myself enough to face you. I’m sorry.”

He studied my face for a long moment.

Then—unexpectedly—he smiled. Small. Crooked. Real.

“I guess you must really love the guy if you married him…”

“Yes.”

He nodded once. “Good. About time you let yourself have something. And he sounds very wise.”

I exhaled shakily.

“I wanted to tell you before you hear it somewhere else,” I added. “About us. About my life now.”

Jamie shrugged. “I’ll probably hear it, anyway. News has a way of traveling. I'd followed yours every step of the way…” Then, after a beat, “But I’m glad you told me first.”

I stood slowly.

He reached out—not dramatic, not heavy—and caught my wrist.

“You don’t get to disappear again,” he said. “Not after you gave me the sad story of how sorry you are.”

“I won’t,” I promised. “I’m here. If you’ll let me be.”

He held my gaze for a long second.

Then he sighed and reached out.

I didn’t hesitate.

I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around him, careful and fierce all at once, holding him like I should have years ago. Like I’d wanted to. Like I’d been too afraid to. His shoulders shook, and mine followed. I buried my face against him and let the tears come, messy and unguarded, because there was no reason to pretend anymore.

When we finally pulled back, he wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand and scoffed softly.

“Yeah,” he said. “I guess you can stay.”

And for the first time in years, something loosened in my chest.

Not forgiveness.
Not yet.
But peace.

And that was enough to begin.