Chapter 21 Chapter 21
Noah's POV
The training facility looked different when it was staged. The lights had been set up around the rehab area, casting sharp, artificial brightness over equipment that was usually surrounded by sweat, frustration, and quiet determination. Cameras stood on tripods like silent observers, and a small crew moved around adjusting angles, checking sound, and reviewing notes. A banner hung against the far wall.
WESTVIEW ATHLETICS – RECOVERY IS STRENGTH
I stood in the middle of it all, rolling my shoulder slowly, trying to ignore how unnatural everything felt. This wasn’t training nor was it rehab. It was a performance yet again.
“Okay,” the director called. “We will start with guided movement demonstrations.”
Emily stood a few feet away, flipping through her notes. She looked exactly like she always did in the training center but there was something tighter about her posture today. It's like she was more aware of the cameras and me.
She glanced up at me. “Try to follow instructions this time.”
I smirked. “I always follow instructions.”
“That’s not true.”
“It’s selectively true.”
She closed her notebook slowly. “No improvising.”
“That’s boring.”
“This isn’t about you.”
“It’s literally about me.”
“It’s about your recovery.”
“And our fake relationship,” I added.
Her jaw tightened slightly. “Focus on the recovery part.”
The director clapped his hands. “Positions, please.”
Emily stepped closer to me. Close enough that I could see the small crease between her brows when she was concentrating, that I could smell her shampoo, it was something soft, clean, maybe it was vamilla. She was close enough that my brain immediately decided this was going to be interesting.
“Okay,” she said quietly. “We’re starting with shoulder stabilization.”
I nodded.
She placed her hand lightly on my upper arm. “Lift slowly.”
I did as she instructed. Her other hand moved to my back, her fingers pressing gently against my shoulder blade. “Engage here,” she said. Her touch was firm and precise. But she was still too close. “Hold,” she instructed. I held the position. She adjusted my posture slightly. “You’re compensating again.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I feel fine.”
“You always feel fine,” she muttered.
The camera moved closer. The photographer circled us slowly. “Great,” he said. “Stay like that.”
Emily didn’t look at him. She was focused entirely on me. “Relax your shoulder.”
“I am relaxed.”
“You’re tense.”
“That’s because you’re bossy.”
Her eyes flicked up to mine briefly. “I’m doing my job.”
“You’re doing it aggressively.”
She ignored that. “Again.” I repeated the movement. This time slower and more controlled. Her hand slid slightly along my shoulder to adjust the angle. “Better,” she said. The word was quiet, like she was approviing.
“Okay,” the director said. “Now we need a more interactive angle.”
Emily stepped around me. “Turn slightly,” she instructed. I turned, but bow we were facing each other closer than before. Her hands lifted again, one on my shoulder, the other guiding my arm. “Lift,” she said. I lifted. She adjusted my elbow. “Keep it steady.”
“I am steady.”
“You’re shaking.”
“That’s because you’re staring at me.”
“I’m assessing you.”
“Feels like staring.”
She exhaled slowly. “Noah.”
“What?”
“Stand still.”
I leaned slightly closer. “I am still.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You’re leaning.”
“Maybe I like leaning.”
Her hand tightened slightly on my arm. “This is not part of the exercise.”
“It could be.”
“It’s not.”
The photographer laughed softly. “Whatever you’re doing, keep it. It looks natural.”
Emily’s expression didn’t change. But I felt the shift. There was a small crack in her composure. Her fingers pressed more firmly against my shoulder. “Focus,” she said under her breath.
“I am focused.”
“On what?”
“You.”
She froze for half a second before she immediately recovered. “Rotate your shoulder,” she said sharply.
I did as instructed, but slower this time, dragging the moment out. Her hand remained on my arm while her other hand moved to my back again. This time she was too close to me, the kind of close that made everything feel louder, like hearing her breathe even her heartbeat and the camera's flashing sounds.
“You’re doing it again,” she said.
“Doing what?”
“Not focusing.”
“I’m focused.”
“No, you’re-” She stopped because I leaned in just slightly more not enough to be obvious but just enough to feel her. Her breath caught for a second and that was it. Her reaction that was a tiny shift. It was like flipping a switch. I didn't expect it to matter, but it did.
“Cut,” the director said. “That was good.”
Emily stepped back immediately. She made sure that there was distance between us and her professional mask slipped back on like nothing happened.
The photographer waved us over to review the shots. “Come take a look.”
Emily walked over first and then I followed after her. The laptop screen filled with images from the shoot. It was us walking and talking, standing close and then he clicked on one and stopped. “Here,” he said. “This one’s great.”
I leaned closer and so did Emily. The photo filled the screen. We were standing inches apart. Her hand on my shoulder and my body angled towards hers. Neither of us smiling. Just… looking at each other intensely like everything else had disappeared.
It didn’t look staged and definitely didn't look fake. It looked real. Emily inhaled softly beside me. “That works,” she said. Her voice was steady, but she didn’t move and neither did I. We both kept looking at the screen, at that moment that was captured.
The photographer nodded. “Yeah. That’s the one.” He said.
Emily finally stepped back. “I will review the rest later,” she said and then walked away.
I stayed where I was for a second longer, still staring at the image. At the way we looked at each other, how close we were and how real it felt.
Ever since this whole arrangement started... I wasn’t sure if I was still playing a part or if something had shifted into something else entirely.