Crossing lines (Noah and Aiden) novel Chapter 178

Chapter 178

Aiden

Without so much as a knock, Noah burst into my office, the door slamming against the wall with enough force to make the framed diploma tremble. I was in the middle of a meeting with Coach Daniels and one of the freshman assistants, discussing the schedule for next week’s practices. He cut across the room like a sudden storm, his eyes locked fiercely on me.

“I need to talk to you. Now.”

I straightened up in my chair, my spine stiffening as the pen in my hand came to a halt. His tone—so blunt and demanding in front of others—made my jaw clench tight. The irritation I’d felt earlier about him ignoring me last night sharpened instantly. “Excuse me?” I replied coolly, my voice clipped and controlled. “I’m in a meeting, Blake. Not exactly the best time.”

Noah didn’t flinch or even glance at Daniels or the assistant. His gaze remained fixed on mine, and what I saw there sent the irritation plummeting straight into icy dread. His eyes were wide, flickering with raw, trembling fear—a silent alarm flashing bright. “We have a problem.”

That phrase jolted me completely awake. Not “I have a problem,” but “we.” My pulse quickened, and I stole a quick look at Daniels and the assistant, both now watching us with furrowed brows. Noah gave a sharp, jerky shake of his head—a clear sign this wasn’t a conversation for others to hear. His face was drained of color beneath his usual tan, and his hands twitched nervously against his thighs. Every inch of his body screamed that something had gone horribly wrong.

Fuck.

I scanned him quickly, taking in every detail without thinking: his shirt was rumpled and stained, his hair a mess, his collar crooked, and dark shadows pressed under his eyes. He hadn’t slept, maybe hadn’t even showered. He was still wearing the same clothes from last night.

The truth was, I hadn’t gone straight home after the game either. I’d stayed parked in the lot, engine off, lights dimmed, watching from a distance like a coward, trying to summon the nerve to send him the message I really wanted to: Forget the party. Let’s go home. I’d been so close to pressing send, thumb hovering over the screen, when his text arrived first—a bold, teasing picture meant only for me.

The door clicked shut behind them, and Noah locked it without looking back. Then he began pacing rapidly, erratic and restless, tracing a narrow path in front of my desk. His palms scraped over his face, then raked through his hair as if trying to hold his head together.

“I fucked up, I fucked up, I fucked up,” he muttered, each step sharper, more desperate.

“Blake,” my voice broke through the chaos like a sharp whistle. “Sit down. Breathe. Then tell me what the hell happened. Whatever it is, I’ll fix it—but you need to calm the hell down first.”

He stopped mid-step, frozen. “We’re in real trouble,” he whispered.

That word again—*we*. It stabbed straight into my chest like a knife. My heart pounded hard and unevenly, thudding loud in my ears. “Start at the beginning,” I commanded, keeping my tone steady and deliberate, even though everything inside me was unraveling. “What happened?”