Crossing lines (Noah and Aiden) novel Chapter 179

Chapter 179

Last night, William had my phone at the party. We were going through the game clips you’d carefully organized into a folder for me—some TV guy wanted footage, you said.

A cold shiver ran down my spine. Deep down, I already sensed where this was heading. “And?” I asked, my voice tight.

Noah swallowed hard, his eyes wide and panicked. “I stepped away for the team pictures, and he saw a notification… a replay video.”

My mind scrambled, searching desperately for some way out, some explanation that could save us. “That’s fine. It could’ve been anything. He’d just think it was game highlights, nothing more—”

“No.” His voice broke. “He opened it, Aiden. I couldn’t stop him in time.” He pressed a trembling hand over his mouth, shaking his head as if trying to erase the moment. “He saw the video you sent me. The one of us.”

For a moment, my breath caught. I heard my own voice, sharp and unfamiliar, cutting through the silence. “You let him go through your phone? Jesus, Noah!”

“I didn’t!” His voice cracked again. “I wasn’t thinking—”

The chair scraped loudly as I jumped up, my knee slamming painfully against the desk’s underside. The backrest hit the wall with a dull thud and toppled over. Now, I was pacing, hands open and helpless. “Do you even realize what this means?”

“I’m sorry—”

“No, this is all on me.” My throat burned with frustration and regret. “That video—God, I never should’ve recorded it, never should’ve sent it. I’ve been so careful about everything, and then I go and hand you ammo like that.” My heart pounded so fiercely it made me dizzy. “If this gets out, I’m finished. My career, my license, everything. And you—your draft? Gone.”

“It’s my fault too! I sent you that pic… I asked you to. I—I left him with my damn phone!” He took a shaky breath, raising his hands in a calming gesture. Then, softer, pleading, “It might not come to that. I think I’ve got it under control—”

“What kind of control? How?” I snapped, nerves fraying at the edges.

“Aiden—” He said my name like a prayer, but it was the wrong place, the wrong time. I cut him off with a single look. Not here. Not now. Not again.

Still, he dropped to his knees in front of me, desperation shining in his glassy, wild eyes. “Please don’t—”

His phone buzzed again, sharp and insistent. He flinched. I kept my gaze fixed on the floor. “Go,” I said, voice flat and empty.

The door closed softly behind him. I didn’t move. Couldn’t. My thoughts spun in jagged circles, fragments refusing to fit together: the disaster we’d unleashed, Noah trying to carry it alone, William Hart tightening the noose. And my own hands on the phone the night I recorded that clip—believing it was safe, believing it was ours.

Ours.

But there was no “ours” anymore. Maybe there never would be again.