Crossing lines (Noah and Aiden) novel Chapter 183

Chapter 183

Noah

Aiden Mercer had always been larger than life to me. Not just his size, but his presence-the force of his will, the way he filled a room. Seeing him on his knees like this, stripped down to something raw and human, shattered me. It wrenched hot tears from my own eyes. He’d always seemed untouchable, a mountain I’d been climbing. And now, here he was, crumbling in my arms.

He probably thought showing me this side of himself was weakness. I’d thought the same thing about myself for years. But seeing him break open didn’t make me think less of him. If anything, it pulled me closer, anchored me even more.

When the storm of tears finally ebbed, and he managed to draw a shaky breath, he tried to get up and almost pitched forward. I caught him under the arm, steadying him. When he straightened, he looked pale and dazed, his eyes glassy and unfocused.

I’m going to be sick,” he murmured.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” I said quickly, guiding him to the bathroom. I knelt beside him, rubbing slow circles between his shoulder blades while he retched, bile and rancid whiskey splattering the bowl. When it was over, I eased him out of his clothes, turned on the shower, and helped him to sit on the edge of the tub, his head bowed into the stream of cool water. The spray dampened his hair, slicking it back from his face; for a moment he looked like some fallen warrior washing blood from his hands.

I passed him his toothbrush, waited until he rinsed and spat, then led him to the bed. I tucked him in, set a glass of water and some painkillers on the nightstand-hedging against the hangover I knew he’d wake up with.

“Don’t leave,” he murmured. It was almost a question, almost a plea, his voice so low it might have been a thought leaking out.

A small, helpless smile tugged at me. “I’m not going anywhere. Not until morning,” I said, stripping off my jeans and tugging my shirt over my head. I slid in behind him, wearing only my boxer briefs, wrapping myself around him as best I could. He was so broad that my arm barely spanned his chest; I wasn’t much of a big spoon. But pressing my ear to his back, feeling his body settle as his breathing deepened, filled me with a strange, quiet joy I didn’t have

words for.

I lay there listening to him sleep, my hand resting lightly on his ribs, and stared into the dark, planning my next move. I thought for a long time-hours, maybe-before sleep finally dragged me under too.

I jolted awake when Aiden moved beneath me, rolling onto his back and tugging me with him until my cheek rested against his chest.

The red digits of the alarm clock glowed a little past two a.m. I shifted, lifting my head just enough to look at him. His eyes were half-lidded, hazy with sleep and liquor, but there was clarity in them now-he was awake, present.

“How’re you doing?” I asked softly, pulling back enough to see his face.

“Drank enough to keep the hangover at bay,” he muttered, voice gravelly, “but sober enough not to cry like a baby or throw up again.” His mouth twisted into something between a grimace and a smirk.

“It wasn’t that dramatic,” I said, resting my temple on his arm so I could watch him more easily. The blinds were still open, the moon spilling silver light across the room, tinting everything in a quiet, surreal glow.

“Liar” His lips curved into a crooked grin, and somehow that tiny flicker of humor loosened the tightness in my chest.

I smirked back. “Guess it’s true what they say your tolerance drops once you hit the elderly years.”

A low laugh rumbled from his chest, shaking against my ear. Then he shifted, sliding his arm higher, which tipped me off balance and sent me rolling fully onto him. “I’m thirty-five, you little shit,” he said, voice rough but playful. His hand cupped my face, holding me still, his gaze locked with mine. Then he pulled me down into a kiss, deep and certain.