Crossing lines (Noah and Aiden) novel Chapter 210

Chapter 210

My fingers found the edge of the table, gripping it lightly as if anchoring myself. “How long?” I asked quietly.

“Long enough to lose track of what day it was,” she replied, her voice steady but heavy. “They called it treatment. Maybe some of it was. I needed help, I won’t lie. But they also needed me quiet. Thin. Compliant. Grateful. I saw Mom once a week. Dad came twice. Every time, he’d sit there, fold his hands like a judge, and ask, ‘Are we ready to be done with the drama, Alexis?’ And I’d nod, say ‘Yes, Daddy,’ like the good girl I was supposed to be. Because if I said anything else, I’d be stuck there longer.”

Her gaze finally met mine, and I saw the tears she was struggling to hold back shimmering in her eyes. “I learned to be perfect in that place,” she confessed softly. “Not because I wanted to be perfect, but because I wanted to go home.”

Without realizing it, my hand reached across the table and covered hers. “I’m so sorry,” I whispered, feeling my words fall short compared to the weight of her truth. “I thought… I thought your life was this perfect, charmed thing. I didn’t see…”

“You weren’t meant to see,” she said barely above a whisper. “That was the whole point.”

Outside, a parade float passed by, children dressed as nutcrackers tossing handfuls of glitter into the crisp air. Inside, the diner had quieted, save for the soft hiss of the espresso machine.

She took a steadying breath and continued, “After I got out, I did everything by the book. Straight back to straight-A Lexie. Cheer captain. Volunteering. Smiling for the cameras. I told myself if I was perfect enough, I’d finally feel safe. I dated boys Dad approved of. I waved at photographers like I liked it. I went to bed early and convinced myself I enjoyed being watched.”

“Did you?” I asked gently.

She shook her head. “I stopped feeling much of anything. Until you.”

We sat quietly for a while, watching the parade move past through the glass window, our fingers still entwined like we’d both grasped onto something solid in a world that kept shifting beneath us.

Eventually, she sniffled and let out a small laugh. “Okay, sad hour’s over. We have a carousel to ride twice because the first time, I blinked and missed the horse I wanted.”

“You’re insufferable,” I teased, standing up and grabbing our coats.

“That’s one more thing we have in common,” she shot back, her eyes bright now—not forced, but brave.

On the drive home, the sky deepened into that early winter purple, the mountains looming like silent giants breathing in the cold air. After a while, her head tilted against the window, and her eyes fluttered closed. I slowed down, driving just a little slower than necessary, giving her a few extra minutes of sleep, letting the road roll beneath us while my mind raced to figure out how to protect two people from the same man.