Crossing lines (Noah and Aiden) novel Chapter 211

Chapter 211

Aiden

Christmas morning settled over the apartment like a thick, unyielding fog, filling every inch of space with a dull, static hum that pressed down on my chest until even the simple act of breathing felt wrong and forced. The kitchen counter was still cluttered with remnants from the team’s gift exchange—wrapping paper crumpled and tossed aside, a forgotten mug of cocoa now lukewarm and bitter, and my phone lying face down next to it, as if it might suddenly bite me if I dared to look.

I had replayed his message over and over in my mind, the words seared behind my eyelids so vividly I could almost taste the bitterness.

What we had is dead. Just as I am dead.

The phrase echoed in my head, jagged and raw in a way that Noah’s usual lies never were. If he’d wanted to hurt me, he could have done it in a more straightforward way. He could’ve said, “I’m with her now,” or “I’m happy,” but dead? Why choose a word so final, so absolute?

If Noah was truly with the woman he loved, living the life he wanted, why would he say something so bleak?

At first, I tried to reason it out—maybe he was angry, dramatic, feeling trapped. But each time I stared at that message, the fracture inside me widened, splitting open like a wound that refused to heal.

He had never sounded so irrevocable before.

I thought I understood pain, but apparently, there are whole new depths to it, waiting to be discovered once denial finally fades away.

For hours, I wandered around the apartment, pacing from room to room, sitting down only to rise again, drinking water as if it could fill the hollow ache inside my chest. Somewhere around midday, I found myself pulling out my laptop, opening transfer portals, half-considering what it would mean to simply vanish.

To walk away before anyone forced me to.

If I quit the Wolves, maybe they wouldn’t dig too deep. I could claim burnout, personal issues, a family emergency—something vague and believable. Leaving on my own terms would mean no hearings, no disciplinary reviews, no risk of the wrong message or photo slipping into the wrong hands. No whispers about coercion, misconduct, or “inappropriate relations.”

It was a coward’s choice, but in that moment, it felt like a mercy.

Maybe if I escaped fast enough, I could still control the narrative. Maybe I could free Noah from having to cover for me—if that was part of what he was trying to do in the first place.

I could find another program, maybe across the country—some mid-tier team desperate enough to take a chance on a damaged player. Somewhere his name wouldn’t echo in every hallway, somewhere I wouldn’t see his number burned into my locker.

No Noah in the cafeteria. No Noah on the field. No Noah haunting my mind every waking second.

But there was no such place.

Because Noah wasn’t someone I could outrun; he was a heartbeat I couldn’t silence.

Even if I left tomorrow, he would still be there every time I closed my eyes—every word, every touch, every glance that had undone me from the inside out. Those things don’t disappear when you pack a bag. They linger. They haunt.

I collapsed onto the couch, pressing my palms against my face. The microwave clock blinked 15:47, its cold light casting a sterile glow over the room. Outside, snow fell softly and silently, an almost disrespectful quiet for a day that had already ripped something vital from me.

I flipped my phone over again, my thumb hovering over the message as if touching it might somehow bring him back.

Suddenly, the phone buzzed sharply, breaking the silence. I jumped.

Micah: Just checking on you, Sir.

For a moment, I just stared at the screen. I hadn’t expected anyone to reach out—not today. But Micah always seemed to know when to check in, his timing uncanny, like he could still read my thoughts from miles away.

I almost didn’t respond. What could I even say? “Hey, Merry Christmas. I’m losing my mind over the guy who replaced you”?

But then the blue bubble blinked again.

Micah: You don’t have to answer if you’d rather be alone. Just wanted you to know I’m around.

Something inside me cracked open. Before I could overthink it, I typed back.

Because sitting here drowning in what-ifs wasn’t going to change a damn thing. Maybe coffee wouldn’t either. But at least it meant moving. Breathing. Doing something other than staring at ghosts.

I threw on my coat, grabbed my keys, and stepped out into the cold, the words “What we had is dead” still burning behind my ribs like a brand I couldn’t erase.

Micah was already there when I arrived, two steaming cups of coffee on the table between us. He looked up as if he’d been waiting forever and smirked.

“You actually came,” he said. “I wasn’t sure you’d agree to hear me out.”

“You said coffee,” I replied. “Not confessions.”

“Oh, I brought both.” He nudged one cup toward me. “Still take it black, right?”

I sat down. “You remember.”

His smile was small but deliberate. “I remember everything, Sir. Especially the parts you’d rather I forgot.”

“Let’s get to the point, Micah. What are we doing here?”

He leaned back, studying me carefully. “We’re catching up. You’re pretending you’re fine.”

“It’s been two years, Micah,” I said. “What do you really want?”

Without hesitation, he answered, “You.”

“Try again.”

He held my gaze, and for a moment, the easy charm drained from his expression, leaving something raw and honest behind. “I want to stay. I want to be by your side again. I—I love you.”