Crossing lines (Noah and Aiden) novel Chapter 38

Chapter 38

Aiden

Right from the very first set, I sensed the pain coursing through him. His movements were tight and deliberate, almost mechanical. There was a stiffness in his hips and thighs that stood out—too rigid, too controlled. The bruises weren’t visible under the gym’s harsh lights, but I knew exactly where they lay beneath his skin. I was the one who had left them there.

Not once did he hesitate. His resolve was ironclad. But his body betrayed him. A barely perceptible wince here, a faint twitch there—he tried so hard to conceal it, to mask the pain from me. He should have known better than to think he could fool me.

I called for the fourth set, fully aware that his legs were trembling beneath him. Then the fifth, because I needed to see if his mind would crack before his body gave out. It didn’t—at least, not yet. He pushed through, obeying every command, earning the intense, scrutinizing gaze of every man in the gym. Half of them looked on in confusion, the others as if waiting for him to finally break. But he didn’t.

By the time we reached the sixth set, his body was shaking uncontrollably. Sweat streamed down his temples, dripping onto the floor. His jaw was clenched so tightly I feared he might shatter a molar. His arms trembled as they gripped the barbell, and his breath had turned into a low, ragged grunt with every repetition. I crouched beside him, lowering myself to the floor so I was eye-level with the world he’d shrunk into—two burning limbs and the crushing weight I’d placed on his back.

My voice softened, meant only for him. “If you want to quit, this is your moment.” My gaze locked onto his, unwavering. “So, Noah… what’s it going to be?”

He was gasping for air, teetering on the edge of collapse. His knees began to buckle, his grip loosening. His eyes burned—not from exhaustion, but from something deeper. His voice cracked, but he didn’t fall.

“I trust your training, Sir. I’m not quitting.”

God help me. Every fiber of my being screamed to pull him into my arms right then and there, to call the whole thing off. But I couldn’t. Because he needed this. Because he had asked for it.

“Alright. Five more,” I said.

But inside, I was already tracking every tiny movement—the bar, his footing, the angle of his spine. One misstep, and I’d be under that weight before he could even blink. I watched him like a hawk.

Then, Keon’s voice cut sharply through the gym, trembling with tension in a way that made it hit harder than I expected.

“He can’t, Sir. This isn’t safe.”

I slowly turned my head. Keon stood a few feet away, fists clenched tight, eyes wide with panic—and something else that unsettled me.

Possessiveness.

I straightened to my full height. “You think I don’t know my player’s limits?” I said, calm but razor-sharp.

Keon didn’t back down. I almost admired his defiance.

Almost.

“Fine,” I said, stepping aside. “Why don’t you take his place, then? Start from the beginning.”

—

Keon stepped forward like a soldier answering a call.

His face showed determination—loyalty to the team, maybe a flicker of pride—but beneath it all was a thin, unmistakable layer of fear. Under different circumstances, I might have appreciated that fear. I respect fear. But my focus wasn’t on him.

It was on Noah.

Noah, still bent over at the waist, trembling, lips parted as he gasped for air.

He hadn’t dropped the barbell. Not once. Not even now, with his body screaming in protest and half the gym watching him.

When our eyes met, I didn’t see fear. I saw desperation.

Not the kind that begs for mercy.

The kind that begs not to be replaced.

—

As much as I longed to walk out with him, take him home, kiss away the frustration etched on his lips, and worship every bruise I’d left on his skin, I had a job to do.

I wasn’t just his Master—I was their coach. Keon needed to trust me on the field just as much as Noah needed to trust me behind closed doors.

“Up,” I ordered.

Keon moved to the bar, jaw clenched tight.

“Same set. Clean and press. You have five minutes to prove you weren’t just talking.”

He hesitated for a moment but then lifted, repeated, struggled, swore under his breath—but never gave up. Not once.

Good.

When the five minutes were up, I gave him one last challenge—twenty deadlifts with perfect form, no breaks in between. He didn’t complain. He didn’t collapse.

When he finished, I looked him in the eye and said only, “Next time, don’t interrupt your coach in the middle of training. If you think he can’t finish, help him afterward. Not in front of everyone.”

Keon nodded, breathing hard. “Yes, Sir.”

I dismissed him with a flick of my hand.

As he left the gym, I turned my full attention back to the only person who truly mattered—

Noah.