Crossing lines (Noah and Aiden) novel Chapter 40

Chapter 40

Aiden

The sun was relentless for a June day, scorching the sky as if summer had arrived late but with a fierce determination. I stood atop the bleachers, my sunglasses shielding my eyes from the harsh glare, watching the team wrap up their third scrimmage. Sweat dripped from their brows, voices echoed across the field, and cleats struck the turf with a rhythmic thunder. At the very heart of it all—of course—was Noah.

He played with the intensity of a man driven by something deeper.

Every move he made was charged with a fierce hunger, a desperate need to prove himself. But it wasn’t just about impressing me anymore. No, I could see it in the way he grinned at a teammate after a touchdown, exchanging high-fives with genuine joy. The way he slapped Keon on the back, breathless and flushed with laughter. Noah craved belonging. He needed it like air.

And he was fighting tooth and nail to earn it.

Yes, he wanted my approval, and yes, his scholarship depended on it. But beyond that, he sought their acceptance. He was trying to be theirs and mine simultaneously—and I knew that balancing act couldn’t last.

Whenever I pushed him, the internal struggle played across his face. He’d nod obediently, answering with a low, slightly rough “Yes, Sir,” a tone he’d perfected over the past days. Then he’d walk away, cracking a joke with Miguel, trying to appear normal—untroubled—as if I wasn’t the one training him to kneel, strip, and beg in private.

It wasn’t rebellion. Not yet. But it was the story of a boy desperately juggling two lives. And he was starting to slip through my fingers.

After the final whistle blew, I stayed behind.

I told myself it was to observe how the team interacted off the field, to understand their dynamics better. But the truth was, I wanted to see who Noah naturally gravitated toward. Who gravitated toward him.

That was when it happened.

Keon, still soaked in sweat, clapped Noah on the back.

“We’re heading out soon. Going to the cove,” he said, nodding toward the distant shoreline just beyond the trees. “You in?”

Miguel added with a grin, “First real beach day of the summer. Gotta celebrate surviving Coach’s Death Week.”

Noah hesitated.

My stomach twisted before he even spoke.

But then he nodded, that easy smile settling on his face. “Yeah. I could use a swim.”

Miguel whooped and took off jogging ahead. Keon lingered a moment longer, offering a subtle warning. “Bring sunscreen. You’re built like the moon.”

Noah laughed. “Screw you.”

Without a word, I turned and headed toward the parking lot. When I reached the car, I stood by the passenger door, waiting.

Five minutes ticked by.

Then ten.

He finally jogged over, hair still damp, a bag slung casually over one shoulder. “Hey, uh…” He shifted awkwardly. “I’m gonna ride with Keon. We’re heading to the cove.”

I stared at him. “The cove.”

“Yeah. I mean… it’s just a beach hangout. You said training was on weekends, and it’s Thursday. I haven’t broken any rules.”

I kept my expression neutral. “And you thought I wouldn’t mind?”

“No, I just… I didn’t think you’d care, since we didn’t define evenings.”

I opened the driver’s door calmly. “Enjoy your outing.”

He blinked in surprise. “Wait… Are you mad?”

“No.”

“You sound mad.”

“I’m not.”

“I just—”

“Go, Noah.”

They were easy to spot.

Noah was in the water, swimming with slow, lazy strokes, splashing as he dove and resurfaced, his hair slicked back, his face glowing with salt and sunshine. His laugh carried on the breeze.

He wore trunks long enough to cover the bruises I’d marked on him.

A flare of possessiveness burned deep in my chest.

He was supposed to be healing. Reflecting. Centering himself for the next grueling week of training. Instead, here he was, surrounded by teammates. Miguel—predictably shirtless and clutching a beer—was sitting with a group of girls, gesturing animatedly. Noah climbed out of the water, and one of the girls tossed him a towel, laughing at something he’d said. He dried his hair, smiling, flirting.

My gut clenched painfully.

He was… free. Smiling. Normal.

But not mine.

I watched him walk over to the group, sinking into the sand close to a blonde girl who leaned in toward him. He didn’t push her away.

My hands tightened around the steering wheel.

He deserved a normal night—but I hated watching him take it. My emotions spiraled out of control, and I couldn’t let them. So I started the car and drove off before I did something I’d regret.

I didn’t check my phone again. Not even when the message I finally sent him at 11:43 p.m. went unanswered.

He’d come back—he always did—but that didn’t make the jealousy any easier to swallow.

And it didn’t stop the truth clawing its way up my chest:

I was already in deeper than I ever intended.

I’d given him a choice—everything or nothing. And if he thought he could take all of me without consequence…

Then it was time I took what was mine.