Crossing lines (Noah and Aiden) novel Chapter 42

Chapter 42

By the time we finally reached the field, the sun was already blazing overhead, threatening to scorch us under its relentless heat. My head throbbed painfully, a lingering ache from the night before, but I pushed through the warm-up drills as if I’d slept a full ten hours and hadn’t made a fool of myself. This was my punishment, my way of making up for everything.

I executed every play with sharp focus, barking out commands and studying the formations with laser precision. I pushed myself harder than anyone else on the field, determined to prove that I belonged here. Each throw was crisp and deliberate, every movement tight and controlled. I ignored the sweat stinging my eyes and the burning ache in my calves. Nothing else mattered except showing that I was worth this spot.

Aiden barely spared me a glance all session.

He spent most of the practice working closely with the defense, stopping drills to correct their positioning, walking the players through their assignments. When one linebacker intercepted a play, Aiden clapped his hands and shouted, “That’s how it’s done!”

Not once did he call my name.

Not once did our eyes meet.

But I refused to back down. I pushed myself harder, ran faster, yelled louder—anything to be noticed, anything to be seen.

During a break, Miguel jogged over, gulping down water. “Dude, where do you get all this energy? Whatever you’re taking, I want some.”

A few guys chuckled nearby. I forced a laugh with them, but my chest felt tight, and the smile didn’t reach my eyes.

“I’m not taking anything,” I muttered, voice low. “I just take this seriously. I have to.”

Michael raised an eyebrow. “It’s just a game, bro. Not brain surgery.”

“It’s not a game to me,” I said quietly.

Someone else snorted from the sidelines. “Jesus, tone it down. You’re gonna give yourself a stroke.”

I clenched my jaw, biting back the urge to snap. They didn’t understand. They didn’t know what it felt like to be under a microscope every single second, to be told you’re lucky to even be here.

When we moved back to scrimmage, Aiden praised the defense. “That’s the hustle I want to see. Great read, Keon.”

I ran a hand over my face, breathing hard. The words had poured out before I could stop them. They weren’t really about the guys around me—not really. They were about him.

Keon came up beside Miguel, concern written across his face. “Hey. What’s going on with you, man?”

“Nothing,” I said too quickly.

They exchanged a look.

Miguel’s voice softened. “You sure? Because it seems like you’re carrying something way heavier than just football.”

I stayed silent.

We stood there, the tension thick but slowly easing, when the door creaked open and Aiden stepped inside. Dressed in dark slacks and a black shirt, his hair still damp from the shower, he scanned the room once. The atmosphere shifted immediately.

The others quickly gathered their gear and filed out. Within thirty seconds, it was just the two of us left.