Crossing lines (Noah and Aiden) novel Chapter 43

Aiden

The moment I stepped into the locker room, the laughter abruptly faded into hushed whispers—too quiet, as if secrets were being locked away the instant I crossed the threshold. I caught Keon’s voice, Miguel’s too, and there was Noah, standing frozen between them. His cheeks were flushed, his gaze fixed on the floor, and Keon’s arm was draped casually over his shoulder, like they’d been inseparable forever.

My heart clenched, and I came to a sudden halt.

It shouldn’t have affected me. It really shouldn’t have.

Yet, it did.

What I saw was unmistakable: friendship, camaraderie, a shared understanding born from struggle. But despite that, a fierce, bitter jealousy ignited deep inside me.

He hadn’t replied to my message.

He hadn’t checked in.

He’d returned from his little beach outing, sand still stuck in his shoes, a faint, elusive smile barely hidden on his lips. And now, here he was, in my locker room, seeking solace in the company of others instead of facing me.

I wanted to pull him away from them.

I wanted to press him against the cold lockers, to kiss him until he couldn’t breathe, to fill him with everything I’d been fantasizing about since the day we met—until he remembered exactly who he belonged to.

I longed to whisper in his ear that there would be no distractions tonight—no girls, no Keon—just him and me.

But I stayed silent.

I kept my steps steady, my expression controlled. I nodded stiffly as I passed by them, feeling the tension crawl up my spine like an electric current.

I noticed how Keon’s hand slipped away from Noah’s shoulder.

I heard Miguel clear his throat and mumble something about needing to get to the dining hall before it closed.

I saw them all scramble, guilt etched into their movements as they hurried to gather their bags and make their escape.

Not here. Not now. Not when we’d already drawn too much attention. So I took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and without a single word, I turned and headed toward the showers.

I didn’t notice the way his face fell as I walked past.

I didn’t see his shoulders slump.

But I felt it.

And God help me, I wanted to turn back and make it right. But I didn’t—because if I broke now, the entire fragile structure I’d built around us would crumble. And I wasn’t ready for that. I wasn’t ready to lose him. Noah was mine, and by everything I held dear, I wasn’t about to let him go.

At first, I didn’t hear him. I only felt his presence—the subtle shift in the air, the soft click of the door closing behind us, the way the space seemed to shrink, charged and fragile, trembling like a wire pulled taut.

I didn’t turn around. Didn’t have to.

Noah’s eyes were fixed on me, drinking me in with that same dangerous hunger I’d seen before—eyes filled with something he didn’t yet fully understand, but I did. Because it reflected what I was feeling too.