Crossing lines (Noah and Aiden) novel Chapter 62

Chapter 62

Noah

It wasn’t until the heavy silence that followed that I realized I had actually spoken the words aloud. “I hate myself.” The confession hung in the air, suffocating and raw. I hadn’t intended to admit it, not even to myself. Yet, there it was—spoken, undeniable.

The phrase echoed inside me like a truth I hadn’t fully accepted until I heard it leave my own lips. And yet, I had said it. To him. To Aiden.

All the walls I had painstakingly constructed around myself, the carefully crafted mask I wore to appear unshakable, proud, and untouchable—they all crumbled in that instant. If there had ever been a moment when I appeared cool, confident, or in control through his eyes—if I had ever seemed like the cocky kid who didn’t need saving—that illusion was shattered now. Broken beyond repair.

Still, his arms wrapped around me, steady and unwavering. His hand found its way into my hair, grounding me, anchoring me to the moment. His voice was gentle, free of judgment or distance. He didn’t pull away.

Why?

I wasn’t sure if the warmth of his embrace was genuine comfort or a fleeting act of kindness. A part of me braced itself for the inevitable moment when he would step back, tell me to get dressed, send me home, remind me this wasn’t what he had signed up for.

But he didn’t.

I could feel his chest rise and fall beneath my cheek, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat like a promise I wasn’t yet ready to believe. Still, a nagging thought crept in, uninvited and sharp: You showed him too much. Too soon. Too broken.

“I’m sorry,” I murmured, my voice barely a whisper.

He shifted just enough to meet my gaze. “Why?” he asked softly.

“For… not being what you were hoping for,” I admitted, my voice hollow, fragile.

There was a pause. His expression was unreadable, and I couldn’t bring myself to look him in the eyes. So, I kept talking, my words raw and exposed.

“Not the kind of person you expected to handle, right?” I gave a weak, humorless laugh. “Guess I’m not as tough as I pretended to be.”

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he pressed his hand firmly against my back, holding me close, as if he wanted to keep me from running away—knowing I might.

“Noah,” he said quietly, “it wasn’t the arrogant, bratty kid who challenged me that I was drawn to… It was the boy beneath all that. The one struggling so hard to be seen and yet wanting to disappear at the same time.”

X

“You’re not going anywhere tonight,” he murmured, his voice low and rough with emotion as he held me close. “We’ll get to practice separately in the morning.”

“Stay.”

I didn’t argue. I simply nodded against his chest, my face still damp from tears, my ribs aching under the weight of everything I had just shared. He held me until my breathing evened out, then gently guided me toward the kitchen as if I might crumble if he let go.

Dinner was simple and quiet. We moved side by side in a rhythm that felt familiar, like we’d done this countless times before. I noticed he set two plates instead of one, but he didn’t offer any explanation.

“I’d like the company tonight,” he said softly.

And just like that, the evening transformed into one of those rare, precious moments where I was allowed to sit and eat with him.

We didn’t speak much at the table, but the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. It was peaceful. I don’t think I’d ever had a dinner like that before—not a silence that felt safe, not with someone who had seen me unravel and still wanted me close.