Crossing lines (Noah and Aiden) novel Chapter 89

Chapter 89

Aiden

The silence that followed the slam of the door was overwhelming, suffocating in its intensity. It wasn’t just the quiet that filled the house—it invaded me, reverberating through my chest like a thunderclap, leaving behind a hollow, aching void. For what felt like an eternity, I stood rooted to the spot, my eyes locked on the closed door, half expecting Noah to burst back in—angry, shouting, maybe even ready to fight. But he never returned.

And I had told him to leave.

God, what had I done?

I stumbled toward my office, my vision blurred by a storm of self-directed fury. I reached for the bottle I kept hidden for nights exactly like this—nights when the crushing weight of my mistakes made it impossible to stay sober. I poured the amber liquid until it spilled over the rim of the glass. I didn’t bother wiping it up. I didn’t care. I let the burn trail down my throat, a punishment I convinced myself I deserved.

My desk was cluttered with memories—ghosts of failures I’d collected like trophies, evidence of everything I’d destroyed. My hand found the first photo album, the one I should have set on fire years ago.

Jamie.

My little brother, grinning beneath a helmet that was far too large for his head, arm casually draped over my shoulder after practice, as if I were his hero. God, he used to look at me like I was untouchable, invincible. Before I shattered that illusion. Before I ruined not just his future, but mine as well.

I traced the outline of his face with a rough fingertip, the edges of the photo worn from countless visits to this painful place. A tear slipped free without warning, falling and smudging his smile.

I flipped through the pages—victories, little league games, trophies. Then I reached the last photo: Jamie, older now, his smile gone, his posture slumped in that damn chair. My chest tightened so fiercely it felt like I couldn’t draw a breath.

Another drink. This time harder, more desperate.

The next album cut even deeper—my glory days. Shiny trophies, bright lights, me strutting like a cocky bastard in my twenties. Smug, untouchable, unaware of the storm brewing on the horizon—the scandal, the accident, the collapse. I wanted to punch the arrogant fool staring back at me from those pages. He had no clue what was coming. I shoved the album aside as if it were poison.

And what had I given him? Everything but the one thing he wanted most. I dangled it just out of reach, made him believe it was within grasp… then pushed him out into the cold night like he was nothing but a disposable mistake.

Now I had nothing. No career. No brother. No Micah.

And no Noah.

The burning in my throat wasn’t just from the alcohol anymore. It was grief. Regret. A self-loathing so deep it hollowed me out from the inside.

My hands trembled as I poured another drink and swallowed it down, but it still wasn’t enough. Nothing ever would be.

I shoved the bottle aside and pulled my laptop closer, ready to make yet another reckless choice. Because why stop now? When I was so clearly capable of destroying even more.