Invisible To Her Bully (Jessa and Noah) novel Chapter 150

Jessa

At last, the house had fallen into a peaceful stillness.

Mom had retreated to bed hours earlier, leaving only the faint, rhythmic thump of music drifting softly through the quiet rooms—a soundtrack of victory. The latest game updates had already rippled through every group chat in Clearwater 14.

Jackson’s room,

Ridgeville 21.

I settled cross-legged on my bed, a content smile tugging at my lips. My hair was still damp from the shower, strands clinging lightly to my skin, and a loose t-shirt hung casually off one shoulder. Jackson had come home brimming with energy, half-dressed in his football gear, sweat glistening on his skin, and a triumphant grin lighting up his face. He’d thrown his duffel bag carelessly by the door, boasted loudly about “the block of the season,” and then vanished into his room without even noticing that I was grinning just as widely as he was.

Because this victory wasn’t solely his.

It belonged to Noah as well.

And somewhere amid the cheers for my brother, I realized I was just as proud of him.

My phone buzzed quietly on the nightstand.

Reaching out, I expected to see a message from Mariah—probably a meme teasing Jackson’s dramatic post-game interview face.

But it wasn’t her.

It was Noah Carter.

My heart skipped a beat.

I stared at his name glowing on the screen, my fingers trembling slightly before I swiped to answer. “Hey.”

His voice came through—low, warm, and unmistakably familiar. “Hey. Did I wake you?”

“No,” I replied quickly, trying to sound casual. “I was just… reading.”

(Truthfully, scrolling through TikTok wasn’t exactly reading, but close enough.)

He chuckled softly on the other end. “Sure you were.”

I bit my lip, smiling even though he couldn’t see it. “Congrats on the win. You guys really killed it out there.”

“Thanks,” he said. “It took us forever to get our offense clicking. Clearwater’s defense was brutal. I think Jackson’s still kicking himself for that missed throw in the third quarter.”

“Typical,” I said, rolling my eyes. “He’s probably replayed that moment a hundred times already.”

“You know your brother way too well.”

—

“Occupational hazard of being his twin,” I teased, and Noah’s laugh—a deep, easy sound—filled my chest with warmth.

Silence stretched between us, but it was comfortable this time—the kind that didn’t need to be broken.

“You watching the stream tonight?” he asked.

“Of course,” I said. “I totally yelled at my laptop when you missed that tackle in the first half.”

He groaned. “Don’t remind me. That guy just popped out of nowhere.”

“Well, you definitely made up for it later.”

“You think?”

“I know.”

The way he exhaled—a quiet breath, almost like a soft laugh—made my pulse flutter unexpectedly.

Then his voice softened even more. “You know, I like that you watch.”

The words were simple, but they landed with a weight far beyond their size.

“I like watching you play,” I admitted, feeling my cheeks warm. “You’re… really good.”

“Just good?” he teased.

“Don’t push it,” I laughed.

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