Invisible To Her Bully (Jessa and Noah) novel Chapter 159

**Hearts Written in Silent Rain by Ava Bloomfield**

**Noah**

As I stepped into the locker room, my practice gear slung over my shoulder, a storm of emotions surged within me that I struggled to contain. Usually, after a Saturday game, adrenaline would rush through my veins, invigorating me and preparing me for whatever challenge awaited on the field, regardless of how the scoreboard read.

But today?

Today was an entirely different narrative.

From the moment I woke up, thoughts of Homecoming consumed my mind, and more specifically, thoughts of Jessa.

The instant I rolled out of bed, my heart began to race with a mixture of excitement and dread, swirling together like a tempest.

Asking her to the dance felt akin to standing at the edge of a cliff, peering down into a dark abyss without a parachute—no safety net to catch me should I take that fateful leap.

Just last night, I had managed to engage her in a conversation, our words lingering in my mind like a sweet, enchanting melody. Her laughter still resonated in my ears—soft and genuine, as if she were surprised that anyone would even want to talk to her.

That thought kept me tossing and turning throughout the night, spiraling in my head until sleep finally claimed me, only for those same thoughts to rush back the moment I awoke.

I was playing a perilous game, one that could easily lead to heartbreak or the sting of embarrassment.

With a grunt, I shoved my gym bag into my locker, the metallic clang echoing in the air as I pulled off my hoodie just as Jackson made his grand entrance, plopping down beside me with his cleats hitting the floor with a thud that reverberated through the room.

He seemed surprisingly relaxed today, a stark contrast to his usual tightly wound demeanor. Gone was the storm-cloud energy that often surrounded him. Instead, he stretched one leg out, letting out a low groan before turning his gaze toward me.

“So,” he began, his tone casual, perhaps too casual for the weight of what I was feeling, “the girls are getting their Homecoming dresses altered today.”

I blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in conversation. “Altered?”

“Yeah,” he replied, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Apparently, dresses aren’t just something you buy off the rack. They have to be ‘fitted’ and ‘draped’ and ‘hemmed.’” He punctuated his words with exaggerated air quotes. “Mariah talked my ear off about it for like thirty minutes.”

I couldn’t help but snicker at the image of him cornered by Mariah, who could talk a blue streak. “You actually listened for thirty minutes?”

“Bro, she cornered me. There was no escape,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief. “Dude… have you ever heard someone describe a zipper with that much passion?”

I chuckled quietly, shaking my head in amusement. “Can’t say that I have.”

“Yeah, well,” Jackson sighed, “welcome to this new version of my life.”

A beat of silence hung between us before he added, this time with a hint of seriousness, “And… your girlfriend’s getting hers done too.”

I froze, my hands mid-way through taping my wrist. “She’s not— I mean— Jessa isn’t—”

Jackson raised a hand, cutting me off.

“Please. Spare me the speech.”

He visibly cringed, his shoulders rising and his eyes squinting as if the very word ‘girlfriend’ pained him. “Look, saying ‘your girlfriend’ makes me feel like I need to dunk my head in holy water. She’s my sister. I’m getting used to this. Slowly. Painfully.”

I nudged him with my elbow, a playful grin creeping onto my face. “Then maybe don’t call her that?”

He shrugged, a hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “What else would I call her? You like her. Like, like-like her. And she clearly likes you.” He cringed again. “Still makes me want to walk into traffic, but hey… growth.”

I shook my head, unable to suppress the smile that broke across my face.

Only Jackson could turn the act of supporting his best friend into a form of torture.

“Yeah, well,” I muttered, “we’ll see how it goes.”

He shot me a knowing look.

One of those “I know more than you think I know” looks. “Relax, Carter. She said yes to Homecoming. She’s into you. Just don’t screw it up.”

“I’m trying not to.”

“Good,” he said firmly. “Because if you hurt her, I legally have to fight you. Twin sibling laws.”

I rolled my eyes, a smirk still lingering on my lips. “Dude, you made that up.”

“Doesn’t make it less true.”

Before I could retort, a loud commotion erupted from the hallway.

Not your typical yelling.

Not the kind that signaled “Coach is pissed.”

This noise was loud, explosive, sharp enough to cut through the atmosphere and make everyone pause in their tracks.

A couple of the younger players froze mid-lace, and someone dropped their shoulder pads with a clatter. Another guy muttered under his breath, “Uh… that sounded like murder.”

Jackson lifted his head, a frown creasing his brow. “That came from Coach’s office.”

Another shout rang out, louder this time.

Then something slammed against the wall. Hard.

Everyone exchanged anxious glances, the tension palpable in the air.

I swallowed hard. “Daniel?”

“Has to be,” Jackson replied, his voice low and laced with concern. “Nobody else pisses people off enough to cause property damage.”

We edged closer to the hallway, every guy in the locker room tense, waiting for someone to shed light on the chaos unfolding.

Then—

The office door burst open as if someone had kicked it down.

Daniel stormed out first, his face a furious shade of red, jaw clenched so tightly I thought his teeth might shatter. His chest heaved as if he had just battled through ten rounds in the ring, and his eyes were wild enough to send half the team scrambling to get out of his way.

Right behind him was his father—big, furious, and radiating enough anger to melt steel. He grabbed Daniel by the arm, yanking him forward.

“Move,” his father growled, his voice low and dangerous.

They shoved their way through the locker room, avoiding eye contact with anyone, leaving a palpable tension in their wake.

The door slammed shut behind them.

Silence enveloped the room, thick and suffocating.

Moments later, Coach appeared.

Calm. Controlled. But there was a glint in his eyes that hinted at a simmering anger just beneath the surface, the kind that suggested he was two seconds away from exploding.

He scanned the room, letting the silence stretch, before finally speaking.

“Alright,” he said evenly. “Listen up.”

Every single player fell silent, hanging on his words, the weight of the moment settling over us like a heavy blanket.

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