Invisible To Her Bully (Jessa and Noah) novel Chapter 168

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

**Chapter 168**

**Noah**

Friday evenings always carried a distinct aroma—a blend of freshly mowed grass, the salty tang of sweat, and the unmistakable scent of hotdogs left too long on the grill, their skins bursting from the heat.

Usually, this familiar scent wrapped around me like a comforting blanket, easing my nerves and filling me with a sense of belonging.

But tonight was different.

This was the first game without Daniel.

The first snap without his incessant, often ridiculous commentary that somehow managed to lighten the mood. The first warm-up where his voice wouldn’t echo across the field, pumping himself up with an enthusiasm that was almost contagious.

The atmosphere felt altered.

Lighter, yes, but also tighter, as if the very air around us was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

I stood on the sidelines, fully geared up, my helmet cradled in my hands, watching as the stands filled with fans under the bright stadium lights. Ridgeville blue was everywhere I looked—banners fluttering, faces painted in our colors, and the band in the corner, their instruments gleaming, preparing to unleash their battle cry.

Coach’s whistle pierced the air, summoning us into a huddle.

“Clear Springs is going to hit hard,” he stated firmly, his eyes sharp and focused, visor pushed back to reveal the intensity of his gaze. “They’re furious about losing your golden boy last week.”

Golden boy.

Daniel.

A few of the guys shifted uneasily, the silence hanging heavy in the air. No one dared to speak his name, but the thought lingered like a shadow over us.

Coach surveyed our faces, his expression unyielding. “We are not walking into this like it’s some kind of soap opera. You hear me? They’re not here for revenge; they’re here to win. And so are we. Stick to your assignments, keep your heads clear. Play smart, not stupid.”

His gaze lingered on me and Jackson for a heartbeat longer.

Leaders.

There was no room for mistakes tonight.

As we broke the huddle, we jogged toward the bench, the announcer’s voice booming through the speakers, calling out our names, our numbers, our positions with a sense of grandeur.

When Jackson’s name echoed through the stadium, the crowd erupted in a deafening roar.

And when my name was announced, I was taken aback by the volume of the cheer—it felt louder, more fervent than usual.

I didn’t need to look immediately to know who was cheering the loudest.

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