“That’s right,” I said softly. “He protects people. That’s his job.”
Sassy barked once, startled by the crowd noise, then settled again, her head in Miles’s lap. He absently petted her ears, completely focused on the screen.
The game kicked off, and for the next two hours, Miles gave me a running commentary that made me smile through every snap. He gasped when the defense sacked the QB, cheered when the Rampage converted on third down, and yelled “Go Uncle Noah!” every time number seventy-two hit the field.
Somewhere in the third quarter, his energy started to fade. His head tilted against my arm, and his voice slurred mid-sentence. “Uncle Noah’s winning,” he murmured, half-asleep.
“He’s doing great,” I whispered back. His breathing evened out, soft and steady. I shifted just enough to rest my chin lightlyon his hair. He smelled like kid shampoo and popcorn. Sassy sighed beside us, pressing closer.
The game ran long. Noah’s line held, clean and solid. The commentators even mentioned his name once—veteran presence, great anchor in the pocket—and pride surged through me, stupid and full. When the final whistle blew and the Rampage knelt out the clock, I smiled into the quiet living room.
Miles was dead asleep, curled under my arm. Sassy’s paw rested protectively over his leg. The TV’s glow flickered over all three of us, casting the room in that late-night blue that felt like memory.
I muted the postgame coverage and looked down at the sleeping boy beside me. “He did it,” I whispered. “Your uncle did it.”
Sassy thumped her tail softly, as if she understood.
I stayed like that for a long time—holding onto the warmth, the stillness, the strange sense of peace that settled over me. Watching Noah on that field made something inside me ache with pride and something else I didn’t have the courage to name.
When my phone buzzed, I reached for it carefully. A message from him.
Noah:We won! Give the kid a hug for me.
I smiled, typing back quickly.
Me:We saw. He fell asleep cheering for you. You did great, Abbott.
Three dots blinked, then vanished.
A minute later, another buzz sounded.
Noah:Get some sleep, Em. See you tomorrow.
I set the phone face down on the coffee table and looked back at the TV, the screen now showing replay highlights. Noah was there again, grinning at something off-camera, his helmet tucked under his arm, the stadium lights cutting across his face.
I watched him until the network cut to commercials, thenleaned back against the couch, running a hand through Miles’s hair. “Goodnight, you two,” I murmured.
The house was quiet, except for the hum of the TV and Sassy’s slow, sleepy breaths. I closed my eyes and tried to convince myself it didn’t matter how excited I was for him to come back. Our friendship wasn’t likethat. We were friends. Old friends with a past. Trust. Those were hard to find. Noah didn’t view me that way anyway. Sure, he’d tease me, but I did the same to him. It didn’t mean anything.
My life was a mess. He had Miles. The season had just started for him, and I had my opportunity to really make a name for myself with my designs.
I wasn’t sure what this little crush was, if it was even that, but there was no place for it. Not now. Noah needed a friend to rely on, and that was what I’d be.
10
NOAH
The charter dropped through a sheet of cloud like a stone and then eased into the glide. The cabin lights were dim, half the guys were out cold, and I stared at a dark tablet that wasn’t teaching me anything I didn’t already know. We had won, my body had done its job, but my mind wouldn’t shut off. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw my living room—the blue TV glow, Sassy draped over Miles’s knees, and Em in my sweatshirt laughing at something the kid said. I kept telling myself to sleep. I kept telling myself it was dumb to need to be home this badly. The thoughts of them kept the flying nerves away though. That helped.
The wheels touched down. The plane roared and shuddered, and the seat belt dug into my hips. Somewhere behind me, Jordan snored through the landing. My hand was already on my phone even though the crew hadn’t told us we could turn anything back on yet. The second the little airplane symbol switched to bars, my lock screen flooded with texts. I ignored the ones from Booth, Ivy, my friends. Even ignored Oliver’s stupid-ass gifs. I went to the ones I knew would piss me off. Ripping the Band-Aid off or some shit like that.
Mom: We’re glad you’re back.
Mom: We need to talk about what’s best for Miles.
Mom: Our attorney advised us to serve you this week so it’s official. Please be reasonable.
The wordservepunched under my ribs like a helmet. I read it. I read it again because maybe it would change the third time. It didn’t. Another text sat above those I hadn’t opened last night because I’d wanted one hour of quiet. Dad’s tone was dressed up as concern.
