Chapter 9
NOAH
My pulse still thumped with adrenaline as I jogged down the stairs toward the kitchen.
When I’d opened the door after ending my call with Jared, my whole life had flashed before my eyes.
For a hot second I thought for sure Ace and Skye had heard everything, despite how low I’d attempted to keep my voice on that call.
In fairness, when the frustration got the better of me, I’d let my volume rise somewhat.
But Ace’s calm reassured me they’d heard nothing. I had no doubt he was a good actor but not that good. He’d have reacted in a big way if he’d heard what I’d been discussing with Jared.
It was a relief, but it also reminded me I needed to be more careful. One good bit of news came out of the conversation: Jared’s baby girl had made her grand entrance, and they’d named her Isla.
The commotion coming from the kitchen made me smile, and my nerves relaxed as I followed the noise and my nose.
As anticipated, Torin and August were at the center of the action with a half dozen GoPros dotted around the space, and Minho was sitting on the edge of the island counter with a beer in hand, spectating.
When I cautiously made my way closer, eyeing which camera angles would cut me out, Minho gestured for me to join him.
“Blind spot,” he assured me, taking my upper arm and pulling me closer so I leaned against the counter between his casually spread legs.
He put his beer down and confidently finger combed my hair as though we had known each other for years instead of days.
It wasn’t the first time he’d done it, though, and I was getting better about not freaking out at the comfortable affection.
He was the same with everyone else on the team.
“Do they clean this up afterward?” I joked, my eyes wide as I looked around at the carnage across the huge kitchen.
Minho chuckled, using one of the elastics from his wrist to tie my hair up in a little half-ponytail like he often wore his own. I had enough short layers that he’d never get it all up, but it was a cute style nonetheless. “They would if they had to. But you just wait until Xavier sees it.”
I clicked my tongue, nodding as I relaxed my position, resting my elbow on one of his thighs. “Neat freak. Already clocked that one when I accidentally brought mud inside on my sneakers.”
“Noah, you wanna cook with us?” August called out, approaching with one of the little handheld cameras running. “Torin keeps burning the rice.”
“Whoa, too far!” Torin exclaimed, throwing a stick of celery at the back of August’s head. “I’m Japanese, you dickwad! Like I’d ever burn rice.”
August just snort-laughed. “Half. The Irish in you is confused as fuck about why the potatoes are so small.”
I gaped at them, unsure whether to laugh or not, but the decision was made for me when Torin grabbed the retractable sprayer from the huge farm-style sink and squirted it in August’s direction.
What was more shocking, the fact that he’d done it in the first place or the pressure on that tap for the water spray to actually hit August, was impossible to judge.
“Here we go,” Minho groaned, resting one hand on my shoulder as he reached for his beer once more. “Bets on how long it takes Xavier and Ace to break it up?”
August had just retaliated by tossing a whole bowl of flour at Torin, so things were definitely escalating fast. “Someone needs to, or one of them will get hurt,” I replied with genuine concern.
The floor was both wet and floury, so the likeliness of someone slipping was high.
I started to move forward to do something, but Minho’s hand on my shoulder tightened, stopping me.
“Nope, not you, Chicken. You can’t risk hurting your back.”
Huh? Why would he say that?
I didn’t respond, out of both confusion and embarrassment, because he’d just called me Chicken as affectionately as someone might say Sweetheart or Babe, and we weren’t even on camera, so it wasn’t fan service. Right?
Ace and Skye showed up only a few moments later and our fair leader thankfully broke up the food fight between Torin and August, scolding the both of them and ordering them to start cleaning up their mess while he salvaged what was left of the dinner they’d been making.
Skye seemed oddly quiet, frowning at me like he wanted to say something. Maybe about how Minho was toying with my hair again? But I’d seen Skye just as affectionate with August, so I doubted that was an issue. Weird.
Eventually Ace plated up dinner for everyone, and we helped him carry it all over to the enormous wooden dining table adjacent to the kitchen crime scene. He asked Skye to go find Xavier and Zeth, then gestured for us all to take a seat.
As much as Torin and August had been scolded, they were both grinning and relaxed as they joined us at the table.
“Is this a regular cooking experience in Mount Olympus?” I asked in a wry tone, reaching out to brush some flour from Torin’s cheek since he’d sat beside me. “I’m shocked you get anything done.”
“Not all the time,” August drawled, accepting a beer from Ace as the team leader handed them out. “But also it’s not uncommon. Tor has a real short temper.”
Torin rolled his eyes and huffed. “Yeah, because I started that.”
“You literally threw celery at me, bro!” August shot back with mock pearl-clutching. “That’s the definition of starting it.”
Torin glowered playfully. “Because you said—”
“Enough,” Ace snapped, offering Torin a beer. “We are not starting this again now. I’m starving, and seeing this food go to waste will break my heart.”
Xavier and Z—Zeth had told me to call him that—arrived then, and Xavier gave a long, pained groan. “Seriously? What are you guys, rabid racoons or something?”
“Hey, we cleaned up,” Torin protested, glancing over at the kitchen area before wincing. “Sort of.”
“Noah,” Ace said to gain my attention as he offered a beer my way.
I shook my head quickly. “No thanks.” He arched a brow as if curious but didn’t try and change my mind as he handed it to Z instead.
“Do you want something else?” Minho asked, noticing my refusal. “There’s some cider in the fridge, and if you’re into wine we have some—”
“No, no.” I cut him off with an apologetic, slightly embarrassed smile. “I don’t drink. But thanks, that’s thoughtful.”
That admission earned me more than a few puzzled glances, but no one pushed the issue any further, and Ace fetched me a glass of soda instead. He really was attentive to the whole team’s needs; it was admirable.
“So, Eight,” Ace said with a teasing smile as he finally sat down at the table, “how was your day with Xavier and Z? Did they play nice?”
I chuckled, glancing at Xavier as he tried to subtly give me a middle finger.
He’d very wrongly assumed he could impress me with his motocross tricks over at their other training property and overshot the jump.
It was lucky he hadn’t been hurt, but his ego was more than bruised enough to make up for it.
“Yeah, it was cool,” I said instead of sharing the whole story with the team. They’d see it on the episode footage soon enough anyway. “It was cool seeing Z’s songwriting process, even if I was as helpful as a wet sock.”
Z grinned and shrugged. “You were more helpful than you realized, Noah.”
Ace nodded his agreement. “You’d be surprised how much inspiration Z draws from just being around other people. Especially new people. You’ll have inspired a dozen songs by the end of the month, just wait.”
That made my brows rise, and I looked down the table at Z in question. He just ruffled his fingers through his unnaturally deep red hair and grinned. “True.”
“Okay, well, now that we’re all here,” Ace redirected the conversation as everyone got stuck in their food, “we should talk plans for the first Games challenge. Technically it begins in four days, and we then have four weeks to film our entry content, but I have an idea of what the challenge will involve already.”
Xavier nodded his agreement, smoothly taking over the discussion so Ace could eat his dinner too.
“The first stage of Clik Games is always about teamwork. This won’t be a shock to anyone competing, least of all the teams with veteran Games players, but we need to decide how we can incorporate all eight of our team into the one Byte. ”
“Game Bytes can be up to five minutes long,” Z added, his fork paused halfway to his mouth, “and don’t need to cater to everyone’s skill set, so long as everyone is included in some way. It’ll be judged on Cliks, obviously, but also scored for teamwork.”
I had nothing to contribute to this part of the discussion so I focused on my food—which was delicious, mind you—and kept my ears open.
“I have no doubt when they announce the challenge on Monday, they’ll add some unexpected criteria which will make too much preplanning irrelevant,” Ace continued thoughtfully, “but at this point I’d love to get some ideas of what the eight of us could all do to show teamwork.”
“And…” Z murmured, his mouth partly full, “the Noah thing.”
I stiffened, my gaze darting to Z’s with confusion. What Noah thing?
“Yes,” Ace agreed. “Eight, have you been online much this week?”
I shook my head, dread pooling in my guts. “No. Not since the other day when I accepted the collaboration post from Minho, but I didn’t linger. Why? What’s happened?”
Fuck. Fuck. Had I already been outed? Had someone recognized me from Dance Babes or outed me as Norah Sparkle already? Christy and Jared had been so confident that wouldn’t happen, but…
“It’s not bad exactly.” August spoke up, flicking flour off the front of his T-shirt. “People are just crazy enamored by your appearance because it’s not what they expected.”
I blinked at him, trying to make sense of that statement. Why would that be news? I’d built my whole platform as an anonymous character, so of course there would be some sort of reaction, no matter what I looked like.
“There are a few fans who have been speculating that you green-screen your stunts,” Ace said, cutting to the point. “It makes zero sense—your appearance makes no difference to the legitimacy of your content—but that’s the trending narrative with our haters right now.”
My jaw dropped, and if I hadn’t already swallowed my food, I’d have choked on it. “They think what?”
“It’s only a few, and the pushback from Acolytes has been strong,” Z said with a short sigh, “but those few have been very loud.”
My mouth was drier than the Sahara, and the food I’d eaten turned to cement in my stomach. I’d expected hate for my lack of masculinity, my refusal to go shirtless to show off nonexistent abs, or even because I was small… but to accuse me of green screen? Well, that was just fucked-up.
Did the team think that, too?
“We don’t doubt you, Eight,” Ace said firmly, like he could read my mind.
“Not a single one of us here has any concerns around your content legitimacy. But the reason we bring it up is because this first challenge offers us an opportunity to shut those rumors down. Somehow. I’m not sure how, exactly, but I’ll think of something. ”
I tried to swallow, but it hurt. My throat was tight. After months of worry and planning for every contingency, what was getting me was something I hadn’t ever considered as an issue.
“Are you okay, Chicken?” Minho asked quietly, bumping my knee with his under the table. “We’ll fix it. Don’t stress, all right?”
“He’s right,” Torin agreed. “None of us have any doubts about how badass you are, Short Stack. We’ve got your back.”
If any of them had offered that sort of reassurance just a few days ago, I’d have laughed at them. But now? I believed them. This wasn’t my problem to handle alone, because we were a team.
How, though? How the fuck did I prove to the internet that my stunts were real and there nothing green-screened about them? That every Byte I filmed contained real danger and real risk of death? It was the internet, for fuck’s sake; everything could be edited, therefore everything was suspicious.
The only way to prove the validity of anything was… “Let’s do something public,” I said out loud, thinking it through as I poked the remainder of my dinner. “Stage something with enough physical eyewitnesses that it can’t be denied?”
Silence met my suggestion, and I glanced up at Ace anxiously. Was that a crappy idea? But his expression was thoughtful and sly, like the cogs in his brain were already at work.
“I like it,” he finally said. “That has a lot of potential.”
“I’m getting seconds,” August announced, standing up with his empty plate in hand. “Anyone else?”
Just like that, the conversation shifted away from the Games and the green screen accusations, as if we’d only been discussing the weather. Minho bumped my knee again with his, giving me a small smile, and Torin squeezed my shoulder. Maybe this team thing wasn’t the worst ever after all.