Chapter 1 #2
My throat tightened. “I mean, that’s…the dream. Turning this into something real. Right now, it’s just Etsy, TikTok, some random DMs, but…” I shrugged, suddenly aware I sounded like I was pitching myself. “I’m waiting for my big break, I guess.”
Her gaze was steady, like she was already a step ahead of me. “Keep at it. You never know what life will throw at ya.”
Her phone buzzed, and she glanced at the screen, already tucking it back into her blazer. “Anyway, I’ve got to check in with someone, but…it was good to see you, Em.”
“You too.”
And like that, she was gone, leaving me standing there with cheap wine and a heartbeat that felt like it might knock me off my feet.
Her words lingered, though—like a little spark I wasn’t sure I was allowed to believe in yet.
I wasn’t bold enough to pitch myself to an organization like the Rampage.
I was a nobody. Sure I had some viral hits and made money, but most of my income came from working at the department store and ghostwriting copy ads for stores.
My family pushed me to try to get my brother’s team to take a chance on me, but I refused to use him for anything but being my dumbass brother.
If I was gonna achieve something, it’d be on my own. Call it independence or stubbornness, but earning my own way mattered to me.
While I could daydream about doing a custom merch line for a team, landing that gig wouldn’t be anytime soon.
By the time I circled back, an hour had passed. My cup was refilled, my throat was sore from laughing too hard at Benji’s reenactment of his college stand-up set, and my hands still gestured wildly at some story when I felt it.
That prickle. The sense that someone was watching.
I turned, and there he was.
Noah Abbott.
Bigger than I remembered, which was saying a lot.
Six-foot-four, shoulders broad enough to block out the skyline, hair still damp from a shower, because of course he’d roll in like he didn’t care and still look unfairly good.
He wore a faded Central State hoodie, sleeves shoved up to reveal forearms that had no business being legal, and a quiet smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
And he was staring straight at me.
My stomach flipped, traitorous and giddy, like I was twenty again and about to do something stupid in the student union.
“Em?” His voice carried over the crowd, warm and steady, like it hadn’t been years since I’d heard it.
“Noah, hey.” My face heated as he took his time, his gaze trailing slowly from my legs up over my calves and thighs, lingering on my chest before settling on my face.
He had that same ability he always did—making you feel like the only person in the room.
Noah never scattered his attention. He gave it all to you, like you mattered.
Like you weren’t second choice, even when the world was loud around you.
“Look at you.” He beamed, and before I could blink, he closed the distance between us with two steps. His massive arms wrapped me up in a bear hug that lifted me clean off the ground.
I laughed against his shoulder, the sound embarrassingly high-pitched, because God, I’d missed him.
I hadn’t realized until now how much. He smelled like clean soap and summer air, and for a second it was like we were back at Central State, running across campus because we were late for a class—again.
“Put me down, Abbott,” I teased, though I clung to him a second longer than I should’ve.
He set me on my feet, smile wide, still holding me like he wasn’t ready to let go.
Memories hit all at once, too many to sort: sitting on the bleachers with hot chocolate that tasted like watered-down syrup, daring each other to jump into a lake in April, staying up way too late playing Euchre in the dorm lobby, and him sneaking me cafeteria cookies because he knew I hated walking across campus after dark.
Silly, stupid things. But they were ours.
He had been such a good friend all through college.
Why did we stop talking? I couldn’t find a reason and dismissed unpacking that.
“You haven’t changed a bit,” I blurted, because it was safer than admitting how great he looked now—broader, older, beard shadow darker than I remembered.
His smile turned softer as he played with the ends of my hair. “Love this length on you. Are you in the city now or visiting for the event?”
“I’d ask you, but your face is all over billboards now. Congrats, dude.” I hit his shoulder, playfully. “Look at you playing for the Rampage.”
He chuckled, that low rumble that always made me laugh in class when I was supposed to be taking notes. God, I’d forgotten how much I loved that sound. A slight redness crept up his face as he gripped the back of his neck. “Yeah.”
“Yeah? That’s all you gotta say?” I nudged him more, my own face warming from the glass of wine. “You wanted to play for your hometown. You made it, man.”
If it were anyone else, I’d feel a pinch of envy. A flash of jealousy that someone found their path while I was trying to discover mine. Yet with Noah, I wanted nothing but the best for him. “Come on, we must cheer to this. You achieved your dream!”
I took his hand in my and dragged him to the bar, pausing to glance back at him. He stared at our conjoined hands with wide eyes, a blush covering his entire face as I immediately released him. “Sorry, I got too touchy. I momentarily went back in time.”
“Oh, no, it’s--” He shook his head, his lips parting as he frowned. “You’re, uh, fine.”
Damnit. My breath hitched in my throat with embarrassment, and I put some distance between us.
I learned young that some people were huggers and others weren’t.
I was one. When I experienced a certain comfort with someone, touching was easy as breathing.
Despite losing contact with Noah the last few years, being with him was the same immediate connection. “Do you still drink sweet drinks?”
“The sweetest.” He grinned again, his dark brown eyes twinkling as he stepped closer to me. “And do you still drink your hoppy beer?”
“The hoppiest.” I beamed back, so damn glad I went out tonight. I could’ve been at home, scrolling online and feeling envious or sad. I leaned over the bar and ordered drinks for both of us, but before I could pay with my phone, Noah placed a hand on my shoulder and scoffed.
“Em, I’m buying our drinks.”
“Oh no, it’s my treat. I dragged you here.” I shooed him away, but he took my hand with my phone and moved it behind me, placing his card out instead. “Okay, that was a power move. Kinda hot.”
His ears turned red as he rolled his eyes. “Still such a flirt. Glad to see that hasn’t changed.”
I couldn’t stop smiling at my old buddy.
My face hurt, my chest ached, but I didn’t care.
I leaned one elbow on the bar, sizing him up and noting how much bigger he looked.
He’d put on weight since college, and it made him look unshakable, all carved lines and power.
He could probably smash this bar in half with one karate chop.
I had to tilt my head almost all the way back to meet his eyes now, but somehow, he never made me feel small. Not with the way he stared at me, like I wasn’t background noise in a crowded alumni event.
“God, it’s so good to see you, Abbott. It’s taking all my effort not to squeeze you.”
His lips quirked, and that old dimple appeared, the one that got him out of more trouble than he ever admitted. He opened his arms wide, jutting his chin down in challenge. “Come here then. I know you need your cuddle fix, Sanders.”
My heart skipped a beat before I dove into him.
The second my arms wrapped around him, his warmth was like slipping into a version of myself I hadn’t touched in years.
Affection had always been my language. A squeeze of the hand when someone was nervous, a shoulder bump when words weren’t enough, looping my arm through a friend’s because I didn’t want them to walk alone.
But people always misread it. They thought my touching was flirting or, worse, desperation.
And after enough broken trust—after my dad’s affair, after my ex’s betrayal—I’d stopped giving my hugs out so freely.
I’d stopped letting myself reach for people the way I used to, even though my chest ached from the loss of that ease.
I missed it. God, I missed it. Missed that easy affection, missed the grounding comfort of touch without an agenda.
But Noah? He’d never misunderstood me. He’d never flinched from a hug or pulled away like I’d asked for too much.
Even back in college, he let me cling to him when I was stressed before finals, let me braid stupid little friendship knots into his hoodie strings during late-night study groups.
He’d tease me, sure, but he’d never once made me feel like my affection was unwanted.
And now, with his arms wrapping fully around me, warm and unyielding, I didn’t want to let go. But I did. Because that was what I’d trained myself to do—let go first, before anyone else could.