Chapter 8 Noah
NOAH
Two days later, the morning started earlier than I wanted.
I stared at the ceiling for a few minutes before the alarm went off and tried to decide if the weight in my chest was from sleep or everything else.
Em, my parents’ latest string of texts harassing me, Miles…
the first series of the season with me being a guardian.
The answer honestly didn’t matter. I got up, pulled on a tee, and went to the kitchen.
Miles barreled out two minutes later in mismatched socks.
He crashed into my side, then aimed straight for Sassy like they’d been roommates for years.
Em was already up. She stood at the counter with her hair twisted into a clip, glasses on, and a legal pad full of notes next to her coffee.
Her sweatshirt was mine again. The sleeves were rolled three times.
The sight did something to me I didn’t have language for.
It wasn’t like it was the first, third or tenth time she’d borrowed something of mine, but seeing her in my place with it hit differently.
“Eggs or oatmeal?” I asked. I pulled the pan down and waited. “Both of you. I’m feeding both of you.”
“Eggs, please. I can make toast.” Em wiggled her brows, an easy smile on her face. She’d been up for a while. She’d put on makeup, and her eyes seemed brighter.
“You can sit,” I said. “You have a fitting today. Sit.”
She made a face but didn’t push it. She reached for Sassy’s collar and clipped the leash to the cabinet handle so our new kitchen supervisor didn’t counter-surf. That was one thing we learned the last two days. Sassy could jump high and liked to steal food. Any and all food.
Miles narrated everything I did like it was a cooking show while Em scanned her list and highlighted. I tried not to stare but I watched her anyway. She was calm this morning. Focused. The guys on the team were talking about getting new looks with her, and I was so damn proud of her.
After breakfast, I packed Miles’s lunch, and Em tucked a napkin inside with a wonky smiley face.
He pretended he was too old for that and then hid it in his pocket like a treasure.
The two of them got along, and I was forever grateful for Sassy.
Having her around Miles had made such a difference.
Despite only being here two days, I knew when Sassy left it would be hard for Miles, so we’d have to get a dog.
That was a later problem, not a right now one, and my life could only be focused on right now problems. My temple already throbbed, and I had to drop Miles off, get to the stadium, do the photos, and get ready for facing off with Dallas.
“Will you be back here tonight, Em?”
“Sure will, buddy. You have a great day at school, okay?” Em bent down and gave Miles a high five. He hit her hard and then shook his head.
“No, go higher. I can jump!”
She obliged his request, and they spent two minutes doing high fives, causing Miles to giggle like a fool.
God, I loved his laugh. Nat had been such a good mom, and the kid was always laughing.
She’d love seeing Em here, and Sassy, knowing they were helping Miles during this time.
I shook the thought of her away and waved.
“See you at the stadium. Sure you don’t wanna ride with me? ”
“No, I’m okay. See you there, Noah.” She gave me a shy smile and went to her room, Sassy right on her tail.
Drop-off was quick that day. Miles couldn’t wait to tell his class about Sassy, and I couldn’t blame him. Once he was safely inside his school, my focus shifted to football and Em as I drove to the stadium.
Traffic along Lake Shore crawled, which gave my brain room to do what it shouldn’t. Em didn’t have a car. She’d said she was fine, but fine could mean a bus, the L, or an Uber with a driver who didn’t care about garment bags. I hit the blinker and texted at a red.
Noah: You sure you’re okay getting in? I can swing back and get you.
Three dots popped up, disappeared, and came back.
Em: All good. Found a ride.
What did that mean? How did she find a ride? From who? I ground my teeth together, wishing she would stop being stubborn and let me drive her. Maybe it’d be weird for her to show up with me. Yeah, that made sense. I let that thought settle as I finished the drive.
Inside, the building ran the way it always did on a busy week. Equipment guys slid past with crates. The smell of coffee and rubber filled the air. A cluster of media waited for Marla Chen, Director of Communications, to herd them toward the press room. Marla clocked me with a quick nod.
“Abbott,” she said, falling into step for three strides. “Content crew is cleared for the fitting only. No shoulder pad shots, no trainer room shots, no live streams. If a camera gets cute, point them to me.”
“Got it,” I said.
She tipped her tablet at my chest like a warning and veered off to intercept a cameraman who’d wandered too close to the locker room door. I took the back corridor, right behind the weight room.
The room was already reset. Folding rack under soft lights.
Rolling mirror angled toward the wall so it didn’t catch the whole room.
Tape on the floor for where guys should stand.
A garment table with numbered bags and a stack of consent slips that Legal made everyone sign for “use of likeness.” Brand had their fingerprints on everything.
Ivy looked up from a checklist. “Pads off, tee on. You, Quinn, and Jordan are block one.” She pointed her pen at me. “No scowling in the photos.”
“I don’t—”
“You do,” she said, already marking something down.
I peeled my pads, pulled on a tee, and I was halfway through adjusting the tape on my wrist when the door opened again. Laughter hit first—low, easy—and then Em walked in.
She didn’t look like the woman who’d been in my kitchen this morning wearing my sweatshirt.
She looked like she belonged on the cover of a design magazine.
Her black slacks were tailored, cropped just above her ankle to show off heeled boots the same color.
Her blouse was sleeveless, tucked neatly into the waistband with clean lines that made her look polished and somehow soft at the same time.
A sleek gold belt caught the light every time she moved.
Her glasses were on, and she wore simple gold hoops, and her hair—hell, her hair—was straightened, parted down the middle, and glossy as it fell past her shoulders.
She looked sharp. Professional. Untouchable.
And she wasn’t alone.
Quinn walked in beside her, laughing at something she’d said, one hand hovering near her lower back like they’d known each other for years. I knew that laugh, and I thought it belonged to only me. The sound hit somewhere low in my chest, sharp and unwelcome.
“Ivy, remind me to check if the quarterbacks have mandatory early film study next week,” I muttered under my breath, staring just past them. I sounded calm, but my blood was moving faster than it should have. I didn’t like that I noticed the easy way she smiled at him.
Ivy didn’t even look up. “Jealousy’s not a good look, Abbott,” she said, still flipping through her clipboard. She said it so casually I almost forgot she had eyes everywhere.
Em caught sight of me before I could rearrange my face. Her lips curved in a polite, professional smile that didn’t reach her eyes. The expression was like a wall slid up between us, and I hated it more than I could admit.
“Morning,” she said, all business. The sound of her voice didn’t match the Em who sat in my kitchen two hours ago wearing my sweatshirt and laughing with my nephew. This version of her had sharp edges and focus.
I nodded once, clearing my throat. “You made it,” I said, trying to sound neutral. The words came out rougher than I meant.
“Quinn offered me a ride,” she said, setting her tote on the garment rack and unzipping it. “It beat fighting for a spot on a bus with bags.” Her tone was casual, but my brain snagged on offered her a ride.
Of course he did. The throb in my temple ached, and I didn’t understand how he knew she needed one. Were they texting? Why didn’t I know this?
“Traffic wasn’t bad,” Quinn added, flashing that easy grin that worked on half the fan base. “But your gate security almost flagged me, man. Guess I need your level of clearance.”
“You probably do,” I said, flat and final. My voice was steady, but my jaw wasn’t. He laughed like I was joking. I wasn’t.
Em pretended not to notice the tension, already pulling garments from bags and laying them on the table with practiced precision.
Her voice switched, cool and clear. “We’re running a fast rotation this morning.
Quinn first, Jordan second, Noah third. I need to verify shoulder ease on the jacket and check hem behavior on the hoodie when you lift. No cameras until we lock the fit.”
“Copy,” Marla Chen said from the doorway, her tone sharp enough to slice. I hadn’t even seen her come in, but she was already in command of the space. She snapped her fingers once, and the social crew instantly dropped their cameras like they’d been trained to.
Em didn’t flinch. She adjusted the tape measure on her waistband and pulled her tablet free, scanning something on the screen before glancing up. “I’ll need the roster sheet for reference, Ivy,” she said, and when Ivy handed it to her, she gave a small, grateful nod before going right back to work.
I felt even more distance from her.
Quinn leaned back on the garment rack, grinning at her. “You ready for me, designer lady?” he teased. “I clean up well, if you need notes for your next campaign.”
Em smirked, flipping open her tablet and not giving him an inch. “Always ready, quarterback. Let’s get you fitted before your ego inflates more than your shoulders.” Her tone was light, confident, and she hit him with a smile that made the whole room laugh.
The whole room except me. I didn’t laugh, not once. I was too busy watching her move like she owned the place.