Chapter 16 #2
His eyes widened as he nodded, very seriously. “I’ll be good, Uncle Miles.”
“I know you will, kiddo. Now give me a hug. I have to head into the stadium all day today.”
He launched himself at me, and I breathed in his smell, taking in how small he was and how precious and wonderful this kid was.
His hair tickled my chin, and I knew that despite whatever happened with Em, this kid was my priority.
I had to put him first for the rest of my life, and I would do it gladly. “Love you, Miles.”
“You too!”
I stood, nodded at Em and left them in the kitchen.
Football was my job, and I worked hard and loved it, but it was weird how it was my whole life a few months ago.
Now it felt like…my life was here in this kitchen.
I shook the thought away, not having the time or energy to deal with these feelings.
I’d need to make an appointment with Sloane soon. She’d know how to help me.
I got to my room as someone cleared their throat. I turned and found Em standing there, eyebrow arched.
“You were gonna leave and nod at me? No, no, no. Unacceptable. I want my hug, Noah. Give it to me.”
She closed the distance between us without hesitation, messy hair and sleep-soft eyes and my hoodie still hanging off her shoulder. Her arms slid around my neck like it was muscle memory, like she’d done this a hundred times before and never once questioned it.
I bent automatically and wrapped her up, lifting her off the floor because I always did and because it felt wrong not to.
She fit against me perfectly—chest to chest, her cheek tucked into the hollow of my neck, her breath warm against my skin.
I held her tighter than I meant to, my hand flattening against her back because I needed the contact. I wanted her against me.
God. This was dangerous.
She sighed into me, a quiet little sound that hit something deep in my chest. Not content. Not arousal. Something soft, like relief.
“Okay,” she murmured. “That’s better.”
I closed my eyes and rested my chin on the top of her head, breathing her in. She smelled like sleep and coffee and vanilla. The world felt steadier like this. Like if I stayed right here, nothing could go wrong.
I didn’t want to let go, but I didn’t say that out loud.
“This good?” I asked quietly, because I needed to hear her say it.
She nodded against me. “Yes, much better. Don’t rob me of my Noah hugs, please. It’s cruel.”
I chuckled, taking an extra beat to breathe her in and feel her warmth around me. Having her be pressed against me caused my heart to beat faster, my skin to tingle, and my stomach to swoop in ways I’d only experienced with her.
I set her back down slowly, hands lingering for half a second longer than necessary before I forced myself to step back. If I didn’t leave now, I wasn’t sure I would.
“I’ll see you tonight, Em” I said.
Her lips curved, small and certain. “Yeah. Tonight.”
I grabbed my bag and walked out before I could talk myself into staying.
Practice hit like it always did on Wednesdays—no easing in, no bullshit warm-up period where everyone pretended their legs weren’t already heavy.
Coach Booth was already pacing when we jogged out, arms crossed, hat pulled low, eyes sharp.
Install day meant your brain had to work as hard as your body, and Booth didn’t tolerate lagging on either.
“Alright,” Booth barked, clapping once. “Let’s go. I don’t wanna see heads up your asses today. Colts don’t care how tired you are.”
We lined up, and the first few reps went fine. Muscle memory carried me through the initial calls, my body snapping into place the way it always did. But by the second series, my head stuttered. I called the protection late, corrected it fast, but Booth’s whistle cut through the air anyway.
“Abbott,” he shouted. “You planning on thinking today or should we call it a jog?”
“Yes, Coach,” I answered immediately, chest tight. I reset, jaw clenched, and nailed the next rep. Still, the look he gave me lingered longer than I liked.
That bothered me more than the look should have.
I was the steady one. I was the guy Booth trusted to anchor the line, the guy who didn’t need his hand held through installs.
Today, I was half a beat behind myself, like my brain was somewhere else even when my feet were doing exactly what they were supposed to do.
Drills stacked fast after that—combo blocks, blitz pickup, red zone looks.
Sweat poured down my spine and soaked the inside of my pads, my lungs burning the familiar way that usually calmed me.
But every time I stood back up, every time I reset my stance, my mind jumped.
Em’s arms around my neck. The sound she made when I lifted her.
The way she’d asked for that hug this morning like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Lock in,” I muttered to myself, shaking it off and dropping back into position.
Oliver didn’t say anything during practice. He never did when things were live. He waited until Booth blew the horn and we were walking off, legs heavy, pads clanking, sweat dripping into eyes. He shoved a towel at my chest without looking at me.
“You’re quiet today,” he said. “More than normal.”
“I’m fine,” I replied automatically, wiping my face and trying not to sound like I was lying.
He glanced over then, eyebrows lifting. “Whoa. That bad, huh? Miles okay?”
“He’s good,” I said, exhaling. “Just didn’t sleep much.”
Oliver shook his head. “Nah. That’s not it.”
I didn’t argue. There was no point in pretending with him.
The locker room buzzed like it always did—music thumping, guys talking over each other, cleats hitting concrete.
Quinn was already holding court, loud as hell, Jordan chirping back at him from two lockers down.
Someone threw a roll of tape that bounced off a bench.
Normal noise. Normal day. Except everything felt a little too sharp around the edges.
“Hey, Abbott,” Quinn called, grinning. “Your girl’s killing it upstairs. Bea says the brand floor won’t shut up about her.”
My stomach tightened before I could stop it.
“She’s not—” I caught myself, jaw flexing. “Yeah. She’s good at what she does.”
“No doubt,” Quinn said, shrugging as he peeled off his shirt. “I was texting with her, and she said something about her apartment maybe getting fixed faster than expected. Insurance doing insurance things, I guess.”
The words hit wrong. Too casual. Too easy.
My gut dropped, fast and sharp, like I’d misjudged a step. I didn’t respond right away, and Jordan glanced over, brow furrowing.
“You good, man?”
“Yeah,” I said quickly. “Just tired.”
But my phone was already in my hand.
Nothing. No missed calls. No texts. The blank screen felt heavier than bad news would’ve.
If she was dealing with apartment stuff and hadn’t looped me in—if she thought she had to handle it alone again—that sat wrong in my chest. Why would Quinn know?
Did that mean she was moving out faster? Sooner? Why didn’t she tell me?
Fuck. Focus. Football first.
Later, in the training room, things finally slowed down. The noise from the locker room dulled, replaced by the hum of machines and low voices. I stretched on the table, muscles screaming as I leaned into it, trying to work the tightness out of my hips.
Oliver dropped onto the table next to me, elbows on his knees. “You look like you’re waiting for someone to hit you,” he said. “What the hell is going on? Your parents again?”
I stared at the floor for a second too long, shaking my head. “I…I can’t lose Em.”
He nodded once. “That simple?”
“Yeah.”
“Then stop acting like you already have. She’s living with you, yeah?”
I swallowed, heat creeping up my neck. “I’ve been the friend my whole life. The safe guy. The one people trust but don’t choose. Now I’ve got a kid, my parents breathing down my neck, and a life that’s complicated as hell.”
“Coming from the guy who slept with the team doctor, there are always gonna be reasons or excuses to not do something. If you focus on those excuses, you’ll never be happy. Do it anyway, my dude. High risk, high reward.”
“Yeah but—”
“No. There’s no but there.” He clapped my shoulder. “Plus, you’re not focused, and I think you need to get laid. Colts are coming for us, and I need you ready to fucking go at the game.”
I snorted, grateful for his simple but powerful words. Do it anyway. Yeah, I would. I already knew what it felt like to not have her in my life. Just, why did Quinn know about her apartment and not me?
By the time meetings wrapped and the building started to clear out, my legs were shot and my head was buzzing. I sat on the edge of my locker, scrolling through my phone again, bracing myself.
One missed text.
Em: Hey. Quick update—building management says it’s still going to be at least five weeks. I need to go look again but was hoping you could come with me? If not, that’s okay. No rush.
The timestamp made my chest ache. She’d sent it hours ago. Relief and guilt intertwined in my gut. She’d asked me to come with her. She wasn’t telling Quinn and doing this behind my back. It was fucking stupid that I worried so much about it.
Noah: Of course I’ll come with you. Let me know what times it’s available.
Em: Okay! I thought maybe after the Colts game.
Noah: Sounds good.
I stared at my phone, a million thoughts colliding and canceling each other out.
I wanted to know everything—where she took Miles, whether the sun was out, if she laughed the way she did when something surprised her.
I wanted to ask how he was doing, if he was holding up, if she felt okay carrying so much of his world for the day.
But my fingers wouldn’t move. It felt like asking too much, like crossing a line I’d only just been invited to step near.
Then my phone buzzed.
Dad: Your mom is distraught. Fix this, Noah. Why break our family apart?
The words hit me square in the chest, sharp and familiar.
The guilt came fast, like it always did, twisting with grief until I couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.
This was the part I never said out loud—that my biggest fear wasn’t losing a court battle or screwing up as a guardian.
It was that maybe they were right. Maybe I had broken the family apart by choosing to follow Nat’s wishes instead of smoothing things over, instead of keeping the peace.
I leaned back against the locker, the cool metal biting through my shirt, and closed my eyes.
I saw my sister’s handwriting in my head, the way her letters leaned right, the way she underlined things when she was serious.
You’re the only one who gets it. She’d trusted me.
With her kid. With her whole heart. I wasn’t breaking apart the family—I was holding together what she’d left behind.
My phone buzzed again.
This time, it wasn’t my dad.
It was Em.
The picture loaded slowly, like my phone was dragging out the moment on purpose.
Sassy was front and center, tongue lolling out, eyes bright and stupid-happy.
Miles was tucked against her side, arms wrapped around her neck, smiling so wide it looked like his face might split in two.
Em was behind them, hair pulled back, sunglasses pushed up on her head, one hand steadying Miles, the other reaching for Sassy like she belonged there.
They looked…right.
My chest tightened in a way that wasn’t panic this time.
It was something warmer. Something steadier.
Miles looked relaxed, not guarded or tired, just happy in that easy kid way that had been missing for weeks.
Sassy looked like she’d found her people.
And Em—Em looked like she fit there without trying, like she hadn’t had to force herself into the moment at all.
I realized, standing there in the empty locker room, that this was the picture my parents were afraid of. Not instability. Not chaos. This.
A family that didn’t look like the one I grew up in.
I thought about the way Em had held Miles that morning, how she spoke to him like he mattered, how she didn’t talk down to him or try to fix him.
I thought about the hug she’d asked for, the way she’d melted into my chest like she trusted me to hold her there.
I thought about the kiss, and how it hadn’t felt reckless or impulsive. It had felt overdue.
I typed back before I could overthink it.
Me: Looks like a good day.
Three dots appeared almost immediately.
Em: He wanted the slide twice. Sassy thinks she’s a lap dog now. We’re grabbing smoothies on the way home.
I smiled despite myself, something loosening behind my ribs. This was what I wanted to come home to. Not quiet. Not empty. Noise and mess and life spilling into corners I didn’t know were lonely until they weren’t anymore.
My dad’s text still sat there, unread now but no longer loud. He and my mom were hurting. I knew they felt shut out. But this wasn’t about punishment or pride. It was about choosing the family that needed me most, even if it didn’t look the way they expected it to.
I looked at the photo again, at Miles’s grin and Sassy’s ridiculous face and Em’s steady presence behind them.
And something settled.
Whatever came next—court dates, arguments, hard conversations, fear—I was done hesitating. I wasn’t going to let guilt or doubt talk me out of what was right in front of me. I was done assuming I didn’t deserve this or that wanting it made me selfish.
I was going to fight for them.
Not because I was supposed to. Not because it made sense on paper. But because they already felt like my family—and I wasn’t losing that.