Chapter 32
NOAH
Iwoke up before my alarm, staring at the ceiling of the hotel room while the city hummed somewhere far below the window.
The room smelled like detergent and burnt coffee, the same way every away-game hotel did, and my body already felt ready.
Legs heavy but loose. Shoulders tight in a familiar way.
Hands flexing, anticipating contact for the game.
Game days always stripped things down. There wasn’t room for overthinking when your job depended on timing and trust and knowing exactly where your hands belonged. Still, my mind kept drifting where it shouldn’t—back to the shop, to Em, to the way she looked at me and told me she loved me.
Em Sanders. My dream girl. My forever crush. Twenty-year-old me would never have believed this, and I was smiling like a damn fool about it. I reached for my phone before I could stop myself.
There was a message waiting.
Em: Good luck today. I’m so proud of you.
Pride hit me hard and fast, sharper than adrenaline. Without overthinking, I grabbed my phone and hit record, sending her an audio message.
“Hey, would you believe that I woke up with the goofiest smile on my face? Like, dork status. My cheeks hurt from grinning. I don’t even recognize myself.
I have you to thank for that, Em. Since Nat died, I’ve just felt…
lost. Confused. Angry at the situation. Here I was, twenty-six, now a parent and in a battle with my own parents.
My life changed, and I didn’t know what to do, but then came you.
I just…I love you so much, Em. I can’t wait to get back, and next away game, I swear to GOD you’re coming with.
I can’t take this. Send me photos today, okay?
I’d love to look at them on the flight back tonight.
Oh, I’m busting out the cowboy hat again for pre-game entrance. I even added a little ES on the side.”
I laughed and ran a hand over my face, blushing at how silly I was being.
“Anyway, have fun at the shop today. Daniel is installing the TV so you should be able to watch with Miles. I guess I should get moving. I bet Sassy is wagging her tail already. Hey, when I get back, let’s talk about the future. I have something I wanna ask you.”
I stopped it and sent it before second-guessing myself.
I wanted her to stay with us, live with us.
There was no reason she had to go back if she was comfortable with us.
Hell, she could have her own room for her things if she needed that.
I wanted to see her every day. I could convince her and be patient.
If she needed time to think, then I wouldn’t push.
Grinning, I gently pushed her from my mind and went into game mode. Play my ass off, then get home to her.
The stadium swallowed us the second we stepped inside, the noise echoing off concrete and steel.
The air smelled like turf and sweat and something metallic, familiar enough that my shoulders loosened.
I dropped my duffel at my locker and started changing, pads sliding into place, straps pulled tight, movements so automatic my brain finally shut up and let my body take over.
I loved this part, where I shed everything else in my life and became Noah Abbott on the field. A machine. A beast.
Coach Booth walked in, nodding at the guys as music blared. His gaze landed right on me, his face firm and not giving anything away.
“Abbott, walk with me.”
A few heads turned, but having a one-on-one with Booth wasn’t unheard of.
My pulse spiked with what-ifs as I followed Booth into the hallway.
The noise faded as the door shut behind us, replaced by the low hum of the stadium beyond the walls.
Booth stopped near the tunnel, arms crossed, studying me.
He didn’t rush into it. He never did. “I’m not pulling you out here to mess with your head,” he said evenly. “I don’t want you wondering all game.”
My jaw tightened. This had to be about my parents. I hadn’t had an update in a few days, and they had been lingering in the back of my mind. “Okay.”
He nodded once, like that was the right answer. “I had legal run a deeper check on your sister’s estate. Not the surface paperwork your parents are waving around.” He paused, eyes sharp. “Nat named you as Miles’s primary guardian. Explicitly. Not implied. Not conditional.”
My chest hitched despite myself. I knew that, but to hear it from Booth felt like a fresh breath of air.
“She also named a standby guardian,” Booth continued. “That’s where your parents are trying to get traction. They’re arguing instability, schedule, environment. But here’s the thing.” His mouth curved slightly. “They don’t have evidence. They have opinions that are subjective.”
I exhaled hard, heat loosening in my ribs.
“They can request a review,” he said. “That’s their right. But they can’t take him. Not without a judge. Not without proof. And right now?” Booth shook his head. “They don’t have it.”
“Even with Em Sanders living with me as a nanny?” I asked quietly. “Would they go after her, somehow?”
“They can try,” Booth said. “But she’s not the guardian. She’s not legally responsible for Miles. And from what legal saw?” He huffed a short laugh. “If anything, she helps your case. Our lawyer dug into her a bit—don’t look at me like that, she works for the team, so of course we do background.”
I blinked, my heart thudding against my ribs. This was my biggest worry, my parents using Em to help their case or hurt her. “How?”
“Stable residence. Community support. Business ownership. No criminal history. No red flags.” Booth’s eyes held mine. “They might try, Noah, but there is no legal standing. Miles is safe with you. He’s good. He’s yours.”
Something heavy eased in my chest, replaced by something sharper. Resolve. Hope.
Booth clapped my shoulder once, firm. “I wanted you to know that before kickoff. You don’t need to play worried. You need to play angry and focused.” His gaze softened a fraction. “You protect your people by doing your job today. We’ll handle the rest.”
“Yes, sir,” I said, voice steady.
He nodded. “Go have one hell of a game.”
The noise hit me the second I stepped back toward the locker room. Music thumped through concrete. Helmets knocked. Someone shouted something obscene and encouraging at the same time. I pulled my jersey over my pads and rolled my neck, the world narrowing down to assignments and muscle memory.
Quinn bumped my shoulder as we lined up in the tunnel. “I don’t know what Booth said, but I love this Noah with your grumpy-ass face,” he said with a grin. “You look terrifying. I love it.”
“Lucky you,” I muttered. With Booth’s reassurance, everything melted away, and I went into game mode, where yeah, I might look terrifying.
The field exploded into sound when we ran out. The lights were harsher than home, the crowd louder and meaner, and I welcomed all of it. I dropped into my stance on the first snap, fingers grazing the turf, eyes locked forward.
They came at us immediately. Straight power. No tricks. The defensive tackle across from me drove into my chest like he wanted to make a point.
I absorbed it, hands inside, elbows tight, legs churning. I dropped my hips and held the pocket, feeling him strain, feeling the moment he realized he wasn’t moving me.
Good.
They tried a stunt the next play, end crashing down hard while the tackle looped late. I passed the first man off clean and slid laterally, meeting the looper square. My hands snapped into place, and I finished the block through the whistle, driving him back until he lost balance.
Jordan slapped my helmet. “That’s it,” he yelled. “Do it again.”
I did.
Drive after drive, they tested leverage, speed, and patience. I stayed disciplined. Eyes up. Feet moving. Hands violent but controlled. Every collision burned off another edge of fear, another fragment of anger.
Mid-second quarter, third-and-short. Power run to my side.
The snap hit, and I fired low, shoulder into his sternum, legs pumping. He tried to anchor, claws digging at my jersey, but I kept driving until the lane opened exactly where it was supposed to.
First down.
Late third quarter, they brought edge pressure, trying to collapse the pocket fast. The end dipped low, speed rush threatening outside leverage.
I kicked out, rode him wide, felt his momentum carry him past the launch point. The ball left clean. Completion.
By the fourth quarter, my thighs burned, and my lungs screamed, but my head was clear. No parents. No courts. No fear. Just the man across from me and the space I refused to give up.
Fourth-and-one. One-score game.
I lined up and locked eyes with the defender across from me. He smiled like he thought this was his moment.
The snap came, and I exploded forward, hands locked, hips driving. He went backward. The pile surged.
First down.
The clock bled out after that. Whistle. Noise. Helmets coming off. Arms around shoulders. Quinn shouting something I couldn’t understand. Jordan grinning like we’d stolen something.
I jogged off the field, chest heaving, sweat dripping off my chin. I didn’t play my cleanest game, but it was one of my best. All I wanted now was home.
The flight back felt endless, even with Em’s messages about how amazing I played and how Miles had cheered for me during the game. The kid smiled so hard, and it caused my chest to ache with how much I missed him, missed them.
Pride swelled in my chest.
I pictured walking through the door, pulling her into my arms, finally asking the question that had been sitting on my tongue all day.
When I unlocked the apartment, the lights were on despite it being so damn late. My stomach dropped. My senses went into overdrive. The lights shouldn’t be on. Everyone should be asleep. Em should be in my bed waiting for me. But she wasn’t.
Em sat on the couch, hands folded in her lap, a bag at her feet. Daniel stood nearby, arms crossed, jaw tight. My chest went cold.
“Hey,” I said slowly.