Chapter 4
Noah
By the time I finish unpacking, my drawers are neatly stacked, and my shirts are aligned in color order beside my hoodies. It’s busywork—a way to keep my hands occupied while my brain tries to calm down.
The truth is, nothing feels settled, not with Damien only a hallway away. Not with the sound of his voice echoing in my head, calling me that stupid nickname.
I still don’t fully know why he started calling me Blue, and he never explained it, either. I wonder if it has something to do with my heterochromia—the one thing I loathe about myself is my mismatched brown and blue eyes.
Ryan is still sprawled across my bed, scrolling on his phone. Every few minutes, he gives me a look that says he’s waiting for me to lose my shit, but I ignore him. When I finally close the last drawer, he stretches, kicks his feet off the bed, and claps his hands together.
“Alright, Adams,” he says with a shit-eating grin. “Time for the real fun. You gotta meet the rest of the guys.”
I freeze halfway to my desk chair. “Now?”
“Yeah, now. The guys are all waiting to meet you downstairs. Killian made his famous stir-fry, and you do not turn down Killian’s cooking. That’s like spitting in the face of God.”
I snort, rubbing at my jaw. “Pretty sure God doesn’t cook.”
“Killian does, and that’s close enough.” Ryan nudges me with his shoulder, tilting his head so he can look me in the eye. “Come on, Noah. You’ve been sulking in here long enough while pretending you care about color-coordinating your closet. Besides, the guys all wanna meet you.”
The thought alone makes my stomach knot. Meeting the guys who live here means seeing Damien again, and this time in front of an audience. No hiding in silence. No pretending we’re strangers passing in a driveway. Damnit, my throat tightens just imagining it.
I know Ryan will try to talk me into it no matter what I say, so I simply sigh and nod. “Fine, but you know I’m shit at conversation.”
He grins and throws an arm around me. “That’s why I’m opening the introductions, and you’re sitting right next to me.”
As much as I’m thankful for that, I still hate it.
I follow him out the door and down a wide staircase that looks like something stolen from a movie set.
The polished wood banister is smooth beneath my palm, catching the faint light of the chandelier that still feels obscene in a house full of college athletes.
Voices carry up from somewhere downstairs—laughter, comments, the clatter of dishes—and the closer we get, the more out of place I feel.
The smell hits me before we reach the bottom of the stairs—something spicy and warm lingering under the heavier scent of herbs.
It’s the kind of inviting smell that fills a place with comfort.
But it doesn’t ease me. It reminds me how out of place I am, like I’ve walked into a family gathering where I don’t belong.
When we step into the kitchen, the noise quiets, and I feel the weight of eyes turning in my direction.
The space is massive, bigger than any kitchen I’ve seen in a house. A long marble island dominates the center, already covered with bowls of salad, baskets of bread, bottles of water, and a few cans of soda.
I do my best to avoid the one sitting at the end, but I can feel his gaze on me.
Ryan claps me on the back, steering me in. “Alright, cabrones, this is Noah Adams. Blackthorne freshman, swimming prodigy, photographer, and my best friend. If any of you scare him off, I’ll add hair removal cream to your shampoo. Noah, meet everyone.”
I adjust my stance, wishing the floor would open up and swallow me whole, but Ryan barrels on as if this is his personal stage.
“H-hi, everyone,” I stutter, feeling like an absolute idiot.
Two guys are standing at the stove, a blond and a brunet, both tall and handsome as hell. The blond glances at me over his shoulder, his eyes a piercing blue that pins me in place a second too long. Then he nods once. “Welcome to the Sin Bin. Grab a plate before Luca finishes everything.”
“Fuck off, King,” someone chirps, and the others chuckle. I try to smile, but it’s shaky at best.
Ryan drags me forward, steering me toward the island like I might bolt if given the chance. He starts pointing out people one by one, his grin widening with every name.
“That’s Killian King,” he says, gesturing toward the blond guy at the stove. “Our fearless leader, owner of this fine establishment, hockey captain, and resident control freak. Don’t touch his knives unless you want to die.”
I catch Killian’s smirk, and he speaks without looking up. “I might make an exception for your boy, Torres. él es lindo.”
Ryan flips him off behind his back. “Hands off,” he says with a scowl before moving on. “Next to Killian is his bestie, Roman Bishop. He also plays hockey and is mean on the ice. But don’t worry, he secretly loves puppies.”
Roman lifts a brow, his lips twitching just enough to betray his amusement. “Don’t listen to him, I’m a cat person.”
I can’t tell if he’s joking, so I just nod.
Ryan points to another blond guy who is still chewing, and I realize that everyone at this goddamn kitchen island is beautiful. Built like they work out in their sleep, but gorgeous nonetheless.
“This is Luca Devereaux: quarterback, campus royalty, and resident pain in my ass. He’ll tell you he’s the most important person in this house, pero no le creas. His ego doesn’t need the help.”
Luca swallows and smirks, giving me a faint nod. “Good to meet you, man.”
“Adrian Hart, or as we call him—Red,” Ryan goes on, nodding at the guy buttering a bread roll. He has red curls and green eyes that look like they hide too much. “Soccer goalie, calm, and smarter than all of us combined, but don’t tell Sage that. Sage is Luca’s attack dog—uh, boyfriend.”
Luca throws a roll at Ryan’s head just as Adrian glances up and offers me a small smile. Then he goes right back to his food without a word. Something tells me Adrian might be someone I could get along with more than anyone else here.
“Thorn Knight,” Ryan continues, gesturing to the guy with the brown hair sitting next to Luca. He’s wearing a black tank top, has a lollipop in his mouth, and looks bored. “Also a hockey player, and addicted to lollipops—both the sweet and the flesh kind.”
I burst out laughing just as Thorn says, “Fuck off, Torres.” That seems to be a callsign for Ryan around here, and honestly, I get it. My best friend is a menace to society. “Welcome to the jungle, Adams,” Thorn says.
I nod and offer him a smile, which is the least I can do for laughing at the joke Ryan made at his expense.
“Those two fighting over the salad are Julian West and Eli Matthews,” he says, pointing to a tanned guy with short-cropped blond hair and the brightest blue eyes I’ve ever seen, and one with long curly hair similar to Ryan’s, and tattoos running up into the back of his neck.
“Running back and tight end. They come as a pair, don’t ask why. ”
“Because I carry him every game,” Julian shoots back.
“Bullshit,” Eli counters. “You’d be nothing without me.”
Ryan shakes his head and grins. “See what I mean?” he says, before pointing toward the last guy.
The one with dark hair and even darker eyes.
He hasn’t said a word since I walked in but has been staring like he’s been dissecting me.
“And that’s Liam Callahan. Soccer captain, terrifying, and probably already plotting how to dismantle you psychologically.
Don’t worry, he does it to all of us. It’s his love language. ”
Liam lifts his glass in silent acknowledgement, his gaze pinning me with unnerving intensity before flicking away. “Welcome to the house,” he says.
“Thanks,” I manage, fidgeting awkwardly under the weight of so many eyes.
“You already know Damien, your ex-stepbrother, so I don’t need to introduce him.” Ryan ends off nonchalantly. I can’t help but look at Damien, who offers me a small smile that has my heart skipping. “See, not so scary.”
I don’t point out that half of them are built like they were carved out of stone, while the other half have arms that could snap me in half without breaking a sweat. Instead, I force a smile and mumble, “Nice to meet you all.”
Ryan sits down and gestures to the seat next to him. “Come, sit and eat. There’s a rule here—no one skips dinner when Killian cooks. He’d murder us all in our sleep if we did.”
Killian doesn’t look up, but his voice carries easily. “Damn right.”
Plates are passed down, drinks are handed over, and for a while, I let the noise wash over me.
It’s easier not to talk, to let them fill the space with banter and jabs that don’t need my input.
They argue about stats, practice schedules, and whose sport is the hardest. Ryan joins in easily, already comfortable and stitched into the rhythm of it all.
“So, Noah,” Luca says, and my head snaps towards him. “You’re a swimmer on a full ride, yeah?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
“Impressive,” Eli comments, raising his brows. “What’s your event?”
“Freestyle,” I answer, though the word feels heavy in my mouth. I don’t want to talk about swimming and have to pretend I love it.
“Fastest stroke,” Thorn mutters with a grin, earning him a sharp look from Eli, probably because he made it sound dirty.
“What made you pick Blackthorne, besides the full ride?” Roman suddenly asks, leaning forward on his elbows.
Ryan answers before I can. “Me, obviously.”
Roman rolls his eyes. “Besides the idiot sitting next to you.”
I hesitate, knowing I’ll have to lie. “I… wanted something different. And it helps that I’m far away from my parents.”
I can’t believe I just said that.
Ryan grins at me, and Roman nods like he understands what I mean. “Fair enough,” he says, gaze flicking between Damien and me for half a second before he turns back to Killian.
What the hell was that look about? What does he know?
Ryan leans in close. “Relax, they don’t bite.”
I snort softly, keeping my eyes on my plate but not feeling hungry. “Pretty sure some of them do.”
“Only if you ask nicely,” he says, nudging me, and I roll my eyes even as a genuine smile curves my lips this time.
Dinner goes on around me, voices overlapping, jokes flying back and forth.
It’s chaotic, messy, and way too loud, but for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel as if I’m choking on the silence.
I also realize that none of them have pointed out anything about my eyes being different colors.
Wonder if Ryan has something to do with that.
And through it all, Damien doesn’t acknowledge me. Not even once.