Chapter 11 Noah
Noah
The pool always feels quieter after practice ends, even with the echo of water dripping from the lanes and the sound of laughter bouncing off tile walls. The rest of the team filters out slowly, their voices blending with the squeak of rubber soles and the hiss of the showers turning on.
This is usually my favorite part of the day—those few minutes of quiet where no one’s watching, no one’s talking, and I can just exist without having to keep up the version of me everyone expects.
I stay in the water until the clock on the wall hits five.
Then I climb out, grab my towel, and sit on the edge for a while, letting the droplets roll down my arms. My reflection stares back from the surface, faint and distorted, and for a second, I wish I could look at myself the way other people seem to—without flinching.
When the ache in my shoulders finally catches up, I stand, towel slung around my neck, and head toward the locker room. Most of the guys have already cleared out. The smell of chlorine and body wash hangs heavy in the air, mingling with the damp warmth of too many showers running at once.
I dry off as best I can, change into clean sweats and my hoodie, and shove my wet gear into my bag. I’ll shower at the house later, once everyone’s too busy with practice or dinner to notice. That’s my routine. It works. It keeps things simple.
Or at least, it did. Because when I step out of the locker room, Sage is leaning against the wall with a smirk pulling at his lips, and next to him is Nate.
The combination of the two of them waiting outside the locker room door makes me stop dead.
“Hey, Bluebird!” Sage calls out, bright and too casual for the setting. “Finally. You’re slower than Luca on a treadmill after leg day.”
I blink, still dripping slightly. “What are you doing here?”
“Field trip,” Sage says. “We’re kidnapping you for some alone time.”
That makes me blanch, and I sputter, “W-what?”
“You heard me,” he says, pushing off the wall. “Nate and I decided you need to stop being a ghost and join the land of the living. We’re grabbing food, and you’re coming.”
I glance between them, my bag strap tightening in my grip. “I can’t. I was just going to—”
“Hide in your room again?” Sage finishes for me, his tone too smooth to be a guess.
I frown. “I wasn’t hiding.”
“Right,” he says, clearly not believing me. “You look thrilled at the idea of social interaction, though.”
Nate rocks on his heels, hands in his pockets. “Come on, Noah. He’s not giving you a choice. Just say yes. It’ll be easier.”
I hesitate. The truth is, I don’t want to go anywhere. After two hours in the water, I’m exhausted. I just want a shower, a hoodie, and quiet. But Sage looks like he’ll drag me out by the arm if he has to, and the last thing I need is Luca finding out I refused his boyfriend’s offer to “bond.”
I sigh. “Fine. Can we at least stop at the house first? I need to shower.”
“Perfect,” Sage says, already grinning. “We’ll drive.”
Before I can protest, he loops an arm through mine and steers me toward the parking lot. Nate follows, quiet and watchful, the corner of his mouth twitching.
The late afternoon air hits cold and sharp when we step outside. The sky’s starting to dim, streaks of orange fading into gray. We reach Sage’s car—a sleek black convertible that doesn’t fit his thrift-store vibe—and he gestures for me to get in.
I hesitate. “I should probably—”
“Nope,” Sage cuts in, opening the door for me. “You should probably stop overthinking everything for five minutes. Nate will drive your car back to the house.”
“Gimme,” Nate says, holding out his hand for my keys and watching me with an expression that’s more curious than judgmental. “You’ll feel better after food.”
I sigh, shoulders slumping in defeat as I dig out my keys. “You two always kidnap people like this?”
Sage grins. “Only the interesting ones.”
The drive to the house is short, but it feels longer with Sage humming along to whatever indie playlist he put on. I stare out at the blur of campus, trying not to think about the pool or the fact that I’m about to break a rule I’ve lived by since high school.
Never let anyone in.
When we pull into the Sin Bin’s driveway, I feel a strange mix of relief and tension. I follow them inside, letting the familiar scent of cedar and coffee calm my nerves.
Sage gestures toward the stairs. “Go shower, Bluebird. We’ll wait.”
“You really don’t have to—”
“We’ll wait,” he repeats, his tone leaving no room for argument.
I nod and head upstairs, keeping the shower quick, almost mechanical. I scrub the chlorine off my skin, wash my hair, and step out before I can think too much about the reflection in the fogged mirror. By the time I throw on jeans and a soft gray sweatshirt, my heartbeat’s finally slowed.
When I walk back downstairs, Sage and Nate are sitting on the couch. Sage’s legs are draped over Nate’s lap as he scrolls through his phone, and Nate’s pretending not to care even though the corner of his mouth keeps twitching. They both look up when they hear me.
“Finally,” Sage says, hopping up. “We were about to send a search party.”
“You’ve been here twenty minutes,” Nate says dryly.
“Exactly. That’s two hours in Sage-time.”
I laugh quietly, slinging my bag over my shoulder. “Let’s go, then.”
The coffee shop they take me to is small, tucked into a side street near campus, with warm lighting and the smell of espresso that hits the second you walk in.
The walls are lined with old black-and-white photos, mismatched chairs, and a chalkboard menu filled with drinks that all sound vaguely pretentious.
We take a booth in the corner, and I slide in across from them, the leather seat creaking under me. Sage orders black coffee and a grilled sandwich. Nate orders something iced with too many syrups to count. I stick with tea and a croissant that I know I’ll nibble on at best.
Sage drums his fingers against the table as the waiter leaves, his gaze sliding from the menu to me with that look people get when they’re gearing up to pry.
I brace for it instinctively, curling my hands around the mug when it arrives a few minutes later.
Steam rises in thin white ribbons, catching the soft light that spills from the hanging bulbs above us.
“So,” Sage says, drawing the word out. “Two months in, and you still haven’t figured out how to exist among the rest of us degenerates?”
I huff out a small laugh, watching them over the rim of the teacup. “Maybe I’m just smarter than you think.”
Nate’s mouth curves at the corner, that subtle half-smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes but still changes his face. “Or maybe you’re just quieter about your suffering,” he says. “Sage prefers his in surround sound.”
Sage flicks a straw wrapper at him. “Excuse you, some of us process emotions through performance art.”
“You mean through chaos,” Nate counters.
“That too,” Sage says without missing a beat. He leans his elbows on the table, eyes flicking between us. “Who else is going to drag the emotionally constipated out of their shells? I’m a saint, really.”
The banter between them flows so easily that it’s hard not to smile. There’s something magnetic about their energy—Sage is sunshine that refuses to dim, and Nate’s quiet confidence, the kind that moves with precision instead of noise. Together, they’re opposites that somehow make perfect sense.
Sage catches me smiling and smirks. “There it is. You do have teeth. Thought maybe Damien scared them out of you.”
My throat tightens slightly at the sound of his name, but Sage doesn’t mean it cruelly. He just throws it out there like a pebble in a pond, unaware of the ripples it leaves behind. Nate’s gaze flicks toward me briefly, noticing the shift.
“Ignore him,” Nate says, his tone smooth. “He loves testing people’s boundaries just to see what happens.”
Sage grins. “Only when it works.”
I shake my head, trying to play along. “You two are impossible.”
“We’re a gift. The world just isn’t ready for us,” Sage says.
The conversation drifts then—from classes to campus life to the chaos of living in a house with that many athletes under one roof.
Sage complains about Luca stealing his own hoodies back.
Nate teases him about being dramatic. I listen, adding small pieces where I can.
It’s easy in a way that surprises me—the noise and movement around them making space for me instead of pushing me out.
At some point, Sage leans forward, resting his chin in his hand, studying me. “You know, you’re not what I expected.”
I blink. “What did you expect?”
He grins. “Someone a lot more fragile. After meeting you that first time, Luca made it sound like you were some delicate soul who needed to be handled with gloves.”
I snort softly. “He would say that.”
“Yeah,” Sage says, laughing. “But you’re not delicate. Reserved, sure. But there’s a difference.”
I stare into my tea, unsure what to say to that. No one’s ever accused me of not being fragile before. Hearing that from Sage hits a deep spot I didn’t realize needed validation.
“Thanks,” I say finally, my voice soft.
Sage shrugs, reaching for his sandwich. “Don’t thank me yet. I’m still deciding if you’re my new project or not.”
Nate glances at him. “You don’t need a project.”
“Everyone needs a project,” Sage argues. “Especially the ones pretending they don’t.”
I laugh quietly. “Should I be worried?”
Sage points his straw at me. “Absolutely.”
Nate smiles that cool, feline sort of smile he’s perfected. “You’ll survive. He prefers his projects breathing.”
“Most days,” Sage adds.
“Comforting,” I mutter, but the warmth in my chest betrays how much lighter I feel than I did an hour ago.