Chapter 11 Noah #2
The waitress comes by again, refilling drinks while I pretend to nibble on the croissant. Outside, the light’s fading, the glow from the windows spilling across the sidewalk in uneven shapes. The hum of conversation from nearby tables blends with the soft music playing overhead. It feels… peaceful.
Sage breaks the silence first, glancing at my camera bag that I hadn’t even realized I brought along with me. “You really like photography, huh?”
I nod. “Yeah. It’s the only thing that ever made sense.”
Nate tilts his head, eyes on me. “Because you’re good at it, or because it’s quiet?”
I pause, surprised he’d see through it that fast. “Both, I guess. I prefer catching the beauty rather than being it.”
“Makes sense,” Sage says. “You don’t strike me as the kind of guy who likes being seen.”
I swallow at his perception of me. Usually, I’m the quiet one who fades out of conversations until I might as well not exist. Sage and Nate don’t do that at all. “I grew up under too much attention.”
Nate’s expression softens. “Parents?”
I nod again. “My dad was an Olympic swimmer, and my mom’s a model. Both are used to being looked at.”
Sage lets out a low whistle. “Yikes, no pressure there.”
“You’d think,” I say, smiling faintly. “They always said I had potential. That I could be better than them if I worked hard enough.”
“And did you?” Nate asks.
I shrug at that question. “I tried. After school, I visited my dad’s Olympic training camp. Last summer, I stayed with my mother at her modeling agency in Milan. Honestly, I’m not sure why I agreed to go. Attempting to be their perfect son made the past two years the hardest of my life.”
The truth hangs heavier than I meant it to, but neither of them fills the silence this time. Sage sets his drink down, his usual grin fading into something quieter. “You ever hear of Aspen Blackwell?”
I blink at the sudden change of subject. “Uhm, yeah. He’s that famous producer, right?”
There’s a twinkle in his eye as he nods. “Yeah, he’s also my dad.”
My mouth falls open. For a second, I’m not sure I heard him right.
“Wait—Aspen Blackwell is your dad? The Aspen Blackwell?” The one who has his name in the credits of half the movies I watched growing up, the guy with more Oscars than some countries.
I gape, looking between Sage and Nate, as if one of them is about to admit it’s a joke.
But Sage just grins, a little sheepish, his fingers drumming lightly on the table.
“Yeah, that’s him. I think I learned to set up a C-stand before I learned to ride a bike because I basically grew up on film sets.
” He shrugs, a tilt of his mouth that’s almost apologetic.
“I picked up the bug from my dad, but he never pushed. Wasn’t interested in making me a star or anything. He just wanted me to be happy.”
I watch the way his face softens as he says it, the genuine affection there. There’s no resentment in Sage’s voice—just a matter-of-fact pride, like someone who’s already made peace with his legacy.
For a moment, I envy that. To have parents who don’t twist your whole life around what they want. To be allowed to choose for yourself.
“You know, you don’t have to earn the right to exist, right? You’re allowed to just be,” Sage says, nodding toward my camera bag. “And to choose something that’s just yours.”
It’s the simplest thing in the world, but it lands heavy in my chest. I look down at my hands, thinking about all the times I let the shutter click just to feel present, about the quiet hours in darkrooms and the silent way a perfect photo settles into memory.
How different that peace is from the adrenaline-soaked misery of the pool.
I look away, my throat tightening. “It’s not that simple.”
“It never is,” Nate says, tone low but understanding. “But it’s still true.”
Their words linger long after, wrapping around the space between us. I let myself breathe a little deeper than usual, picking up my cup and taking a sip.
Sage grins again when he looks at me, his energy snapping back into motion. “Alright, deep talk quota met. Back to lighter things. Tell me something embarrassing about Damien.”
I nearly choke on my tea. “W-what?”
“Come on,” he says, leaning in. “There has to be something. Everyone’s got dirt on their family—or, ex-family in your case.”
I shake my head quickly. “I don’t—there’s nothing…. We’re nothing.”
Nate smirks. “That’s a lie.”
“It’s not,” I insist, though the way heat creeps up my neck probably gives me away.
Sage immediately catches the scent of blood in the water. “Oh, there’s something. You’re blushing. This is the best day of my life.”
“I’m not—” I start, but Nate cuts in smoothly.
“Let him breathe, Sage. You scare people when you get excited.”
Sage rolls his eyes. “You’re no fun.”
“I’m realistic,” Nate replies, then glances at me. “Don’t let him bully you. He collects secrets like athletes collect trophies.”
Sage gasps. “That’s slander. I thought you were my best friend.”
“That’s why I know,” Nate says, smirking.
Their easy rhythm pulls me in before I can resist. I laugh quietly, the sound startling me as much as them. Sage grins widely, triumphant. “There it is again. See, Nate? He’s fixable.”
“He’s not broken, you chaos twink,” Nate corrects automatically, and the way he says it makes my chest tighten. “He’s just… underused.”
I shake my head, smiling into my cup.
By the time we finish, I feel lighter in a way I can’t remember feeling since sitting at the pond with Damien. When we step outside, the streetlights have flickered on, and the air smells faintly of rain. Sage pulls his hoodie up and stretches, humming something under his breath.
“See?” he says, glancing at me. “That wasn’t so bad.”
I roll my eyes. “You mean the interrogation?”
“Therapy,” he corrects. “Free therapy.”
Nate shoves his hands in his jacket pockets, walking ahead a few steps. “He just loves being right.”
Sage smirks. “I do love being right.”
I follow them toward the car, the corner of my mouth lifting. When we pull into the Sin Bin driveway again, Sage turns around in his seat with a grin. “You survived your first post-practice outing. How do you feel?”
“Like I got hit by a social freight train,” I say honestly.
He laughs. “That’s normal. You’ll build tolerance. Besides, we’ve adopted you already, so you better get used to it.” Sage beams, his satisfaction clear, and Nate just shakes his head, but there’s something quietly pleased in his expression.
The air inside the car is warm, windows starting to fog at the edges, and for a second, I let myself close my eyes and sink into the feeling of being… included. Not just tolerated but actually wanted.
They don’t rush me to get out when we park. Sage keeps the engine running, some soft indie band humming from the speakers, while Nate taps out a message on his phone. For a while, none of us says anything. It’s not awkward. It just… is.
Sage is the first to break the peace. “Hey. You know you can ask for this, right? To hang out. We’re not just going to let you disappear into your room or your hoodie all semester.”
I nod, even though the words stick a little. “Yeah. I know.”
“You don’t have to answer every text,” Nate adds, glancing over with that even look of his. “But you’re always invited. Doesn’t matter if you talk or not.”
It takes a second for the meaning to settle, but when it does, I feel a tightness in my chest let go. “Thanks,” I say quietly, clutching my bag a little tighter. “I’m… not always great with words. Sometimes I just need to… I don’t know. Listen, I guess.”
“Listening is a skill,” Sage declares. “Besides, Nate and I talk enough for three people. Don’t let him scare you,” he adds, gesturing to Nate. “He’s a puppy underneath all that sarcasm.”
Nate doesn’t even protest. He just slides his phone into his pocket and rolls his eyes.
I know I’ll never get used to being “adopted.” Not in the Sin Bin way, anyway.
Sage’s laughter follows me up the steps, and even when I close my door behind me and dump my bag on the chair, I can still hear their voices downstairs threading through the quiet.
A reminder that I’m not as invisible as I always assumed.
And that gives me even more confidence in the decision I’m about to make.