Chapter 37 Damien
Damien
The clock’s winding down, and for the first time in weeks, the crowd noise blurs into the background. Sweat stings my eyes, my legs feel like cinderblocks, but I keep moving, hands high, barking orders that cut through the haze.
“Box out! Stay on your man! Watch the drive!”
The other team’s point guard tries to run a desperate play, but Ryan cuts him off, and I snatch the rebound, driving it down the court in three long strides.
I push harder than I have all game, launching myself past two defenders, the world shrinking down to the sound of the ball, the drag of my breath, the familiar ache in my chest.
I lay it up. Two more points. The buzzer splits the gym open, and suddenly the crowd’s on their feet, our bench clearing as teammates swarm the court, hollering and whooping, hands slapping my back, my chest, my shoulders.
Coach is grinning, shouting something about “that’s how you fucking finish!” and the whole team feels electrified, alive, hungry for more. If this were any other night, I’d let myself soak in it, but all I can think about is how fast I can get out and how soon I can be home.
Ryan’s first to my side, shoving a Gatorade into my hand and grinning like a maniac. “You were on fire, bro,” he says, and I give him a tired smile, swigging down half the bottle before setting it aside.
My mind’s already slipping away from the win, from the stats and the coach’s praise, drifting back toward the Sin Bin and the boy I left tangled in my sheets, skin pale and voice fragile, telling me he’d be fine.
I know he’s got Sage and Nate. I know everyone’s keeping an eye out, but I’ve been on edge the entire game, waiting for the moment I can finally see him again.
My hands ache to touch him, my mouth dry for the sound of his voice.
He promised me with that steady look that always guts me, but he’s never been a good liar.
I shake off another round of congratulations and push through the press of bodies toward the stands, scanning faces out of habit—old swim team jackets, Thunderhawks hoodies, hats pulled low.
The noise is a blur, all drums and stomping, a throb in my chest that only gets sharper the longer I go without seeing him.
Then, through the chaos, my eyes catch on a familiar flash of blue.
My chest punches tight. For a moment, I think I’m imagining it.
He’s wearing my Blackthorne Thunderhawks T-shirt underneath an open hoodie—the number 33 across his chest—and over his ears, the black noise-cancelling headphones I gave him a few months ago.
He looks so fucking good, hair tousled and face scrubbed clean, mouth turned up in a nervous, private smile.
I break away from the knot of players, Ryan’s voice trailing off behind me, and start moving faster, my sneakers squeaking against the hardwood. Everything else blurs—Coach yelling for the team to circle up, fans snapping photos, the smell of sweat and cheap popcorn—none of it matters.
I don’t stop until I reach him and gently tug the headphones off, sliding them down around his neck. His gaze flicks up, unsure, and then I’m hauling him into my arms. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t pull away—he melts into me, arms coming up around my waist, holding on tight.
I duck my head and kiss him, not caring who’s watching, not caring if the whole team sees. He tastes like relief, like home, like every fucking thing I thought I’d lost last week when I found him on that bathroom floor.
He grins against my mouth. “Surprise, superstar.”
I let out a shaky breath, squeezing him tighter. “You’ve made my fucking night, Blue.”
He smiles, leaning his forehead into my chest, breath stuttering. “I wanted to see you play. Wanted to show you I’m okay. Or… better, anyway.”
My throat closes up. I rub my thumb over his cheek, feeling the warmth there, the life. “You’re more than okay. You’re fucking perfect.”
Sage and Nate step back, giving us a little space, but I catch Sage’s eye and mouth a silent thank you. He nods, understanding more than he ever lets on. Nate just grins, eyes bright, looping an arm around Sage’s shoulders.
I pull back to take Noah in—the flush in his cheeks, the edge of his smile, the familiar way he leans into my side. He’s still thin, still fragile in ways I wish I could erase, but there’s a spark here I haven’t seen in too long.
“Did you…” I start, and he laughs, embarrassed.
“Sage and Nate convinced me,” he admits, biting his lip. “Said if I wanted to give you the biggest smile, I should come with them. I almost backed out twice, but then I figured you’d want to see me here, not hiding at home.”
I shake my head, overwhelmed, fighting tears of relief and pride. “You have no idea what this means, Blue. You have no idea what you just did for me.”
He shrugs, cheeks pink, looking away. “Just wanted you to know I’m not broken, and that I’m trying.”
“You’re not broken, baby,” I say, pressing my forehead against his. “You’re brave as hell, and you’re everything to me.”
A few of the guys jog past, hollering and teasing, but I don’t care. I keep my arms around him, feeling his heartbeat start to slow as he settles against me, safe in the middle of chaos.
Ryan sidles up, eyes darting between us, a big stupid grin on his face. “I’m surprised you didn’t see him, D. He was screaming every time you scored. I thought Sage was gonna have to peel him off the bleachers.”
Noah flushes, burying his face in my shoulder, and Sage cackles. “Shut up,” he mumbles into my shirt, and I can’t help but chuckle.
But I have to do the after-game shit, so I press a quick kiss to his cheek and lean back. “Gotta do some things before I go. Twenty minutes, tops. Just gotta hit the press, shower, and grab my gear. Then we’re out. That okay?”
He smiles, nerves obvious in the pinch of his lips, but he nods. “I’ll wait here. Not going anywhere.”
I nod, kiss his cheek again, and pull Ryan away to finish whatever needs to be done. The press comes at us fast, lights in our faces, recorders shoved too close to our mouths. I answer the same questions—strategy, chemistry, playoffs—barely hearing myself, nodding and smiling until my cheeks ache.
I make myself go through the motions. Shower off the sweat and grime, and swap jokes with the guys in the locker room. Coach pulls me aside for the usual post-game rundown, claps me on the shoulder, tells me I was a beast tonight, it was a captain’s game.
I force a grin, thank him, listen to his notes—defense, passing, keep your head up next time on that rebound—but all I can think about is how fast I can get out of here.
When I’m finally free, we all file out together, slipping into the evening air.
The campus is quieter now, the roar of the crowd replaced by the soft rush of cars and distant laughter.
Noah drifts closer to me as we reach the parking lot, brushing his hand against mine, and I thread our fingers together, pulling him in as tight as I can without making a scene.
I want to get him home, get him safe, shut the world out for a while. The others linger just behind us, Ryan checking his phone, Nate arguing with Sage about where to order food from.
We’re almost to my car when I hear the voice that makes every hair on my body stand up.
“Noah!”
We all stop at once. Lionel Adams stands by the curb, immaculate as always in a pressed overcoat, leather gloves in hand, jaw set in a line sharp enough to cut glass.
His eyes rake over the group, ignoring everyone except his son, and then landing on me with a disgust so obvious I can practically taste it.
I see the way Noah’s shoulders hunch, how the confidence drains from his face. He doesn’t turn. I do, my body already moving to put myself between him and his father.
“Where the hell have you been?” Lionel barks, already closing the distance between us. “You missed the meet. You’ve ignored every call, every message. Is this what I pay for? For you to hide with these… degenerates instead of doing your job? Step away from them and get in the car right now.”
Noah pales, the lines of his face tightening in ways that make something primal in me want to tear his father apart. I feel the rage start to simmer, a low boil behind my ribs, but I keep my voice calm.
“He’s not going anywhere with you tonight,” I say through gritted teeth. “He’s safe here. Leave.”
Lionel scoffs, looking me up and down like I’m dirt on his shoe. “Safe? With you?” He turns to Noah, his voice going cold again. “Get in the car, Noah. I will not let you embarrass me like this again. You’re coming home, and we’re getting you back on track. Enough of this—this indulgence.”
Noah shrinks in on himself, but I see the anger start to rise. His hands curl into fists at his sides. “I’m not going anywhere with you,” he says in a small voice. “I’m done.”
Lionel’s lips thin, his whole face twisting. “You don’t get to decide that. Not after everything I’ve sacrificed. You are not going to throw your future away for this… this pathetic charade. I did not raise you to be—”
“Everything you’ve sacrificed?” I cut in, the edge in my voice surprising even me. “You mean like breaking him down until there’s nothing left? Like making him so scared to fail you that he’d rather destroy himself than disappoint you? Yeah. Hell of a gift, sir.”
He flushes, the only sign he’s rattled. “You’re out of your depth, Moore. I told you before—one word from me and your career is over. I’ll make sure no team wants a player with your baggage. You really want to test me?”
I want to knock this fucker out, but I hold myself together, knowing that giving him a reaction is what he wants. “You can try, but it won’t work this time. You don’t scare me anymore.”
Lionel sneers. “I’ll ruin you. Don’t think I won’t.”