Chapter 38 Noah
Noah
I wake before the sun’s fully out, some ingrained part of me still convinced I have to be ready for the water, for the day to start, whether I want it or not.
It takes a moment to remember that’s not true anymore—there’s no training, no meet, no schedule except my own.
The bed is warm, sheets tangled around my legs, the lingering press of Damien’s arm where it curls over my waist.
His breathing is slow, still deep in sleep, lashes a smudge against his cheeks. I don’t want to wake him, not after everything. There’s a peacefulness in him when he sleeps, where he finally lets go of all the burdens he carries for everyone else. I can’t bring myself to steal that from him.
So, I slide out from beneath his arm, careful not to jostle him.
My legs are stiff when I stand, my body still processing the emotional hangover from telling my father I’m done.
I meant every word. I’m not going back to Blackthorne.
I’m not putting myself through the constant pressure of the swim team, the meets, the comments, the feeling that no matter what I do, it’ll never be enough.
Padding across the room in one of Damien’s oversized shirts, I grab my backpack and head downstairs.
The house is dead silent, which isn’t surprising.
It’s Saturday; it’s the one morning a week when the house breathes out, everyone lost in their own beds, their own hangovers, their own rare, needed sleep.
The kitchen’s dim when I step in, soft light filtering through the blinds and painting pale lines across the floor.
I switch on the coffee machine—the familiar sound is a comfort.
There’s something soothing about moving through the steps: grabbing the bread, sliding two slices into the toaster, pulling my weekly pill container out of the front pocket of my backpack.
It’s a quiet kind of victory, laying the container out on the counter, flipping open the section for Saturday.
I butter my toast when it pops, and after eating the first slice, I take my meds.
It’s not a big meal, nothing fancy, but it’s mine.
I do it on my own, I control it, and I feel a little more like myself with each small step.
I haven’t looked at my phone in four days, and I don’t really want to. Whatever calls and texts are waiting for me—from my mother, my coaches, my teammates—they can stay unread. The decision’s already made. I’m not going back to the version of myself I kept trying to mold into what they wanted.
I want to heal in peace, without being forced to prove myself every hour of every day.
I don’t know what that would look like—who I’d be, if I’m not “Noah Adams: swimmer, scholar, future Olympian.” I just know I can’t keep living for everyone else, not after what happened.
I’m going to start over, and it’s going to be for me this time.
I rinse my plate, dry my hands on a dish towel, and make my way outside, mug in hand.
The air is fresh, not cool enough that I wish I’d grabbed a hoodie, but the taste of it is clean.
The lawn stretches wide and perfect, dew glittering on the grass, ripples spreading across the pool's surface. For once, my thoughts aren’t racing. They’re just… quiet.
I freeze when I spot Killian near the far railing, one hand scrubbing at the back of his neck as he paces. He’s on his phone, but he’s not barking orders—he’s pleading, a note of desperation in his voice I’ve never heard before.
“You know that’s not what I meant, I—please don’t do this—” Killian’s voice cracks.
“No, fuck, don’t hang up, just listen to me for once!
I’m doing everything I can, but if it gets out—” He cuts off, voice tight with something I don’t often hear from him: fear.
“Just… please. Don’t make me beg, Angel. You said you understood.”
He’s silent for a long moment, listening, then walks quickly around the side of the house, the cigarette burning bright between his fingers, the phone still pressed to his ear. I don’t think he even noticed me standing here.
I sit on the porch swing, letting my feet skim the floor, turning Killian’s words over in my head.
Angel. A secret. The rare sound of desperation from a guy who’s untouchable.
I wonder who he was talking to, what it would take to make someone like him beg.
But the mystery is almost comforting, in a way—proof that even the strongest people carry their own battles. Maybe that’s all any of us are doing.
I shake off the thought and exhale, curling my feet up beneath me, coffee steaming in my hands.
The yard is empty except for a few crows picking at something by the fence, the air sharp and full of the promise of a new day.
I let myself breathe, just for a minute.
Just to remember that I’m allowed to exist without rushing off to the next thing.
Then I hear footsteps thundering down the stairs inside. “Noah!”
It’s Damien. He sounds half-crazed, the way he gets when he’s terrified that something’s wrong. I see him through the glass door, still in his boxers and no shirt, hair a riot, eyes wild. The second he spots me outside, the tension breaks in his shoulders, and he bolts for the door.
He bursts out onto the veranda, grabbing me into a hug so tight my coffee sloshes over the rim, soaking my wrist. “Jesus Christ, Blue,” he breathes, voice shaking. “You scared the hell out of me. I woke up, and you were just… gone.”
I put the cup down next to me and wrap my arms around him, sinking into his warmth, feeling the last of the night’s shadows bleed out of me. “I’m sorry. I just needed a minute. I couldn’t stay in bed. I’m okay, I promise.”
He pulls back to search my face, checking for any sign of the old panic, any trace of regret. I give him a shaky smile, and he finally relaxes, brushing my hair off my forehead, thumb gentle along my cheek. “Did you eat?”
“Toast,” I admit. “And my meds. I’m okay.”
He grins, that slow, crooked smile that always gets me. “Good boy,” he murmurs, and I can’t help but blush at the endearment. “Don’t scare me like that, okay? Not after—”
I glance away, embarrassed by how much I like the way he worries. “I’m fine, Mien. Really. I just needed some air.”
His eyes soften, and he slides his hand up to cup my jaw, thumb brushing just under my cheekbone. “You sure? If you need to go back to bed—”
“No.” I shake my head, cutting him off. “I want to be awake today. I want to feel normal, at least for a little while.”
He studies me, still unsure, but the tight lines around his mouth ease as he realizes I mean it. “Alright,” he says, brushing his lips over my temple. “Just don’t vanish on me, okay? Not after this week.”
I nod, biting back a smile. “Not planning on it. I needed to think about last night. About my dad and what comes next now that I refuse to be his prodigy.”
He takes my cup from the bench and places it on the floor, sits down next to me, and pulls me into his lap. I settle there easily, legs draped across his, my head resting under his chin.
“You don’t have to do any of that alone, you know. I meant what I said. I’ll take care of you.”
I smile, but it’s bittersweet. “I know, but I have to face some of it myself, too. I need to go talk to the Dean and to Coach to tell them I’m leaving Blackthorne and giving up my scholarship for my health and sanity. I can’t do this for anyone but me anymore.”
He nods, arms never leaving my waist. “I’ll go with you if you want. I’ll stand there and back you up if they try to give you any shit. But… are you really sure, Blue?”
“Yeah.” I close my eyes and lean fully into his chest, breathing him in. “I don’t want to swim anymore. I never really did. I like photography. I want to see what I can do when I’m not running from everything I am.”
After a moment, he nudges my chin up so I’m looking at him.
“I talked to my dad last night. He said if you want—if you need—he’ll take you in for a while.
He’s got the apartment with his husband in New York on the Upper West Side.
It’s quiet. Close to Central Park. Plenty of places to take photos. You wouldn’t owe him anything.”
The offer lands heavy and sweet, something real I never expected. I blink fast, fighting the sting in my eyes, the warmth in my chest spreading until I think it might carry me away. “You’d do that? He’d do that?”
“In a heartbeat,” Damien says, and I stare at him, still too stunned to speak. “He’s known I was in love with you since… fuck, since the first time I left. He wants to help you, Blue. You’d have your own space and time to heal and rest. There would be no expectations, just peace.”
The tears threaten more fiercely, but I blink them back. I want to be brave now. “I don’t know what to say,” I whisper.
“Say yes,” he says. “Say you’ll let yourself be taken care of with love, for once.”
I think about it—the apartment, the stillness, the escape from everything that’s haunted me since I was old enough to swim. Then I nod slowly. “I love you,” I say, steady and real, the truest thing I know. “Thank you for making it feel like I have options again.”
He grins, all pride and affection, and kisses the top of my head. “I love you, too. And I meant what I said—I’m not letting you go through any of this by yourself. You want New York? We’ll pack a bag and go. You want to stay here, lie in bed all day, I’ll hold you. Whatever you need, Blue.”
We sit there for a long time, letting the morning grow brighter around us, the house slowly stirring back to life.
I watch as Ryan staggers across the lawn in his pajamas, muttering about coffee.
I hear Luca and Sage singing in the kitchen, and Julian yelling at someone over a misplaced laptop.
The sounds I hated a few months ago now feel like home to me.
I know it’ll hurt walking away from everything I’ve known. I know the future isn’t suddenly easy or perfect, just because I said the right words or stood up to the right person. But this—this choice, this love, this slow, ordinary Saturday—is the start of something that belongs to me.
And for the first time in my life, I think I might actually be excited to find out what happens next.