The only thing driving me forward is Noah. I yank off my dress, my footsteps slapping on the hard, cold tiles as I sprint toward the pool. There are no thoughts now, no panic or fear, just the instinctive need to get to him. As my toes curl the ledge, I suck in a breath and squeeze shut my eyes, diving head-first into the deep end.
In the seconds it takes me to sink, I hear nothing, just the sound of my heart as it pumps through my chest. I blink a few times, able to feel the pressure steadily building in my ears, closing around me as I adjust to the underwater lights.
Before I can push forward, Noah appears before me as a ghost-like silhouette, his eyes dark and filled with confusion. I'm so taken aback that, for a moment, I float here, watching him through the blue. My first thought is he's beautiful, from the way his broad shoulders taper down to his waist to the ethereal glow of his skin. My second is he's fine.
Reality kicks in at the same time as panic. I push him away from me, clawing to the surface and sucking in a breath, which is so cold, I choke. Noah is beside me in an instant, pulling me closer and instantly settling the panic.
For the next few moments, I rest my cheek against his hard, damp chest and listen to the rush of his heartbeat. Its rhythm comforts me, the familiar pattern helping to settle my own. When I've finally calmed down enough, I force myself to look at him, taking in his dark, wet hair and the tiny droplets on his cheeks.
I go to speak, but the hoarseness in my voice stops me. Concerned, he reaches out, tucking a strand of my hair back. His gaze drops lower, trailing down my nose and lips, widening when they fall below the surface.
A second later, I remember why. I glance to the ledge, where my dress sits discarded in a pile, and remember I'm in my underwear. Suddenly, the embarrassment hits me full force, and not just the fact I'm half naked in Noah's arms, but the fact I'd assumed he was drowning in the first place. God, I'm an idiot.
I pull from Noah's arms, too embarrassed to spend another second like this, and swim toward the ledge. He's hot on my trail, pulling himself from the water and grabbing my arm before I can escape, yanking me toward him.
"Hey, wait a second," he says, sounding irritated. "Are you seriously mad at me right now?"
I yank my hand back, furiously glaring at him. "Yes, I am, because you should have known better." The words come out through chattering teeth, the chill of the air making me shiver. "Why would you get into a pool, drunk, after everything I–" I stop before my voice cracks, but we both know what I mean. "How could you be so stupid?"
Noah steps closer, his eyes like smoke as he lightly breathes on my face. His breath doesn't smell like alcohol; it smells like mint. "I haven't had a single drink."
I blink a few times as his words settle in. Of course he wasn't stupid enough to drink and swim – he's not me. "I'm sorry. I thought–" my sentence trails off as I lift my hands, running them over my arms. Now that the adrenaline has worn off, I'm shivering like a leaf. "I'll leave you to your swim." I glance toward the elevator, unsure of how I'll explain to the others why I'm suddenly soaked, but it has to be less awkward than this.
"You're freezing," Noah says, and before I can argue, he swiftly grabs my hand. "Come on."
I look up at him as he leads me toward the gazebo, expecting to find annoyance on his face, but though there's a hardness to his gaze, it's the same one I've seen all day. He grabs a fresh towel, reaching down to pull it around me, bundling me inside like a baby. I clutch the two ends, watching him throw a towel around his shoulders before he slumps onto the closest lounger.
When I don't move, he sighs. "Sit down, Blue."
I glance at the lounger opposite, hesitant. Common sense dictates that I hail an Uber and take my soaked self back to my dorm, but leaving Noah alone when he seems so sad feels impossible.
Carefully, as if afraid he might bolt, I sit opposite. The space between the loungers is so compact that our legs squash together in a way that's uncomfortable. I start to move, and Noah parts his legs a little, allowing mine to comfortably fall between his.
I've never seen him so quiet. Or still. For the next few seconds, the only sounds are from the gentle lapping of the water in the wind and the distant hum of the city below.
I risk a glance at him and frown. His expression is dark, and even in the shadows, I can see how tired he looks. Not just tired – exhausted. To break the silence, I say, "Thank you."
Surprised, he says, "For what?"
I shrug as if it's just sprung to mind, but really, I've thought about it all evening. "For not starting a fight with Peter. He told me what he said to you, and I know it must have been hard for you to walk away, so thank you."
His eyes soften, and I realize I was right; he'd restrained himself for me. "You're welcome."
When he doesn't say anything else, I take a deep breath and trail his still-hardened jaw. Whatever is on his mind, it's not going anywhere. "Do you want to talk about it?"
He shrugs. "There's nothing to talk about."
"Noah," I say, "anyone with a pair of eyes can tell you've been in a bad mood all day, so just tell me what's wrong."
He looks as though he's about to argue, but something stops him last-minute. "It's not you," he says, looking toward the pool. "I mean–" his eyes drop to my discarded dress, jaw twitching, "–not all of it. Practice has been rough lately." He waits a beat, and then, "Coach chewed me out in front of everyone again."
I feel myself frown, knowing all too well how it feels to be criticized in front of your team members, especially when, in your eyes, you gave it your all. It's a cold, harsh reminder that sometimes you give everything, and it's still not enough. "Are you okay?"
He doesn't answer right away, just stares at his hands, eyebrows drawn almost in disbelief. "You know, I can't remember the last time someone asked me that."
"That's sad."
He laughs, and for a moment, he's Noah again. "Thanks, Blue."
I gently grab his arm and say, "I didn't mean like that."
His gaze falls to my hand, watching the way my thumb gently brushes his skin, and he tightens his jaw in frustration. I quickly pull back, then wish that I hasn't. It's strange – I hadn't planned on feeling sorry for him, but that's exactly how I feel. I'm not used to this version of Noah: I'm used to his cocky side, the side that makes me question how someone can possess so much confidence, but for once, he is vulnerable.
Honest.
"So, what exactly did the coach say?" I ask. "Is it something we can work on?"
His eyes darken. He looks away. "I'm lazy."
I frown again. It's not unusual for coaches to lose their tempers in the moment, but calling the captain of the Calbears lazy is absurd. "You know that's not true, Noah."
"Still hurt like hell to hear it." He runs his thumb along his knuckle, eyes flashing with hurt. "Jesus, of all the words he could have used, it had to be that one." He shakes his head, still looking at his hands, and then, sensing my confusion, says, "It was my dad's favorite word growing up. No matter what I did to please him, I was lazy. I was never good enough – guess I'm still not."
My hand reaches out before I can stop it, gently clasping his. He looks over, surprised, but it only takes a moment for him to clasp mine back, his cold fingers lacing with mine.
"You are," I say, forcing him to look at me. "One bad practice doesn't define you, Noah." It's one of the things about competing I don't miss. If I had a good day at practice, I was happy, and if I had a bad day, I didn't want to talk to anyone. It's like we invest so much of our worth in the sport that it's hard not to defeat personally. The same people who act like they love you when you're winning will tear you down when you're not. Of course we take it personally. "I know how it feels to have all that responsibility and not have anyone acknowledge it. It's a lot of pressure."
He frowns and reaches out, pushing my hair behind my ear. In a voice so low it's barely audible, he mutters, "Sometimes I think you're the only one."
The words settle deep in my stomach. I lift my head, allowing my gaze to settle on his, which has softened considerably. This is the first time Noah has felt real to me, as if he's not just putting on an act to win my attention, and it's terrifying. This is the side of him that's dangerous, I realize. This is the side that could drop my defenses and make me do the one thing I shouldn't; trust him.
"I should probably go," I say but make no effort to move.
Neither does he. Instead, he says, "Back to Peter."
It comes out like a question, forcing me to meet his gaze, which has already settled on mine. It's dark and questioning – protective. Even though it shouldn't, something about it excites me.
"Peter and I are just friends," I say, ready to leave it there, but something about tonight compels me to push further. "Not even really friends. We haven't talked since the accident–" I take a deep breath, "–he's the one who saved my life."
This surprises him. "He did?"
I nod and pull the towel around me, as if protecting myself from the memory. "He wanted to see if I was okay, I guess."
Noah looks at his hands again, frowning. "Guess I'm glad I didn't hit him then."
I smile and say, "Me too," before tilting my head toward the sky, spending the next few seconds watching the stars. Despite tonight's unfortunate events, it's the perfect evening: crisp but not too cold, and the stars seem to stretch out endlessly, creating a beautiful tapestry against the dark sky.
When the chill picks up, I eventually sigh. "I should probably go before Addy sends out a search party," I say and get to my feet, forcing Noah to get to his. I don't want to leave, I realize. I want to stay on this rooftop, staring at the stars with Noah, but that's exactly why I have to.
"Blue, wait." Noah grabs my hand before I can leave, turning me around until we're standing face to face. His eyes darken, and it's clear there is something he's thinking of saying, but he can't find the words. Instead, he leans closer, tucking his thumb beneath the groove of my chin and tilting my head.
I feel myself lean closer, drawn by the warmth of his fingers. "What's wrong?"
For a second, he just stares at me, conflicted. My heart pounds, certain any moment that he's going to kiss me, but that's not what scares me. It's that right now, I want him to.
Slowly, as if afraid I might break, Noah draws me closer, brushing his mouth against mine. It isn't a kiss; it's too soft and fleeting, like a memory already slipping away, over before it began.
It's a thank you.
A/N
Hey guys, sorry for the delay in updating! I haven't been feeling too well this past week, but I'm tryna push through it. I'll try to get the next update out tomorrow so that the schedule is back on track, but if not tomorrow, then updates will return to normal on Monday.
Comment a heart if you enjoyed this chapter! ❤️