Volume 1, Chapter 7: A Message I Wasn’t Ready For
I’ve been doing okay. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself. It’s been almost a week since that night with Javier. No, I don’t hate him, I never could. Even though he hasn’t replied to my texts, even though my Instagram DMs sit there unopened like dead weight, I still feel the same. I’m still in love with him. I catch myself religiously watching his old match highlights, not even for the football but for him. The way he lights up after a win, the boyish grin when he celebrates, the arms thrown up to the crowd. I scroll through his Instagram, stare at photos I’ve seen a hundred times, and sometimes open up our old chats just to feel close to him again. Pathetic, maybe, but it’s all I have.
Friday night. I come back from work exhausted, drop my bag, and collapse into the couch. I tell myself I’ll just watch something light to distract my head, but then my phone buzzes. A text from an unrecognized number.
“Hi, my love.”
I freeze. My heart lurches. My love? That can’t be -- no. My throat tightens as I stare at the words. Could it really be him? Javier? But it isn’t his usual number.
My fingers tremble as I type back: Hi? Who is this?
The reply comes instantly.
“You know who this is. I am really sorry.”
I just sit there, staring, my chest burning. Shattered is the only word for it. Don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing I want more than to hear from him again, to feel him close, to believe that night wasn’t the end. But he broke me. He walked away. And now? Now he just waltzes back in with an apology?
Still, being me, being weak where he’s concerned, I answer.
“You hurt me, Javier. You know how much I love you.”
Yeah, I said love. Not ‘loved’. Because no matter what happened, that fan girl in me didn’t die. The love is still there, massive and stubborn, even if it shouldn’t be. I know his life is chaos, millions of eyes on him, millions of expectations and I’ve tried to be understanding. But I also tried to protect myself by pulling away.
His reply lights up my screen again.
“Noah, I’m sorry. It’s not what you think.”
Another bubble appears before I can even respond.
“Give me a chance to explain.”
I shut my eyes, grip the phone tighter. My heart is begging me to let him back in, but my head knows how fragile I am. Knows what it felt like when he blocked me, when he left me. I can’t go through that again.
So I type: I understand. It’s okay. I knew this wouldn’t last. But I cannot see myself hurt again.
Then, before I can change my mind, I toss the phone onto the couch like it’s poisoned.
I crawl under a blanket, and throw on some sad movie I won’t even follow. The screen plays in front of me, but my mind is locked on the texts. On him. My chest aches with the kind of heaviness that makes you want to sleep for a year.
From the couch next to me, I hear my phone buzzing. Once. Twice. Then again. A call. More texts. But I ignore it. I keep my eyes on the flickering TV, trying to convince myself I’m protecting my own heart from breaking all over again.
And maybe that’s true. But the deeper truth is harder to admit, I’m trying to protect him too. From my need, from my desperation, from the kind of love that could crush us both if I let it spill out again.
─
Thirty minutes crawl by. My phone finally goes quiet, no buzzing, no new notifications, it just sits in silence.
A tear slips out before I even notice, rolling hot down my cheek. I wipe it away, trying to focus on the movie playing in front of me, some random sad drama I clicked on just to numb my head. The glow of the TV flickers across my face as I curl tighter under the blanket, half-crying, half-staring, pretending the ache in my chest isn’t swallowing me whole.
I don’t dare pick up my phone. I know if I look at his messages, I’ll break...I’ll reply, give in like I always do. So I leave it on the table, screen dark, even though every bone in my body is itching to see what he said.
The room is so still that when the doorbell rings, it startles me. A sharp jolt through the quiet.
I freeze. My stomach drops. I didn’t order food. None of my friends are supposed to come by tonight. Slowly, I slide the blanket off, grab my phone, and walk to the door.
I unlock it, eyes glued to the texts on my phone. The messages light up, one after the other, and my chest tightens as I read.
“Trust me. Give me a chance.”
“Please Noah, you mean a lot to me.”
“It’s not what you think.”
The last one makes my heart stutter.
“Okay. I am coming over.”
Sent thirty-five minutes ago.
The lock clicks beneath my hand. I look up.
And then I hear it, soft, familiar, aching.
“Noah…”
My heart must have skipped a beat. The softness on his face… that face. That beautiful, goddamn face. And in that second, it was like I remembered everything about him. His smell. His warmth. The way he looked at me like I was the only person in the world.
I couldn’t hold back. I leaned in, kissed him hard, desperate, and he kissed me back just as hungrily. Our mouths crashed together, sloppy, heated, the kind of kiss that made my chest ache. I pulled him inside, kicking the door closed with my heel as our lips stayed locked, as if breaking apart even for a second might ruin it.
“I am—uh,” Javier mumbled against my lips, trying to talk, his breath hot on my skin. “Sorry.”
I broke the kiss just long enough to look at him, my hands cupping his face. “I don’t care,” I whispered. “I get it. You have your reasons, Javier. It doesn’t matter. I understand. ”
His lips brushed against my cheek, softer now. “Baby, Noah…listen to me,” he said, then he laughed nervously, smiling through the mess of it all, like he didn’t even believe this was happening.
We stumbled over to the couch and sank down, still close, still buzzing. My legs ended up resting across his, his hand wrapping around mine, holding tight like he didn’t want to let go this time.
For a long second, we just sat there in the glow of the TV, breathing each other in.
My tears had dried, replaced by this sharp, dizzying rush of hope.
He sat back against the couch, shoulders tense, like he was bracing for me to be angry. Then he leaned in a little, his voice lower, almost sheepish.
“Remember that early morning practice, after the night at your place?”
I nodded, heart thudding.
“Yeah… well, things were alright. But I absolutely forgot I had all the texts and pictures with you saved on my work phone. And my personal assistant uses that phone all the time, answering calls while I’m at training. I didn’t want him to see our pictures. Or our chats. So before practice, I blocked you. Just so your cute ass picture wouldn’t pop up in front of him.”
I stared at him, stunned for a second then burst out laughing in relief. My whole body loosened like I’d been holding my breath for days. He grinned at my reaction, then reached for my hand, lifting it slowly to his lips and kissing it.
“So you see,” he murmured, lips brushing my skin, “I wasn’t ignoring you. I was just trying not to get caught.”
“Jesus fucking Christ” I said, laughing again, “and here I was thinking…”
“No, no,” he cut me off, shaking his head, smiling. He kissed my cheek quickly, then pressed his mouth against mine, soft but sure.
“Don’t even complete that sentence. Because it was the best night of my life too. Being with you. Being inside you.”
The way he said it made my face burn. I went shy instantly, even though I was grinning. That meant he’d seen my DM. The one where I admitted I’d had the best night of my life.
I swallowed, then asked softly, “You don’t have to explain, but… why didn’t you reply to my DMs? Or my text?”
He leaned back and laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Ah, so you see… I accidentally archived our chat on my phone.”
I broke into laughter, nearly choking on it. “Oh my god, Javier…”
“Aye, man, don’t judge me!” He laughed too, his accent stronger when he got flustered. “I’m not very tech-savvy. I play football, that’s my life. I suck at this stuff.”
“Clearly,” I teased.
“And then I couldn’t find your number anywhere. I kept scrolling through Instagram, through thousands of DMs. I even searched just to see your face again.
And when I finally found your DM, I realised I couldn’t really reply, because my social media manager see all of that.”
I groaned and dropped my head back. “Oh my god. Fuck.”
“So… finally, I somehow found your number again through the archived chats. And I texted you using my personal phone this time. I should’ve done that earlier. I don’t even know why the hell I used my work phone with you in the first place.”
I smiled at him then, leaning in to kiss him, tasting both his nerves and his relief.
“You’re ridiculous. But I’m so fucking glad you did.”
My hand slid up his thigh slowly, my thumb brushing along the inside seam of his jeans.
“I missed this,” I whispered, reaching for the bulge pressing against his jeans.
“Missed your cock.”
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