Chapter 2

Aiden

There was a time I would’ve been the one under those lights.

Not shouting drills from the sidelines. Not walking with a clipboard like a fucking administrator.

No. I was built for the field. For the pressure. For the chaos.

I’d made it—starting quarterback, top of my game, already living the dream—until a car accident took it all away.

ACL, MCL, cartilage... shredded in seconds.

They called it a clean break. I knew better.

What they really meant was: I was done.

After that, the world shrank. The noise dulled. No more stadiums, no more crowds. Just rehab, isolation, and the quiet, sharp hunger to still matter somewhere.

That hunger led me here.

Coaching had never been the plan—but I built something out of the wreckage. I became damn good at it. And now, they’d brought me in to do what no one else had managed in ten years: take the Wolves to a championship.

They needed rebuilding. Discipline. Fear, if it came to that.

And I’d spent months preparing to give it to them.

Every name on this summer roster was handpicked. But there was one I’d fought for harder than the rest.

Noah Blake.

Undisciplined. Arrogant. Too raw.

But talented—ridiculously talented. He had the instincts, the drive, the fire. All the things you can’t teach. And under all that defiance was something even better: a player I could mold into a weapon.

If I could break him down first.

That was my plan for today. Get through drills. Test my new recruits. Start building the wall.

And yet…

My head was still on last night.

I shouldn’t have opened ObeyNet. Not during camp. Not when my schedule was already stacked. But something had driven me there. A need. That part of myself I kept locked up—hidden from the world that only respected men for winning games, not craving power in the dark.

It was supposed to be a simple outlet. Control. Release.

But then he had messaged me.

Anonymous. Bratty. Arrogant as hell.

And underneath all that bluster… something cracked.

He was angry. Defensive. Scared of how much he liked what I offered. But he kept answering. And when he told me I didn’t know him, when he claimed he was straight, sending those messages like bullets as if he was trying to outrun himself—I knew I had him.

My new baby boy.

And just like that… he was gone.

But the taste lingered.

And when I stepped onto the field this morning, I wasn’t thinking about team dynamics or game strategy.

I was thinking about control.

And that’s when I saw him—my brand-spanking-new quarterback.

Tall. Broad-chested. Muscles straining under the team polo. Eyes sharp enough to wound.

He looked at me like he’d seen a ghost before glancing away, mind clearly somewhere else, half-gone.

I didn’t hesitate. Used that as my excuse to summon him to my office after practice.

There was something about him—the hunted look in his eyes, or maybe the way it felt like he was daring me to dig deeper. I’d already anticipated him to be my greatest challenge… and, if I was lucky, my most satisfying one.

Practice began after a short break.

My eyes went straight to him.

To his blonde, sunlit hair dripping over tanned shoulders as he jogged toward us, towel in hand—

And late.

He joined the line twelve seconds after I blew the whistle. Just long enough to piss me off. Just short enough that calling it out would seem petty.

But I noticed.

He had that look—the one players get when they’re trying too hard to look like they don’t give a fuck.

Arms relaxed, shoulders loose, fake smirk in place. But his jaw was tight. His eyes kept flicking toward me, then away. Like I made him nervous, and he didn’t want me to see.

Interesting.

The form was there. But his timing was just a beat off. Slow on the draw. Delayed when reacting to snaps, to pressure, to my voice.

Not lazy.

Just still distracted.

And that irritated me more than it should’ve.

I’d seen what this kid could do on tape. He was fast. Natural. Born to lead.

But this version of him?

This half-present, second-guessing mess?

I wouldn’t tolerate that.

If I was going to trust him with my offense, he needed to step the fuck up.

And he would.

I’d make sure of it.

I kept my focus on the rest of the team through final drills, but every time he moved, I clocked it. Every glance. Every flinch. Every missed opportunity to dominate the field like I knew he could.

He was underperforming. But more than that… he was holding back.

And I was going to find out why.

Once training ended, I grabbed my water, checked my notes, and headed toward the building.

I didn’t have to call him.

He already knew where to find me.

I was already behind my desk when he walked in.

No knock. No apology. Just swagger—shoulders tense, eyes carefully neutral, like he hadn’t just blown half of today’s drills.

He stood a little too tall, like he was trying to compensate for something. He didn’t speak. Good.

I let the silence sit, watching him for a few seconds until he became uncomfortable. They’d surely warned me he was trouble—he looked like trouble.

He also looked like a fucking highlight reel. If I could pull his head out of his ass.

“Close the door,” I said.

He did.

“Sit.”

He dropped into the chair across from me with a casual slouch I didn’t buy for a second.

I kept studying him before I spoke.

“Your file says you’re serious about this program. About winning.”

He didn’t respond.

I folded my hands. Calm. Cold.

“So explain to me how you show up late to practice, miss three cues in warm-up, underperform in every drill, and still walk around like you’ve already earned a ring.”

His jaw tightened.

I leaned forward.

“If this is your idea of effort, say so now, and I swear I’ll put you on the first flight back to West Virginia and save everyone the time and bullshit.”

That got a reaction.

He leaned in too, eyes flashing. “That right?”

His voice had bite—his first real pushback of the day.

I didn’t blink.

“You don’t scare me, Coach, we both know you need me,” he went on, mouth twitching with something too bitter to be a smile. “And I’ve worked with hardasses before—”

“But you haven’t worked with me,” I cut in, my voice low. “If you had, you’d know I have the power to make you—turn you into a star—or break you and end your career right here, right now.”

I was inches from his face.

“So what’s it going to be, Mr. Blake? Are you ready to defy me?”

“Wow. Are you threatening me now? I thought you could handle me!” He shot back.

My stomach clenched.

My breath stopped.

I looked up sharply.

“What did you just say?”

His eyes shifted fast. Shoulders stiff.

“I said…” he cleared his throat, defensive now, “you brought me here, right? And you’re ready to give up?”

I stared. Let the silence stretch again.

But inside?

Something cracked.

It couldn’t be.

No way.

Not him. Not this kid.

My voice dropped, colder now. More deliberate.

“You think I can’t handle some cocky, insecure kid with a chip on his shoulder?”

I stood. Circled the desk. Watched him track me as I moved behind his chair.

His neck flushed.

He didn’t turn around.

“You talk like you’re in charge—” I said quietly. “But deep inside you’re terrified.”

He stiffened.

“You don’t know me,” he muttered. “You don’t know shit, Mercer.”

I stopped.

Leaned just close enough to feel him go still.

“It’s Coach Mercer,” I said softly.

“Sir… to you.”

He didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

I waited.

One breath. Two.

Then, voice tight, barely audible:

“Y-yes, Sir.”

His ears went red.

His hands curled into fists.

He tried to hold it together. But his body betrayed him—tension in his shoulders, shallow breath, that flicker of something between anger and arousal in his eyes.

I watched it all—watched him carefully.

My curiosity was leading me to a very risky zone.

“I expect obedience when I give an instruction. No hesitation. Understood?” I smoothed my tone—just enough.

He nodded.

“Yes, Sir.”

I swallowed.

It was almost the same thrill I’d felt last night—

That delicious edge. The bratty tone. The defiance beneath the breath.

No.

It couldn’t be.

I hadn’t heard the boy’s voice online.

But something in Noah…

The tension. The attitude. The fire—

Felt clearly familiar.

I stood there for a moment, watching him walk out of my office like he hadn’t just flipped a switch inside me.

And I knew—

If I wasn’t careful, this could become a very dangerous game.