under the skin—he could feel it. Tremors of fury. Or something far worse. Something he didn’t have a name for. He stormed down the hallway outside Victor’s office, his strides clipped and sharp. He didn’t even know where he was going. The elevator maybe. The front door. The edge of the world.
What the hell had he just done? He’d kissed Noah. Or been kissed. He honestly couldn’t remember which one of them had started it. Didn’t matter. It had been good. Too good. It hadn’t just been a kiss—it had been an unraveling. His entire body felt like it had shifted in those seconds. Like it fit somehow into Noah’s… like two puzzle pieces that had been tossed into different boxes, never realizing they were meant to belong together.
And the jolt. That electric, bone-deep jolt. It had sparked behind his teeth and crackled through his spine. He’d never felt anything like it. And the worst part? He wanted more. Not just the body, not just the kiss—though God, the body—but the feeling. That sudden, gut-punching sense of need. Of being seen. Of something in him aligning, however briefly, with something in Noah.
He slammed the elevator button harder than necessary. His heart was still beating in his throat. And that’s when the memory came rushing back—again.
It had been just over a week ago. Luke hadn’t planned to follow him. It wasn’t even about suspicion. It had been impulse—irrational and desperate. Maybe he was trying to get a leg up. Maybe he thought he’d find something scandalous, something he could use if things went south. Maybe he just wanted to understand who the hell Noah Vaughn Jr. actually was beneath the snark and the smirk and the champagne-soaked image.
What he found? It changed everything. Noah had pulled into the parking lot of a nondescript building that read “Autism Research and Development Center.” Luke had blinked at the sign. Confused. Cautious. He’d parked a block away and waited. And twenty minutes later… he’d followed, quietly, to the edge of a tree-lined field beside the building. He didn’t know what he was expecting. But it wasn’t this.
Noah—still unfairly gorgeous even in baggy soccer shorts and a tank top that clung to his chest like a second skin—walked onto the field with a group of kids. Eight or nine at first. Then four more. Two staff members. A ball.
Luke crouched by a cluster of trees, out of sight. He watched as the game began. Or tried to. The kids clearly had varying abilities—some kicked and ran in circles, others got distracted by grass or shouted randomly. One little boy wandered off mid-game to chase a butterfly. And one little girl—a redhead with wild curls and a gap-toothed smile—clung to Noah’s pant leg like he was gravity.
Luke didn’t move. Didn’t even breathe. Noah knelt to whisper something in the girl’s ear. She squealed. Hugged him tight. And when he spun her in the air, her laughter rang out like wind chimes on a summer breeze. And Noah? Noah was smiling. A real smile. Soft, open, joyful. There was no bravado. No sarcasm. Just a man completely, unshakably present. Laughing with the kids. Coaching gently. Never once checking his phone. Never once looking away.
Luke had watched for nearly forty-five minutes. And then sat in his car after. Silent. Shaken. Who the hell was this man? Because he wasn’t the Noah Vaughn Jr. that everyone talked about. This Noah… this man with dirt on his knees and children hanging off his arms… was the most honest thing Luke had seen in a long, long time.