Page 124 of Puck Fest
The day Noah and I reconciled, someone filmed us kissing in the parking lot and posted it online. Within hours, it was everywhere.
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We could have denied it. Could have released another statement. Could have hidden.
Instead, Noah posted a photo of us on Instagram with a simple caption:Yes, we’re together. Yes, we’re happy. And yes, we’re asking for privacy while we figure out our future. Thank you for your understanding.
No spin. No damage control. Just truth.
The response was mixed. Some people were supportive. Some weren’t. The league concluded their investigation and found no evidence of preferential treatment during probation, so they closed the case. Marshall issued a statement supporting us. My dad did too.
And we moved forward.
It wasn’t perfect. There were rough patches. Arguments about how public to be, when to be seen together, how to handle media questions.
But we made it work.
Because this time, we both chose to fight for it.
Noah finishes his conversation and makes his way over to me.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey yourself. Good speech.”
“Thanks. I’m exhausted. Can we leave soon?”
“It’s your event.”
“I know. But I’ve talked to everyone I need to talk to and my face hurts from smiling.”
I laugh. “Yeah. Let’s go.”
We say our goodbyes to Sam, thank the organizers, and slip out a side exit.
In the parking lot, Noah loosens his tie and leans against my truck.
“That went well,” he says.
“It did. You’re good at this.”
“Better than I was at corporate PR.”
“It’s because you actually care about it.”
“Yeah.” He looks at me. “Thanks for coming tonight. I know banquets aren’t your thing.”
“No, but you’re my thing. Besides, I like watching you work a room. You’re kind of hot when you’re being all professional.”
He grins. “Kind of?”
“Very hot. Extremely hot. Dangerously hot.”
“Good to know.” He pulls me close and kisses me.
