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He looks at me, his expression unreadable. The wind picks up, pine and coffee in the air. “Camdyn, I came as soon as I finished my game. I would’ve come sooner if I’d known.”
He’s right, but it doesn’t fix this. My face burns. “That’s not the point, Jaxon. Why did you tell her anything about us? Or me?”
He doesn’t answer.
Tears sting my eyes. “Did you want me to hate you? Make it easier for yourself?”
He looks miserable. “No! I swear, Camdyn, I didn’t know.” He chokes on it. “I knew about the article but she said she wouldn’t print it.”
“Well, she fucking did,” I snap. “Why’d you say anything about me?”
“I didn’t tell her anything about you. Nothing. Just that we dated.” His eyes close. Tears there. “I’d never tell her about the baby, or anything private.”
Tears spill down my face. “Jaxon, I didn’t tell anyone about the baby and now she’s told the whole school. How did she know?”
“I didn’t tell her. You know I wouldn’t.”
“Holy hell, Jaxon. It’s implied! What if my parents see this? What if yours do? Nobody knew but us and our coaches.”
“Camdyn, you know me.” He tries to reach for me. I step back. “I’d never betray you.”
“No, I don’t know you. The Jaxon I knew would never do this. He knew what he wanted—me. And in my worst week, you ended things. Now some girl you talk to knows more about my pain than my own family. So no, I don’t know you anymore.”
“I know.” He nods, swallowing twice. “I fucked up. I always do. I… fuck, Camdyn. I don’t know what to say.”
I hate what he’s done to me this year.
I hate myself more for letting him.
His jaw clenches, eyebrows knitting together. I know my words hurt by the way his eyes fill with tears. My heart twists for him, but what about me? What about my pain?
Here’s another rule: don’t think he really cares. Your heart is a motherfucking liar. Trust no one.
He steps closer, desperate. “Please believe me—not wanting a relationship wasn’t about you. You’re perfect. I thought not dating would take pressure off, for both of us, for the game, for everything. But it was never you. I’ve always loved you. Still do.”
I can’t tell if he’s lying. But I almost believe him.
“I’m sorry,” he says again.
I take a deep breath, but it doesn’t help. The anger is gone, replaced by exhaustion.
This is where I’m supposed to be strong, right? Stand my ground, tell him where to shove it. But sometimes being strong means admitting you’re done.
“I need space,” I say, quieter than I mean. The anger drains away, leaving me hollow. Like someone scooped me out and left just enough to breathe.
Space in college is a joke. We play for the same school. Practice fields, dining halls—there’s no real escape. But I need whatever space I can get, even if it’s just pretend.
Jaxon steps back, already giving me space. “I’ll fix this,” he says, voice raw. “I’ll get it taken down.”
I shake my head, watching a leaf skitter between us. “It doesn’t matter. That’s the thing about the internet, Jaxon. Once it’s out, it’s out. Everyone’s already seen it.”
He nods, silent. He gets it.
The wind carries the scent of summer and all that poet crap. Funny—nobody writes about moments like this. Standing outside your dorm while your life unravels in front of a crowd.
Jaxon shifts, like he wants to say more. “Cam…” His voice is desperate, pleading, dangerously close to love. He reaches out, then drops his hand. “I never meant?—”
“Don’t.” I cut him off. I can’t hear one more apology. “Just... don’t.”