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We haven’t talked in two weeks, not since I went to his dorm. Not since I realized I was still willing to drown for him.
He’s holding a pint of ice cream, which is almost funny.
“You’re not room service,” I say, because my brain is fried and that’s what comes out.
“So I’ve been told,” he says, but his voice wavers, like he’s not sure if he should laugh or apologize. He shifts, the Ben & Jerry’s trembling in his hands. He keeps rubbing the back of his neck, gaze flicking everywhere but me.
My heartbeat goes wild. One look and I’m sixteen again, dizzy, flushed, hopeful. Can he see it? The way my cheeks burn,my hands tremble? I clear my throat, trying to steady myself, trying to be the version of me who doesn’t fall apart when he shows up.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, softer than I mean to.
He lifts the ice cream, like it’s proof. “This is me trying to do something right. For once.”
“Oh.” I laugh, short and sharp, pure defense. “Huh. Ice cream?”
He leans his shoulder into the doorframe, looking so much like the boy I remember it aches. “Mhm.”
“Strong move.”
His lips twitch, but it’s not quite a smile. “I thought so. And…” He swallows, shifting again, shoulders hunched like he’s catching. “I miss you.”
The words land square in my chest. I want to say I miss him too, but I’ve told myself I need to be different this time. Stronger. I can’t let him in just because he showed up with dessert and sad eyes. I can’t let him in even though I fucking want to. So I hold strong. Sort of. I point at the ice cream, pretending I’m fine. “Are you going to share that or just hold it all night?”
He looks relieved to have something to do, fumbling with the lid. “I’ll share.”
“There’s spoons in here somewhere, I think.” I glance around, suddenly aware I’m still in my hotel robe—the one I wear after games, when I’m too tired to pretend I’m not raw. “Or maybe a spork.”
He chuckles, and for a second the tension breaks. “Well, if you can’t find one, I know a guy.”
I roll my eyes but can’t help smiling. “Please don’t tell me Fork Guy is lurking.”
“Oh, he made it through airport security somehow.” Jaxon shakes his head, more amused than disappointed. “Honestly, I don’t think TSA will ever recover.”
He hands me a spoon, his fingers brushing mine. The touch is electric, familiar, and it takes everything not to shiver. We sit on the bed, knees almost touching. The room smells like hotel soap, my shampoo, and the faintest trace of his cologne. We eat in silence, every word we haven’t said crowding the space between us.
I think about last time—rain on his dorm window, his hands in my hair, the way everything felt possible for a few reckless hours. About how quickly it all fell apart when I realized it didn’t solve anything. Still, I wish I’d texted him after.
I break the silence first. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you when you said it wasn’t you who told Inez about the miscarriage.”
His face crumples for a second, then he pulls it together. His hand tightens around the spoon. “I get why you didn’t. We’re… confusing.” His words are nervous, but there’s laughter in them, like he’s saying holy shit, we’re a mess.
“I know what you mean,” I say, glancing at the flickering TV. “I should have, though.”
He shakes his head, staring at the melting ice cream. “I think I needed to lose you to understand what you mean to me.” His voice is so low I almost miss it. His shoulders slump, like he’s letting go of something heavy. “Or meant.”
The urge to reach for him is almost unbearable. But I can’t—not yet.
“I’m sorry I didn’t text you after that night in your dorm,” I say quietly. “I thought we weren’t ready. But I still wish I had.”
He nods, not meeting my eyes. “I wanted to text you too. I just… didn’t know what to say.”
“You weren’t mad?”
“No. Not at all.” He finally looks up, then quickly away, cheeks coloring. “Bro, you gotta fix your robe.”
I laugh, surprised at myself. “Why?”
His hand comes up, thumb brushing my cheek, gentle and steady. The contact makes my breath stutter. There’s so much history in that touch—every fight, every kiss, every time we tried and failed and tried again. “Cuz ima be good.”