Page 12

12

MADISON

T he crisp morning air bites at my skin as I tuck my hands deeper into the sleeves of my sweatshirt.

It's oversized, like most of my clothes, hanging loose over my frame, swallowing me whole. Paired with black leggings and my worn-in Birkenstocks, it's the perfect outfit to blend in, to shrink into the background, to avoid attention.

But no matter how much fabric I hide behind, there's one person I can never seem to disappear from.

The thought of him sends a ripple through my chest, tightening something I don't want to acknowledge.

It's been four days since the party, four days since I let myself feel something I shouldn't have.

It’s been four days since my body betrayed me, pressing into him, moving against him like I belonged there.

Because the truth—the ugly, undeniable truth—is that I did belong there, before.

Before I became who I am now, the leftover pieces that once were put together.

Back when I had a heart capable of accepting the risk of loving something, someone, that could be taken away.

Or worse—pushed away.

And that's the problem.

I stare down at the pavement as Lyla and I walk toward the coffee shop for our standing Wednesday morning coffee date. I should be focused on the day ahead. On class. On the work I need to catch up on after skipping a single class in my very least favorite subject to avoid seeing Jaxon, even though I’m already behind.

But all I can think about is the way my body lit up against his—the way his breath burned hot against my ear, the way his hands fit so perfectly over my hips, the way my heart nearly cracked open when he murmured, You sure you don’t want me to stop?

I should have pulled away, just like I did one night before our senior year of high school.

We’re sitting in the back of his truck, legs swinging, shoulders just barely brushing. It’s stupid hot out—humid in that sticky, late-summer way that makes everything feel closer than it should. The kind of night that makes you say things you shouldn’t.

“I can’t believe it’s almost over,” I say, staring up at the stars like they might give me answers. “Senior year. Everything’s gonna change.”

What I don’t say is: I’m scared. Of leaving. Of staying. Of losing this.

Him.

Jaxon doesn’t say anything right away. I wonder if I sound dumb.

Then, quietly, he says, “I don’t want things to change.”

Something in my chest tightens.

“You don’t?” I ask, not looking at him. I’m not sure I can.

“Not with you.”

My heart stops.

I glance at him—slow, careful, like maybe if I move too fast, I’ll ruin the moment. But he’s already looking at me, and it’s different this time. There’s something in his eyes I haven’t seen before. Or maybe I have, and I’ve just been pretending I don’t.

He’s closer than I thought. Or maybe I leaned in. I don’t even know.

My knee brushes his. I don’t move.

“Jax,” I say, and his name comes out like a secret.

My heart’s racing. My palms are sweaty. I can feel his breath on my skin, and all I want to do is close the distance.

But I don’t.

I can’t .

“I should go,” I blurt.

His face doesn’t change, but his eyes—God, his eyes.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay,” he says.

I jump down from the truck bed before he can say anything else. I don’t look back at him over my shoulder. I don’t trust myself to.

The whole way to my front door, I can feel his eyes on me. And the worst part? I want to run back. I want to kiss him. But I don’t.

If we do this and then he leaves…I won’t survive it.

The thoughts in my head get louder with every step. You'll ruin him.

You'll run when things get hard. You always do. You ran from him once, you'll do it again.

Because if I give in—if I let myself believe, even for a second, that someone like Jaxon Montgomery could be safe for someone like me—then I'll only end up hurting him.

And I refuse to do that.

"Okay, what the hell is going on with you?"

Lyla's voice snaps me out of my thoughts.

I glance over to find her watching me like she's been waiting for me to crack.

I school my expression into something neutral. "Nothing."

She scoffs. "Bullshit. You've been weird all morning, and don't think I didn't notice you've been avoiding all the places where you might run into Jaxon."

I roll my eyes. "I have not?—"

She raises a hand. "Don't even try it. I'm not Carter, okay? You can't just deflect and pretend like you're not actively dodging him."

I sigh, tugging the sleeves of my sweatshirt over my hands as we step inside the coffee shop. The smell of espresso and fresh pastries fills the air, warm and inviting, but it does nothing to ease the knot in my stomach.

"I'm not avoiding him," I say, even though we both know I am. "I just?—"

"Just what?" Lyla presses, arms crossing.

I bite my lip, my throat tight. "I can't let this happen, Lyla." My voice is quieter now, edged with something raw. "I can't—" I exhale sharply. "He doesn't get it. He thinks I'm someone I'm not. "

Her expression softens. "Maddy…"

"He’ll leave," I whisper. "I always lose the ones I care about. They all leave."

Lyla shakes her head. "That's not true."

I let out a humorless laugh. "Isn't it?"

“No, it’s not. I haven’t left you, and I don’t plan to,” she says, grabbing a seat at our usual table. “You’ve made my life a lot more fun, if I’m being honest. I quite enjoy your company.”

“That’s different, Ly.” The words feel hollow even as I say them. The truth is, I'm terrified.

Terrified of how Jaxon makes me feel.

Terrified of how easily he slips past my defenses.

Terrified of wanting something—someone—so badly, losing them would break me all over again.

I sit down across from her, but before she can respond, someone slides into the seat beside me, their presence pressing close enough to make me jump.

"Morning, Blakey baby."

I turn, groaning when I see a very perky blond grinning at me like he knows every single thought running through my head.

Carter, my irritating but ultimately well-meaning friend, who's been trying to play matchmaker since the moment he realized there was history between Jaxon and me.

"Seriously?" I mutter, grabbing my coffee from the counter as I sink further into my sweatshirt.

Carter chuckles, his grin widening. "Relax. Just keeping you company while you stress about my boy."

I shoot him a glare. "I'm not stressing about Jaxon."

"Sure you aren't. Firstly, I never said his name, but you just did." He smirks, leaning back in his seat, arms crossed over his chest in that casual way only platonic friends can pull off. "You do realize he's not gonna let you avoid him forever, right?"

I open my mouth to argue, but before I can, the air shifts.

A familiar presence steps into the coffee shop, and I feel it before I even look.

But I do look .

There he is.

The man who stars in every one of my happy dreams, standing in the doorway, the morning light catching on his sharp jawline, his dark hair still damp from a shower, his hoodie stretched over his broad frame. His gaze sweeps the shop, scanning the crowd, searching?—

Until he finds me.

The second our eyes lock, the world slows.

My stomach clenches, something tight and aching curling low in my chest. His jaw ticks, his broad shoulders stiffen?—

And then, just as quickly, his expression smooths into something unreadable. His posture goes rigid.

I swallow hard, gripping my coffee like it's about to run away. He sees me sitting with Carter, sees Carter lounging in the chair beside me, his arm casually draped across the back of my chair—not touching me, just his usual relaxed posture, the way he sits with all his friends.

Something that looks a lot like hurt flashes in Jaxon's eyes before he nods, simply acknowledging my presence. He gives a quick, curt dip of his chin, his mouth pressed into a flat line.

My heart stumbles over itself. Why? I'm not so sure. No, that's a lie. I know exactly why. Because despite every wall I've built, every excuse I've made, every reason I've given myself for why we can't be together, I still want him. I still crave the way he looks at me, the way he says my name, the way he makes me feel like maybe, just maybe, I'm not as broken as I think I am.

Before I can say anything, Carter calls out, "Yo, Jax! Come sit with us."

"Nah man, gotta get going. Changed my mind on the coffee." Jaxon turns around on the spot and is back out the door before I can blink.

Carter gives me a look. It’s not a smug one, not teasing—just… knowing. Like he saw the way Jaxon's whole body went stiff the second he saw me sitting with him. Like he's daring me to pretend I didn't feel that moment shift .

I grip my coffee tighter, my stomach twisting, my pulse still rattling in my chest. The voice in my head is at war now. Let him go. It's better this way. You'll only hurt him. But beneath that, quieter but persistent: Go after him. Don't let him walk away again. Don't make the same mistake twice.

Lyla leans in, voice low but sharp. "Why are you still sitting here?"

I blink. "What?"

She jerks her chin toward the door where Jaxon is already walking away, broad shoulders tense beneath his hoodie. "You need to go after him. Catch up. Explain."

"Lyla, I?—"

She cuts me off. "Mads. You can keep pretending you don't care, but we both know that's bullshit."

Carter snorts. "For once, I agree with her."

Lyla cuts him a glare before flipping him off. "Look, I've watched you dance around this for weeks. You're my friend, not my project, so I won't tell you what to do. But I will tell you whatever you think you're protecting yourself from? It's not working. You're just making yourself more miserable."

My breath catches. The weight in my chest—the one I've been trying to shove down since the party—presses harder. Jaxon just walked away. He gave me a nod and then left. Because of me.

Go after him, the voice whispers. Before it's too late.

But what if it already is? the other one counters. What if you're just going to make it worse?

What if you don't and regret it forever?

Shit.

I push back my chair, ignoring the way Lyla and Carter exchange knowing glances, and rush toward the door. The cool air slaps me in the face the second I step outside, but I barely feel it.

"Jaxon!"

He doesn't stop.

"Jaxon!" I try again, louder this time, my voice cracking. My shoes hit the pavement hard as I break into a run .

He's still walking, hands shoved deep in his pockets, shoulders hunched against the wind. Or maybe against me. The distance between us feels like miles, even though it's only a few yards.

"Montgomery!" I yell, desperation clawing up my throat. "Would you just?—"

He stops so abruptly, I nearly crash into him. When he turns, his expression is locked down tight, jaw clenched, eyes carefully blank. I've never seen him look at me like this, and it hurts more than I thought possible.

"What, Madison?" His voice is flat, emotionless.

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. What am I supposed to say? Sorry I freaked out when you almost kissed me? Sorry I've been avoiding you for days? Sorry I'm terrified of how you make me feel?

Tell him the truth, one voice urges. Tell him you're scared but you want him.

Don't do it, the other warns. You'll ruin everything. Again.

I swallow hard. "I just… I don't want things to be weird between us." My voice is quieter than I mean for it to be. "I don't want anything to ruin our friendship."

His jaw tightens, the muscle feathering like he's barely holding something back. "That’s what you think is happening?"

I exhale, shifting on my feet. "Jax, what happened at the party was a mistake."

The moment the words leave my mouth, I know they're a lie, a pathetic attempt to protect myself from the avalanche of feelings threatening to bury me. But I can't take them back now.

His nostrils flare. "A mistake." He says it slowly, deliberately, like he's testing how the words taste in his mouth.

I nod, but my throat feels tight. "I had too much to drink. It got out of hand."

Another lie. I wasn't that drunk. I knew exactly what I was doing when I pressed against him, when I challenged him, when I let myself get lost in the feel of his hands on my hips .

Jaxon steps closer, and suddenly, all the space I thought I had disappears.

The air between us shifts, crackles like a live wire, and my body reacts before my brain does. My breath hitches. My skin prickles. My fingers curl into the hem of my sweatshirt like that'll somehow ground me.

He watches me closely, his voice lower now. "Tell me something, Madison."

I swallow hard. I can count on one hand how many times in the last five years he's called me by my full name, none of them a fond memory. "What?"

His eyes are dark, unwavering. "Does your body react the same way with all the other guys you've been with?"

My stomach plummets. The answer is no. It's always been no.

No one has ever made me feel the way Jaxon does—not Carter, not any of the guys I've dated, not anyone. But admitting that means admitting what I feel for him is real. That it's always been real.

I take a shaky breath, my throat dry.

"Jax?—"

"Do you feel safe with them the way you feel safe with me?"

My eyes snap up to meet his stormy ones.

I never told him I felt safe.

I never had to. He's always known me better than I know myself. The realization sends a fresh wave of panic through me. He sees through you. He always has.

I shake my head, chest tightening. "Don't do this."

He takes another step closer, his scent wrapping around me, like fresh citrus and amber, his voice dropping even lower. "Do what?"

"Make this into something it's not."

Liar, the voice in my head accuses. You know exactly what this is.

His brows pull together, and something flickers in his expression—hurt, maybe, but it's gone as quickly as it came, masked by something steely, unreadable.

I suck in a breath and step back.

"I just… I don't want to lose you again." At least that much is true. The thought of Jaxon di sappearing from my life again makes it hard to breathe, even though the first time was my own doing.

Jaxon studies me, his hands flexing at his sides. For a second, I think he's going to argue. Push. Tell me time doesn't change what we both felt in that moment. But he doesn't.

Instead, he nods once, sharp and clipped. "Okay."

Something about the way he says it—cold, distant—makes my stomach twist. I don't stop him when he turns and starts walking again, and I hate myself for it as I start walking the opposite way to the mathematics building.

You're making a mistake, the voice whispers. You're pushing him away again.

It's for the best, the other counters. You'll only hurt him in the end.

But what if you're wrong? What if this time could be different?

By the time I get to class, my hands are still shaking. I slide into my usual seat, my mind a tangled mess of Jaxon's words, his voice, the weight of his gaze when he asked me if I felt safe with them the way I feel safe with him.

I don't. I never have. And that's exactly why this terrifies me even more.

I keep my head down as students trickle in, my fingers gripping my pen like it's the only thing keeping me tethered to reality.

The seat next to me stays empty.

I glance toward the door, my heart hammering. Please come. Please don't let me push you away again.

But Jaxon doesn't come in.

Minutes pass. The professor starts the lecture. Still no Jaxon.

Frowning, I pull out my phone and shoot him a quick text.

Where are you?

Three dots appear, then disappear.

Then, his response comes through.

Jaxon

Forgot something in my car.

I stare at the message, something uneasy curling in my gut.

Because I know him.

Jaxon doesn't forget things.

He never shows, and I can't shake the feeling that maybe this time, I've pushed him too far. That maybe this time, he won't come back. The thought sends a cold chill through me, settling deep in my bones.

This is what you wanted, one voice reminds me. Distance. Space. Safety.

Is it? the other challenges. Or are you just running scared again?

I don't know the answer, but as I stare at the empty seat beside me, at the space where Jaxon should be, I can't help but wonder if I've made the biggest mistake of all.