Page 18

18

JAXON

I check my phone and sigh, setting my empty bowl down on the coffee table.

"I gotta head out."

Madison glances over, blinking like she'd forgotten I had practice. "Already?" There's something in her voice—a softness, a reluctance—that makes my chest tighten.

I smirk, trying to keep it light, even though the way she's looking at me is anything but. "You sound disappointed."

She scoffs, pulling the blanket tighter around her. "I just thought I'd have more time to destroy you in Mario Kart."

I chuckle, standing and stretching. "We both know that's a lie." What I don't say is that I wish I could stay too.

I'd rather be here, on this couch with her, than anywhere else.

She rolls her eyes but doesn't argue, which is as close to admitting defeat as she'll ever get. The sunlight filtering through the windows catches on her hair, making the lighter strands stick out more, and for a moment, I can't look away.

It's these little moments that kill me—when she's soft and unguarded, when the walls she's built between us seem paper-thin.

I grab my duffel bag from the corner, slinging it over my shoulder, trying to ignore the hollow feeling settling in my chest. "You staying here for a bit? "

She hesitates like she's debating it, fingers playing with the edge of the blanket.

"I should probably head out too."

I nod, stepping toward her.

Then—before I can overthink it—I reach out and tug on the sleeve of her sweatshirt, just for a second.

My fingers linger, not wanting to break the contact.

"You coming to the game this weekend?"

Her breath catches slightly, but she covers it with a small smile.

Her eyes meet mine, and there's something there—something raw and unspoken—that makes my heart hammer against my ribs. "Are you asking or telling?"

I smirk, holding her gaze. "Both."

She shakes her head but doesn't pull away.

"We'll see."

I don't push her, don't say anything else, even though I want to. I want to tell her I play better when she's there, that I look for her in the stands every time I step onto the field. It matters to me whether or not she shows up. Instead, I just nod and step back, letting my hand fall away from her sleeve.

Putting the dishes in the sink, I hand over her bag and walk towards the door, leaving it open for Carter to follow.

"See you later, Mads."

I watch as she walks to her car, something unreadable in her expression—longing, maybe, or fear—and for the first time all day, I wonder if maybe—maybe—she's starting to want more too. Maybe she feels this same ache that's been living in my chest for over a decade.

Carter rushes out the door as Madison pulls out of our driveway. He jumps into the back of my truck, slapping the side. “Let’s go, lover boy.”

The locker room is buzzing with pre-practice energy—guys shoving around, music blasting from someone's speaker, the occasional snap of a towel fight breaking out in the background. I sit on the bench, taping my wrists, but my mind isn't really here .

It's still back at the house.

With the way her fingers brushed against mine when I handed her the bowl. With the small smile she tried to hide when I made a particularly bad joke.

I pull my phone from my locker and type out a quick text.

You make it home okay?

I hesitate for half a second before hitting send. She was fine when she left, obviously, but something about tonight—about the way she looked at me when I told her you prioritize what's important—lingers with me the most. Hopefully, she understood what I meant. She would be my priority.

The read receipt pops up almost instantly, followed by three dots.

Mads

Yes, just walked inside. Think I might need to sleep off those extra dumplings.

I smirk at my screen, shaking my head. Before I can type back, a hand slaps against my shoulder, and I glance up to find Carter grinning down at me.

"Damn, man. You’ve got it bad."

I frown, instantly defensive. "Huh?"

He flops onto the bench across from me, lacing up his cleats. "Madison. At the house. You two all cozied up, watching movies, cooking meals together…" He lets out a low whistle. "Thought you said it was nothing."

I roll my eyes, tossing my phone into my locker with more force than necessary. "It is nothing." The lie tastes bitter on my tongue.

Carter smirks, seeing right through me. "Okey dokey, bud."

I shoot him a look. "She needed help studying. I helped. That's it." Even as I say it, I know it's not true. There's nothing simple about Madison and me, nothing casual about the way my heart races when she's near.

He raises a brow. "And the part when you made her food? Or when you two had a whole little moment before we left for practice? That part just…didn’t happen?"

My jaw tightens. "Drop it, Carter." I can't talk about this, can't explain the way I've been circling her for years, can't put into words how it feels to be so close and still so far from what I really want.

He grins but doesn't push any further; he just claps me on the shoulder before standing. "Whatever you say, man. I'm just saying—doesn't look like nothing to me."

Before I can respond, before I can admit he's right, that it's never been nothing, Coach's whistle blares through the locker room, signaling it's time to hit the field.

I exhale, shoving my helmet under my arm and pushing off the bench.

I don't know what Carter thinks he saw, and I don't know what the hell to do with the fact that he might be right.

Or that I hope to hell he is.