Page 20

20

MADISON

M y room looks like a war zone.

Clothes are scattered across my bed, draped over my desk chair, even hanging off my full-length mirror, where I tossed a sweater in frustration.

I stare at the mess, hands on my hips, my stomach twisting into knots.

I don’t know why I’m nervous.

It’s just dinner, just Jaxon’s parents, the people who practically raised me, who fed me more home-cooked meals than I ever had at my own house.

But it’s been a long time since I sat at that table, since I let myself belong there.

And that changes things.

With a sigh, I finally settle on an outfit—denim shorts, a semi-snug tank top that doesn’t feel like too much but isn’t nothing , and an oversized cardigan to make me feel a little more like myself.

Birkenstocks adorn my feet, hair twisted back into a loose claw clip, minimal makeup—casual.

Easy.

I’m still adjusting the cardigan when I hear a knock at my door.

"Mads, you ready?"

Shit.

"One sec!" I call, rushing to grab my phone from the nightstand before padding toward the door .

When I open it, Jaxon is leaning against the frame, his dark hair messed up in all the right places, looking entirely too good in jeans and a plain white tee that somehow makes his arms look even bigger than they already are.

He gives me a once-over, smirking slightly.

"You changed outfits at least ten times, didn’t you?"

I narrow my eyes.

"Shut up."

He chuckles, not arguing, and I step back to let him in.

"You can come in. I just need, like, two more minutes."

He nods, walking inside and glancing around as I disappear back into my bathroom to check my reflection one more time.

When I come back out, he’s standing by my dresser in my room, staring at something.

I swallow hard when I realize what .

Pictures.

Pictures I never kept hidden, even when I told myself I would.

There are a handful of them tucked into the frame of my mirror—most of them old, slightly faded, from high school and even earlier.

Jaxon and me at the lake, grinning with sunburned cheeks.

Jaxon mid-laugh at my sixteenth birthday, frosting on his nose from where I’d smashed cake in his face.

The two of us at one of his football banquets, him in a too-tight dress shirt, me with my arms around his waist, both of us smiling wide.

His fingers brush one of the edges, and he exhales softly.

"Didn’t think you’d still have these around."

I wrap my cardigan tighter around myself.

"Reminders of a happier time, I guess."

He glances at me, brow raised, and I swallow the bundle of new nerves that seems to have lodged in my throat.

Something heavy settles between us, thick with everything unspoken.

Jaxon shifts slightly, and that’s when he spots it.

One of his old high school football shirts, the blue ink fading right into the grey.

It’s crumpled on my bed, one of his old long-sleeved tees I used to steal all the time.

A knowing smirk takes over his face, making both dimples pop.

Goddamn, those freaking dimples.

"Mads." His voice is low, teasing.

"Are you still hoarding my clothes?"

Heat creeps up my neck.

I cross my arms, refusing to meet his gaze.

"No."

He huffs out a laugh.

"That’s a lie." He steps closer, arms crossing over his chest. "How many do you still have?"

I hesitate, biting my lip before mumbling, "All of them."

His brows lift.

"All of them?"

I shift on my feet.

"I don’t know, okay? They’re just…comfortable."

Jaxon studies me for a long moment, his expression unreadable.

And then, instead of pushing further, he shakes his head, trying his best to hold back his grin.

"We should get going. Can’t keep Mama Montgomery waiting."

I nod quickly, grabbing my bag and avoiding the way my heart pounds entirely too hard for something as simple as old clothes .

Because if there’s one thing I know about Jaxon Montgomery, it’s that he doesn’t forget anything .

And I have a feeling he won’t forget this either.

We’ve barely pulled out of the parking lot when Jaxon connects his phone to the car and picks a playlist. The bass kicks in, vibrating through the speakers as he taps his fingers against the wheel, completely in his element.

I settle into my seat, tucking my cardigan around me, but after a few minutes, I can’t help but shake my head.

"You’re really just going to take control of the music like that?"

Jaxon doesn’t even glance at me; he just smirks.

"Driver picks the tunes. It’s a rule."

I scoff.

"No, it’s not. "

"It is in my car," he says easily, turning the volume up slightly, like that settles the debate.

I roll my eyes but let it go—until about ten minutes later, when I reach for his phone and swipe it off the mount.

"Excuse me?" he says, his voice laced with amusement.

I unlock his phone as if it’s mine and start scrolling.

"Passenger controls the music. That’s the real rule."

Jaxon exhales sharply, side-eyeing me.

"Mads."

I smirk, ignoring his warning, flicking through his playlists.

And then, I find it.

A playlist I made years ago.

I tap the first song before glancing at him.

"Oh? What’s this? "

The familiar intro floods the car, and for a second, I think maybe he’ll change it.

Maybe he’ll shrug it off, pretend it was just something he forgot to delete.

But he doesn’t.

His grip on the wheel tightens slightly, his jaw flexing just a little as he purses his lips.

Have they always looked that soft?

I hum along to the intro, watching him.

"Can’t believe you still have this saved."

Jaxon keeps his eyes on the road, but his smirk pops through, flashing me a side view of his dimple.

"Of course, I do."

Something in my chest tightens.

I study him carefully before asking, "Do you ever actually listen to it?"

His exhale is steady, like he doesn’t even have to think about it.

"All the time."

I pause, caught off guard by his honesty.

I don’t know why it surprises me.

This is Jaxon. He doesn’t lie, doesn’t deflect—you ask a question, you get the truth.

He says exactly what he means and means what he says.

We fall into a comfortable silence, the music filling the space between us.

Familiar lyrics thread through the car, wrapping around old memories, ones I’m not sure either of us are ready to name.

And as I stare out the window, watching the world blur past, I realize something .

We’re not just driving to his parents’ house.

We’re heading back to something.

Something that feels a lot like home.

The drive winds down as we pull off the highway, the familiar coastal air thick with salt and the scent of sea spray.

I roll my window down slightly, letting the breeze rush in, my heart picking up speed as Jaxon turns down a quiet road lined with towering palm trees and sprawling beach homes.

And then, we’re there.

The Montgomery house sits just above the dunes, its pale blue siding crisp against the backdrop of the ocean.

White shutters frame the windows, and the wraparound porch—one I’ve spent countless afternoons on—stretches out, leading to the wide deck that overlooks the sand.

The smell of something warm and familiar drifts from inside, mixing with the salty air, and for a second, it’s like I’ve stepped back in time.

Jaxon throws the car into park, glancing at me.

"Ready?"

I inhale slowly, then nod.

"Yeah."

Before I can even get my seatbelt off, the front door swings open, and Jaxon’s mom rushes out, her face splitting into a wide grin.

"Madison Blake, is that you?"

I barely have time to get out of the car before she pulls me into a hug, squeezing me so tight, I think I hear my ribs crack.

"Hi, Mama Montgomery," I laugh, wrapping my arms around her.

She pulls back just enough to cup my face, studying me like she’s making sure I’m real .

"Oh, sweetheart, it has been way too long. Look at you—still gorgeous as ever, but you’re not eating enough, are you?"

I snort, shaking my head.

"Well, I have missed your cooking."

"Of course," she says matter-of-factly, looping her arm through mine as she drags me toward the house.

"I have so much to catch up on with you, but first, you’re staying for dinner. Non-negotiable."

"That’s kind of why we’re here, Mom," Jaxon drawls, following behind us.

His mom gives him a look.

"Oh, hush. You don’t get any credit for this. If I had waited on you to bring her back, I’d be old and gray before it happened."

I grin as we step inside, my stomach immediately twisting with nostalgia.

Everything is exactly the same—the wide open kitchen, the massive windows letting in the golden glow of the setting sun, the sound of waves crashing just beyond the back deck.

Jaxon’s dad rounds the corner from the dining room, his easy smile settling something deep inside me.

"Maddy, sweetheart, welcome back."

I smile, stepping into his hug.

"Hi, Mr. Montgomery."

"How many times do I have to tell you to call me David?" he teases, squeezing my shoulder before stepping back.

I laugh. "Old habits die hard."

His mom pats my arm, already bustling back into the kitchen.

"Alright, Jaxon, take her out back and get some fresh air while I finish up dinner."

I perk up.

"I can help?—"

She whirls around, waving me off.

"Absolutely not. You’re a guest tonight. Go enjoy the view."

“You heard her.” Jaxon smirks, nodding toward the back door.

"Come on, Mads. Let’s go."

I hesitate, but there’s no arguing with Mama Montgomery.

Laura is a lot of things, and stubborn is one, so I follow her son through the sliding glass doors onto the back deck, the warmth of the setting sun wrapping around me as my gaze sweeps over the view.

It’s stunning. It always has been.

The waves stretch endlessly toward the horizon, the tide rolling in soft and rhythmic, the sand below pristine and untouched this late in the day.

The salty breeze brushes against my skin, and I close my eyes for a second, breathing it in.

"When’s the last time you hit the beach?" Jaxon asks suddenly, leaning against the railing beside me.

I blink, opening my eyes.

I swallow, my fingers tightening around the wooden railing.

"The last time I was here."

Jaxon’s head jerks toward me, his brows pulling together.

"Wait. You’re telling me…you haven’t been back to the beach in three years? Not once?"

I shake my head.

His frown deepens, confusion flickering across his face.

"But it’s your spot, Mads. You love it here. Why the hell would you stay away?"

I exhale slowly, looking down at my fingers against the railing.

"Because…" My voice catches slightly.

"Because it reminded me too much of what I lost." What I made myself lose too.

The words hang heavy between us, carried on the ocean breeze.

Jaxon doesn’t speak right away.

He just watches me, something unreadable in his gaze.

And then— softly , carefully—he reaches out, his fingers brushing against mine where they rest on the railing.

For the first time in a long time, the feelings the ocean brings me don’t feel so far away anymore.

Maybe it wasn’t just the sound of the ocean that brought me calmness all those years ago.

Maybe it had something to do with the boy standing next to me too.