Page 21

21

JAXON

L aughter rings through the dining room, loud and familiar, as Mom wipes at the corner of her eye.

"Oh, I forgot just how much I missed having you around, Madison."

Mads shakes her head, grinning as she spears a piece of fajita chicken with her fork.

The way her eyes crinkle at the corners when she's trying not to laugh makes something warm unfurl in my chest.

"I still don't think it was that funny."

Dad chuckles, setting his glass down. "Madison, you just admitted you thought turtles were a type of fish until you were twelve. That's absolutely hilarious."

I smirk, nudging her knee under the table. "Is that why you kept asking if they needed gills to breathe? Thought you were about to try CPR on a sea turtle, Mads."

She groans, covering her face with her hands. "I said basically a fish. That's different."

"It's really not." I smirk, nudging her knee under the table. "Have you tried that bridge to Hawaii yet?"

She peeks at me through her fingers before throwing a tortilla at my chest.

Mom gasps, my dad trying his best not to choke on his drink through another laugh. "Madison Blake! Not at my table."

“Yeah, Madison. Where are your manners?” I snicker as Mads groans, sinking deeper into her seat. I grin as I toss the tortilla back onto my plate, completely unbothered. "Some things never change."

The conversation flows effortlessly from there, bouncing between old memories, food, and childhood horror stories, courtesy of my parents.

I watch Madison relax more with each passing minute. The tension she carried when we first arrived has melted away, that little dimple appearing in her left cheek when she smiles too wide.

Eventually, Dad leans forward, his tone shifting just slightly. "Alright, son, let's talk football. How's the season going?"

I grab my drink, taking a slow sip before answering. "It's solid. Team's clicking, my numbers are good, and if we keep playing the way we are, we've got a real shot at making a deep run."

Dad nods approvingly. "And the draft?"

I glance at Madison for half a second before looking back at him. Her posture has changed, almost imperceptibly—shoulders slightly more rigid, that invisible wall beginning to form again.

"Still projecting me in the first round."

Mom hums, reaching for her glass of wine. "Any idea where?"

I exhale, shifting slightly. "A lot of East Coast teams seem to be the most interested."

The table quiets for a second, the weight of it settling over us.

"That's far from home," Mom finally says, setting her glass down gently.

I nod, my jaw tightening slightly. "Yeah."

I don't miss the way Madison's fingers toy with her cardigan sleeve, her eyes cast down like she's deep in thought.

My mom doesn't linger there, quick to move the discussion along.

"So, Madison, how are your classes going?" she asks while I'm mid drink, almost choking on my water as I start laughing .

Madison shoots daggers my way before she turns back towards my mom.

"Well, as I said, some things never change and math is once again kicking my ass." She hangs her head, the loose strand of hair that's escaped her clip falling forward to frame her face. "I still don't understand why it's a requirement for me to pass that class when I will literally never use it a day in my life."

"You never know when you'll need to use the elimination method." I smirk, sending her a wink.

"The only time I'll need it is when I am eliminating you." She smiles sweetly, giving a flash of the fiery spirit that's always challenged me.

My dad chuckles under his breath.

"Some things never change indeed." He stands before starting to collect his and my mom's plates, heading back towards the kitchen.

Mom watches Dad head into the kitchen before turning her attention back to us, smiling warmly. "You two have time to stay for dessert?"

Before I can respond, Madison whips her head toward me, eyes wide, bottom lip slightly jutted out in the most ridiculous attempt at puppy-dog eyes I've ever seen.

I raise a brow. "Mads?—"

She clutches my arm dramatically, her fingers warm through the fabric of my sleeve.

"Jaxon. It's dessert."

I snort, shaking my head. "You don't even know what it is yet."

She scoffs, turning back toward my mom.

"It doesn't matter. I already know it's going to be amazing."

Mom laughs, standing.

"Well, lucky for you, I made my famous chocolate lava cakes."

Madison gasps like she just won the lottery, spinning back toward me.

Her face lights up, eyes bright with excitement that makes my heart stutter.

"If you say no, I will actually eliminate you."

I exhale through my nose, shaking my head as I lean back in my chair.

"Guess we're staying, then. "

She grins victoriously, settling back into her seat like she just secured the biggest win of her life.

Mom heads into the kitchen, humming under her breath, and I glance at Madison, my smirk still in place. "You know, the puppy eyes were a little much."

She shrugs, completely unapologetic. "Hey, they worked, didn't they?"

I roll my eyes, but I can't help but smile. The truth is, I’ve never been able to say no to her and I probably never will.

Mom hugs Madison like she doesn't want to let go, squeezing her so tight, I half expect Mads to yelp.

"Promise me you won't be a stranger, sweetheart," Mom says, pulling back just enough to cup Madison's face between her hands. "I mean it. I expect to see you here more often."

Madison smiles, but there's something softer about it, something almost hesitant. "I promise."

Mom studies her for a second longer before nodding, seemingly satisfied, and finally lets her go.

Dad claps me on the shoulder. "Proud of you, son. Keep your head straight, and don't let those scouts mess with you too much."

I nod.

"Yeah. Thanks, Dad."

He gives Madison one last warm smile before stepping back onto the porch with Mom.

"Drive safe, you two."

With that, we head to the car, and once we're on the road, the quiet settles between us. Not uncomfortable, not awkward—just heavy, like there's more lingering in the air than either of us wants to name.

I drum my fingers against the wheel.

"You wanna make any stops before we head back?"

I don't know why I ask it, not really.

Or maybe I do.

Because the only place that would make sense for her to want to stop is the cemetery just outside of town—the one where her mom is buried.

Madison is quiet for a long moment, her fingers playing with the hem of her cardigan. Then, softly, she shakes her head. "No."

I nod, not pushing. "Alright."

The rest of the drive back is quiet, though not in a bad way—just in that comfortable kind of silence that settles between two people who don't need to fill the space.

She fell asleep about twenty minutes ago, somewhere between flipping through my playlist and mumbling about how unfair it is that I have "objectively good taste" in music.

Now, she's curled up slightly, her face relaxed in sleep, her cardigan slipping off her shoulder just enough to reveal the strap of her tank top, the scars there picking up the light differently than the rest of the smooth skin. I shouldn't be looking.

Shouldn't be thinking about how soft she looks, how different from the stubborn, sharp-tongued version of her that keeps me on my toes.

But I do.

I pull into her apartment complex and kill the engine, a thought cementing itself in my mind:

I need more of this, more time with her.

More of her.

I exhale, adjusting my grip on the wheel.

My schedule is insane. Between practices, film, workouts, and traveling for games, my time is already stretched too thin. But sitting here, with her beside me, I'm not sure I'll ever get enough of it. Of her .

I reach over, brushing my knuckles lightly against her knee.

"Mads."

She stirs, her eyelashes fluttering before her gaze lifts to mine, hazy with sleep.

"We're here?" she murmurs, voice thick, still caught in the in-between.

"Yeah," I say, quieter than I mean to. I don't want to break the quiet spell around us .

"Damn, that was quick." She yawns, stretching slightly, her back arching just enough to make her shirt shift. The movement is small, unintentional, but I feel it everywhere.

I clear my throat. "That's what happens when you sleep the whole way, Sleeping Beauty."

She lets out a soft laugh, then fumbles for her seatbelt before I step out and walk around the car, opening her door.

She blinks up at me, then takes my offered hand, her fingers curling around mine as she lets me pull her up. And just like that, that tension—the thing that's been building between us—is back. It's thick. Heavy. It wraps around us like a second skin, making every little movement feel important.

I should let go of her hand.

I should, but I don't.

Her breath catches slightly, her fingers twitching in mine before she quickly pulls away, rubbing her hands over her arms.

I follow her up the walkway to her apartment, the night air cool but not nearly enough to settle the heat simmering under my skin. I feel her beside me, aware of her every step, the way she's keeping just a little too much space between us, like she feels it too.

When we finally reach her door, she turns to me, and for a second, we just…stand there.

Watching. Waiting.

Her lips part like she wants to say something, but nothing comes out. Her fingers tighten around the edges of her cardigan, her weight shifting from one foot to the other.

She's nervous.

"Thanks for taking me, Jax," she finally says, her voice softer than usual, more careful.

I swallow, my pulse thrumming a little harder than it should as I take a step closer to her. "Thanks for coming."

She nods once, then looks down, exhaling through her nose like she's trying to steady herself. I step closer to her, not knowing exactly how far to push tonight. The need to kiss her, to finally kiss her, is starting to overpower any other thoughts in my mind .

Bringing my hand up, I tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Her breathing is unsteady, her lips barely parted, and I swear, I can feel the warmth of her exhale against my jaw.

My other hand twitches at my sides, aching to reach out and thread both hands into her hair, to kiss the ever loving shit out of her perfect lips.

As if she can hear my thoughts, her eyes flick down to my mouth—just for a second.

It's barely anything, but it’s also everything. I shift slightly, my chest brushing against hers, the warmth of her body seeping into mine like it's meant to be there.

She doesn't move away, doesn't stop me.

That’s the moment I know.

She wants this too.

The realization crashes over me, stealing my breath, sending a surge of want, deep and undeniable, roaring through my veins.

I'm about to close that last inch when the door to her apartment flies open.

"Well, hell to the ooo, what do we have here?" Lyla's voice is pure mischief, and I don't even have time to react before Madison jumps away from me like she just got caught doing something illegal.

Her face burns red. "Nothing! Goodnight! Bye!"

She flees inside before I can even process what the hell just happened. I blink, my chest still tight, my pulse still pounding from the moment that was so close to happening.

Lyla leans against the doorframe, spoon hanging out of her mouth, a pint of ice cream tucked in her arm, eyes practically dancing with amusement.

She takes the spoon out with a smirk. "Damn. So close."

I exhale, running a hand down my face. "You really have the worst timing."

"Or maybe the best," she quips, taking another bite.

I shake my head, stepping back. "Go eat your ice cream, Lyla."

She winks. "See you around, Montgomery. "

And just like that, the door swings shut.

I stand there for a second, my head still spinning. My jaw clenches, my hands flexing at my sides as I let out a slow breath.

That was way too close.

Even so, as I turn back toward my car, all I can think about is the way Madison looked at me before the door opened.