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22

MADISON

T he second the bathroom door swings shut behind me, I press my back against it, squeezing my eyes shut, trying to breathe.

My heart is still racing, my skin still burning, my mind still stuck in the moment that almost happened.

The way Jaxon looked at me, like he was seconds from closing that last bit of space between us, the heat of him so close, his chest against mine, the way I stopped thinking, stopped breathing?—

God, I was going to let him kiss me.

I press my fingers against my lips, like I'll be able to feel something there, even though it never happened. Even though Lyla had to fling the door open at the exact wrong moment, like the universe couldn't bear to let me have that.

The phantom sensation of his breath against my skin lingers, a haunting reminder of how close we came.

Because I was going to let it happen.

I don't know what would've come after, don't know what it would've meant—but I do know if she hadn't opened that door, Jaxon Montgomery would've kissed me.

And worse? I wanted him to, so badly that the ache still pulses through me, sharp and insistent, refusing to let me forget .

I turn on the sink, splashing some cold water on my face and neck to calm myself down before I spiral into a panic attack.

After a few calming breaths, I head back to the kitchen to grab a water from the fridge.

"Alright," Lyla drawls, strolling back into the living room like she didn't just completely ruin my life. She sticks her spoon back into her ice cream and flops onto the couch, watching me with barely-contained amusement. "That was some serious 'about-to-kiss-my-best-friend' energy happening out there."

I groan, covering my face with my hands as I close the fridge and start pacing, my bare feet sinking into the carpet with each step. My nerves are still on fire, every part of me feeling too exposed, too raw.

"Lyla," I warn, voice tight.

"What?" she says, feigning innocence as she shoves another bite of ice cream into her mouth. "I'm just stating the obvious. You and Jax were this close—" she holds up two fingers, barely an inch apart—"to making out on our doorstep, and if I hadn't walked in, I'm pretty sure you'd still be out there, tangled up in that man like a damn pretzel."

"It wasn't—" I stop, dragging a hand through my hair before shaking my head. "I don't know what it was, okay? It just happened."

Lyla snorts. "Oh, babe. That did not just happen. That sexual tension has been brewing for well over a decade."

I exhale sharply, spinning on my heel to face her. "Lyla, I can't do this with him."

Her smirk fades slightly, but she leans back, tipping her head. "And why is that exactly?"

I scoff, throwing my arms out. "Because he's Jaxon! He's my best friend. He's the only thing in my life that has never let me down, never left me, never—" My voice catches, my throat tightening. I swallow hard, forcing myself to keep going. "If I screw this up, if I hurt him, I lose him forever. I can't risk that."

The truth is, it's not just him I'm afraid of losing. It's the safety he represents, the certainty. He’s one stable thing in my life that's remained constant while everything else crumbled around me. If we cross that line and it doesn't work out, I don't just lose a relationship—I lose my anchor, my foundation.

Lyla watches me carefully, the playfulness from earlier fading into something softer. "Maddy…"

I shake my head, pacing again, my thoughts spiraling.

"I know myself," I say, voice quieter now, almost desperate. "My presence is like a curse in and of itself. Everything, everyone I love, goes away. My mom, my dad, every relationship I've ever tried to build." The weight of the memories presses down on me, suffocating. "And if I lose him—if I ever did something to make him walk out of my life for good—I don't know how I'd survive that."

Lyla sighs, setting her ice cream down on the coffee table before standing. "Okay, but let me just throw something out there—what if by not doing anything, you lose him anyway?"

I freeze.

She steps closer, folding her arms. "You don't think he feels this? That he wants more? Madison, babe, I love you, but I don't know how much longer he's gonna wait for you to figure your shit out."

My stomach clenches. The thought of Jaxon with someone else sends a cold wave of something too close to panic through me. I've spent so much time worrying about losing him because I took a chance, I never considered I might lose him because I didn't.

"I just… I don't want to hurt him," I whisper.

Lyla's expression softens.

"And maybe that's exactly what you're doing."

Her words hit me right in the chest, and suddenly, it feels hard to breathe.

Because I don't know what scares me more—the idea of letting myself act on the feelings I have for Jaxon, or the idea that by holding back, I might already be losing him .

My own fear might be causing the very thing I'm terrified of.

The next couple of weeks after the almost-kiss pass in a blur of routine, avoidance, and a constant war in my head.

Jaxon and I don't talk about what happened—not in class, not in the library during tutoring sessions, not through the occasional texts we send each other. We fall into our usual patterns—him showing up to class looking obnoxiously good in sweats and a hoodie, me pretending I don't notice.

Him helping me with math, smirking every time I get frustrated, me shoving his shoulder and telling him to shut up.

It's all normal.

Except, it's not.

Because every time he leans too close during tutoring, every time his hand brushes mine when he passes me a pencil, every time I catch him looking at me for a second too long before he quickly looks away—I feel it: that electric current passing between us, stronger now that we've acknowledged it, even if only for a moment.

And it's driving me insane.

There are moments when I'm sure I've imagined the whole thing, that the tension between us is all in my head.

And then, he'll do something—lean in close to explain a problem, his voice dropping low near my ear, or text me at 2 AM just to say he saw something that reminded him of me—and I know it's real.

I know I'm not alone in this.

I've spent the past few weeks convincing myself that not acting on my feelings is the right decision.

Keeping things the way they are is safer.

I'm protecting myself, protecting him. The risk of losing what we have is too great.

But deep down, I'm starting to be a lot less sure that's the right answer. My certainty wavers more each day, especially when I catch those fleeting glances that suggest he's thinking about what almost happened too.

Tonight, though, it's time to let loose.

It's bye week for the team, so no game this weekend, which means one thing—there's a massive party at the football house, and Lyla and I are going.

I smooth my hands down my outfit, glancing at my reflection as Lyla finishes curling the last strand of her hair beside me.

"Damn, girl." She smirks, eyeing me in the mirror. "You're really going for it tonight, huh?"

I roll my eyes, even though I know she's right. I spent too long debating what to wear, knowing Jaxon would be at this party, knowing I'd be near him, around him. In the end, I settled on something I knew would get his attention—high-waisted jeans that hug me in all the right places, a cropped tank that's just this side of flirty, and my usual oversized cardigan to balance it out.

Because if I'm going to keep fighting these feelings, I might as well make him suffer too.

The outfit is a contradiction—sexy but safe, revealing but protected—mirroring the exact battle happening inside me. Part of me wants him to notice, to react, to make a move that forces my hand. The other part hopes he doesn't, because then, I won't have to make a choice.

"It's just a party," I say, swiping on some lip gloss before tossing it into my bag. "No big deal."

Lyla hums, giving me a knowing look as she pulls on her heeled boots. "Sure, babe. Whatever you say."

I roll my eyes again, but I don't argue, grabbing my phone as we head out the door.

The house is packed.

Music blasts from the speakers, bass vibrating through the floor.

People are crammed into the kitchen, spilling into the backyard, red solo cups in hand, laughter and conversation blending into the noise.

I take a slow breath, scanning the crowd, pretending like I'm not looking for a certain six-foot-two wide receiver.

But of course, my eyes find him immediately, just like they always do.

Jaxon is across the room, laughing at something Beck said, his dimples flashing, his fitted black t-shirt stretching just enough over his shoulders to make my brain short-circuit. His posture is relaxed, water in hand, looking like he just walked off the cover of a magazine.

Like he hasn't spent the past few weeks taking up way too much space in my head.

As if he can sense me staring, his gaze flicks up and locks onto mine.

My breath catches.

For a second, we just look at each other.

The room seems to fade around us, the noise dimming, everything narrowing to just this moment, just his eyes on mine.

I see the recognition there, the acknowledgment of what almost happened that night at my door.

I see something else too—something intent, determined.

And in that second, I realize something.

It doesn't matter how much I try to convince myself otherwise. It doesn't matter how much distance I try to put between us.

I want him, and no amount of logic is changing that.

Lyla loops her arm through mine, dragging me toward the kitchen.

The smell of beer and something vaguely sticky lingers in the air as we weave through the crowd, dodging people already a little too drunk for how early it is.

"Alright," Lyla says, flipping her hair over her shoulder as she reaches for two drinks.

"You need a little liquid courage if you're gonna keep making those eyes at Jaxon all night."

I snatch my drink from her hand, rolling my eyes. "I'm not making eyes at him."

She smirks.

"Oh, babe. You so are. "

I don't dignify that with a response, instead cracking open my drink and taking a slow sip. But just as I turn back toward the living room, my stomach drops.

I see Allie with her hand on Jaxon's arm.

My fingers tighten around my drink as I watch her tilt her head, her long, blonde hair falling over her shoulder as she leans in a little too close.

She laughs at something—too sweet, too familiar—and Jaxon chuckles in response, shaking his head.

And even though I know I have no right to feel the way I do?—

I feel a little sick.

The jealousy surging through me is so sudden and intense, it catches me off guard.

It's not just about Allie; it's about the realization that Jaxon could have anyone he wanted.

He's talented, smart, beyond attractive—and here I am, holding back because I'm scared, while other women have no problem showing him exactly what they want.

My chest tightens. I need air.

"I'll be back," I mumble to Lyla, already turning toward the back door before she can respond.

The backyard is just as packed as the house, a makeshift dance floor stretching across the grass. Music pulses through the speakers, bass thudding in my chest as people sway and spin beneath the string lights hanging overhead.

I inhale deeply, the cool night air helping a little. I tell myself I don't care about Jaxon and Allie, that he's not mine to be jealous over. If he wants her, that's?—

"You okay?"

I freeze, instantly knowing who that voice belongs to.

Turning slowly, I find Jaxon standing behind me, his head tilted slightly as he watches me. His eyes are intense under the string lights, searching my face like he's trying to read my every thought.

"Yeah," I lie, forcing a small smile. "Just needed some air."

He steps closer, close enough that I have to tilt my chin to keep looking at him. "You sure?"

I nod quickly. "Yeah. Why wouldn't I be? "

Jaxon lifts a brow, like he knows exactly why.

"If you're worried about Allie, don't be."

I scoff, crossing my arms. "I'm not?—"

"Mads."

The way he says my name makes something flip in my stomach. I clench my jaw, glancing away. "It's not my business, Jax. You can do whatever, whoever, you want."

He exhales, running a hand through his hair.

"I'm not here with her. Have zero interest, if you want complete honesty." He pauses, his eyes never leaving mine. "I don't want Allie. I don't want anyone else."

My heart stutters in my chest. "Jax?—"

"Let me be clear," he continues, his voice low and steady. "I'm not looking at other women. I'm not interested in other women. I haven't been for...a long time."

There's something so raw, so honest in his expression, it steals my breath. "Since when?" I whisper, the words barely audible over the music.

His lips quirk slightly, a hint of vulnerability beneath the confidence. "Since always, Mads. Since we were seven, and you told me my football uniform made me look like an overstuffed sausage."

A startled laugh escapes me, but my chest feels too tight, emotions warring inside me—the deep-seated fear of losing him battling with the overwhelming desire to take what he's offering.

"You know who I want," he says simply, the certainty in his voice sending shivers down my spine.

"I've never tried to hide it."

Something inside me settles slightly at his words. The jealousy from earlier fades, replaced by a different kind of tension—something heavier, more significant.

But I don't respond. If I say something, if I let him see how his words affect me, then I'm admitting this thing between us is real and I want it too. The thought of stepping off that ledge, of risking everything we have, still terrifies me.

Part of me wants to run. Part of me wants to stay right where I am, caught in this limbo of possibility. And a growing part of me wants to cross that line once and for all.

Jaxon studies me for a second longer, then smirks slightly. "Come on."

I frown. "Come on where?"

His smirk deepens. "Dance with me."

I blink. "Jax?—"

"Don't think. Just dance with me."