Page 26

26

JAXON

T he locker room is always loud after practice—guys talking over each other, music playing from someone’s speaker, cleats smacking against the tile floor as everyone unwinds.

I’m at my locker, toweling off after my shower, half-listening to the conversation happening a few feet away.

"Man, this weekend was one for the books," Trevor says, laughing as he pulls his shirt over his head.

"Two different girls, one night. Then, their roommate wanted to come join the party too.”

Logan lets out a low whistle. "Damn, dude.

Save some for the rest of us.

"

Trevor smirks. "Hey, what can I say?

The ladies love a guy who can put up yards on Saturday and put in work afterward.

"

Laughter ripples through the locker room, and I shake my head, shutting my locker a little harder than necessary.

"You guys ever think about how messed up this is?

" I say, turning toward them. "The way you talk about girls like they’re just…

scores or whatever?"

A few guys glance over, but Trevor just smirks. "Relax, Montgomery.

Just locker room talk.

"

I cross my arms. "Yeah, well, maybe locker room talk should involve a little more respect.

"

Logan snorts. "Spoken like a true virgin.

"

The words hit the room like a grenade. Everything stops.

My jaw locks, but I force a smirk. "Yeah, okay.

" I grab my shirt, shoving my arms through the sleeves, playing it off.

But it’s too late. They notice.

Logan’s eyes narrow slightly before a slow grin spreads across his face. "Oh, shit.

Wait. You mean—" He laughs, shaking his head. "You are?

"

Trevor blinks before his mouth falls open. "No way.

"

I rub the back of my neck, my ears burning. "It’s not a big deal.

"

"Bro, you’re a top draft prospect, a starter on the team, and you’re telling me you haven’t—?

" Logan lets out a low whistle. "That’s crazy.

"

More guys start tuning in, exchanging looks, some smirking, some just surprised. My stomach knots, but I keep my face neutral, focused on tying my shoes like this isn’t a big deal.

Because it isn’t. I just hate they’re making it one.

"Who the hell cares?

"

I glance up to see Carter standing near his locker, arms crossed, giving the guys a flat look.

"Seriously," he continues, shaking his head. "What does it matter?

He’s got standards, knows what he wants.

Good for him."

The room is quiet for half a beat before Logan shrugs. "I mean, I’m just surprised.

Figured a guy like him?—"

"A guy like him what?

" Carter cuts in, stepping forward. "Doesn’t need to prove anything to you jackasses, that’s what.

"

Logan lifts his hands. "Alright, alright, chill, man.

No one’s saying it’s a bad thing.

"

Carter scoffs. "You kinda are.

"

Logan shrugs, rubbing the back of his head. "I mean, hey, respect.

That’s cool if you’re waiting or whatever.

Just didn’t see that coming.

"

I exhale, glancing at Carter, giving him a small nod of appreciation.

He nods back before shooting the rest of the guys a pointed look. "Maybe, instead of worrying about Jax’s personal life, y’all should focus on running your damn routes correctly.

"

Snickers echo through the room, and just like that, the conversation shifts.

I let out a slow breath, standing and grabbing my duffel.

Carter claps a hand on my shoulder as we head toward the exit. "Don’t let those idiots get in your head, man.

"

I smirk, shaking my head. "They’re not.

"

I let out a slow breath, standing and grabbing my duffle, rolling my shoulders to shake off the lingering tension. The guys can say whatever they want—I know who I am, and I know what I want.

I push through the locker room doors and step into the cool night air, the crisp breeze a welcome relief after the heat and noise inside. My truck is parked near the back of the lot, the familiar sight grounding me as I swing my bag into the passenger seat and climb in.

Before I even think about it, I pull out my phone, my thumb hovering over her name.

I don’t hesitate. I hit dial.

The phone rings twice before Madison picks up, her voice soft but teasing. "Calling me again, Montgomery?

I’m beginning to think you’re obsessed.

"

I smirk, leaning back against the headrest. If only she knew. "You up for some ice cream?

"

She hums like she’s thinking about it, but I can hear the smile in her voice. "Depends, hotshot.

Do you deliver?"

I chuckle, already starting the engine. "You already know the answer to that.

"

She exhales dramatically. "Guess I can bless you with my presence then.

"

I grin, shifting into reverse. "Be there in ten, Mads.

"

The couch sinks as Madison curls into the corner, tucking one leg under herself. She’s balancing her ice cream carton in her lap, her spoon scraping against the sides as she digs in.

I press play on the movie, but I don’t really care what’s on the screen. Not when she’s sitting next to me like this, completely at ease, like she’s been here a hundred times before.

Because she has.

I take a slow bite of my own ice cream, watching her out of the corner of my eye as she frowns at the TV.

“You know,” she says, waving her spoon in my direction, “you never let me pick the movie.”

I smirk, nudging her knee with mine. “Because your movie choices are questionable at best.”

Madison scoffs, turning to face me fully. “Excuse me? You act like I don’t have taste.”

“You think A Walk To Remember is the greatest cinematic masterpiece of all time.”

She points her spoon at me, all indignant and adorable. “Because it is.”

I shake my head, laughing, before a thought hits me, one I don’t think I’ve ever actually asked her out loud.

I shift slightly, turning to face her. “Alright, tell me something, then.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Something important, Montgomery, or are you about to roast my taste in movies again?”

I grin, licking my spoon clean before leaning back against the couch. “If you could have any job—like, ultimate, no-question, dream-job level—what would it be?”

The question catches her off guard, and she lowers her spoon, fidgeting with the edge of her sweatshirt sleeve. “You already know,” she says quietly.

“Humor me.”

She exhales, staring down at her ice cream, and when she finally speaks, her voice is quieter than before. “I want to be a music therapist. Or maybe a teacher.”

I tilt my head. “Why?”

For a second, she doesn’t answer. Then, she shifts, sitting up a little straighter. “When I was a kid, before everything with my mom got bad, she used to play the piano for me, as you know.” Her voice is softer now, like she’s afraid saying it out loud might make it disappear. “Even when she was sick, even when she was too weak to do much else, she could still play. And when she did, it was like everything felt...lighter.”

Something tugs in my chest, low and deep, because I can picture it. I remember being there, sitting on that faded couch in her grandmother’s living room, watching Madison listen like the music itself was the only thing holding her together.

“I guess I just always held onto that,” she continues. “The way music can make people feel safe or calm or even just understood. It helped me, and I want to be able to do that for other people.”

She doesn’t look at me when she says it, just keeps tracing patterns along the rim of her ice cream carton, like she’s expecting me to say it’s a silly idea, like she’s been waiting for someone to tell her it’s not worth it.

But I don’t.

Because that’s not what I see when I look at her.

I shift closer, resting my arm along the back of the couch. “That’s why you’re leaning towards music therapy,” I say, piecing it together now.

She nods. “I know what it’s like to feel like the world is too much. Too loud. Too heavy. I know how much it means to have something that makes it feel manageable.” She shrugs, suddenly self-conscious. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s stupid, but?—”

“It’s not stupid,” I say before she can even finish the thought.

She glances up at me, surprised.

“I think it’s incredible, Mads.” My voice is steady, but there’s something heavier beneath it. “You’ve always had this way of making people feel safe. It makes sense you’d want to do that for a living.”

Her eyes flicker with something I can’t quite name, something raw and unguarded and damn, if it doesn’t make my chest feel too tight.

But then, she shakes her head, breaking the moment, and stabs at her ice cream with her spoon. “Yeah, well, we’ll see if I can actually make it happen. Gotta survive Algebra 111 first.”

I chuckle, nudging her knee again. “I don’t know how you’ve made it this far without basic math skills, honestly.”

She huffs, crossing her arms. “I’m creative, hotshot. I don’t have time for numbers.”

I shake my head, grinning. “You should let me help you study more.”

She groans dramatically, slumping back against the cushions. “I knew you were going to say that.”

I smirk, leaning in a little. “One Twix bar per hour of tutoring. It’s a fair deal.”

She laughs, and it’s the kind of laugh that hits me like a punch to the gut—light, real, the kind I haven’t heard enough of in the last few years.

“Fine,” she mutters. “But if I fail, I’m still dropping out and becoming a trophy wife.”

I let my gaze flicker over her, slow and deliberate. “Don’t think you’d last, Mads. Too stubborn.”

She narrows her eyes. “Okay, rude.”

I grin, shoving another spoonful of ice cream into my mouth. “Just saying. You’d get bored as hell.”

She huffs but doesn’t argue. Yeah, I know I’m right. Madison Blake was never meant for a life of sitting still. She was made for music and passion and something bigger.

I glance at her again as she curls up under the blanket, her spoon scraping the bottom of her ice cream carton, her hair falling loose from her bun .

For the first time in a long time, I think she might actually believe in something again.

Maybe even herself.

I lean back, smirking as I press play on the movie.

But I don’t really pay attention to it.

All I can think about is the girl sitting beside me and the fact that—no matter how many years pass, no matter how much changes—she still makes my world feel lighter too.

A soft noise pulls me from sleep.

I shift slightly, my arm tightening where it’s draped across the back of the couch. My body is warm, my head resting back against the cushions—and then, I realize why.

Madison is still curled against me.

She’s completely knocked out, her hand tucked under her chin, her face pressed lightly against my chest. And me? I fell asleep too.

Before I can process that thought, another voice—not Madison’s—cuts through the room.

"Oooo, what do we have here?

"

My eyes blink open fully as Lyla smirks down at me.

Shit.

She’s standing in the doorway, arms crossed, a very satisfied look on her face.

"Are you watching us sleep?

That’s weird, Lyla," I mutter, my voice rough with sleep.

"No, what’s weird is that Madison Blake voluntarily let a man stay in her apartment for more than an hour," she counters, grinning. "Should I start wedding planning?

"

I roll my eyes, careful not to jostle Madison too much as I stretch. "Shut up, Lyla.

"

"Oh, this is my new favorite thing," she hums, rocking on her heels .

I sigh, knowing there’s no winning this one. Gently, I brush my knuckles against Madison’s arm. "Mads," I murmur.

She stirs, eyes fluttering open slowly, still heavy with sleep.

And damn, if she doesn’t look beautiful like this.

She blinks up at me, confused at first. Then, realization dawns, and she slowly sits up, rubbing her eyes. "What time is it?

"

"Late," I say softly.

Lyla clears her throat. "So, uh…

when were you going to tell me that you and Jaxon are basically living together now?

"

Madison groans, dropping her head into her hands. "Oh my God.

"

I smirk. "I think she’s mad you caught us, Ly.

"

Madison punches my leg.

I chuckle, pushing myself up from the couch, stretching my arms over my head. "I should go.

"

Madison watches me carefully as I grab my baseball cap from the coffee table, spinning it backward onto my head before pressing a kiss to her hair.

Her breath catches, her fingers tightening slightly against the couch.

I linger just a second longer than I should. Pulling back, I send her a wink. "Night, beautiful.

"

As I step into the cool night air, one thought settles deep in my bones.

She’s falling for me.

She might not know it yet, but she is.