Page 32

32

MADISON

T he energy outside the stadium is wild—students spilling into the streets, cheers and chants echoing into the night.

Lyla and I push through the crowd, both still high off the win, still buzzing from the sheer electricity of it all.

But for me?

It's not about the win. It's about him.

Jaxon ran to me. Not his teammates, not the cameras, not the crowd.

Me.

He kissed me in front of everyone, in front of thousands of people, like he didn't care who was watching, like I was the prize greater than any victory on that field. The moment replays in my mind—the determination in his eyes as he sprinted toward me, the way he vaulted over that railing without hesitation, the fierce possession in his kiss.

Like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.

I'm still trying to process it as we finally reach my car, and Lyla is not letting it slide.

"So," she drawls, smirking as she slides into the passenger seat.

"What's it like to be bangin' the hotshot?"

I choke on absolutely nothing, my hands tightening on the wheel as I throw her a look.

"Oh my God, Lyla. "

She grins, flipping down the visor mirror to check her lipstick.

"What? You saw him out there. He was a machine. And then he just—" she flails her hands dramatically, mimicking Jaxon running through the crowd, "—came straight for you like some damn romance novel hero. If you're not climbing him like a tree every chance you get, I have questions."

My face burns, and I focus a little too hard on pulling out of the parking lot. "We haven't…you know."

Lyla's head whips toward me, eyes wide. "Seriously?"

I chew my lip, keeping my eyes on the road. "Not yet."

She gawks. "Madison. He looks at you like he's legit starving."

My stomach flips, and I know she's right. I feel it every time we're close. The way his hands grip my waist like he's holding himself back. The way his jaw tenses when I tease him. The way his eyes darken whenever I do literally anything. The electricity between us has always been there, but lately, it's become nearly unbearable—a constant current humming beneath my skin whenever he's near.

I exhale, gripping the steering wheel. "I want to."

Lyla raises a brow. "Then what's stopping you?"

I swallow, my heart beating a little too fast. "Because…it's different with Jax."

She softens, tilting her head.

I shift in my seat, feeling too exposed. "It means something more to him. And if I'm being honest…I think it means something more to me too." The admission feels like ripping off a bandage, exposing a truth I've been hiding from myself.

Lyla watches me for a second, then nods. "That makes sense."

I glance at her. "It does?"

She shrugs. "Yeah. Jaxon's not some random hookup. He's… Well, Jaxon."

I smile slightly. Because, yeah. He is. That's exactly why I've been holding back.

Jaxon Montgomery isn't just some guy I can give a piece of myself to and walk away from. He's already woven into every part of me—into memories stretching back to childhood, into quiet moments on his parents' roof, into the person I am today. He knows me in ways no one else does, has seen me at my worst and somehow still looks at me like I'm his everything.

And if I take that next step?

There's no turning back.

Lyla sighs dramatically. "Well, I support your emotionally responsible choices or whatever." She grins. "But I still think you should climb him like a tree."

I groan, shoving her shoulder as we pull into our apartment complex.

We make it upstairs, both changing quickly for the party. Lyla throws on jeans and a cropped tank, swiping on a fresh coat of lip gloss before giving me a once-over. "You're really wearing a sweater and leggings?"

I arch a brow. "Have you met me?"

She sighs. "Fair."

I tug my oversized sweater over my head, raking a hand through my tangled hair after being in a bun, when a knock echoes through the apartment.

Lyla smirks as she heads for the door. "Ooooh, wonder who that could be."

She swings it open, and the second I see him, my stomach drops. Jaxon stands in the doorway, still in his team hoodie, his bag on his shoulder.

But he’s not his usual relaxed, post-game self.

His jaw is tight, his whole body tense. There's a darkness in his eyes I rarely see—something fierce and protective and barely contained. His eyes flick past Lyla, locking on me, and the intensity in his gaze steals my breath.

I know that look. Something's wrong.

Lyla notices too, her smile faltering. "Uh-oh. This doesn't look like a we just won visit."

Jaxon doesn't say anything. He just keeps looking at me, like he's making sure I'm real, like he needs to see me to ground himself.

I step forward, pushing at Lyla's arm lightly. "Go ahead to the party. I'll meet you there."

She hesitates, glancing between us. "You better, or I'll be back to drag you out."

I nod, and with one last suspicious glance at Jaxon, she grabs her keys and heads out.

The second the door closes, I go to him, grabbing one of his hands with mine. His skin is burning hot, his knuckles slightly red. "What happened?"

His jaw tightens, his fingers wrapping around mine like he needs something solid to hold onto. "Someone was talking shit in the locker room."

My stomach tightens. "About you?"

He shakes his head. "About you."

A chill races down my spine. "What did they say?"

Jaxon exhales sharply, shaking his head like he hates even repeating it. "Some bullshit about you hopping from athlete to athlete. That you have a 'type.'"

I go still.

I shouldn't care. I shouldn't let it get to me, but that sting is impossible to ignore. It cuts deeper than I want to admit, reopening old wounds, old insecurities. The whispers that have followed me since high school, the assumptions people make without knowing me, without knowing my heart…

I know how people see me. I know what it looks like to everyone else.

But Jaxon... He's different.

Jaxon knows me. And right now, he's pissed. Not annoyed, not irritated—furious in a way I've rarely seen him. His entire body radiates tension, like he's barely containing something violent and protective.

His grip on my hand tightens, his voice low and dead serious. " Mads, you know that's not what I think. You know I shut that shit down the second I heard it."

I nod, swallowing past the lump in my throat. I do know.

Jaxon has never made me feel anything less than his everything, has never looked at me with judgment or disappointment. He has only ever seen me—the real me.

I step closer, pressing my hand to his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath my palm. "I'm sorry they said that. I know that must've upset you."

His jaw clenches, his muscles still coiled tight. "You have no idea."

I tilt my head up at him. "Do you want to stay here for a little while? Maybe skip the party?"

His shoulders finally relax a fraction. "Yeah. But...can I shower first?"

I nod, tugging him toward the bathroom.

He drops his duffel, rubbing a hand over his face while I grab a towel, turning on the water. His fingers brush mine as I hand him the towel, his gaze dropping to my mouth for half a second.

Steam curls through the bathroom, filling the space with warmth, but the tension between us is thick enough to cut. Jaxon stands there, jaw tight, hands clenched at his sides, his whole body coiled. He's trying to keep it together, trying to hold it in, but I see it.

The frustration. The anger.

I step closer, reaching for his hoodie, my fingers slipping under the hem. "You don't have to be upset, Jax."

His head snaps up, his brows furrowing. "What?"

I exhale, pulling the hoodie up slowly, letting my fingers brush against his abs as I lift it over his head. He lets me, but his muscles are tense, his chest rising and falling in short, sharp breaths.

"I know it sucks when people talk shit, but you don't have to let it get to you," I murmur, watching his expression carefully. "You know you're the best player out there. You don't need to prove anything to anyone. "

His hands tighten into fists, his nostrils flaring. "Mads?—"

"And I know people are probably looking at us now," I continue, pushing through the weight pressing against my ribs, "wondering if you're getting distracted, if I'm just another girl in a long list. But you and I both know that's not true, and that's all that matters, right?"

Jaxon's chest rises sharply, and suddenly, his hands are on me, gripping my waist as he pulls me against him, his eyes burning into mine with such intensity, I nearly gasp.

"You think I'm pissed about me?" His voice is low, rough, shaking with restrained emotion.

I blink up at him, my stomach twisting. "Aren't you?"

He exhales sharply, shaking his head, his grip on me tightening until I can feel each individual finger pressing into my skin. "Madison." My name sounds like a prayer and a curse on his lips. "I don't give a fuck what anyone says about me."

I still. His jaw ticks, his fingers flexing against my waist. "You really think I've worked my ass off to get here, to be in the best season of my life, and I'd let some dumbass in the locker room get in my head?"

I swallow, suddenly unsure. Because...yeah, I thought that was it. I thought he was angry about people questioning his focus, his priorities. But the way he's looking at me now?

It's not that at all.

Jaxon shakes his head, his voice dropping even lower. "I'm mad because they talked about you like that."

My breath catches, something fracturing inside my chest.

His hands slide up my sides, his fingers brushing bare skin, leaving trails of fire in their wake. "They don't know you, Mads. They don't know shit about you." His voice breaks slightly, raw emotion bleeding through. "They don't know how strong you are, how fucking amazing you are. They don't know what you've survived, what you've overcome. They just see what they want to see, and I hate that I can't stop them. "

I suck in a shaky breath, my chest tightening around a heart that suddenly feels too big for my body.

The way he's looking at me—it’s like he hurts for me, like it's physically painful for him to hear someone say something like that about me. Like an insult to me is worse than any hit he's ever taken on the field.

Like I matter that much to him.

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.

I don't know what to say, because no one has ever defended me like this. No one has ever been angry on my behalf or cared enough to fight for my honor.

Jaxon exhales, his hands slipping under my jaw, tilting my face up toward him. His thumbs brush against my cheek, his touch gentle despite the tension still radiating off him. The contrast is devastating—this man, so capable of force, of power, touching me like I'm something precious.

"I just—" He stops and swallows hard, his eyes flickering over my face like he's trying to memorize me. "I can handle whatever they throw at me, but when it's about you? I can't fucking stand it, Mads."

I feel raw, exposed, like he's peeling back layers of me I've never let anyone see before. It’s like he's looking straight into the core of me, past all my defenses, all my walls, all my carefully constructed protection.

I reach for him, curling my fingers around his wrists, holding him there. "It doesn't matter what they say, Jax. It never has." My voice trembles with the lie. Because it has mattered. It's always mattered. Every whisper, every judgment, every assumption—they all cut deeper than I've ever admitted.

His eyes flash, his grip on me tightening. "It matters to me."

Something shatters in my chest, something I've been holding onto for too long. A dam breaking, water rushing in, drowning out the voices—the ones inside my head and the ones from the outside world.

Because no one has ever cared like this. No one has ever seen me the way he does. No one has ever fought for me the way he wants to if I’d just let him.

I let out a shaky breath, pressing my forehead to his, my voice barely above a whisper. "You're crazy, Montgomery."

"Crazy about you? Yeah, I definitely am." His lips quirk slightly, but there's still so much behind his eyes, so much he's holding back—love and protectiveness and a fierce desire that steals my breath.

I don't want him to hold back, not anymore.

So, I kiss him.

It’s not the heated, desperate kisses we've shared before. No, this is something else entirely. Something slow. Soft. Deliberate.

Like a thank you for seeing me, for always choosing me, even when I didn't choose myself.

Jaxon groans against my lips, a sound torn from the depths of his soul—broken and wanting and relieved all at once. His arms wrap fully around me, pulling me against him, his hands everywhere as he kisses me deeper, like he's drowning in this—in us.

And I let him.

Because maybe...maybe I'm drowning in it too.

Maybe I've been drowning for most of my life, and he's the only one who has ever dived in to save me.