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MADISON

E very step I took away from that stark, fluorescent-lit hospital felt like a slow unraveling, like I was walking in the wrong direction and knew it but kept moving anyway.

Regret coiled tightly in my chest, thick and suffocating, but I forced my feet forward, my pulse a hollow thud in my ears.

It was better this way.

I reminded myself of that with each step.

Jaxon would be fine.

I needed to let him go.

I always ruined the things I loved, and I refused to do that to him.

The cool night air hit me as I stepped through the sliding glass doors, my own conflicted reflection ghosting over the glass before disappearing entirely.

I could have turned around.

I could have gone back in.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I walked out, leaving behind the only person I ever truly wanted to stay for.

By the time I got home, the world outside had settled, the campus draped in a blanket of quiet.

But inside me, everything was storming.

The regret. The doubt.

The aching pull of Jaxon’s name in my throat.

And Lyla—she was waiting .

She sat curled on the couch, legs tucked beneath her, her eyes sharp and knowing the moment I stepped inside.

She didn’t have to ask.

She could see it written all over me.

Still, she exhaled a slow, resigned sigh, crossing her arms. “You didn’t go in.”

Not a question, just a fact.

One I hated.

I let my bag fall beside the door, inhaling deeply.

“No.”

Lyla hummed, watching me like she was trying to decide whether to shake me or hug me.

“He asked for you, you know.”

My stomach clenched.

Of course he did.

Jaxon always asked, always showed up, always tried.

He was a constant, a steady heartbeat in my chaotic world, the only thing I’d ever had that felt truly safe.

And what did I do with that safety?

I ran, just like I always did.

I swallowed past the lump forming in my throat, my voice raw when I whispered, “Lyla?—”

She held up a hand, stopping me.

“I’m not gonna yell at you.” Her voice softened, the weight of it sinking deep into my ribs.

“I just don’t get it, Madison. I don’t understand why you won’t just let yourself have this.”

I clenched my fingers into my sleeves, grounding myself against the pain of my own thoughts.

“Because I always hurt people, or they leave. There is no in between. I don’t—I can’t bear the thought of ruining him, his future.”

Lyla studied me, stepping closer, her presence warm and unwavering.

“I think you’ve got it backwards.”

I swallowed hard.

“What do you mean?”

She tilted her head, letting silence stretch between us, waiting—urging—me to see what she already did.

“You’re not ruining his future, Maddy. He chooses you. He chose you. He wants you to be part of his future. He doesn't want to leave you behind.” She says, her voice gentle, but also firm.

The words hit me like a slow, aching realization .

What if she’s right?

What if the only person I was truly hurting was myself?

What if I was the one refusing to choose him? To choose a future with him?

I felt the burn of unshed tears, but I pushed them down, shaking my head.

Lyla sighed softly, bumping my shoulder with hers. “For the record, I don’t think he’d leave you willingly, even if you tried to shove him away.”

A hollow laugh slipped from my lips, but the moment she turned away, something shifted inside me.

I couldn’t just sit here.

I couldn’t let this be the end.

Even if I wasn’t ready to say everything, even if I didn’t know what would happen next?—

I had to see him.

I grabbed my hoodie, shoved my hands into my pockets, and walked out the door before fear could convince me otherwise.

The concrete steps of the football house are cold beneath my feet, but I barely register it.

I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting here. Ten minutes? Twenty? Long enough for my thoughts to spin themselves into a tangled mess, replaying every possible outcome of the conversation that hasn’t even happened yet.

Will he want to see me?

Will he even care I’m here?

Or would this be the moment when Jaxon Montgomery finally stops choosing me?

That thought alone makes my stomach lurch.

The sound of tires crunching against pavement.

I don’t have to look up to know it’s him. The air shifts the way it always does when he’s near, like some invisible pull drawing me in whether I want it to or not.

I finally force myself to raise my head, watching as he pulls into the driveway, his truck rolling to a stop.

For a moment, he doesn’t move.

He just stares, and so do I.

He looks…tired, like he hasn’t slept in days. His dark hair is a mess, his shoulders drawn tight, his expression unreadable beneath the dim glow of the streetlight.

The truck door slams shut, the sound echoing in the quiet night, and I instinctively curl my fingers into the sleeves of my hoodie, bracing for whatever is about to happen.

His heavy, deliberate footsteps cross the pavement, stopping just a few feet from me.

And then, finally?—

“Mads?”

His voice is careful, guarded, like he’s bracing for something.

Like he’s preparing for me to hurt him.

Again.

It nearly breaks me.

I look up, my breath catching at the way his jaw clenches, his fists tightening at his sides, like he’s fighting every instinct he has to protect himself.

As I sit here, staring into the depths of his troubled expression, I feel the familiar, crushing despair settle in, a despair that whispers through every beat of my aching heart.

I’d already hurt him by pushing him away—again.

"Jaxon." His name cracks in my throat, barely more than a whisper.

The space between us feels both vast and microscopic, charged with everything we’ve left unsaid, everything we’ve run from, everything that still lingers in the air between us.

He looks different than he did in the hospital—less clinical, more human. Faded jeans, a navy sweater clinging to his frame just enough to remind me how solid he is, how real. The only visible sign of his injury is the small cut above his eyebrow, a stark reminder of why he was there in the first place.

My stomach twists.

"You didn’t stay." His voice is quiet, not accusatory, just factual. Somehow, that hurts worse than if he had yelled.

I stand and shift on my feet, the cool night air pressing in like it wants to push me even further away. Even it knows I don’t belong here anymore. "I couldn’t."

Jaxon tilts his head slightly, eyes locked on mine, searching for something I don’t think he’ll find. "Couldn’t or wouldn’t?"

The question lands between us like a weight.

I had rehearsed a dozen explanations on the walk here, lined up reason after reason, but under his gaze, they all dissolve. My throat tightens, and I force myself to answer. "Both." I inhale sharply, wrapping my arms around myself like I can hold in the truth.

His jaw tenses. "You know what the worst part is?" His voice is steady, but there’s something underneath it—something raw, something breaking. "It wasn’t even that you left. It was knowing you were there, just on the other side of that door, deciding whether or not I was worth staying for."

His words slam into me, knocking the air from my lungs. I wrap my arms around myself then, squeezing like it could hold me together when I already feel like I’m coming apart.

"It wasn’t about worth, Jax."

"Then what was it about?" His voice stays level, but I see it, the slight tremble in his hands before he shoves them into his pockets. "Because every time, Mads, every single time, you get close enough to see me—really see me—and then you’re gone."

The night air thickens, pressing in on all sides. A car passes in the distance, its headlights illuminating the exhaustion written into the sharp lines of his face, the same exhaustion I glimpsed through the hospital window before I turned and left.

"I was scared," I admit, the words scraping against my throat, jagged and broken. "When I saw you take that hit on the field, I thought—" My voice cracks, and I have to swallow hard to keep myself from falling apart completely. "I thought I’d lost you before I ever figured myself out."

Jaxon exhales slowly, nodding. "So you decided to lose me on your own terms instead?"

I flinch at the accuracy of his words. "That’s not fair," I whisper, but even as I say it, the truth settles deep in my bones.

"Isn’t it?" Jaxon steps closer, his presence warm despite the cold, his scent—a mix of soap and something unmistakably him—wrapping around me. "You’ve been running since I met you, Mads. Every time we get close to something real, you find a way to sabotage it."

I shake my head—not in denial, but in desperation. "I don’t mean to."

"I know." His voice softened, and somehow, that hurt worse than his anger. "That's what makes it so damn hard to walk away from you."

The gentleness in his voice slices through me like a knife, cutting through the layers of defenses I’ve spent years building. It leaves me exposed, vulnerable in a way that makes every instinct scream at me to turn and run.

But I don’t.

I can’t.

I force myself to stay rooted, to face what I’ve been avoiding for so long.

"I keep thinking," I say, my voice barely above a whisper over the distant hum of traffic, "that if I leave first, it won’t hurt as much when you eventually leave me."

Jaxon’s laugh is hollow, mirthless. "And has that worked for you so far?"

I drop my gaze to the pavement, watching a leaf skitter across the concrete between us, as if it might hold the answer, but it doesn’t. It never has.

"No," I admit. "It hurts every time."

Silence stretches between us, thick with everything unspoken. When I finally gather the courage to lift my eyes, his expression has softened into something heavier than anger—a mix of exhaustion and tenderness that unravels something inside me.

"I keep waiting for you to realize I’m not going anywhere, Mads." He takes a step closer, close enough that I can see the flecks of amber in his eyes catching the glow of the streetlight.

"I’m not leaving you, Madison," he says, his voice rough and full of conviction. "But I can’t keep chasing someone who’s determined to outrun me."

His words land like a punch to the gut. Heavy. Unshakable.

I know, deep down, he’s right.

"I don’t know how to stop," I whisper, the confession barely making it past my lips. "Running is the only thing I’ve ever been good at."

Something shifts in his expression—a slight softening around his eyes, a subtle change in his stance. Then, slowly, like he’s approaching something fragile, he reaches out.

His fingers brush mine, warm against the cold seeping into my skin, and I don’t pull away.

He brings me closer, pressing his forehead to mine.

"There’s something I need from you." His breath is warm against my face, his body trembling just slightly. "I need you to really think and be honest with yourself, about whether this is what you want, whether you're ready to take the risk of being with me completely. I can’t be the only one laying my heart on the line, Mads. I just can’t."

His voice cracks, and he inhales deeply, taking a moment to collect himself before he continues.

"Because loving you—" he swallows, eyes closing briefly, "loving you is the easiest and hardest thing I've ever done."

Jaxon exhales, his fingers brushing against mine again before he pulls back, his warmth leaving a stark contrast against the cold air wrapping around us. He watches me, his expression unreadable, but his eyes…

His eyes say everything .

Everything I don’t know how to handle.

Everything I don’t know how to deserve.

"I’ll wait," he says, his voice steady, but there’s a quiet finality to it that makes my breath catch. "I’ll give you the space you need, Mads, if that’s what it takes for you to figure out what you want."

My stomach twists.

"But I can’t keep chasing you." His voice dips, raw and honest. "I can’t keep running after someone who won’t let me catch them."

His words feel like a weight pressing down on my chest, making it impossible to breathe. I want to tell him that’s not what I meant. I’m not trying to make him chase me, I just?—

I’m scared.

But he already knows that.

He’s always known that.

Jaxon shakes his head slightly, letting out a quiet, humorless chuckle, his breath visible in the cold night air. "You have to make the first move, Mads. I can’t be the only one fighting for this."

My throat tightens, but I can’t force any words out.

Because what can I even say? That I don’t want him to stop chasing me? That I’ve spent my whole life believing love is a temporary thing, that people always leave, and maybe I was just trying to leave before he could?

That, deep down, I know he’s right?

I shake my head. “I don’t know…”

Jaxon swallows hard before pressing a kiss to my forehead then takes a step back, like he’s physically making himself create space between us. His jaw is tight, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides, like there’s more he wants to say, more he could say.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he just nods once. Softly—so softly, it almost gets lost in the space between us—"If you don’t know, Madison. Then you have to let me go so I can let you go.”

He doesn’t wait for me to respond. He just turns and walks inside the house.

And I let him walk away.