Page 47

47

JAXON

T he sun is low in the sky as I walk across campus, casting long shadows over the familiar paths I’ve spent the last year traveling.

The air is crisp, spring fighting to push through the last remnants of winter, and, for the first time in a long time, I feel it.

Not just the cold, the pressure of what’s coming—Pro Day, the draft, the entire next chapter of my life.

I feel the weight of it all.

Because this isn’t just a campus.

It’s ours.

Every step I take is laced with memories, carved into the pavement like ghosts of the past, refusing to let me go.

The coffee shop where she met me for tutoring, her hoodie too big for her, sleeves pulled over her fingers as she mumbled about hating math more than life itself.

I can still see the way her nose scrunched in frustration, the way she chewed on her bottom lip while deep in concentration.

She had no idea I was barely paying attention to the equations because I was too focused on her.

The library where she’d fall asleep in the middle of studying, head propped on her hand, her notes forgotten as exhaustion claimed her.

I never woke her up right away, never had the heart to—I just sat there, staring at her, memorizing the soft rise and fall of her breaths, the way her fingers twitched in her sleep.

The nights when I completely lost myself in her, mind, body, and soul.

Every single piece of me would always belong to her.

The stadium.

Jesus, the stadium.

Where I found her in the stands after my last regular season game, where I sprinted straight for her like she was the only thing that mattered—because she was.

The way she looked at me, the way she kissed me in front of everyone.

It was like she wasn’t scared anymore, like maybe, just maybe, she was finally ready.

Except she wasn’t.

And now, I don’t know if she ever will be.

My steps slow as I pass the math building, and I can’t help but shake my head, a soft, bitter laugh escaping my lips.

This is where it started.

The first day I saw her again after all those years.

The first time I realized leaving my old school, transferring here, was the easiest decision I’d ever made—because it led me back to her.

I was so sure we were meant to find our way back to each other.

And maybe we were. Maybe we just weren’t meant to stay.

The thought is a knife to the chest, but I keep walking, each step heavier than the last.

I don’t want to leave here.

Not because of football.

Not because of my teammates, my classes, my future.

I don’t want to leave because this is where she is.

But I don’t get a say in that anymore, do I?

I exhale sharply, running a hand through my hair as the athletic building comes into view.

One last meeting with my coach.

One last step toward the next chapter of my life.

And for the first time since I started playing this game, since I was a kid dreaming about the NFL—I don’t know if I’m ready for it.

No matter how far I go, how many stadiums I play in, how many touchdowns I score, none of it will ever mean as much as she does.

The athletic building is quieter than usual, my footsteps echoing off the tiled floors as I make my way toward Coach Harding’s office.

I’ve walked this hallway a hundred times, maybe more—heading to film, to meetings, to pre-game strategy sessions.

But this time, it feels different.

This time, it’s the last.

I stop outside his office door, inhaling deeply before knocking twice.

“Come on in,” Coach’s gruff voice calls from the other side.

I push the door open, stepping inside the familiar space.

It smells like leather and old coffee, the walls lined with framed team photos, championship plaques, and a few newspaper clippings of the biggest games in the program’s history.

Coach Harding is seated behind his desk, leaning back slightly in his chair, his hands clasped in front of him.

He studies me for a moment, his expression unreadable, before nodding toward the chair across from him.

“Take a seat, Montgomery.”

I do, the leather creaking under my weight as I settle in.

Coach exhales, rubbing a hand over his jaw before fixing me with that steady, no-bullshit gaze.

“You ready?”

I nod.

“Yes, sir.”

His lips twitch, like he knows I’m just going through the motion.

“Big couple of months ahead of you. Pro Day, draft day, and then it’s off to training camp.”

I nod again, shifting slightly in my seat.

“Yes, sir.”

He studies me for another beat before leaning forward, resting his forearms on the desk.

“Listen, I didn’t call you in here to go over logistics. You know all that already. I called you in here because…well, this is the last time you and I will sit in this office like this. I didn’t want to let you go without saying a few things. ”

I sit up straighter, my chest tightening slightly.

Coach takes a breath, his voice quieter now but still carrying weight.

“You’re one of the best players I’ve ever had the privilege of coaching, Montgomery. But more than that—you’re one of the best men I’ve had the privilege of coaching.”

My throat constricts with emotion.

He shakes his head slightly, a small, proud smile crossing his face.

“You’re not just a hell of an athlete. You’re a leader. A teammate. Someone who makes the people around him better. And that’s rare, Jaxon. That’s real rare.”

I swallow hard, forcing myself to hold his gaze.

“I’ve watched you this past season, and yeah, the stats speak for themselves. The scouts love you. The media’s already talking about you like you’re the next big thing. But I want you to remember who you are through all of it.” He taps a finger against his desk for emphasis.

“Because the man you are off the field is just as important as the player you are on it.”

I nod, unable to say anything past the lump in my throat.

Coach exhales, leaning back in his chair.

“I won’t pretend this game won’t chew you up and spit you out if you let it. You’re stepping into a whole new world, son. But you—” He points at me.

“You’ve got something special. You play with heart, and that’s gonna take you a hell of a long way.”

I finally find my voice, though it’s a little rough.

“I appreciate that, Coach. More than you know.”

He nods, giving me a long, measured look.

“Wherever you go, whatever team you end up with—don’t forget, this will always be home.”

That hits me harder than I expect.

For the past year, this has been home.

The locker room. The weight room.

The stadium filled with screaming fans.

The campus that holds so many of my best memories.

And Madison.

My jaw tightens .

Coach clears his throat, standing and extending a hand across the desk.

“Good luck, Montgomery—not that you need it.”

I stand, gripping his hand firmly, shaking once.

“Thanks for everything, Coach.”

He pats my shoulder once before dropping his hand.

“Any time you’re in the neighborhood, you stop by, you hear me? Door’s always open.”

I nod.

“Yes, sir.”

He gives me one last approving look before I turn to leave, stepping back into the hallway.

I exhale slowly, dragging a hand down my face before heading toward the exit.

One chapter is closing.

Another is about to begin.

And as much as I try to focus on that—on football, on my future—there’s still something lingering in the back of my mind.

Something I’m not ready to let go of.

Or maybe, one person.

The house is quieter than usual, Carter’s music playing faintly from his room the only thing breaking the silence.

Boxes and duffel bags are scattered across the floor of my bedroom, half-packed, half-forgotten as I sit on the edge of my bed, staring at the wall.

I should be excited.

Pro Day is around the corner, and the draft is coming up fast. My entire future is unfolding in front of me, just like I always imagined.

And yet, it all feels…

off.

Like something’s missing.

Like I’m leaving behind more than just a college football career.

I exhale sharply, shaking my head before forcing myself to move.

I throw a few more shirts into my duffel, zip it up, then sling it over my shoulder before walking down the hall .

Carter’s door is open, his suitcase sitting half-packed on the bed.

He’s rifling through a drawer, tossing random stuff inside without much thought.

“You almost ready?” I ask, leaning against the doorframe.

“Yeah,” he mutters, shoving a handful of socks into his bag before looking over at me.

“You?”

I nod. “Just about.”

Carter watches me for a second, then tilts his head slightly.

“You heading straight to the airport tomorrow or making any stops first?”

I know exactly what he’s asking, and for a second, I consider lying.

I consider brushing it off, saying no, saying I’m good, saying there’s nothing left for me here.

But I can’t.

Because she’s always there, just beneath the surface of every decision I make, every thought I have.

I roll my shoulders, adjusting the strap of my bag.

“Gonna swing by my parents’ house before I head out.”

Carter raises a brow, nodding slowly.

“And…are you gonna say goodbye to anyone else while you’re at it?” His voice is casual, but we both know this isn’t a casual question.

I exhale through my nose, clenching my jaw.

“Not my call to make.”

Carter sighs, rubbing a hand over his face before leaning against his dresser.

“Come on, Jax.”

I shake my head, already knowing where this is going.

“I’m not chasing her anymore.”

Carter scoffs.

“You never chased her, man. You showed up for her. You fought for her. That’s not the same thing.”

I drop my bag onto the floor, dragging a hand down my face.

“And where did that get me?”

Carter doesn’t answer, because we both know where it got me—alone, standing on the sidelines of my own damn life, waiting for her to decide if I’m worth fighting for too .

I let out a slow, controlled breath, shaking my head.

“I love her, man. I do. But I can’t keep being the only one trying.”

Carter studies me, his expression unreadable.

“So that’s it?”

I swallow hard, my throat tightening.

“That’s up to her.”

Carter doesn’t argue.

He just nods like he understands.

Because at the end of the day, I can’t make this decision for her.

She has to make the move.

And as much as it fucking kills me, I know—I know —I have to let her.