Page 10

CHAPTER 10

PHARO

When I exit Brewer’s office, I feel as if I’ve left behind a thousand-pound brick I’ve been carrying on my shoulders for years. I feel lighter, freer. I didn’t even realize how familiar the burden had become, so comfortable that I often forgot it was there. My guilt had woven itself into the fabric of who I was, tangled up in every decision, every action, every regret. But Jax severed the gnawing heaviness from my soul with his apology, and for the first time in years, I don’t feel smothered by it anymore.

I hope I did the same for him. Nobody deserves to carry around something that heavy.

I don’t even feel like myself as I start down the long corridor toward the gym. BALLS has state-of-the-art equipment, and although I have some workout gear at home, I prefer exercising here. It’s the kind of place where I can sweat out my frustrations, the grind of the weights and machines letting me put my mind on autopilot.

Jax’s heavy steps fall behind me, the sound coming closer with each step. He’s quickening his pace, and less than a minute later, he surpasses me, shoulder-checking me as he walks by. The move is deliberate, a small but telling act of defiance. My jaw tightens as he brushes past, not even glancing at me, like I’m just another obstacle in his way.

I should’ve known his apology didn’t mean he was ready to bury the axe and pull that stick out of his ass. Jax has always been the type to throw out a few sentiments, maybe even make you feel like things are better for a moment, but he’s still got that bitterness lingering under the surface, like an infection he hasn’t bothered to treat. The apology was just a formality—nothing more than a scratch on the surface.

I keep my pace steady, though I can feel the heat of his proximity. It’s never been easy with him. Hell, it’s never been easy with anyone, but with Jax, it’s different. We don’t just walk away from each other. We circle. We clash.

“You look like you’re in a big hurry to get somewhere.”

“On my way to the gym,” he huffs.

I can’t blame him. I’m dying to burn off some of the residual anxiety and tension still lingering after that session.

When I hit the door to the gym, I pause just long enough to hear the heavy thud of his feet a few paces away. He doesn’t stop. He doesn’t even turn back. He just keeps walking, like he’s got all the time in the world to be pissed off.

I grab the first open treadmill I see, stretching my arms over my head before plugging in my settings—three miles at a moderate incline. It’s a solid warm-up. Nothing too crazy, just enough to get the blood moving and the tension out of my muscles.

The only other available machine is directly beside mine. I see Jax hesitate for a split second, giving me a wary look, like he’s not sure whether to start something or back off. But he doesn’t back off. He grabs the treadmill and, without a word, sets himself up.

I can feel his eyes flicker up to my screen, and the corner of my mouth twitches when I see him copy my settings. Three miles at a moderate incline. But he sets a timer for ten minutes.

He thinks that’s enough.

I don’t give him the satisfaction. I bump my timer to eight minutes and crank up the speed, going from a jog to a full-on run. The thud of my feet against the treadmill is louder now, a rhythm that matches the thumping in my chest. The goal isn’t just to get warmed up anymore. It's about pushing, about proving something.

Jax’s dark eyes narrow as he falls into his run, matching my pace. I can practically feel the challenge in the air, a silent competition hanging between us like a taut wire ready to snap.

I’m barely winded when the alarm goes off. My pace was quick, but I’ve done this enough to know how to control my breath, how to keep my body moving without burning out. Jax, though? He’s another story. His chest is rising and falling heavily, his skin slick with sweat. I’m not sure if I should feel sorry for him or just enjoy the sight.

While he finishes out the last two minutes of his run, I slide over to the free weights. I set up without a glance, but I keep my eyes on him. I want to see what he’s going to do next. Jax doesn’t disappoint. After wiping down the equipment with an exaggerated effort, he grabs a bottle of water from his gym bag and downs the entire thing in one go, his eyes never leaving me as he moves toward the weights.

He sits beside me on the bench and grabs a 20-pound set of barbells. I raise an eyebrow. I’m using 15s, so of course, I grab the 25s without a second thought. This isn’t about lifting anymore. This is a game. A fucking competition.

Jax seems to think I'm predictable. Like he’s got me figured out already. But he doesn’t know the half of it. If he wants to keep this up, fine. I’ll just finish what he started.

I might be sweating through the workout, but I’m going to make sure he’s drowning in this.

I keep my eyes on the weights in my hands, but I can feel Jax’s gaze lingering on me, like he’s trying to gauge if I notice. I curl the dumbbells again, feeling the burn in my muscles, and let the tension build for a moment before setting them down with a controlled motion.

“Enjoying the show?” I ask, glancing up at him with a smirk.

Jax doesn’t seem embarrassed, not even close. Instead, he just shrugs, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. “I was just trying to figure out what kind of training you’re doing, genius.”

“Clearly, it’s working,” I shoot back, giving my arm a little flex, just to mess with him. “You can touch them if you want.”

Jax just grins, shaking his head. “You’re something else. No one can push my buttons like you do.”

“I didn’t mean to push all of your buttons, I was just looking for mute.”

Jax’s lips curl, but he fights it. “Acting like a dick won’t make yours any bigger.”

I laugh. A genuine, throaty laugh. Jax is a snarky motherfucker, but sometimes he’s funny. “Looks like someone had an extra bowl of bitch flakes this morning.”

His scowl is predictable. “You're dry humping my last nerve. I don’t have the energy to pretend to like you today.”

“Don’t you think it’s about time to take that stick out of your ass? I thought we made peace back there in Brewer‘s office. Am I missing something?”

“I don’t have a stick up my ass,” Jax practically growls.

“What do you have up there? Is that why you get that stupid, confused expression on your face all the time?”

Jax looks incredulous. “You’re sitting around thinking about what I put up my ass?”

“Of course not.” But I am now . “You gonna tell me?” Why can’t I just let it go?

“No.”

“Maybe a visual demonstration?”

“Not a chance.” He finishes his reps, counting them out loud like he’s daring me to interrupt. “Just because we came to an understanding about what happened doesn’t mean my reasons for not liking you dissolved into thin air, like fairy dust.” With a grunt, Jax drops his weights to the floor, the sound of them slamming against the ground breaking the silence. He stands, towering over me, his eyes cold and unflinching. “I don’t fucking like you,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “We’re not friends. We’re not brothers in arms.”

The scoff that follows makes my jaw tighten. I set my weights down, the metal clinking, and stand up too, shifting the power dynamic. Now I’m towering over him. “What are we then?” I ask, voice low, tense.

Jax doesn’t hesitate. “Just two guys that used to be close. Two guys who’ve known each other for a long time. Two guys that will never see eye to eye.”

Well, fuck me. That feels final.

I catch up with Jax again in the locker room, the space nearly empty except for the echo of our footsteps. It's six o'clock, and most people are already home, eating dinner with their families. The humid air hangs thick, making the smell of disinfectant and body spray hit harder than usual, like it’s all stuck in my lungs. Jax doesn’t acknowledge me at first, his focus still somewhere far off, probably still pissed about earlier. He’s sitting on a bench, toweling off his sweat while waiting for the shower to heat up, the tension in his shoulders evident. It’s almost like we’ve never been close, like the years of knowing each other never existed. But here I am again, stuck with him in this suffocating stillness, trying to figure out what the hell’s left between us.

I stand there for a moment, watching him, the silence pressing in around us. I could leave—walk out and pretend this shit never happened—but something about the tension in the air keeps me rooted to the spot.

Jax finally glances up, catching me staring. His gaze is sharp, almost like he’s daring me to say something, but my tongue feels thick. I open my mouth, ready to throw some snark back at him, but it dies on my lips. The last thing I want to do is drag this out more than it needs to be.

After a beat, Jax exhales, his jaw shifting like he’s wrestling with what to say. “You know,” he says, his voice flat, “we’ve been doing this dance for years. I’m tired of it.” His eyes lock on mine, like he’s searching for something, or maybe just waiting for me to bite back.

I mutter to myself as I watch him disappear behind the curtain. Maybe we just need a different song to dance to. It’s a stupid thought, but something about it feels right. The old rhythm we had—it doesn’t work anymore. We’re not the same people we used to be, and maybe we’re both just too damn stubborn to admit it.

I grab my towel and throw it over my shoulder as I step into the shower stall. I can’t help but think maybe Jax and I aren’t so different after all. Maybe we both want the same thing, but we’re too messed up to figure out how to get there. Either way, I know one thing for sure: this isn’t the last time we’re going to clash.

Maybe we’ll find a new way to move forward. We don’t have to keep dancing to the same old tune, right?

I step into the shower, the warm water rushing over me, the heat soaking into my muscles, easing the tension from the workout. I grab the soap and work it into a lather. The scent of citrus and cedarwood fills the air, mixing with the steam as I scrub the sweat and grime of the day off my skin. My mind starts to drift, but then the thought hits me again— Maybe we just need a different song to dance to.

I shake my head, trying to push it out of my mind, but it lingers. I don’t know what the hell that means. A different song?

I run the soap down my chest, moving to my shoulders and arms, scrubbing away the remnants of whatever bullshit’s been slowing me down. My fingers move automatically through my hair next, and I grab the shampoo. I tilt my head back, massaging it into my shoulder-length hair, feeling the foam build up and rinse it out under the spray. The hot water pours over my scalp, but there’s no relief from the knot in my chest. Whatever the hell is between me and Jax, I can’t escape it. Not yet.

When the water starts to cool, I turn off the faucet. The silence in the locker room feels heavier now that I’ve been alone in my head for too long. I grab the towel, wrapping it around my waist, and stare at my reflection in the fogged-up mirror. The guy staring back at me seems tired—worn—but I don’t know if it’s from the workout or everything else. Something’s shifting inside me, though. Something I can’t ignore.

Maybe Jax and I aren’t done yet. Maybe we never will be.

I don’t get it. Why is he the person I feel tied to in this life? The one whose path I always cross? I don’t even know if I want him in my life anymore. The constant friction, the back-and-forth, the resentment, and yet... there’s something else there. Something deeper.

Maybe it’s the history between us, the years we spent close, like brothers. Maybe it’s the fact that no matter how much we fight, how much we push each other away, we still understand each other in a way no one else does. Even when we’re at each other’s throats, there’s this unspoken understanding that runs beneath everything we say, everything we do.

I don’t know what it is. But the truth is, no matter how much I try to cut ties, no matter how hard I push, he’s the person I’m always pulled back to. He’s the one who’s been there through every fucked-up choice, every mistake. He’s the one who knows me, maybe better than I know myself.

I want to walk away, and even though I hate the pull, I can’t seem to stop coming back to him. And I don’t know if that makes me stupid, or if it just makes us... inevitable.

I didn’t realize Jax chose the locker beneath mine until I approached and saw him crouched down, wrapped in a towel like me. The sight of him, all cocky and too comfortable in his own skin, almost makes me laugh. It’s always like this with him—so damn confident, even when he’s half-naked and vulnerable. He doesn’t even notice me at first, too focused on whatever’s in his bag, probably checking his phone or some bullshit.

I could just stand here and wait for him to finish dressing, act like I don’t care. But that would be boring. I know how to push his buttons, how to get under his skin without even trying. I could walk over, mess with him a bit, knock that smug expression off his face. Maybe remind him that no matter how much he tries to act like he’s the top dog, I’m still here, always here, always ready to call him out.

With a slow grin creeping across my face, I take a step closer, eyes fixed on him. Coming up behind him silently, I make sure he doesn’t hear me approach. The moment he stands up, I brace my arm against the locker. Jax ends up pressed right against my chest, trapped against the cold steel wall.

“Back up, Pharo, or I’m gonna leave you bruised and confused.” His voice is tight with barely contained frustration.

“You can try,” I reply, my grin turning into something that borders on a challenge. “Sounds like it would be fun.”

He turns in my embrace, his body now facing mine, and I catch the glare in his eyes—hateful, sharp, like daggers. “You know, they say everything happens for a reason. So when I kick your fucking ass, remember I have a reason.”

But instead of pushing me away, he stands there, stiff and tense. He breathes in, like he’s catching the scent of my body wash, and I can’t help but notice how the current between us shifts. My heart kicks into overdrive, like I’m back on the treadmill running those three miles in record time. Hell, it’s beating so loud I’m sure he can hear it. My eyes lock onto his throat as it moves with each breath. He swallows hard.

I’ve got him right where I want him.

Except… instead of shaking his confidence, I realize I’ve done the exact opposite. I’ve shaken my own.

“So that’s still there,” I murmur, standing so close I can feel his breath on my skin.

Jax doesn’t deny it. Wouldn’t be foolish enough to try. The chemistry sparking between us, filling the air with static electricity, is the same that’s existed between us for years. The same pull that brought us together in Iraq and put us on shaky ground long before Jordan became a problem. This is where it all started—the forbidden attraction between a corporal and his master sergeant.

In his dark eyes, I see something flash—vulnerability, raw and quick—and it hits me hard. Beneath the bluster, beneath the snark, Jax is just a man. A man with a wounded soul. A man who once placed his trust in me.

“One of these days, you’re going to be the death of me,” he breathes, his lips almost brushing mine.

I can feel the tension between us thickening, much like my cock beneath this towel. “You know what they say,” I murmur, my voice just above a whisper, “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”

His expression tightens, and he leans in just enough that our lips are a breath apart. “What doesn’t kill me should run,” he says, voice low and dark. “Because now I’m fucking pissed.”

Despite the charged static of the moment, I can’t help but chuckle softly. His ire might be aimed at me, but I’ve always admired that sharp tongue of his.

“Would you chase me?” I tease, leaning in just a little closer, knowing exactly what I’m doing.

“All the way to hell and back,” he growls, the vow heavy with intent.

It’s a dangerous game we’re playing—one that’s been simmering beneath the surface for far too long. And I wonder if we’ll ever stop dancing around this fire… or if it’ll burn us both alive.

I let him go reluctantly, stepping back just enough to create a sliver of space between us. The air crackles with tension, a silence that feels heavier than anything we’ve said or done. My heart is pounding in my chest.

Jax doesn’t move at first, and I’m not sure if he’s as torn as I am, or if he’s just waiting for me to make the first move. My fingers twitch, wanting to reach for him again, to close the gap. But I don’t. Instead, I stay rooted, watching him, wondering if he feels it too—the pull that’s always been there but never fully acknowledged.

He doesn’t speak, but I catch a flicker in his eyes, a flash of something—desire, anger, maybe both. Something untamed and raw. He takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly as if to steady himself, before grabbing his bag and pulling on his shirt with more force than necessary.

It’s almost like he’s trying to shake off what just happened. Maybe I am, too.

I take a moment to admire his body. His muscles are more defined now, sharper than they were when we served together. Time has treated him well.

The Jaxon James I used to know was practically a boy compared to the man I see standing before me now.

But it’s the ink that pulls me in the most. Each tattoo tells a story. Some I know, some I’ll never know. Maybe they’re his way of marking the past, or maybe he just likes the way they look. Either way, they’re a part of him, just like everything else—the strength, the pride, and even the damn attitude.

I catch myself staring a second too long, and I quickly snap my focus away. Even though I want to look, I know it’s better if I don’t.

But as I turn to grab my duffel, I can’t help but feel like we’re both holding something back that’s begging to be let out. For now, though, I leave the locker room with the same question rattling around in my head: What happens next?