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“It’s okay,” he breathes, but it’s shaky. “We don’t… have to talk.” Jaxon steps closer, hands gentle as he brushes wet hair from my face. For the first time in weeks, the ache in my chest eases, just a little. Maybe it’s not a solution. Maybe it’s not even forgiveness. But for tonight, it’s enough.

I glance at the empty bed across the room with Mookie already settled on Jaxon’s pillow. “Is Jameson gone for the night?” My voice is barely a whisper.

“Yeah.” Jaxon nods, never looking away. “His parents are in town. Won’t be back till tomorrow.”

Relief and nerves crash in my chest, sharp and electric. He steps closer, hands settling on my hips, fingers digging in just enough to remind me this is real. He leans down, searching my face for something—permission, maybe, or a reason to stop—but I don’t give him one.

He lifts me gently, laying me back on his bed, the sheets cool against my overheated skin. He picks up Mookie, sets him on the ground, only for him to slingshot back up to his spot on Jaxon’s pillow.

I laugh. “Some things never change.”

He smirks. “Little shit is a pillow hog.”

He draws a careful breath, his mouth finds mine, soft at first, then hungry—like he’s been waiting as long as I have. Rain pounds the window. I let myself get lost in the sound, in the way he kisses me like I’m the only thing that matters, like maybe we can make the world shut up for one night.

He leans in and kisses me. Can we do this—just once and not get caught up in feelings and memories? I don’t know. I want this with him. I want it more than my next breath.

He kisses me again, slow and careful, like he’s afraid I’ll vanish.

My hands find his face, tracing that stubborn jaw, the familiar stubble that gives me goosebumps as it slides over my skin.

He pulls me closer, his touch reverent, almost shy—like we’re both relearning how to be close after everything.

The rain drums harder, making the room feel smaller.

The pull to be closer to him is unexplainable, addicting.

Jaxon looks at me, searching my eyes for regret.

I shake my head and pull him closer. We move together the way we always did—easy, natural, our bodies speaking a language only we know.

Longing in every touch, something gentle, a promise that even if this is just for tonight, it matters.

He’s kissing my neck, my bare breasts, when I pull at his shoulders. “I want to… kiss you.”

“I know,” he says, but doesn’t stop. I start to rock my hips, but Jaxon stops me, holding me in place, grunting as he lifts his mouth back to mine. “I’ve needed this so bad,” he rasps.

He thrusts again, deeper, and I moan his name, my heart pounding in my ears, drowning out the rain and our heavy breathing.

Jaxon drives deeper, hitching my leg over his hip, grunts escaping as he tosses his head back. “Oh fuck.”

I cry out, my body aching for more as Jaxon’s eyes find mine—his gaze full of want and dominance. He watches me with rapt attention as I fall apart beneath him, lost in the connection and the pleasure running through me.

He thrusts inside me, once, twice, and then groans through his release, his mouth pressed to mine.

After, we lie tangled in the sheets, his arm around my waist, our breathing falling in sync.

He presses a kiss to my forehead, thumb tracing lazy circles on my hip.

For a few quiet minutes, the ache in my chest is gone, and all I feel is the warmth of his skin and his steady heartbeat under my cheek.

I wish I could stay here forever, in this soft, suspended moment where nothing else matters. But I know better. Morning always comes.

When I finally sit up, reaching for my clothes, Jaxon doesn’t try to stop me.

He watches, eyes heavy with everything we can’t say, the silence we let linger.

I pause at the door, Mookie racing around with zoomies, rain still thrumming outside, and look back at him—his hair mussed, sheets twisted, the faintest smile ghosting his lips.

I try to memorize him like this, just in case.

I pull on my damp hoodie and stand by the door, skin still tingling from his touch. Jaxon sits on the edge of the bed, watching me like he’s memorizing the shape I leave in his room.

“Damn,” I whisper, glancing back at him. I stare at his chest and the hard lines of his shoulders. I can’t lift my eyes. He’s beautiful and broken and right now, so am I.

He catches me staring. “What?” he says, voice soft.

I shake my head, the ache in my chest twisting. “I really want to crawl back in that bed with you.” My throat goes tight. “But I know I shouldn’t.”

He stands, closing the distance, and for a second, it’s like we’re in one of those movies—boy chases girl into the rain, confesses everything, the world melting away.

But this is real, and I know nothing can come of it.

As good as that kiss feels, as right as his arms feel around me, I can’t step up to the plate with him.

Not now. Even if Olivia Rodrigo would totally approve of my drama.

I want him. God, I want him. But I have to prove to myself that I don’t need him—that happiness isn’t something I borrow from Jaxon, or anyone else.

Which is rich, coming from the girl who just had sex with her ex because she missed him. Olivia would probably write a power ballad and call it “Bad Decisions, Track Nine.”

He hesitates. “Camdyn… I just… I want?—”

I cut him off, voice barely steady. “We can’t right now, Jaxon.

You need to focus on you and what you want.

” If I let him finish, we’ll slide right back into the inning we left unfinished, and we can’t—not when the game has to start over, not when I can see these feelings are coming from regret and loneliness, from a boy aching over a loss too fresh to name.

I won’t let that be the reason we get back together. I can’t.

So I leave. I grab my phone, shove it into my pocket, and slip out into the hallway.

He doesn’t stop me.

It’s quieter out here. The door thuds shut behind me—like the world just snapped back into focus.

My sneakers squeak against the shitty dorm carpet as I walk, fluorescent lights humming overhead.

I force myself not to look back. The elevator takes forever, so I take the stairs, heart pounding with every step.

Down three flights, past the smell of burnt popcorn and cheap cologne, out into the lobby where some guy in pajamas is arguing with a vending machine.

I push through the doors, out into the rain.

Cold hits me right away—sharp, relentless.

The quad is nearly empty, just puddles and the steady drum of water on concrete.

I keep my head down, hands jammed in my pockets, trying not to think about how my skin still buzzes from Jaxon’s touch.

Rain soaks through my hoodie in seconds, and I tell myself I’m fine, this is fine, I made the right call.

I’ve barely made it halfway across the quad when I hear footsteps behind me—fast, desperate, reckless.

“Cam!” he calls.

I stop, heart skidding, and turn.

There he is—Jaxon, running after me, rain plastering his shirt to his chest, eyes wild with hope and something that looks too much like love.

He grabs my wrist, spins me around, and for a second, I can’t breathe.

“I…” He swallows, breathing heavy, shakes his head like he doesn’t know what to say.

Then he kisses me—hard, messy, rain spilling down our faces.

For that one second, the world is nothing but water and his hands and the taste of goodbye.

When we break apart, breathless, I rest my forehead to his. The rain comes down harder, soaking us through, blurring the lines of everything except this: I have to go.

It’s like I’m standing in the batter’s box—those chalk lines dug into the mud around my feet, daring me to step over.

Every muscle in me wants to ignore the rules, to reach for him, swing for something reckless and wild.

But I know what happens if I don’t stay inside the box, if I let myself cross that line just because the moment feels good.

So I force myself to step back, feet heavy, heart heavier. “I have to go,” I whisper, and this time I do—leaving him in the middle of the quad, rain pouring down, both of us refusing to truly let go but knowing, for now, we need to.

Maybe we’ll get another at-bat. Maybe not. But right now, I have to respect the batter’s box, no matter how much I want to step outside of it and run back to him.

I cross the quad, rain slipping down my face, my chest tight and hollow. My phone vibrates in my pocket. I want to ignore it, let the ache just burn itself out, but I can’t. I pull it out, expecting a spam text or maybe Callie checking in.

It’s Jaxon.

His message is simple, just a handful of words that somehow manage to unravel me all over again.

Jaxon

I’m always here for you

That’s it. No pressure, no demands. Just what I need—what I’ll always need, even if I can’t reach for it right now.

I stop in the middle of the sidewalk, rain soaking through my hair, and stare at the screen until my vision blurs.

The words are a promise, and a lifeline.

My thumb hovers over the keyboard, but there’s nothing I can say that won’t make things messier, so I just tuck my phone close to my heart and keep walking.

Maybe I’ll find my way back to him one day. But for now, I let his words echo inside me, a soft, stubborn hope against the storm.