“You never could.” I mean that in so many ways. I know he wouldn’t hurt me, physically or emotionally.
He keeps his hand wrapped around my throat—it’s not tight enough to cut off air, but the slight pressure only adds to myarousal while we move together. The orgasm close when his mouth was on me is back, and I’m teetering on the edge.
Everything is perfect with him; he gives me everything I need, and his forehead drops down to mine with a raspy, “Let go.”
I do.
Crying out with everything I’m feeling, truly, I let go. Jaxon isn’t far behind me, thrusting only a couple more times before he’s burying his face in my neck with a groan. We lay like that for a while, neither of us willing to move.
It’s after midnight when I feel his hand slip into mine under the covers.
My legs are tangled in his, my face tucked into the curve of his shoulder, our hearts finally beating in something close to sync. I don’t know how long we lie here, quiet and still, like the world finally stopped spinning just for us.
Jaxon shifts slightly, his voice low and rough from hours of saying nothing. “What’re you thinking about?”
There’s a pause before I answer. It’s not because I don’t know, but because it still feels fragile, like some thoughts haven’t been spoken aloud enough to feel real.
“My mom,” I whisper.
He squeezes my hand but doesn’t speak.
“I went to see her,” I say. “After I ran. After you…played the voicemail.”
I don’t look at him, but I can feel the way his body tenses beside me, just for a second. He remembers.
“I didn’t plan to. I was driving, and suddenly, I was just…there.” My voice softens. “I hadn’t been in so long. I told myself I wasn’t ready, but I sat there in the cold and told her everything. About you. About how scared I was. About how much I wanted to stop pushing you away.”
I pull in a breath and let it out slowly. “I told her I think I’m in love.”
Jaxon doesn’t move at first. Then, his fingers find my jaw, turning my face toward him. “You think?”
“I know,” I say, my voice breaking just a little. “I’ve known. I was just afraid that wanting something good would make it disappear.”
His eyes shine even in the dim light. “You never had to be perfect, Mads. Not for me.”
“I know that now,” I whisper. “But it took me a while to believe it.”
He leans in, brushing his lips across my forehead, then my temple. “Thank you for telling me. For going. I think she’d be proud of you.”
“I hope so,” I say, curling closer to him.
We’re quiet for a long beat. I think maybe that’s all he’ll say, but then he lets out a breath, tracing the inside of my wrist again. It’s the same motion he’s been doing all night, almost like it grounds him.
“Can I tell you something too?” he says.
I nod.
“I wasn’t okay, when you left.”
I look up at him, and he’s already staring at the ceiling, like the words hurt.
“I know I acted like I was, but it tore me up. Every game, every practice—I was there, but not really. I kept playing like my body remembered how, but everything else felt…gray and dark.” He swallows. “And I kept listening to that voicemail, over and over, like maybe if I played it enough, you’d say something different. Come back. Pick me.”
“Jax…”
He turns to me now, fully. “You didn’t owe me that. I know. I just—” His jaw flexes. “I didn’t know how to stop hoping.”
I slide my hand to his chest, right over his heart. “I’m so sorry I hurt you.”
