We grab our food and drinks and make our way to our seats. With each step, I feel more out of place.
"Here we are!" Lyla plops down, but I hesitate before sitting.
All around us, girls are decked out in Jaxon paraphernalia. Some have painted their faces with his number or the school colors. They're laughing, taking selfies, radiating an easy confidence I've never possessed.
I sink into my seat, suddenly feeling very small. "There sure are a lot of Jaxon fans here," I mutter.
Lyla follows my gaze and snorts. "Please. Half of them probably don't even know what position he plays. They just think he's hot."
Her words are meant to reassure me, but they only twist the knot in my stomach tighter. Because she's right—Jaxonishot. And talented. And going places. Who am I to hold him back from that?
I try to squash the jealousy rising in my chest, but it's persistent. These girls, with their perfect hair and flawless makeup, represent everything I'm not, everything Jaxon really deserves.
"Hey, you okay?" Lyla asks, nudging me with her elbow. "You look like you're about to be sick."
I force a smile. "I'm fine. Just...a lot of people."
She doesn't look convinced, but thankfully, she doesn't push it. As the teams start to file onto the field for warm-ups, I sink lower in my seat, wishing I could disappear.
A chorus of high-pitched squeals erupts around us as Jaxon jogs onto the field. Girls jump to their feet, waving and calling his name. My chest tightens as I watch him scan the crowd, his brown eyes searching.
"Jaxon! Over here!" a blonde two rows down waves frantically, nearly spilling her drink.
I shrink further into my seat, my fingers fidgeting with the hem of my shirt. Why would he look for me when he has all of them?
But then, his gaze locks onto mine, and the world narrows to just us. His lips curve into that crooked smile I know so well, and he lifts his hand, pointer and middle finger forming half a heart.
Our old signal. My breath catches.
Before I can stop myself, my own fingers are mirroring his. It's muscle memory, a reflex born from countless years of stolen moments and secret smiles.
"What are you doing?" Lyla whispers, eyebrow raised.
I drop my hand quickly, heat flooding my cheeks. "Nothing. It's just...an old thing."
Jaxon's grin widens, lighting up his entire face. He gives me a quick wink before jogging back to the sidelines, leaving me breathless and confused.
"Doesn't look like nothing," Lyla says, a hint of amusement in her voice.
I shrug, trying to appear nonchalant even as my heart races. "We’ve done it since we were, what, seven? Maybe eight?"
“I’m just saying, girlfriend, given the opportunity, I’d climb that man like a tree.” She grins, shrugging as I stick her with a glare. “Respectfully.”
As the announcer starts calling out tonight's starting line, I can’t help but cheer a little louder for number nine.
9
JAXON
The roar of the crowd hits me like a physical force. My heart rate picks up, and I'm not sure if it's from the pre-game adrenaline or the thought of Madison watching me play in person for the first time in years.
When Coach calls us into a huddle, I force myself to focus. This is my first home game of the season, and every eye in the stadium is on us. The pressure’s real— it made headlines when I transferred, and I know my old school can’t wait to come at us hard later in the season. Today’s my chance to show these new teammates I’m here to play some good ass football.
Coach leans in close, his tone low and rough around the edges.“Jaxon, listen up,” he says. “I know you’ve got a lot on your mind, but tonight, it’s all about the game. I need you focused. You’re our secret weapon—show ‘em what you’re made of.”
I swallow hard, nodding. “Got it, Coach. I’m not letting anything get in the way.”
He gives me a steady look, his eyes burning with intensity. “That’s what I like to hear, son. You’ve done great getting into the swing of things, but this is the real test, seeing how well you work on the field with the rest of them, if you’ve earned their respect.”
