He nods, his gaze steady when he looks up at me. "Yeah, and the schedule's gonna be insane."
I don't know why my chest tightens, but it does. I press my fingers against the counter, grounding myself. "That'll make it hard to come back home often."
I don't mean for it to sound…like that. Like something hesitant. Something uncertain.
But Jaxon hears it anyway.
His eyes lock on mine, sharp, unwavering. The air between us shifts, something heavy settling between us, unspoken but loud.
Then, he says, voice low but deliberate, "You prioritize what's important to you."
I stop breathing. My lips part, but no words come out. I try not to be offended, football has been his priority for years, so why would that change now?
The moment hangs between us, electric and charged, until the timer on his phone breaks the spell.
"Food's ready," he says softly, turning back to the stove.
I watch him ladle the chicken and dumplings into two bowls, the steam rising in delicate curls. The simple act of him cooking for me, remembering a dish from our shared past—it touches something deep inside me.
Jaxon carries both bowls into the living room, plopping onto the couch and nodding for me to follow. "Come on, let's eat before I have to head out."
I grab our drinks and settle next to him, pulling a throw blanket over my lap as he flips through the movies. Our shoulders brush, and I don't pull away. I like the contact too much.
"Fast & Furious?" he asks, not even bothering to confirm before hitting play.
I let out a soft laugh. "Do you ever get tired of this series?"
He grins, shoveling a bite into his mouth. "Nope."
I shake my head but don't argue. The truth is, I like the familiarity of it. I like that he always picks the same comfort movies. I like that, for all the changes in our lives, some things—like this—stay the same.
We fall into an easy silence, eating as the movie plays, both of us relaxing into the couch. The warmth of the food settles in my stomach, and for the first time in days, I feel good. Safe. The chicken and dumplings are perfect—not quite as good as his mom's, but close enough to bring back a flood of memories. The fact that he made this for me, that he remembered something so specific from our childhood, makes my heart swell.
We hear them before we see them, then Carter and a couple other guys walk into the living room. I don't recognize all of them,but Carter's the first to crash onto the armrest of the couch, tossing a pillow at Jaxon, causing him to almost drop his half-empty bowl.
"Bro, you watching this again?" Carter groans, shaking his head at the screen.
Jaxon scoops another spoonful of soup and shrugs. "It's a classic."
Another guy—Logan, I think—grabs another throw pillow and chucks it at Jaxon's head. "Classic, my ass. You just wanna pretend you're Brian O'Connor."
Jaxon smirks, setting his bowl on the coffee table and stretching his arms over the back of the couch, his bicep brushing against my shoulder. That simple touch sends warmth cascading through me, and I have to fight to keep my expression neutral.
"Family, man," Jaxon says, quoting the movie with exaggerated seriousness.
The whole room groans.
"That's it," Carter announces. "Someone revoke this man's movie privileges."
Jaxon just laughs, unbothered, and keeps eating.
The guys keep up the banter, making half-serious arguments as to whyTokyo Driftwas either the best or worst in the franchise, and somehow, between bites of food, I start to relax.
For the first time in a while, I don't feel like I have to try. I just exist here, surrounded by these guys and their ridiculous conversations, wrapped up in the easy familiarity of Jaxon. I sneak glances at him when he's laughing with his friends, admiring the way his eyes crinkle at the corners, the way his whole face lights up.
Eventually, the movie winds down, and so does the lazy energy of the room. One by one, the guys filter out, on their way to get ready for practice, leaving just the two of us again.
My knee brushes against his.
