She exhales, but I can tell she's fighting a smile. For a moment, we just stand there, looking at each other, and I'm struck by how familiar this is—the teasing, the banter, the way she tries to hide her smiles but never quite manages it. It reminds me of before, of all the years we spent circling each other, never quite brave enough to cross the line.
I watch her for a second, debating if I want to push my luck. Then, before I can overthink it, I ask, "What about dinner tomorrow?"
She blinks. "Huh?"
"With my parents," I clarify, heart pounding against my ribs. "I told you my mom's been asking about you. Figured I'd ask again."
She swallows, fingers tightening around her coffee cup. "Jax, I don't know if?—"
"It's just dinner," I say, keeping my voice light. I need her to say yes—this feels like more than just a meal, like a chance to rebuild everything we've lost. "You gotta eat, right?"
She exhales, looking down at her shoes, and I can see the conflict written all over her face. The fear there battles with something else—longing, maybe. Hope.
I wait, watching her carefully. I know this is more than just dinner to her. I know she's been keeping her distance from my family for a reason. But I also know she misses them, whether she admits it or not. They were as much a part of her life as they were of mine.
Finally, she looks up at me again, something hesitant in her eyes. "I'll think about it."
It's not a yes, but it's not a no either.
I nod, smirking slightly. "That's all I'm asking."
“Get outta here, hotshot. You’ve got a game to get ready for.” She shoves me gently, but I lean down, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek before giving her a wink and heading towards the football field with an extra pep in my step.
The stadium is packed. The roar of the crowd hums in the background as I step onto the field, rolling my shoulders, stretching out my fingers inside my gloves. The pregame energy is thick, pulsing through me, but still, my eyes do what they always do.
They search for her.
Somehow, like a compass locking on to true north, I find her almost instantly.
Madison is sitting a few rows up, tucked between Lyla and a few other familiar faces. She's wearing leggings and sneakers, her hair loose around her shoulders, cheeks flushed from the cold. But the thing that catches me?
She's not wearing Carter's number this time.
She's wearing mine.
Granted, I gave it to her a few hours ago, but damn, if it doesn't hit me right in the chest. I didn’t think she’d wear it in this heat. Seeing her here, knowing my name is on her as she watches me play—it's like every fantasy I've ever had come to life.
I barely realize I'm smirking until Carter nudges me with his helmet. "Dial in, Montgomery. You can flirt with your girl after you rack up some yards."
I shake my head, clearing my throat, but the energy in me shifts. The game is already important—every single one is—but now?
Now, I really need to win. I need to show her what she means to me, even if I can't say it out loud.
The first half is a battle—one of those gritty, grind-it-out types of games where nothing comes easy—but I thrive in games like this.
I catch everything thrown my way. Shake off defenders. Move the chains. Find the end zone.
Each time I make a play, my eyes find her in the crowd. I see her stand, see her cheer, see the way she leans forward when I have the ball, like she can't help but be drawn into my orbit. It fuels me, drives me harder, makes me want to be better. For her. Always for her.
By the time the fourth quarter rolls around, we're up, but barely. Every yard matters. Every second counts.
Carter calls an audible at the line, and I know before the ball even snaps that it's coming to me. The second the play starts, I take off, pushing my legs to full speed, faking left before cutting hard to the right. The ball sails through the air in a perfect spiral, and I stretch, catching it right over my shoulder, pulling it in before I hit the ground.
First down.
The crowd erupts, but I swear, I can hear one voice above all the others.
That's all the motivation I need to close this game out, to prove to her I'm worth betting on. I'm worth taking a chance on.
