A voice, too loud, too casual, floats in from a few lockers down.
"Did you see Montgomery run straight for Madison? That girl's got a type, huh?"
My blood freezes.
Someone chuckles. "What do you mean?"
The first guy lets out an amused scoff. "I mean, first Carter, now Jaxon? Girl sure knows how to pick her athletes."
Laughter ripples through the locker room.
It's brief, because the second I stand up and turn, the whole place goes dead silent.
Every guy in here knows exactly what's about to happen.
The dude who said it—some second-string wide receiver I couldn't care less about—is still mid-smirk when his eyes lock on mine.
And it disappears.
I step toward him, my jaw locked, my pulse hammering against my skin.
He lifts his hands, shaking his head quickly. "Chill, man. I didn't mean?—"
I grab the front of his jersey, slamming him back against the lockers before he can even finish that bullshit excuse.
"Say that shit again," I grit out, my voice low, dangerous. "I dare you."
His throat bobs, his eyes darting around the room like someone might step in.
No one does. They know.
They know Madison isn't just some girl to me.
She's everything.
"Jax, man—" Logan starts, but I don't even glance at him.
I tighten my grip, leaning in just enough to make sure this guy gets it. "You got something to say about my girl, you say it to me." My voice is calm, controlled, but it's got an edge sharp enough to cut. "And I'll make sure you never say it again."
The guy swallows hard. "I—I didn't mean anything by it, man. I swear."
I hold him there for another second, just to let him feel it.
Then, I shove him back one last time and step away. The air is thick, the entire room watching, waiting to see if I'm done.
I don't give a shit.
I grab my duffel, yank my hoodie over my head, skipping the showers entirely, and storm out of the locker room, shoving my phone into my pocket.
There's only one place I want to be right now.
32
MADISON
The energy outside the stadium is wild—students spilling into the streets, cheers and chants echoing into the night. Lyla and I push through the crowd, both still high off the win, still buzzing from the sheer electricity of it all.
But for me?
