I tug my oversized sweater over my head, raking a hand through my tangled hair after being in a bun, when a knock echoes through the apartment.
Lyla smirks as she heads for the door. "Ooooh, wonder who that could be."
She swings it open, and the second I see him, my stomach drops. Jaxon stands in the doorway, still in his team hoodie, his bag on his shoulder.
But he’s not his usual relaxed, post-game self.
His jaw is tight, his whole body tense. There's a darkness in his eyes I rarely see—something fierce and protective and barely contained. His eyes flick past Lyla, locking on me, and the intensity in his gaze steals my breath.
I know that look. Something's wrong.
Lyla notices too, her smile faltering. "Uh-oh. This doesn't look like awe just wonvisit."
Jaxon doesn't say anything. He just keeps looking at me, likehe's making sure I'm real, like he needs to see me to ground himself.
I step forward, pushing at Lyla's arm lightly. "Go ahead to the party. I'll meet you there."
She hesitates, glancing between us. "You better, or I'll be back to drag you out."
I nod, and with one last suspicious glance at Jaxon, she grabs her keys and heads out.
The second the door closes, I go to him, grabbing one of his hands with mine. His skin is burning hot, his knuckles slightly red. "What happened?"
His jaw tightens, his fingers wrapping around mine like he needs something solid to hold onto. "Someone was talking shit in the locker room."
My stomach tightens. "About you?"
He shakes his head. "About you."
A chill races down my spine. "What did they say?"
Jaxon exhales sharply, shaking his head like he hates even repeating it. "Some bullshit about you hopping from athlete to athlete. That you have a 'type.'"
I go still.
I shouldn't care. I shouldn't let it get to me, but that sting is impossible to ignore. It cuts deeper than I want to admit, reopening old wounds, old insecurities. The whispers that have followed me since high school, the assumptions people make without knowing me, without knowing my heart…
I know how people see me. I know what it looks like to everyone else.
But Jaxon... He's different.
Jaxon knows me. And right now, he's pissed. Not annoyed, not irritated—furious in a way I've rarely seen him. His entire body radiates tension, like he's barely containing something violent and protective.
His grip on my hand tightens, his voice low and dead serious. "Mads, you know that's not what I think. You know I shut that shit down the second I heard it."
I nod, swallowing past the lump in my throat. I do know.
Jaxon has never made me feel anything less than his everything, has never looked at me with judgment or disappointment. He has only ever seen me—the real me.
I step closer, pressing my hand to his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath my palm. "I'm sorry they said that. I know that must've upset you."
His jaw clenches, his muscles still coiled tight. "You have no idea."
I tilt my head up at him. "Do you want to stay here for a little while? Maybe skip the party?"
His shoulders finally relax a fraction. "Yeah. But...can I shower first?"
I nod, tugging him toward the bathroom.
