He drops his duffel, rubbing a hand over his face while I grab a towel, turning on the water. His fingers brush mine as I hand him the towel, his gaze dropping to my mouth for half a second.
Steam curls through the bathroom, filling the space with warmth, but the tension between us is thick enough to cut. Jaxon stands there, jaw tight, hands clenched at his sides, his whole body coiled. He's trying to keep it together, trying to hold it in, but I see it.
The frustration. The anger.
I step closer, reaching for his hoodie, my fingers slipping under the hem. "You don't have to be upset, Jax."
His head snaps up, his brows furrowing. "What?"
I exhale, pulling the hoodie up slowly, letting my fingers brush against his abs as I lift it over his head. He lets me, but his muscles are tense, his chest rising and falling in short, sharp breaths.
"I know it sucks when people talk shit, but you don't have to let it get to you," I murmur, watching his expression carefully. "You know you're the best player out there. You don't need to prove anything to anyone."
His hands tighten into fists, his nostrils flaring. "Mads?—"
"And I know people are probably looking at us now," I continue, pushing through the weight pressing against my ribs, "wondering if you're getting distracted, if I'm just another girl in a long list. But you and I both know that's not true, and that's all that matters, right?"
Jaxon's chest rises sharply, and suddenly, his hands are on me, gripping my waist as he pulls me against him, his eyes burning into mine with such intensity, I nearly gasp.
"You think I'm pissed about me?" His voice is low, rough, shaking with restrained emotion.
I blink up at him, my stomach twisting. "Aren't you?"
He exhales sharply, shaking his head, his grip on me tightening until I can feel each individual finger pressing into my skin. "Madison." My name sounds like a prayer and a curse on his lips. "I don't give a fuck what anyone says about me."
I still. His jaw ticks, his fingers flexing against my waist. "You really think I've worked my ass off to get here, to be in the best season of my life, and I'd let some dumbass in the locker room get in my head?"
I swallow, suddenly unsure. Because...yeah, I thought that was it. I thought he was angry about people questioning his focus, his priorities. But the way he's looking at me now?
It's not that at all.
Jaxon shakes his head, his voice dropping even lower. "I'm mad because they talked about you like that."
My breath catches, something fracturing inside my chest.
His hands slide up my sides, his fingers brushing bare skin, leaving trails of fire in their wake. "They don't know you, Mads. They don't know shit about you." His voice breaks slightly, raw emotion bleeding through. "They don't know how strong you are, how fucking amazing you are. They don't know what you've survived, what you've overcome. They just see what they want to see, and I hate that I can't stop them."
I suck in a shaky breath, my chest tightening around a heart that suddenly feels too big for my body.
The way he's looking at me—it’s like he hurts for me, like it's physically painful for him to hear someone say something like that about me. Like an insult to me is worse than any hit he's ever taken on the field.
Like I matter that much to him.
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.
I don't know what to say, because no one has ever defended me like this. No one has ever been angry on my behalf or cared enough to fight for my honor.
Jaxon exhales, his hands slipping under my jaw, tilting my face up toward him. His thumbs brush against my cheek, his touch gentle despite the tension still radiating off him. The contrast is devastating—this man, so capable of force, of power, touching me like I'm something precious.
"I just—" He stops and swallows hard, his eyes flickering over my face like he's trying to memorize me. "I can handle whatever they throw at me, but when it's about you? I can't fucking stand it, Mads."
I feel raw, exposed, like he's peeling back layers of me I've never let anyone see before. It’s like he's looking straight into the core of me, past all my defenses, all my walls, all my carefully constructed protection.
I reach for him, curling my fingers around his wrists, holding him there. "It doesn't matter what they say, Jax. It never has." My voice trembles with the lie. Because it has mattered. It's always mattered. Every whisper, every judgment, every assumption—they all cut deeper than I've ever admitted.
His eyes flash, his grip on me tightening. "It matters to me."
Something shatters in my chest, something I've been holding onto for too long. A dam breaking, water rushing in, drowning out the voices—the ones inside my head and the ones from the outside world.
