Chapter 45: Broken Play: Chapter 45

I drag a hand down my face, frustration settling heavy in my chest. “She won’t let me love her, Mom.” My voice is rough, edged with something too raw to hide. “She thinks she’s this…broken thing undeserving of anything good, that the people she loves will always just leave her or hurt her.”

Mom listens, her eyes soft, but she doesn’t jump in right away. She just lets me get it out.

I shake my head, exhaling sharply. “I don’t know how to make her see I’d never leave. I’d never hurt her.” My fingers grip the glass in front of me, the condensation slick beneath my touch. “I want to be enough for her, but I don’t think she’ll ever let me be.”

Mom reaches for her own tea, taking a slow sip before setting it down gently. Her gaze settles on me, thoughtful. “Jax, I know this hurts,” she murmurs, leaning forward. “I know it does. But you also have to remember everything Madison has been through, everything that’s been taken from her.”

I clench my jaw, my gut twisting, because I do remember. Every fucking detail.

Mom’s voice stays quiet, but there’s a weight to her words, a depth that makes them sink in like stones. “She lost her mother before she even had a chance to truly know her. And then she lost the father she did have—the one who was supposed to love her and protect her, but who only hurt her more.”

My throat tightens, my hands curling into fists under the table.

Mom shakes her head slightly, sadness flickering in her expression. “And when she finally got out, when she finally had some semblance of peace, he still managed to crash a car with her in it. He nearly took her with him, Jax.”

I squeeze my eyes shut for a second because, fuck, I hate thinking about it, about the way I sat next to her hospital bed back then, barely able to breathe as I watched her recover from something she never should’ve had to survive.

Mom exhales, giving me a knowing look. “So, if Madison believes everyone she loves eventually leaves, can you really blame her?”

The question almost lets the tears burning my eyes fall. The answer is no, I can’t blame her, not when everything she’s ever held onto has slipped through her fingers like sand.

I let out a ragged breath, my elbows bracing against the table as I grip the back of my neck. “Then how do I fix it?”

Mom smiles, but it’s a sad one, one that tells me she already knows something I haven’t figured out yet. “You don’t.”

I look up, my brows furrowing. “What?”

Her fingers curl around her mug, turning it absently as she studies me. “You can’t fix this for her, sweetheart.” She shakes her head, her voice gentle but firm. “This isn’t something you can just love her out of.”

My chest tightens.

Because that’s what I’ve been trying to do, isn’t it?

To love her hard enough that she believes she’s worth it. To show her she’s not broken, that she’s not unlovable, that she doesn’t have to run every time something feels too good.

But maybe Mom’s right.

Maybe that’s not my battle to fight.

I swallow hard, gripping the back of my neck. “So, what? I just let her go?”

Mom’s smile softens, but there’s something knowing in her eyes. “Sometimes, the things we love most have to find their own way back to us with their own answers.” She reaches over, squeezing my hand. “All we can do is hope they come back sooner rather than later.”

My stomach twists—what if she doesn’t? What if she takes too long?

What if she never realizes I’ve been standing here, ready and waiting—and I move on before she figures it out?

The thought makes me sick.

Because no matter how hard I try to convince myself she isn’t my whole world, that I could move on…

I don’t think I ever really will.

The rhythmic clang of weights and low thrum of music fill the gym, but my mind is miles away. I focus on my reps, my muscles burning in that good way—the way that usually clears my head—but nothing really shuts it off anymore.

Carter is across from me, spotting while I finish my last few reps on the bench press. He nods approvingly as I rack the bar, stepping back with a smirk. “Not bad, Montgomery. Didn’t even need my help.”

I sit up, rolling my shoulders, sweat dripping down my back. “Yeah, well, I gotta make sure I don’t get my ass handed to me at Pro Day.”

“Doubt that’ll happen,” he says, grabbing his towel and wiping his face. “Scouts already know what you can do.”

Before I can respond, I hear footsteps approaching.

Logan.

I brace myself, sitting a little straighter as he stops a few feet away. His hands are in his pockets, his expression hesitant, like he’s not sure how this is gonna go.

Carter looks between us but stays quiet.

Logan exhales, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Look, man… I know I already said it before, but I just—I really am sorry for what I said at the party. I was being a dick, and I didn’t think about how it would affect you or Madison.” He swallows hard, his gaze steady. “I respect the hell out of you, and I don’t wanna be that guy. I hope you know that.”

I study him for a second, weighing his words. I’m not the type to hold grudges, never have been. And at the end of the day, Logan’s just a guy who said some dumb shit.

I let out a slow breath, nodding. “It’s over, man. Apology accepted.”

Relief flashes across his face, and he sticks out a fist. I bump it, and just like that, it’s done.

After Logan takes off, Carter and I finish our workout, pushing each other through a few more sets before finally calling it. After showering and changing, Carter claps me on the back as we head out of the locker room.

“Bar?” he asks.

I shrug. “Sure. Need food anyways.”

We walk over to the campus bar, the usual buzz of students filtering in and out. The bar is packed, dimly lit, with the hum of conversation and the occasional burst of laughter cutting through the music playing over the speakers. The air smells like spilled beer, fried food, and cheap cologne from a group of guys standing too close to the pool table.

Carter and I slide into a booth across from Lyla, the worn leather seats sticking slightly to my skin as I lean back, stretching my legs out. A neon beer sign flickers above the bar, casting a dull yellow glow over everything.

“Ohhh, well if it isn’t two of my favorite dumbasses,” Lyla drawls, swirling her drink in her hand as she smirks at us.

Carter scoffs, leaning on his elbows. “Real warm welcome, Ly. Feels great.”

I smirk, shaking my head. “Nice to see you too.”

She levels me with a look, and I can tell she knows something. When Carter shifts next to me, rubbing the back of his neck, I know it too.

My eyes narrow slightly, bouncing between them. “Okay, what’s going on with you two?”

Lyla immediately looks away, taking an obnoxiously slow sip of her drink.

Carter clears his throat. “Nothing.”

“Yep. Nothing,” Lyla echoes, her voice just a little too light.

I stare them down for another second, but I’m too damn tired to play detective. So, I let it go.

For now.

The server swings by, dropping off our drinks—beer for Carter and me, something bright pink for Lyla—and we start talking about Pro Day, the draft, the usual. I’m mid-sentence when someone slides into the open seat next to me, the scent of vanilla and way too much perfume hitting me before I even glance over.

She’s blonde, dressed in a tight crop top and ripped jeans, her manicured nails wrapped around a glass of something clear and full of ice.

Her body angles toward me, her shoulder brushing mine, and before I can react, she’s giving me a sugary smile.

“Hey,” she says, tilting her head slightly.

I nod vaguely, already trying to put more space between us. “Hey.”

Carter smirks behind his beer. I ignore him.

“You’re Jaxon Montgomery, right?” she asks, like she already knows the answer.

I sigh internally. “Yeah.”

She giggles—she actually giggles. “So,” she continues, twirling a piece of her hair, “I saw you play this season. You were really impressive.”

I nod again, reaching for my drink. “Thanks. Appreciate it.”

Her eyes flick over me, and I feel it—the way she’s studying me like I’m a damn menu option. “You must be so excited for the draft. I mean, you have to be going first round, right?”

I shrug, taking a sip of my beer. “That’s the hope.”

She hums, leaning in closer, and I can smell her perfume way too strong now. “So, do you⁠—”

And then, it happens, that feeling at the base of my neck.

It’s like something pulling at me—a string tugging tight in my chest, my body reacting before my brain even processes why.

My pulse kicks up. My shoulders tense.

I know this feeling.

I’ve lived in this feeling.

It’s her.

I don’t even have to see her to know—I just know.

My head turns on instinct, scanning the bar quickly, searching for her in the sea of bodies, but I don’t see Madison anywhere.

The feeling lingers for another second before fading, leaving me unsettled.

The girl next to me touches my arm lightly, pulling my attention back. “You okay?” she asks, tilting her head.

I blink, readjusting my grip on my beer. “Yeah. Just—thought I saw someone.”

Her lips curl into a knowing smile. “Well, whoever it was, they’re missing out.”

I let out a short breath, shifting away again, this time making it obvious.

She doesn’t take the hint.

Lyla, however, definitely notices. “So,” she cuts in, her voice way too amused, “what’s your name?”

The girl barely spares her a glance. “Tori.”

Lyla nods, taking a sip of her drink before looking straight at me. “And you definitely don’t have a girlfriend, right, Jax?”

I glare at her. Carter chokes on his beer.

Tori frowns slightly, looking between us. “Uh…”

I exhale, rubbing a hand down my face. “I don’t.”

It’s the truth, and yet, the second I say it, I feel like I’m lying.

Because no matter what I tell myself, no matter how long it’s been, no matter the space between us⁠—

Madison Blake still owns every fucking piece of me.