Page 60 of Scrum Heat

Silence stretches again, the kind Jax wears like a hoodie, then a full minute of nothing but the sound of batter being stirred and the distant hum of the dishwasher. He watches me stir, his arms folded like he’s seeing straight through to the spiralling.

I keep my hands busy. Moving. Lifting. Measuring. Stirring.

Stir a little too hard.

Then, so quiet it’s almost background noise:

“You like her.”

I nod once. There’s no point denying it.

I glance over at him, then back down at the batter. “You remember rugby camp? When we were thirteen?”

“When Joel Hargrave called me a freak for skipping the team party?”

“Yeah. You stayed out back, behind the cafeteria with that pocket knife and survival manual.”

Another nod. “Figured I’d carve something useful or die trying. And then, you found me.”

“I think you were reading about how to build a shelter from two sticks and an angry squirrel.”

His mouth twitches—barely. “You brought muffins.”

“Triple berry,” I grin. “With oat crumble.”

“You said the best teams look out for each other.”

I shake my head, smile crooked. “I said packs, didn’t I?”

He raises a brow again. “You said teams. But I heard it.”

More silence. Then he says, evenly:

“You want her.”

I pause, wooden spoon mid-air, then nod. “Yeah. I really do.”

His gaze stays on me, unreadable. Then, calmly:

“So does Rory.”

I nod again. “I know.”

“And Theo.”

“That one’s not subtle.”

He shrugs. “I don’t think any of us are, anymore.”

I look at him carefully. “And you?”

Jax tilts his head, like he’s weighing a weather system.

“Don’t you?”

He pushes off the counter. I watch as he picks up a spoon and starts folding the batter gently—no commentary, no fanfare. Just Jax, being Jax.

Always quiet. Always present.

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