Page 173 of Red Zone
It hits me then, the way it has a few times lately:
All he does anymore is this.
Train. Push. Grind himself into the floor.
Because it keeps him from thinking about her.
About Madison.
I’ve heard from the guys that he’s been skipping assignments. Dropping classes. Showing up late to meetings. Nobody’s said it outright yet, but we all know what’s eating at him.
And seeing him like this—burning himself out because she can’t seem to make up her damn mind—makes my blood boil.
Because the truth is?
If she doesn’t want him, fine.
But she doesn’t have to leave him hanging like this.
Doesn’t have to let him keep breaking himself just to feel like he’s enough for her.
I know what it’s like to want someone to care for you. To be someone’s reason for the smile they wear.
But I also know how it feels when you dream of that for sixteen years before reality smacks into you, that no family will ever truly want you.
I rack my weight with a sharp clang and wipe my palms on my shorts.
Jaxon finally notices me then, glancing over mid-set.
He smirks faintly, though it doesn’t reach his eyes.
“What crawled up your ass?” he asks, breathless but light, like he’s just making conversation.
I force a laugh, shaking my head as I grab another plate.
“Nothing,” I mutter.
But as I watch him turn back to his bar, his arms shaking under the weight, my jaw tightens.
I rack my next set of plates and glance over at Jaxon again, who’s still grinding through his reps like his life depends on it.
It’s quiet for a minute, just the low hum of the gym’s speakers and the faint clatter of metal.
Finally, between his sets, I speak up.
“You ever think,” I say, leaning back on the bench. “That all this shit we do—the early mornings, the extra reps, the grind—none of it actually fixes anything?”
Jaxon glances over at me, breathing heavy, and lets out a short, humorless laugh.
“Every damn day,” he mutters, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand.
He steps away from the rack, resting his hands on his hips, staring down at the floor like it’s got the answer.
I watch him for a second, the words seeming to get stuck in my throat.
What does love feel like?
I want to ask him.
