Page 34 of This Is War: All's Fair Duet
I clench my teeth hard at the vehement note in his voice. I feel terrible. “I’m sorry I brought him up.”
Jaxon blows out a hard breath. “Don’t worry about it,” he grits out. “But… now it’s time to answer my earlier question. Turnabout is fair play and all that.”
I wet my lips as I peek at him. There’s not a doubt in my mind where the conversation is heading, and it makes my stomach flip and my palms sweat. “Um. What was the question again?”
He finally looks directly at me, his brow arched as his eyes bore into mine. Normally, that’d make meuncomfortable, but Jaxon is different. I’ve never had anyone study me quite this intently before. But I like that about him. And I’m not bothered by the blunt, straightforward way he has about him. “Who the fuck made you cry, Rya?”
I chew on my lip for a second, debating whether to give him the whole truth or just bits of it. Softly, I whisper, “Logan.”
In the following few seconds, Jaxon’s quiet, possibly waiting for me to continue with more of an explanation, but his jaw is twitching again, and somehow I think his outward calm is masking what’s really in his head, no matter how unfazed he seems by my admission. “Come here.” He slips his arm around my waist and gently tugs until he’s gathered me close to his side. I guess I didn’t notice when he scooted farther down the bed because we’re now lying together, and it creates a storm of anxious butterflies in my stomach.
I’m still struggling to decide whether or not I find this awkward when his lips move in the hair at the top of my head. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Knowing it won’t do a lot of good to lay everything out there—not for Jaxon, anyway—I’m unsure how to answer. He’s definitely played a role in what’s been happening with Logan. And Logan—he’s my best friend—and even though he made me feel shitty and confused, that doesn’t mean my loyalty to him has flown out the window.Slowly, I work through the pieces I feel comfortable sharing. “He doesn’t usually drink, but he was wasted when I went to talk to him. That was part of the issue. He wasn’t acting like himself. We hadn’t had a chance to talk since he didn’t meet me yesterday, and then you showed up for our date—” I draw in a breath. “I think that really messed with his head and set all of this in motion. Everything’s gotten weird and really fucked up between us.”
“He obviously did something, though.” Jaxon’s voice is gravelly, a hint of irritation hiding there in the low timbre.
“He—” My brows crash together, uncertainty swamping me. Finally, I blurt, “He wasn’t himself. I slapped him.” The trembling in my body is increasing the more I force myself to think back on it. “I don’t know what to make of him lately.” He’s confused. I know he is. Another tear boldly sneaks its way from the corner of my eye, and before I can brush it away, Jaxon does it for me. “It doesn’t make any sense. He couldn’t like…me… not like that.”
But then my mind wanders back to earlier this morning, making me second-guess everything. My stupid heart wants to believe in Logan. If only being with Jaxon weren’t so fucking effortless.
20
JAXON
By day three of practice,the temperature outside is slightly warmer, and Coach has us out on the practice field instead of inside. I prefer it to doing drills in the gym, though, so even if my nuts are halfway to frozen, I’ll deal with it in exchange for the fresh air and sense of home I get being out in the yard.
The relief pitchers are off doing drills with Assistant Coach Rexford while Coach Kimball has the starters under his watchful eye. Currently, three of us are lined up across from catchers while the remaining two take a short rest.
Alexander crouches opposite me, at the ready about sixty feet away. I’m capable of a wide variety of pitches, but today we’re focusing on two-seam fastballs, sinkers, and circle changeups. That’s all good with me. They’reeasier on my arm. Alexander catches my fastball, pops up, and wings it back at me.
Travis and Owen are currently observing, hands in warmers to ward off the chill. Greyson is throwing beside me, and Logan is on his other side. I’m fucking watching my stepbrother like a hawk. The way he winds up, lifting his lead leg and bending the back one, the rotation of his hips, it all looks good. He really has great understanding of the transfer of energy that needs to happen to execute a good fucking pitch, but it’s not my job to pat him on the fucking back. As I continue observing, his leg straightens, extending through his ankle, knee, and hip. Twisting around, his momentum provides the power necessary to unleash the ball.Thwap.It lands in John’s glove, a senior catcher.
“Wicked circle changeup, man. It’s got good movement before it breaks down and away. I like it,” John hollers as he nabs another of Logan’s balls. He’s taken a liking to that prick already. Pisses me off, because he completely fucking ignored me when I was a freshman last year. Well, what the fuck ever. It’s not like I’m not used to everyone fawning over Logan. And I’m doing just fucking fine.
I work my jaw to the side. Figures Logan would be better now than he was as a junior. I should have known. And the hell of it is, Coach is paying attention, too.
“Jaxon, get your damn head in the game. Let’s seesomething outta you today,” he growls as he paces back and forth, watching the balls being released and the subsequent catches. His eyes flick to me. “What are you waiting for? An invitation?”
Fuck.“No, Coach. I’m on it.” I give myself a quick shake before bringing my glove up under my chin, fingers curling around the ball until I’ve got them positioned for a fastball, two fingers between the seams. I wind up and send it hurtling through the air.
“Impressive velocity. Keep doing that,” Coach grunts before he moves on to have a look at Greyson, who’s throwing beside me.
Logan eyes me for a second, then turns around to get back to work. He’s got decent concentration, I’ll give him that. We manage another couple pitches, then we rotate. It’s time for both Logan and me to have a break, so we head over to the bench. I pull my hoodie on and shove my hands in the front pocket where the warmer is. Letting the heat soak into my skin. I draw in a deep breath of the crisp air, and my eyes follow Logan as he joins me. He tucks his hands under his armpits.
I frown at the bandages on his hand, wondering what the fuck he did, but choose to ignore it in favor of focusing on the fact he’s going to freeze his fingers off. “Did you not at least bring gloves?”
His head jerks in the negative. “Forgot my hand warmer pouch.”
Of course he has one of those pricey things.My own father probably fucking bought it for him. Rolling my eyes, I pull the cheap warmer out of my pocket—it’s just the kind that activates when exposed to air. They work well and last a long time. I chuck it at the back of his head.
It makes contact with a satisfying thud, like I knew it would, and he whirls toward me, a scowl on his face. “The fuck,” he grits out as his eyes dart from me to the packet at his feet.
“Calm down, pick that up, and keep your hands from freezing. I didn’t even throw it that hard.”
“Says the pitcher,” he growls with his jaw clenching as his eyes meet mine. I try my damnedest to remain impassive, to act like I wouldn’t rather throttle him here and now. His next exhalation comes out in a huff as he bends to snatch it up. Holding it between his hands, he stares at me long and hard with his lips pressed together before he finally mutters, “Thanks.”
“Sure. Doing my fucking best to separate you from the dickface who made Rya cry to my teammate who apparently isn’t smart enough to be prepared for the fucking cold out here.”
