Page 39 of This Is Love
Jaxon’s brow raises. He probably hasn’t seen the pissed-off side of Rya. “They definitely didn’t take us seriously.”
Rya whirls around, her eyes blazing as she walks backward in the direction of the dorm. “What the hell am I supposed to do now?”
I am in front of her, grasping her upper arms in two seconds flat. Her sudden burst of anger has her shaking violently. “Look at me.” Jaxon sidles up beside us, standing close. “Neither of us is going to let anything happen to you. And if someone happens to get past us, they won’t fucking survive the fallout. You can fucking believe that.” My fingers dig into her arms, and I dip my head so she’s forced to meet my eyes. “You hear me?”
“Yes,” she bites out with a sharp nod, then wrenches her gaze from mine, her chest jerking.
Fuck.
Jaxon places a hand on my shoulder, applying pressure, which in turn makes me loosen my grip. “I agree with Logan. We will take care of the fucking douche who’s doing this to you. We’ll figure it out.” His eyes are alight with a fire I didn’t use to appreciate when it was aimed in my direction, but I find I very much like it when he’s a raging asshole in Rya’s defense. “If I get my hands on them, I’ll fuckin’ end them.”
Her eyes go wide, and she sucks in a breath, but she doesn’t try to make him take back the bold sentiment.
I nod, pulling Rya into a possessive embrace. A moment later, Jaxon wraps his strong arms around both of us, leaning in until all three of our foreheads are connected. As my eyes meet his, fierce and unyielding, I grit out, “I’ll help you bury the motherfucking body. No one comes near our girl.”
19
JAXON
From the dugout,I watch Logan on the pitcher’s mound as he lets a fastball rip. It’s fucking beautiful, just barely staying within the strike zone. A perfect pitch. He’s doing surprisingly well today, all things considered.
And by “all things considered,” I’m referring to the shitstorm that’s following Rya around everywhere. Fucking idiot in a mask taunting her from the back of the auditorium, followed by an incompetent dickhead at the campus police station. Fucking awesome night.
We’ve fulfilled our promise to her all day long. She hasn’t been alone, unless using the women’s restroom this morning counts. Logan stood outside the door, like a fuckin’ sentry. We traded off who was with her between classes, and then I brought her to the field while Logan warmed up his pitching arm. I let out a sigh, my gaze shifting to search the crowd for her. Spotting her, I nod my approval at seeing Hazel in the stands with her.
The two girls have been deep in conversation for quite some time. Not sure what about. Maybe the masked stalker. Or it could be ballet shoes and tutus for all I know. They seem tense with each other, though. I’ll have to ask Rya about it later.
Logan winds up again, and as the ump calls another out, there’s a cheer and some loud clapping from the crowd. I cringe, turning my head and knowing exactly who I’m going to find there in the stands along the first base line. Eric and Jamie Ledger. My dad and stepmother. Grimacing, I shake my head, trying to digest the fact that they’re here. But I can’t. My jaw tightens, teeth grinding. When did they arrive? Have they been here the entire damn time? Something twists in my gut. A few weeks ago, I’d have had to admit to that god-awful feeling being jealousy. And okay, maybe a hint of that remains. But it’s mostly just anger simmering there.
I drag in a harsh breath, my gaze swinging back to the pitcher’s mound. Logan’s eyes connect with mine, then shift over to our parents. He knows I’ve seen them. He gives a slight jerk of his head as if to tell me that everything is okay.
But it’s not. This is bullshit. I shake my head, doing my damnedest to tune out thoughts raging through my mind.
Two minutes later, the Hawks come off the field and the first few batters in our lineup begin to warm up. Logan jogs over to me, taking up residence at my side. Doug is in the bullpen. When my eyes scan the scoreboard, I realize I’ve been off in my head for the better part of two innings. “You done?” Removing my ball cap, I run a hand through my hair before replacing it again.
Logan peers at me from the corner of his eye. “Yeah. Coach says Doug can handle it from here.” He subtly nudges my arm, and in a low voice, he murmurs, “I didn’t ask them to come, Jax. I didn’t tell either of them I was pitching today. Would have told Mom, but I was nervous.”
“Nervous about what? You’re a fucking great pitcher and you know it.”
He blinks a few times, as if at a loss for words. Finally, he sighs before throwing a hand out in frustration. “Because I knew what him showing up for me would do to you.”
I work my jaw to the side, letting his words sink in. We stand in silence for several minutes, watching the game play out. Azriel smashes a ball into left field, and runners take off, rounding the bases. The rest of the team is whooping and hollering, but it’s all I can do not to lose my shit. Because if what he’s saying is true, there’s a possibility my father sought out the game schedule on his own and decided this would be a good idea.
Beside me, my stepbrother is also clearly not focused on the game. I sense his blue-eyed stare on my profile. “Maybe my mom showed him the schedule.”
I grimace. “You know she’s never liked to come to games—even when we werebothplaying in high school, so I kinda fuckin’ doubt it, but thanks.”
He leans forward, resting one arm on the railing of the dugout, partially blocking me from other players’ views. I don’t know what I’m expecting, but it’s not for him to put his hand over mine. The warmth of his calloused palm sinks into my skin. He curls his fingers around my hand… and doesn’t let go.
I huff out a breath, unsure how to feel about any of it, and definitely feeling fucking exposed, even though there’s no way anyone can see what he’s doing. When I’m finally able to formulate my erratic thoughts into words, they aren’t anything like what I’m expecting them to be. The hurt scrapes up from my throat, raw and gritty. “Did you know he’s never once asked when I’d be playing. And he sure asfucknever showed up to a game to watch me.”
Logan draws my attention to him, his eyes boring into mine. As if he wants me to hear each individual word he says, they fire out one at a time, punctuated by a squeeze of his hand. “His. Fucking. Loss.”
His vehement support hits me square in the chest. I stare at him. “You really believe that?”
“Fuck yeah I do.”
I tear my eyes from his gaze, forcing myself to watch the remainder of the inning play out. It doesn’t take long—or maybe it’s simply that I’m preoccupied by whatever the end of the game will bring.
