The tennis courts stretched out under a bruised, half-dead sky, the cracked asphalt glowing weirdly under a few flickering floodlights that sounded like they were dying slow, dramatic deaths. The moon hung low and yellow, bloated like it, too, was judging my life choices.

Jaxon was already there.

Of course he was.

He paced slow, uneven loops along the far side of the court, hoodie up, hands jammed deep into his pockets like he was trying to physically keep himself from unraveling. He looked a little wild around the edges — the kind of boy your parents warned you about but also the kind that made you want to ignore them anyway.

He didn’t see me at first. Or maybe he did and just didn’t know how to start.

Which was fine, because I didn’t know how to start either.

I crossed the cracked court quietly, sneakers scuffing against the asphalt, heart punching my ribs like it wanted to make a dramatic exit. When he finally turned and caught sight of me, he froze like someone had hit pause on the whole night.

“Thanks for coming,” he said, voice rough like he’d been swallowing glass all afternoon.

“You made it sound important,” I said, folding my arms against my chest. The move did absolutely nothing to stop the shivers that had less to do with the cold and more to do with the fact that he was here — all chaotic and messy and stupidly beautiful and somehow mine.

He nodded once, stiff and awkward, like he didn’t trust himself to say more without falling apart.

“It is.”

We climbed the bleachers in silence, the metal freezing through my jeans, but neither of us moved once we sat. The whole world around us buzzed faintly — the floodlights, the distant hum of cars, the quiet roaring in my ears that only seemed to happen when Jaxon was too close.

Finally, he spoke.

“I needed a day,” he said, still staring at the ground like it might offer him better advice than whatever internal monologue he was losing against. “To think. To figure out if… if we’re worth what this is costing you.”

The words punched me straight in the gut.

I turned my head sharply, blinking at him like he’d just grown a second, even more annoying head.

“You think I regret us?”

He flinched, barely, but enough that I caught it.

“I think,” he said, voice so careful it hurt to hear it, “I don’t want to be the reason you lose everything.”

There it was.

The worst and best thing about Jaxon Reed.

He could be cocky, infuriating, a walking, hoodie-wearing bad idea — but deep down, he cared so much it physically pained him. And apparently now… he cared about me.

I slid closer, until our knees brushed. Until he couldn’t pretend he didn’t feel me there, choosing him.

“You’re not the reason,” I said, voice low but sure. “You’re the reason I stopped lying to myself.”

He blinked at me, that slow, stunned blink like he couldn’t actually process someone believing in him.

It cracked something open inside me — something wild and permanent and terrifying in the best possible way.

“Everyone hates you right now,” he said, like it was some final piece of evidence I hadn’t factored into my decision.

I shrugged, trying to look way cooler than I felt. “Everyone already hated you. Guess now we’re a matching set.”

He huffed out a laugh — small and broken and maybe the most beautiful sound I’d ever heard.

“You’re kind of amazing, you know that?” he said, voice rough like he didn’t want to say it but couldn’t stop himself.

I rolled my eyes because that was safer than bursting into full ugly tears. “I’m a disaster.”

He smiled then, real and soft and stupidly perfect.

“You’re my disaster,” he corrected, reaching out and tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering on my cheek like he didn’t want to let go.

Maybe I didn’t want him to, either.

Maybe I wanted every messy, complicated, absolutely wrong thing about this.

I kissed him before I could talk myself out of it. But then, as if on cue, my phone buzzed in my pocket—a sharp reminder of the real world.

Reluctantly, I pulled back, checking my phone because real life waits for no romantic moment. That’s when I saw it.

A notification blinking like a bad omen.

New message.

From Liam.

I didn’t want to open it.

I opened it anyway.

LIAM: You got a sec tomorrow? Need to talk.

I stared at it, thumb hovering, a sour taste already crawling up the back of my throat.

Because I knew exactly what talking to Liam meant.

More drama. More wreckage. More of the past refusing to stay dead.

Jaxon leaned over just enough to catch the glow from my screen. His eyebrow lifted, slow and questioning.

“Liam?” he asked.

I nodded, locking my phone so fast I nearly cracked the screen, stuffing it deep into my jacket pocket like that might smother whatever ghost Liam was trying to resurrect.

“I’ll handle it,” I said, voice steadier than I felt.

Because I had already made my choice.