He snorts. “Don’t give me that.”
I keep walking. He steps in front of me, blocking the tunnel with his entire body like a brick wall.
“You’re playing like a man with a broken rib and a broken heart,” Jax says. “I can’t help you with the rib.”
My jaw tightens.
“But the heart?” He tilts his head. “That I might know something about.”
I turn away.
“Stop lying to yourself,” he says simply.
I turn my shoulder, trying to slip past him.
Jax doesn’t move.
“You don’t get to hide right now,” he says. “Not when you’re dragging the whole team down with you.”
“I said I’m fine.”
He studies my face like he’s reading a stat sheet only he can see. “You’re not. And we both know why.”
I don’t answer.
Jax finally steps aside, and the current of bodies carries me the rest of the way through the tunnel and into the locker room.
The locker room noise swells around us. Guys talking. Cleats clacking on concrete. Someone laughing too loudly.
Jax comes in after me, lowering his voice. “You love her.”
The words hit me square in the chest.
Hard.
Jax's expression softens. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”
My throat burns. “You don’t know that.”
“I know it's hard to believe,” he says. “But I was in love once. And walking away from her was the worst decision I ever made.”
I shake my head. “It’s complicated.”
“It always is,” he says. “Doesn’t make it less true.”
I stare past him at the concrete wall. At a scuff mark shaped like a state I’ve never lived in. Anywhere but here.
“She looked at you,” Jax continues, “like you were her safe place.”
My chest tightens.
“And you looked back,” he says, quieter now, “like she was the sunshine in your world.”
Jax claps a hand on my shoulder. “Fix it,” he says. “Before you lose something you can’t replace.”
He walks away.
I stand there longer than I should.
