Fall With Me (Playing For Keeps Book 4)
Chapter 25

“You’re gonna hurt yourself, sweetheart.”

“I’m not gonna hurt myself.”

“It’ll be the ladder or the hammer, one of the two.”

“You have no faith in me. You never have.”

“I’ve had nothing but faith in you your whole life, sweetheart, but your strength is on skates, not wielding a hammer. If that doesn’t get ya, it’ll be that damn cat at your ankles.”

“Damn it, Mittens! Daddy’s working!” I shake my leg, trying to free myself of his talons. He leaps into the air, batting at my foot, and the second he hits the ground, he’s at it again. “Did Lennon give you catnip again this morning?”

Gran chuckles from my phone, where I have it propped up against a mafia romance so she can supervise me hanging these pictures. “Oh, Jaxon. That one is just stunning.”

“Right? She’s incredible with her camera.” I hang the framed forty-by-sixty shot Lennon took a couple weeks back over the couch. It’s my favorite of her shots, the Milky Way splashing across the navy sky at Porteau Cove, streaks of magenta and lavender blending flawlessly into the amber glow of the setting sun, right before it dips below the horizon. “I submitted it to National Geographic. Apparently they don’t take unsolicited submissions, but⁠—”

“You’re a rulebreaker?”

I smile, running a palm down my proud chest. “Yeah.”

Gran snickers, and I take in the artwork scattered across the walls: dancing stars, falling meteors, brilliant sunrises, lush mountains. Lennon. Lennon lives in every single piece, etched into the details, the sense of wonder, the same way she lives in my thoughts, running around all day, even when she’s not here.

I hate it when she’s not here.

“She’s good for you.”

My gaze snaps to Gran and her watchful smile. “Huh?”

“Lennon. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you smile like that.”

I rub the back of my neck. “I’m just happy ’cause the doc cleared me this morning. I can play in Nashville on Sunday.”

Her smile only deepens, blue eyes staying on mine as she works on her crochet piece. “Yes, you always look like you tripped over your own two feet and face-planted into love when you’re thinking about hockey.”

“Love? Love? Psssh. Gran, please. I mean, what does that word even mean anyway?” I scoop up Mittens, smooshing my face into his soft, floofy belly. “I love my handsome, squishy marshmallow. Yes I do, ’cause he’s so fuckin’ cute. Oh, hey, Gran, can you make Mitts a⁠—”

She holds up a teensy blue-and-green vest, just right for a kitty. There’s a pair of mittens stitched on one side, and a hockey stick on the other. “I still have to do the back.”

“I want it to say Daddy.”

She rolls her eyes, muttering to herself about cats, grandkids, and great-grandkids.

“I didn’t catch that, Gran, but—oh, what’s that, boy?” I squish my ear against Mittens’s face. “Mittens says you’re the meowy best great-gran.”

“For God’s sake, Jaxon. Get out of the house. Go for a walk. Find your mind, ’cause I think you’ve damn well lost it.”

“’Kay. C’mon, Mitts, let’s get your harness.”

“Leave the cat at home!”

I gasp, covering his tiny, adorable ears. “She didn’t mean that.”

Gran shakes her head, sighing. “Bless Lennon’s sweet, selfless heart, she has to deal with this on a daily basis. Cat walks, custom sweaters, photoshoots⁠—”

“I told you, the photoshoot was her idea!”

“Then you two really are made for each other.”

I lift my shoulder, shrugging her words off. I have a hard time believing I was made for anyone, let alone Lennon. Nobody gets that lucky.

Gran’s smile slowly fades, heartache working its way into her eyes. “One of these days, Jaxon Riley, you’re going to realize you’re worth it.”

Will I? I’ve already been chasing it my whole life. The older I get, the further away it seems to be, and the more ingrained in me it becomes that I’ll forever be trying to stack up to someone else’s standards. I hate the feeling, the way it has the power to wind around my limbs and squeeze until I feel like I can’t breathe. It renders me useless, another jab at the brain that hasn’t figured out how to fight the negative thoughts even after all these years, the ones that convince me if I can’t be better, I’ll be alone.

But I don’t want to be alone anymore.

Maybe that’s why I wind up out front of Second Chance Home an hour later, my first time alone, asking Sarah’s social worker if I’m allowed to take her for ice cream and a walk.

Sarah’s bent over a magazine when her social worker tells her, and the way her face lights up makes me feel nice. Important, almost. Her head whips up, eyes replaceing me. She waves excitedly, leaping from her seat on the floor and running up the stairs, screeching about getting ready “like, so super fast, I promise.” When she joins me out front ten minutes later, she’s breathless and wearing a Vancouver Vipers hoodie with my name on the arm.

“Where’d you get that?”

“Isn’t it cool?” She grips the hem, popping her hip left, then right, showing it off. “My social worker got it for me for my birthday.”

“That’s what you wanted?”

“Well, I wished for a family when I blew out my candles, but I had to ask for something that was actually possible for my real gift.” She says it so easily, giggling while I roll my shoulders back, trying to dissolve the sudden bite of pain in my chest. “I said I wanted my favorite player’s jersey, but she said I’m not allowed to wear your number ’cause it’s a bad number, so she got me this instead. Isn’t it great? It’s so cozy.”

I blink at her. “I’m your favorite player?”

She rolls her eyes. “Duh, Jaxon.”

“I thought you barely liked me.”

“Well, that’s silly. Why do you think I’m always doing your hair and makeup? ’Cause I like you best.”

Damn it, the pain isn’t leaving. “Why do you like me best?”

“’Cause everyone else is always so happy and perfect, but sometimes you’re grumpy and sad, and it makes me feel like it’s okay to be grumpy and sad. I’m tired of pretending I’m always happy like everyone else.” She throws her arms in the air. “Now can we go get ice cream already? I’m starving!”

We walk to Baskin-Robbins, and Sarah takes ten minutes to decide which two flavors she wants, and another five to decide if she wants it in a cone or a cup. She chooses a cone, fucking finally, but proves it’s the wrong choice when she bumps into a table and drops the whole thing. When I order her another one, she stops the worker with a screech to wait! because maybe the cone falling was a sign that she chose the wrong flavors. I almost cry, and I do bang my head off the ice cream display window. A kind old woman pats my back and promises me it gets better, but not until age twenty-three or so.

“Holy smokes,” Sarah says as we walk along Barbour Park Trail, eating our ice cream. “You’re inhaling that!”

“Mmm, mhmm.” I lick the edge of the cone where my chocolate peanut butter ice cream is dripping. “This is my favorite flavor. I haven’t had it in forever.”

“How come?”

“Lennon’s allergic to nuts.”

“So you don’t eat them? What if you go out for lunch without her?”

“I’d rather avoid them altogether if I’m going to be seeing her. I don’t want to risk her getting sick.”

“You’ll be happy when she moves out then, huh? Then you can have your favorite ice cream whenever you want.”

I swallow, the ice cream souring in my stomach as I look at my half-eaten cone. “I can get a new favorite flavor.”

Sarah licks her bubblegum cone. “Why? Is she gonna live with you forever?”

“I dunno. No. Maybe. I dunno.”

She snorts a laugh. “Maybe I should ask her instead. I bet she knows.”

I bet she does. I also know she’s not going to answer, the same way she wouldn’t answer me when I asked her what she wanted me to do with that love contract Coach said we have to sign if we’re a real, super official couple. She says it’s not about what I want her to do, but what I want to do. Now the damn contract is burning a hole in my underwear drawer, because I’m too scared to come right out and ask Lennon what I want to know, which is whether she’s my girlfriend, all mine, for no one else but her and me.

“Hey, lemme ask you a question.” I take one last look at my cone, mentally thanking chocolate peanut butter for the time we’ve had together over the years before I toss it in the trash and take a seat on the park bench. “If a girl spends, like, all her free time with you, and the first thing she does every day is kiss you good morning⁠—”

“Does she brush her teeth first?”

“No.”

“Yuck.” She shudders. “’Kay. Go on.”

“And if she laughs at all your jokes, and holds your hand in public, and asks you to hold her purse⁠—”

“She asks you to hold her purse? That’s big.”

“Right? It doesn’t feel like something you’d just task to anyone.”

“I wouldn’t.” She looks me over. “And not to you. No offense, I just don’t know if I’d trust you with a job that important.”

“That’s ridiculous. What am I gonna do with it? Run off and—” I close my eyes and breathe, hands braced in front of me. “Okay, whatever. If she does all that, and wants to introduce you to her family, does that mean she’s your girlfriend?”

“Hmmm.” Sarah squints, licking at her ice cream. “Does she kiss anyone else?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure.”

“Her purse. Does she keep stuff in there for you?”

“She lets me use her chapstick, and she packs snacks when we’re gonna be gone for a while, ’cause she says food makes me nicer if I’m acting grumpy.”

“Interesting.” Sarah crunches her cone, licks her fingers clean, dabs at her mouth with her napkin. “I would say yes, she’s your girlfriend.”

“Yes!” Jumping to my feet, I jerk my fist into my side. “Fuck yeah!”

“But you’ll have to ask her yourself.”

“What? Nooo. Sarah!”

“And see, that’s why I wouldn’t let you hold my purse. You’re afraid to ask a girl to be your girlfriend, so if someone tried to steal my bag, you’d be too afraid to fight them off.”

“Sarah, please. Have you seen me play hockey? I’d knock ’em out.”

Sarah snickers, and as we walk back to the home, she asks me about Lily, how she’s doing, if she’s happy, asks me to give her a hug for her. When we reach the front steps, she grows quiet, looking up at the house.

“Jaxon? Why do you think I haven’t been adopted?”

The question surprises me, and I’m disappointed in myself for forgetting. Forgetting that despite how happy these kids are, they’re sitting here, waiting day in and day out. To be reunited with their family, to replace another one. To be chosen.

“I’ve been here longer than Lily, you know. I mean, I’m really happy for her. I’m just kinda confused, I guess, ’cause I’ve been here since I was seven, and I’m gonna be thirteen after Halloween.” She sniffs, shrugging. “Maybe I’m just not what people want. I’m a lot of work.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Well, for starters, I take a long time in the bathroom ’cause I like to do my hair pretty every day. And I always make a mess practicing my makeup. I get it all over the place, then I gotta clean it all up. This boy at school says I never shut up, that I talk too loud and too much. I’m not good at math, no matter how much I try, and I came in last place at the cross-country meet because I got a cramp in my stomach.” She frowns. “I guess that makes sense though. ’Cause after my mom died, her boyfriend said I was too slow and made us late for everything, and that’s why he couldn’t keep me.” Her eyes water. “Is that it? Do I need to be faster? I can practice. I can be better.”

Fuck. I crouch at her feet, gripping her hands, bringing her eyes to mine. “Hey. Look at me. You don’t change a thing about yourself, okay? Don’t change a damn thing. You are perfect exactly the way you are, and you know something? The people who think you aren’t, are the people who don’t matter. We don’t give a fuck about those people, Sarah. We’re better off without them. The only people we have room for in our lives are the kind who don’t ask us to be anything or anyone we’re not. Wait for those people, Sarah. That’s the family you deserve.”

She sniffles, swiping at a tear that rolls down her cheek. Then, she slips her arms around my neck, hugging me close. “You should stop being afraid to ask Lennon to be your girlfriend.”

“How do I just stop being afraid?”

“Maybe you don’t. Maybe you just give her your heart and trust that she’s going to protect it. The same way she trusts you to hold her purse, even though you could lose it.”

Sarah gives me one more squeeze, thanks me for the ice cream, then starts up the steps. She pauses at the door. “Do you like me the way I am? Slow and messy and talking too much?”

I smile. “I like you lots, just the way you are.”

She grins, a beautiful sight. “My mom did too. She wrote it in a letter for me before her cancer got too bad. She said on the days where I felt unlovable, she hoped someone would remind me that I was. Thanks for making me feel lovable today, Jaxon. I hope your family helps you feel lovable on your hard days too.”

Maybe I’m chasing that feeling today. Missing it with Lennon and the guys gone. Or maybe I’m riding the high of having that impact on Sarah’s day. Maybe it gives me a sense of purpose, knowing that a gesture as simple as an ice cream cone and a few words of affirmation helped put a smile on her face, helped her stand a little taller. Maybe I want more of that, to help make someone’s day easier, memorable.

Maybe that’s why when I check in on Rosie and she’s on the verge of a meltdown, trying to juggle everything at home with Adam out of town, I offer to help.

“Connor’s having a sleep regression, so he refused his nap today and won’t go to bed. Lily misses Adam and wants him to read her bedtime story over FaceTime, but they haven’t landed yet. Neither of them wanted dinner, the dogs need to be walked, and the cat got bit by a bug in the backyard. He’s fine, but he’s being an asshole because one eye is swollen shut and I keep laughing at him.” She sighs, deflating as she lets me into the house. “If I don’t laugh, I’ll cry.” Then she takes Mittens from my arms, kisses his nose, ushers him down the hall toward the sound of chaos, and pulls me into her arms. “Hi. Thank you for coming. You didn’t have to, but I’m glad you did.”

“Uncle Jax?” Two brown eyes peek around the corner.

“Hey, Lil.” Crouching, I open my arms. “Feel like a hug?”

She sniffles, inching toward me in her Princess Ariel nightgown, long brown hair tied up in buns on either side of her head. When I lift her into my arms, she lays her head on my shoulder and cries. “I want Daddy to read me a bedtime story but he’s still on the airplane.”

“Can I read you a bedtime story tonight? I’ve never done it before, but maybe you could teach me.”

“Daddy does the funny voices.”

“What? You mean like this, little darlin’?” I ask in my best Southern drawl. “Or does he sound a wee bit more like this?” I switch to my best British, which is hot trash, but she’s only five so she laughs anyway.

She scrubs her eyes with her tiny fists. “Can you do a teapot?”

“A teapot?”

“The teapot talks, and Daddy does her voice.”

“How about I do my own voices, and that way whenever I read this book to you, we’ll have voices that are special to us, and when Daddy reads it to you, you two will have voices that are special to you and him. How does that sound?”

She sniffs, nodding. “That sounds good.”

More footsteps pad, and Connor comes running down the hall in Buzz Lightyear pajamas, Mittens clutched to his chest. “Unc’a Jax! Conn’a gots Mitts! Meow!” He scrubs his eyes, looking up at me with a sleep-drunk smile.

“You sleepy, buddy?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “Conn’a not sweepy.”

“Well, I was gonna go read Lily a bedtime story.”

He tosses poor Mitts to the floor, scampering over, reaching up. “Conn’a wead stowy.”

Setting Lily on her feet, I tell them, “Say good night to Mama.”

Rosie embraces them, kissing their cheeks. “Good night, babies. I love you.”

“I love you, Mommy,” Lily murmurs, squeezing her again. “Thank you for loving me back.”

“Lub you, Mama,” Connor calls, waving at her over his shoulder as he races up the stairs. “Come, Unc’a Jax! Be’time!”

Upstairs, Lily shows me her room and tells me how she’s been doing really good at sleeping in her own bed, but that she still likes to sleep with Connor some nights because they make each other feel brave. She’s having trouble feeling brave tonight, so the three of us lie in Connor’s bed while I read a story about an unlikely duo: a teapot and the silly bear who breaks it and then puts it back together again. Lily laughs at all my voices, and Connor passes out on page three. When I climb out of bed, she scooches closer to Connor, snuggling up as I tuck her in.

“That was fun,” she whispers, yawning. “You can come back and do it again.”

“I’d like that, Lily.” I press a kiss to her forehead. “Good night, sweetheart.”

“Uncle Jax?” she calls as I reach the door, the glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to the ceiling lighting her bleary-eyed smile. “I love you.”

My heart swells and thumps. “I love you, too, Lil.”

Rosie’s coming in the front door with the dogs as I come down the stairs. “Everything okay? You look like you just saw a ghost. Were the kids difficult to get down?”

“Your daughter just told me she loves me. And I . . .” My throat constricts. “I don’t know what I did to deserve it, so normally I’d convince myself it’s not real. But . . .”

“It feels real.”

“I . . . believe her.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean. I spent my life feeling like I had to be someone else, earn the love I wanted. Then people like Adam and Lily, like you guys, you came around and gave it to me freely.” She shakes her head. “Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night, and for a moment, I think it was all a dream.” Her fingertips flutter across her cheekbones, swiping at her tears. “Sorry, I’m so emotional lately. And tired. I fall apart so much easier when I’m tired. I’m so excited for you guys, how far you’re getting in the playoffs. But I won’t lie, I’m looking forward to having Adam home for a couple months when this is all done. Two dogs, a cat who lives up to his Dinosaur name, two kids and another on the—” She snaps her mouth shut, eyes wide.

“Another what?”

“Honestly, I forget what I was saying.” She moves past me, heading for the kitchen. “Hey, wanna order some pizza? I’m starving. I’ll see if the girls wanna come over.”

“A girls’ night?” I dash across the kitchen to the living room, jumping over the back of the couch, sprawling out on top of it with my hands behind my head. “I’m in. Oh! Can we wear robes? Does Adam have a robe I can wear? Imagine you send him a picture of me lounging in his robe? He’ll be so mad.” I rub my hands together, laughing under my breath.

Rosie’s watching me, brows raised, menu in her hands.

“Can we get cheesy garlic sticks too?”

“Oooh, fuck yeah,” she mutters, bringing her phone to her ear as she looks at the menu. I jog over, looking through it as she orders pizza and cheesy sticks.

“And wings,” I mouth, pointing at the picture. “Hot.” I unravel the menu, checking out the rest of the options. “Oh, fuck. Jalapeño poppers. Oh my God, can we get onion rings?” I dip my mouth toward her phone. “Can we get an order of⁠—”

“Jaxon, for fuck’s sake.” She bats me away. “Yes, I’ll get you your damn poppers and onion rings.”

“And my hot wings.”

Her eyes narrow somewhat dangerously, and I smile, slowly backing away. There’s a beautifully stocked wine rack on the wall in the dining room, so I point at it.

“Wine? You want some wine? You deserve it.”

She rolls her eyes but laughs, turning away as she finishes up with our order. When she’s done, I hand her a glass of red, and her face pales.

“Oh. Thank you.” She swirls it around, staring at it.

I lift my glass. “Cheers.”

She swallows, clinking her glass to mine. “Cheers.”

I keep my eyes on her as I taste the vintage Syrah, and she keeps her eyes on the wine that she doesn’t drink.

“Hey, remember earlier in the hallway when you said ‘two kids and another on the—’ and then stopped talking?”

Her knuckles blanch as she grips the stem harder. “Uh huh.”

“Go ahead and finish that sentence for me.”

Another swallow. She licks her lips. Clears her throat, but whispers that final word anyway. “Way.”

“You’re pregnant.”

I expect a grin. Bubbling, giddy laughter, maybe. Rosie and Adam want a big family. A year ago, they didn’t even have each other. Now they have all this. So when she bursts into tears, buries her face in her hands and sobs, I’m a little confused. I didn’t know Rosie when she was pregnant with Connor, but Olivia was super emotional when she was pregnant with Ireland, and she always blamed the hormones. So maybe it’s that.

“Hey,” I murmur, running a hand over her back. “I’m sure it’s a lot. You’ve got a busy household. But you guys are gonna be amazing.”

“I’m the worst friend ever,” she sobs.

The worst . . . “What?”

“Cara and Emmett have been trying for two years and I-I-I . . .” She shakes her head, shoulders quivering, and I pull her into my arms. “We weren’t even trying yet. It just happened. Twice now, it’s just happened for me, and they’ve been trying for so long.”

“So you’re afraid she’s going to be mad at you?”

“She won’t be mad. She’s just . . . she’s going to feel so sad for her and Emmett, you know? Imagine trying so hard for something over and over and never getting it, but someone else who doesn’t even try gets it.”

I know they’ve been trying, but Emmett doesn’t talk about it much. And Cara? Well, Cara’s one of those people who seems unshakable every minute of every day. And I made the mistake of assuming that meant she was doing okay.

“We’ll be there for them, though,” I remind Rosie. “All of us. I know it’s not the answer, and it doesn’t make everything okay, but they won’t be alone.” I squeeze her a little tighter. “I’m happy for you and Adam. For your family.”

The front door flies open, Cara, Olivia, and Jennie’s voices carrying down the hall. Rosie wipes her eyes, mouthing a thank you at me before the girls appear, all three of them in fluffy white robes, hair pulled up in messy knots.

Cara heaves two giant pink bags up on the counter and grins at me. “Welcome to the dark side, Jaxon. After tonight, you’ll be a member of the Coochie Gang for life.”

The words should scare me. On a regular night, they would. When I’m lying in bed later tonight, maybe I’ll realize how reckless I was being, how lucky I am to have made it out alive.

Instead, two hours later, I replace myself sprawled out on a couch in Adam’s robe, four mojitos deep, a goopy pink mask globbed over my face, pizza box on my chest, and some sort of sugar scrub on my lips that tastes like bubble gum. I run my tongue over my lower lip, humming as I lick off the sugary goodness.

“Jaxon!”

I startle, throwing the pizza box to the floor when I sit up. My cucumber eyes slowly slide down my face, landing on my lap. “What? What happened?”

“Stop licking your lip scrub off!” Cara storms over, smearing more on. “Do you want your lips to be soft, supple, and kissable for Lennon or not?”

“Maybe Len likes him rough,” Jennie says. “That’s how I like Garrett.”

“I like Carter rough,” Olivia murmurs, licking at the icing on an Oreo.

“There’s something about Adam when he’s really rough,” Rosie says, my cat, her cat, and both dogs curled up on or around her lap. “Like, he’s such a gentle giant, but then the kids go to sleep, and he locks the bedroom door, and⁠—”

“Is this all you guys do? Talk about sex?” I swipe a Sour Key from the bowl on the coffee table, carefully placing the entire thing on my tongue, bypassing my lip scrub. “Typical.”

Cara checks her nails. “Sometimes we talk about Lennon’s dragon dildo and how she likes to attach it to the bathroom sink and ride it.”

I choke on my candy. “She told you about that?”

“The Coochie Gang is a Chamber of Secrets.”

“What the fuck does that mean? Is that some sort of Harry Potter porn fan fiction?”

“It means this is a safe space to share. So you can share with us, Jaxon, if you want to.”

“’Bout what?”

Cara lifts her brows. Shares a look with the girls. When I lick my sugar scrub off again, she rolls her eyes. “About your feelings.”

“These are Lennon’s favorite,” I murmur, poking the tips of my fingers through the holes on four Sour Keys, until I have one on each finger. “Sometimes I get her the chocolate-dipped ones.” I chuckle. “I say it’s ’cause she’s sour and sweet.”

Olivia snickers. Rosie drags her hand down her face, and now it’s goopy. Jennie just grins, swirling a Dunkaroo in frosting.

Suddenly, all of our phones ping and light up on the coffee table. Olivia’s the first to grab hers.

“Oh no. It’s happening.” She looks at us, eyes wide with fear. “One giant group chat.”

I groan when I see the new thread.

Carter added you to a group chat.

Carter changed the group chat name to Real Hot Girl Shit.

Olivia changed the group chat name to Friendchips.

“Get it? Like friendships, but chips, because”—Olivia holds up a bag of Doritos—“I like chips.”

Carter changed the group chat name to No Condom, No Problem.

Olivia changed the group chat name to Let’s Taco Bout It.

Carter changed the group chat name to Caution: The Tea Is Hot But Carter Is Scalding.

Olivia changed the group chat name to Ketchup With The Crew.

Cara levels Olivia with the dirtiest look I’ve ever seen. “Be so fucking for real, Olivia.”

Adam

Help???

Lennon

Mommy, I’m scared.

Garrett

She needs to be stopped.

Emmett

She’s worse than Carter. How is it possible?

Carter

she’s out of control.

Lennon changed the group chat name to The Real Housewives of Vancouver.

Emmett

Hmmm . . .

Adam

I can live with that.

Carter

it’s not horrible, i guess.

better than fucking ketchup crew

no offence princess i luv u *kiss emoji* *heart eyes emoji* *eggplant emoji*

send pics

Garrett

Send a pic of everyone, for clarity, not just Olivia.

Well, that’s easy. We already took about twenty earlier tonight. Cara sends them all and asks for some in return. Their night looks remarkably similar, food spread out on a table in a hotel room, the five of them sprawled over the two queen-size beds.

Carter

aw man! we forgot robes!

Adam

Jaxon, is that my robe?

Me

No.

Rosie

He dropped his goopy cucumber eyes on it.

“Rosie, what the fuck!”

“Sorry,” she says, but she doesn’t sound or look sorry. In fact, she looks me dead in the eyes, stroking my cat’s head while he purrs in her lap.

Emmett

Something’s wrong with Carter.

Garrett

We’re watching Shrek.

Jennie

But Shrek’s not Disney???

Lennon

Carter said he missed Jaxon, and then his next sentence was let’s watch Shrek. He’s been going on and on about how Shrek reminds him of Jaxon, because of all his layers, and now he keeps referring to Jaxon as onion boy.

Carter

becuz ur so wrapped up in layers *heart emoji*

Garrett

*laughing emoji* it’s so true!

Adam

I kind of love it.

Cara

Petition to change Jaxon’s name to Onion Boy.

Me

Fuck u guys.

I click on Lennon’s name, sending her a separate message.

Me

Honey, they’re making fun of me.

Also I did a sugar lip scrub so my lips will be really soft when you sit on my face next time I see you.

Adam

Uh, hey, buddy . . .

Emmett

Wrong chat *crying laughing emoji*

Carter

ollie did u do a sugar lip scrub?????

The girls bust with laughter as I toss my phone, groaning. I grab a slice of pizza, collapse back on the couch, and munch it while I think about how much I wish Lennon was here.

“Do you think Lennon’s my line?” I blurt.

“Your what?”

“My line. The one that marks the before and after, where everything gets better.” I stuff another slice of pizza in my mouth. “Should I go to Lennon’s family thing in Georgia on Saturday? If I go, then that makes this super real, but then there’s that love contract, too, that Coach wants us to sign. So I guess if I go, then I’d ask Lennon to sign that. But if I don’t go, then what? Does that mean we aren’t a real couple? I’ve never been in a relationship before. What if I fuck it all up?”

The room falls quiet, except for the sound of me chewing my pizza.

“He’s asking us for advice,” someone whispers. “Us.”

“Well, obviously he can’t trust the guys.”

“It only makes sense that he’d ask us.”

“Right? We’re four extremely emotionally mature individuals with great heads on our shoulders.”

“Know what else I’m scared of?” I whisper before I can stop myself. “What if I go and her family doesn’t like me?”

Jennie watches me, head tilted. “If you go, I’m certain they’ll like you. But it doesn’t really matter what they think of you, does it?”

“I want them to think I’m good enough for Lennon.”

“What about for you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re the only person whose opinion of yourself matters, Jaxon. Stop worrying about being enough for other people. Be enough for yourself.”

Oh. Well, that hurts more than it has any right to.

Fuck.