Chapter 4
Blaze
I gritted my teeth when the other team’s defensive lineman took me down, putting us at a third down.
This game was tough as fuck. The other team was giving us a run for our money, and so far, all we’d been able to score was field goals rather than touchdowns.
And while we were in the lead, the game was seriously beginning to piss me off.
And one look at Hunter’s face as I got off the ground for the umpteenth fucking time told me he was getting pissed, too.
We lined up again. Hunter got the ball, threw it to me, and with anger pushing through my veins and acting as my fuel, I took off running for the end zone, jumping over the other team’s defense players, twisting around others, and sprinting like my life fucking depended on it.
When my foot crossed the end zone, then the rest of my body, I grinned, raising the ball in the air for the fans to see.
I could barely fucking breathe, but fuck, we’d finally gotten a fucking touchdown.
After going damn near the entire game without one, the feeling was glorious.
And to make it all even damn better, there—right behind our team’s bench—was Jaxon.
He was grinning ear to ear as he met my gaze, and my heart lurched into my throat.
That was my reason for still playing ball.
Him. Because he could no longer play, I played harder.
Pushed more. Just so I could see that smile on his face when I scored a touchdown for him.
Because now, I played ball for my best friend so he could live vicariously through me.
The clock ended, the game over, and we won sixteen to six. Hunter wrapped an arm around my neck and bumped his helmet against mine right before our other teammates surrounded us, cheering for and celebrating a hard-earned win.
Jaxon was asleep on the couch when I walked into the apartment.
The TV was on with the volume turned low, another game playing on TV.
One foot was resting on the floor, and the other was propped on the back of the couch.
His right arm was thrown over his head, and his left arm was draped over his flat stomach.
Soft snores were escaping his slightly parted lips.
An orange prescription bottle sat on the table. Picking it up, I inspected the medication name. Sumatriptan. I didn’t recognize it. Sliding my phone from my pocket, I quickly Googled it, finding out it was a migraine medication. My heart squeezed in my chest as I looked back at Jaxon.
The game had clearly been too much for him to deal with. Between the screaming fans and the bands playing, it’d done him in. It was probably a miracle he even made it home safely.
Leaving him be, I just grabbed one of the throw blankets off the back of the couch and covered him with it before grabbing one of the fans. Once I’d plugged it in, I turned it to blow on him, knowing the cooler air always helped ease his pain a bit and make him a little more comfortable.
I was just stepping out of the shower when the bathroom door slammed open.
Jaxon dropped to his knees in front of the toilet and promptly threw up.
Cursing, I dropped down beside him, my chest tightening when he sobbed, reaching up to cradle his head all while he continued to retch.
I hated that this happened to him. Hated that he would be dealing with this for years, if not the rest of his life.
And I absolutely fucking detested that I couldn’t take his pain away.
“It hurts,” Jaxon croaked once he managed to stop heaving. His shoulders shook, and a sob escaped his no-doubt sore throat. “I hate this.”
I was naked as fuck, but that didn’t stop me from pulling him against me and holding him.
And for the first time in the seventeen years we’d been friends, I witnessed my best friend cry.
Like full on crying, sobs, snot, and all the other works.
He curled into me, breaking apart and splintering into pieces, leaving me to cradle all his shards in my hands.
I bled everywhere, my heart splintering into pieces with him, lacerations blooming across my skin, but I still never let him go.
Because I’d bleed for him. I’d hurt for him. I’d fucking suffer for him.
“It’s okay,” I soothed, my hand running over his hair. “Just let it out, Jax. I’ve got you. I’ve always got you.”
“I’m so tired,” he croaked. “I hate this. I keep forgetting shit. I can’t go more than two days without a migraine.
School is fucking difficult now. And I can’t even play football anymore.
I can barely manage to watch a whole fucking game without excruciating pain, Blaze.
” He sobbed, his whole body shaking with the force of it.
“I know,” I said quietly. “I hate it just as much as you do.”
He didn’t say anything else for a long time, so I didn’t either. But eventually, he whispered, “Some days, Blaze, I don’t want to be alive anymore.”
And that? That goddamn confession whispered with so much truth?
That shattered my entire fucking existence.