Chapter Thirty-Seven
Jax
T he garden’s quiet in a way the gym never is. No shouting, no metal clanks, and no one asking for a spot. Here, it’s just the hum of bees, the sharp scent of earth, and the weight of the sun on my skin.
I’d meant to come out here just to water the herbs and clear my head, to do something with my hands that didn’t involve tackling people or punching bags.
That was an hour and a half ago.
Now I’m shirtless, covered in sweat and dirt, and halfway through re-edging the lawn with a rusted spade that definitely wasn’t designed for precision work.
Whatever. It works. You push hard enough, and even nature shapes up.
Eventually, I stretch out on the grass, arms behind my head, spine relaxing against the cool soil. I close my eyes and breathe, and for a second, everything inside me stops buzzing.
Then there’s a shadow overhead.
“Have you been working out or planning to die dramatically in the sun?”
I squint up at Frankie. She’s holding a glass filled with an amber-colored liquid, with her legs bare, her hair pulled back from her face, and her freckles out in full show. She looks soft and bright, like always.
“I made you iced tea,” she says, like it’s a peace offering.
I push up onto one elbow and take it from her hand before taking a large gulp.
And oh .
It’s bad .
It’s too… bitter. Way too much lemon and not nearly enough sugar. Something about it tastes... herbal? And not in a good way.
Still, I drink it down. Every last drop.
Because she made it, and heaven knows I’ve swallowed worse.
I don’t say anything as she sits herself down next to me without waiting for an invitation; cross-legged and casual, like she’s always belonged here. We stay like that for a while, side by side in the sun as she picks at a thread on the hem of her shorts.
Her arm brushes mine when she shifts. I reach for her hand, and she gives it.
Then she sighs.
“I checked the comments earlier.”
I glance at her.
She’s still focused on the thread. “I know I’m not supposed to. Harper’ll lose her mind if she finds out. But I just... I was curious. Wanted to see how things were settling.”
She snorts, but it’s not funny. “They’re not settling.”
A breeze pushes through the yard, and the wind chime rattles. She keeps her voice light, but her shoulders shift, almost as though she’s bracing.
“They’re getting meaner. Smarter. It’s not just slut jokes and bonding shit now. It’s my family. My body. Stuff I said in interviews.” She pauses. “Stuff I didn’t.”
I don’t say anything, but my thumb strokes over the back of her hand.
“I don’t know,” she says, quieter now. “Sometimes I think I’d prefer a punch to the face. At least you know where that’s coming from.”
I can’t help it. I freeze.
She feels it, and her head tilts toward me.
“What?” She turns fully now, leaning on her other hand. “Jax?”
I look at her as she waits, and for some reason—maybe because she’s here, maybe because I’ve been carrying it too long—I answer.
“My stepfather used to hit me.”
She swallows thickly, but her face doesn’t change.
“I wasn’t trying to compare,” she says softly.
“I know.”
“I was just—”
“I know,” I repeat. “It’s not the same.”
But the way she said it stuck in my chest anyway.
“He wasn’t... full-time violent. Not always. Just enough that I learned fast. How to read the house when I walked in. How to disappear.”
She goes still beside me.
“I stopped leaving stuff out. Got good at being quiet. At not giving him reasons.”
I glance at her. She’s still here, still steady.
“I left when I was sixteen. Never looked back.”
She doesn’t speak, but her fingers wrap tighter around mine.
“I think Finn knew,” I add. “He was around a lot back then. Never asked, but he could tell. He just... stuck close.”
There’s a pause. A shift in the air.
“You didn’t deserve that,” she murmurs.
“And you don’t deserve this,” I say quietly. “The constant shit from people who wouldn’t last a second in your shoes.”
Her mouth twists. “Yeah, well. Apparently I’ve got the kind of face that makes people furious on the internet.”
“No,” I shake my head. “You’ve got the kind of light that makes people uncomfortable. That’s not on you.”
She doesn’t answer, so I keep going.
“Sometimes it takes strength to stay and fight. But sometimes...” I pause. “Sometimes the bravest thing is just knowing when to stop giving something your attention. When to leave.”
Her brow furrows slightly, eyes flicking to mine.
“You leave the comments,” I say. “You stop scrolling and torturing yourself with it. You post, and then you walk away. That’s not giving up. That’s calling time on something that hurts you.”
She blinks.
“It’s not weakness,” I say. “It’s survival. And it’s smart.”
She exhales, then she leans her head against my shoulder.
“I didn’t want to look soft,” she whispers.
“You’re not.”
“I didn’t want to disappoint anyone.”
“You won’t.”
She looks up at me. “How do you know?”
I reach up and touch her cheek, thumb brushing just under her eye.
“Because you’re still here,” I say simply. “And nothing’s broken you yet.”
Her eyes fill, but she doesn’t cry. Not really.
She just lets out a laugh—barely there—then she lies back on the grass beside me, and our fingers find each other again.
And for a while, we stay like that.
Connected. Grounded.
And, finally, quiet.
*
The sun’s dropped lower now.
There’s a glow across the fence, long streaks of gold catching on the tips of the grass and the line of Frankie’s shoulder. She’s still lying beside me, one hand in mine, the other resting lightly on her stomach.
We haven’t said much since the last words settled between us. We didn’t need to.
It’s quiet. The good kind.
Until the back door creaks, and Finn stumbles out, barefoot, holding a bowl of strawberries in one hand…
And a bag of shredded cheese in the other.
“What in the domestic hell are you doing?” Frankie calls.
He grins. “We didn’t have whipped cream, okay? Don’t come for my innovation.”
I blink. “ Cheese ?”
“Protein,” he says cheerfully, dropping down onto the grass beside us. “Also, I’ve had five hours of sleep and a flute of champagne. You’re lucky I didn’t bring mustard.”
Frankie pushes up on her elbows and eyes him. “That better be real cheese and not the dusty kind from a tub.”
Finn lifts the bag and crinkles it proudly. “Freshly grated. I have standards.”
“Debatable.”
He flops onto the grass dramatically, head landing right next to Frankie’s hip, and drops a strawberry in his mouth. His arm drapes lazily over her shin, and he doesn’t even glance at me as he says, “You good?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
He doesn’t push; just flicks a berry into the air and catches it in his mouth.
“Still riding the high,” he says through a mouthful. “That game was— Jesus . I don’t think I’ve ever seen Rory tackle someone with that much emotional trauma in his eyes.”
Frankie snorts, collapsing back onto the grass beside me again.
“He nearly broke Marcus Vale in half,” I murmur.
“My brothers were there,” he adds. “At the match. They haven’t stopped texting me since. Apparently they went out drinking with the B-team last night and taught them a drinking song that got them banned from karaoke.”
Frankie snorts. “I’d ask what song, but I feel like I don’t want to know.”
He grins up at the sky. “They’re so proud of me. I think one of them cried. Or maybe he was just choking on his beer.”
“Same thing,” I say.
Frankie’s hand finds mine again. Her other one trails through Finn’s curls as he sighs dramatically and rolls onto his stomach.
“I love you guys,” he announces to the lawn.
Frankie lifts an eyebrow. “Is this a cheese-fueled confession?”
“Everything I do is cheese-fueled,” he says seriously.
I shake my head and lean back, letting their voices roll over me.
Soft. Familiar.
Pack .
Frankie leans back, resting her weight on her elbows. “Where’s Rory?”
“Still out cold,” Finn says, waving a hand lazily toward the house. “Last I checked, he was starfished across the bed muttering about set pieces in his sleep.”
“He deserves it,” she says.
“He does,” I agree.
There’s a long, quiet beat. The kind that doesn’t feel empty.
Frankie runs her fingers through Finn’s curls, and he hums like a cat. I stretch out a little further, legs crossed at the ankle, my arm brushing hers.
We feel... good .
“Do you think Coach is still drunk?” Finn asks suddenly.
“Almost definitely,” I say.
“He texted me at three a.m. and just sent the eggplant emoji and a trophy.”
Frankie laughs. “That feels threatening.”
“It feels right,” Finn says.
Frankie looks between us and smiles, warm and small and completely disarming. “We did it, huh?”
“We did,” I murmur.
“We did,” Finn echoes, softer now. “And you looked so smug filming the whole thing.”
“I was radiant,” she says.
“You were insufferable,” he corrects.
She turns to me. “Was I insufferable?”
I look at her. At the way the sun hits the corner of her smile, the slight flush still high on her cheeks.
“No,” I say. “You were... everything.”
Her smile wobbles just a little, and Finn grins. “Okay, now I’m the one crying.”
“Shut up,” I mutter.
“I’m gonna write that on your protein shaker.”
The three of us go quiet again after that; still stretched out on the grass, still warm from the game, still holding onto something we didn’t think we’d ever really have…
And then—like the scene needed closing music—the side gate clicks open.
I stiffen at the sound of footsteps, and Frankie straightens slowly. Finn glances toward the fence, chewing his last strawberry as Theo rounds the corner.
His scent hits first. It’s clean and familiar, but tense.
Without even looking at his face, I just know something’s off.
He doesn’t speak as he comes into sight, but he meets my eyes, and that’s enough.
Everything shifts.
Frankie straightens slowly, pushing up from the grass. Her voice is soft and careful as she blinks at him.
“What’s going on?”
Theo glances at me, then at Finn, then back at Frankie.
“Can I talk to you?” he says. “Just us, for a sec?”
Her brows pinch. “Yeah. Sure.”
She dusts off her shorts as she stands, brushing grass from her legs. She looks back at me—just a flick of her eyes, a little crease in her brow—and I nod once.
She moves up the yard with him, side-by-side. I watch as Theo holds the back door open for her, lets her pass through first, then follows her inside.
Finn sighs as he leans back on his elbows. “Well, that didn’t feel ominous at all.”
I grunt in agreement as Finn lets the now-empty bowl rest on his chest.
“You think this is about the comments?”
I nod once, and he swears under his breath.
“Guess we’re about to find out how deep it goes.”