Chapter 13 The Talk
the talk
Jax
The park was just as I’d pictured it: silent except for the rustle of leaves in the breeze, the moonlight spilling through the trees in silver patches.
We found a bench tucked under an old oak, its branches stretching out like a canopy.
It was private, intimate, the kind of place where secrets could spill out without fear of being overheard or followed.
After a few days of hanging out in a more-than-friends way, we agreed to meet up at a park close to her house. I knew we needed to have a more in-depth conversation about what we were doing than something in the moment like on Sunday night.
We sat down, close but not touching, and for a moment, neither of us said anything. The night wrapped around us, cool and calm, and I could hear my own heartbeat in the quiet. Then Morgan turned to me, her face half-lit by the moon.
“Jax, before we go any further, I need to know something.”
My stomach tightened. “What’s that?”
“Are you sure about this? About us? Because if we’re doing this, I need you to be all in. No halfway.”
Her words hit me like a challenge, and I took a deep breath, letting them sink in.
Was I sure? I thought about the way she made me feel—steady, seen, like I didn’t have to carry the world alone.
I thought about the risk, the fear, and then I looked at her, really looked at her, and the answer was clear.
“I’m sure, Morgs,” I said, my voice steady. “I’ve never been more sure. I want this. I want you.”
Her face broke into a smile, bright and relieved, and she scooted closer, her knee brushing mine. “Good. Because I want you too.”
I reached for her hand again, pulling her in until our shoulders touched. “So, what’s next?”
“Next,” she said, her voice soft, “we take it one day at a time. We don’t rush, but we don’t hold back either. We let ourselves feel it and see where it goes.”
“Sounds like a plan,” I said, my thumb running over her knuckles. “I can work with that.”
We fell into an easy silence, her head resting on my shoulder, the night stretching out around us. It felt good—right—like we’d been heading here all along.
“You know,” she said after a while, “I always thought we’d end up here eventually.”
That caught me off guard. “Really?”
“Yeah. Even back when we were kids, there was something about us. I just didn’t know what to call it then.”
I smiled, pressing a kiss to her hair. “Me too. Guess we were both too thickheaded to figure it out.”
“Or too scared,” she said.
“Probably both,” I agreed, and we laughed, the sound light in the dark.
We talked for a while after that—about old times, stupid pranks we’d pulled, the future we couldn’t quite see yet. It was effortless, like always, but there was a new layer to it now, a closeness that hadn’t been there before.
But as the night wore on, I felt something shift inside me—a need to say more, to let her in deeper than I ever had. I took a breath, steeling myself. “Morgs, there’s something I need to tell you.”
She lifted her head, her eyes searching mine. “What’s up?”
I hesitated, the words catching in my throat. “It’s about… fame. The whole football thing. It’s not what I thought it’d be.”
She didn’t say anything, just squeezed my hand, giving me room to keep going.
“I wanted it so bad growing up—playing pro, hearing the crowd, being somebody. And I love the game, I do. But the rest of it—the cameras, the interviews, the way everyone’s always watching—it’s suffocating.
Sometimes I feel like I’m drowning in it, and no one even notices.
I think thats why I lash out like I do.”
Her brow furrowed, but her voice stayed gentle. “That sounds heavy, Jax.
Having all those eyes on you all the time.”
“It is,” I said, the words spilling out now.
“And the worst part? I feel like no one gets it. They see the wins, the stats, but they don’t see how hard it is to keep it together, and I’m not saying that I do well in that department, as you know.
It’s like I’m stuck playing this perfect version of myself, and if I falter, it all crashes down. ”
Morgan nodded, her thumb brushing over mine. “You don’t have to be perfect with me. You know that, right?”
I looked at her, and something in my chest loosened. “Yeah. That’s why I’m telling you. You’re the one person who doesn’t care about the hype. You just see… me.”
“Always,” she said, her eyes shining. “And I always will.”
Her words hit me hard, and I swallowed against the lump in my throat. “Thanks, Morgs. That means everything.”
We sat there for a beat, the weight of it settling between us. Then she spoke again, her voice quiet but sure. “You’re not alone in this, you know. I might not have the fame thing, but I get feeling like people don’t really see you. We all carry stuff.”
“Yeah,” I said, grateful for her understanding. “Guess we do.”
“But that’s what makes us better,” she went on. “Sharing it. Leaning on each other. That’s the good stuff, right?”
“Right,” I said, a smile breaking through. “And I’m damn lucky to have you to lean on.”
“Same here,” she said, nestling back against my shoulder.
The night grew deeper, the stars sharp overhead, and we kept talking—about the pressures I faced, the dreams she had, the little fears we both carried. It was raw, real, and with every word, I felt our bond tighten, like a knot pulling secure.
Eventually, she shifted, looking up at me with those eyes that always saw too much. “So, we’re really doing this, huh?”
“Yeah,” I said, my voice low. “We are.”
She smiled, and before I could overthink it, I leaned in, my hand cupping her cheek. Her breath hitched, and then our lips met—soft, tentative, but full of everything we’d been holding back. It was a promise, a beginning, and when we pulled apart, her grin matched mine.
“Here’s to us,” she whispered.
“To us,” I echoed, and under the stars, with her hand in mine, I knew we’d figure it out—together.