Page 28 of Coming In Hot
Jax looks incredulous. “You’re sitting around thinking about what I put up my ass?”
“Of course not.”But I am now. “You gonna tell me?”Why can’t I just let it go?
“No.”
“Maybe a visual demonstration?”
“Not a chance.” He finishes his reps, counting them out loud like he’s daring me to interrupt. “Just because we came to an understanding about what happened doesn’t mean my reasons for not liking you dissolved into thin air, like fairy dust.” With a grunt, Jax drops his weights to the floor, the sound of them slamming against the ground breaking the silence. He stands, towering over me, his eyes cold and unflinching. “I don’t fucking like you,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “We’re not friends. We’re not brothers in arms.”
The scoff that follows makes my jaw tighten. I set my weights down, the metal clinking, and stand up too, shifting the power dynamic. Now I’m towering over him. “What are we then?” I ask, voice low, tense.
Jax doesn’t hesitate. “Just two guys that used to be close. Two guys who’ve known each other for a long time. Two guys that will never see eye to eye.”
Well, fuck me. That feels final.
I catch up with Jax again in the locker room, the space nearly empty except for the echo of our footsteps. It's six o'clock, and most people are already home, eating dinner with their families. The humid air hangs thick, making the smell of disinfectant and body spray hit harder than usual, like it’s all stuck in my lungs. Jax doesn’t acknowledge me at first, his focus still somewhere far off, probably still pissed about earlier. He’s sitting on a bench, toweling off his sweat while waiting for the shower to heat up, the tension in his shoulders evident. It’s almost like we’ve never been close, like the years of knowing each other never existed. But here I am again, stuck with him in this suffocating stillness, trying to figure out what the hell’s left between us.
I stand there for a moment, watching him, the silence pressing in around us. I could leave—walk out and pretend this shit never happened—but something about the tension in the air keeps me rooted to the spot.
Jax finally glances up, catching me staring. His gaze is sharp, almost like he’s daring me to say something, but my tongue feels thick. I open my mouth, ready to throw some snark back at him, but it dies on my lips. The last thing I want to do is drag this out more than it needs to be.
After a beat, Jax exhales, his jaw shifting like he’s wrestling with what to say. “You know,” he says, his voice flat, “we’ve been doing this dance for years. I’m tired of it.” His eyes lock on mine, like he’s searching for something, or maybe just waiting for me to bite back.
I mutter to myself as I watch him disappear behind the curtain. Maybe we just need a different song to dance to. It’s a stupid thought, but something about it feels right. The old rhythm we had—it doesn’t work anymore. We’re not the same people we used to be, and maybe we’re both just too damn stubborn to admit it.
I grab my towel and throw it over my shoulder as I step into the shower stall. I can’t help but think maybe Jax and I aren’t so different after all. Maybe we both want the same thing, but we’re too messed up to figure out how to get there. Either way, I know one thing for sure: this isn’t the last time we’re going to clash.
Maybe we’ll find a new way to move forward. We don’t have to keep dancing to the same old tune, right?
I step into the shower, the warm water rushing over me, the heat soaking into my muscles, easing the tension from the workout. I grab the soap and work it into a lather. The scent of citrus and cedarwood fills the air, mixing with the steam as I scrub the sweat and grime of the day off my skin. My mind starts to drift, but then the thought hits me again—Maybe we just need a different song to dance to.
I shake my head, trying to push it out of my mind, but it lingers. I don’t know what the hell that means. A different song?
I run the soap down my chest, moving to my shoulders and arms, scrubbing away the remnants of whatever bullshit’s been slowing me down. My fingers move automatically through my hair next, and I grab the shampoo. I tilt my head back, massaging it into my shoulder-length hair, feeling the foam build up and rinse it out under the spray. The hot water pours over my scalp, but there’s no relief from the knot in my chest. Whatever the hell is between me and Jax, I can’t escape it. Not yet.
When the water starts to cool, I turn off the faucet. The silence in the locker room feels heavier now that I’ve been alone in my head for too long. I grab the towel, wrapping it around my waist, and stare at my reflection in the fogged-up mirror. The guy staring back at me seems tired—worn—but I don’t know if it’s from the workout or everything else. Something’s shifting inside me, though. Something I can’t ignore.
Maybe Jax and I aren’t done yet. Maybe we never will be.
I don’t get it. Why is he the person I feel tied to in this life? The one whose path I always cross? I don’t even know if I want him in my life anymore. The constant friction, the back-and-forth, the resentment, and yet... there’s something else there. Something deeper.
Maybe it’s the history between us, the years we spent close, like brothers. Maybe it’s the fact that no matter how much we fight, how much we push each other away, we still understand each other in a way no one else does. Even when we’re at each other’s throats, there’s this unspoken understanding that runs beneath everything we say, everything we do.
I don’t know what it is. But the truth is, no matter how much I try to cut ties, no matter how hard I push, he’s the person I’m always pulled back to. He’s the one who’s been there through every fucked-up choice, every mistake. He’s the one who knows me, maybe better than I know myself.
I want to walk away, and even though I hate the pull, I can’t seem to stop coming back to him. And I don’t know if that makes me stupid, or if it just makes us... inevitable.
I didn’t realize Jax chose the locker beneath mine until I approached and saw him crouched down, wrapped in a towel like me. The sight of him, all cocky and too comfortable in his own skin, almost makes me laugh. It’s always like this with him—so damn confident, even when he’s half-naked and vulnerable. He doesn’t even notice me at first, too focused on whatever’s in his bag, probably checking his phone or some bullshit.
I could just stand here and wait for him to finish dressing, act like I don’t care. But that would be boring. I know how to push his buttons, how to get under his skin without even trying. I could walk over, mess with him a bit, knock that smug expression off his face. Maybe remind him that no matter how much he tries to act like he’s the top dog, I’m still here, always here, always ready to call him out.
With a slow grin creeping across my face, I take a step closer, eyes fixed on him. Coming up behind him silently, I make sure he doesn’t hear me approach. The moment he stands up, I brace my arm against the locker. Jax ends up pressed right against my chest, trapped against the cold steel wall.
“Back up, Pharo, or I’m gonna leave you bruised and confused.” His voice is tight with barely contained frustration.
“You can try,” I reply, my grin turning into something that borders on a challenge. “Sounds like it would be fun.”
He turns in my embrace, his body now facing mine, and I catch the glare in his eyes—hateful, sharp, like daggers. “You know, they say everything happens for a reason. So when I kick your fucking ass, remember I have a reason.”
