Jackson
"Bro, can you stop staring at your phone?" Mike nudged my shoulder, pulling me back to reality. We were mid-game on the Xbox, but my attention was obviously elsewhere. I glanced up, realizing that our dorm's living room had quieted considerably. Most of the guys had retreated to their rooms, probably to catch up on the sleep they'd missed during the last weekend partying after the game and the festival.
The commotion after today's practice, fueled by the weekend's adrenaline and nonstop action, had faded into a low-key evening vibe. Shadows crept across the room, swallowing the day's chaos—empty snack bags strewn across the coffee table, a lone sock draped over an armrest like a white flag. It was a strange kind of quiet, the kind that settles in after everyone's spent, leaving behind a calm that feels both out of place and oddly comforting.
Ben and Tyler were nowhere in sight, likely in their bedrooms already. My gaze inadvertently landed on Prax, our tackler. He was slouched in an armchair across the room, his eyes fixed on me with that look of disgust. This year was his comeback after redshirting due to an injury, and he hadn't hidden his displeasure about me being named captain. His glares had become a regular part of my daily life in the dorm and on the field.
At least he always celebrated with the team like a normal human being. And I could understand his frustration to some extent. Prax was a solid player, but his way of dealing with his disappointment, the barely concealed hostility, was something I could do without, especially now with everything else on my plate.
I set the controller aside, rubbing my forehead. "Sorry, man. Just got a lot on my mind."
Mike hit the pause button and swiveled towards me, concern etching his face. "Still no word from Ethan, huh?"
"Nothing. It's like he's ghosting me. I messaged Ethan throughout the weekend, but he hasn't gotten back to me. I saw the message marked read this morning, but if he doesn't agree to help, I'm pretty fucked." It was Monday evening already, and still no word from Ethan. The silence was eating away at me, more than I cared to admit. "I can't believe Emily went all out saying shit. I don't know what has gotten into her. Maybe Ethan doesn't want to do anything with me."
As I sat there, my thoughts inevitably wandered back to that moment with Ethan. It was like a frame frozen in time, his face inches from mine, those wide, vulnerable eyes staring into mine. At that moment, arousal hit me, and I knew he had noticed. Fuck, thinking about that again, I felt a flicker of embarrassment recalling how my body had reacted, an involuntary response that didn't escape Ethan's notice. His quick, embarrassed glance away told me he knew, and it only made the situation more awkward.
I shook my head, trying to dispel the image. "Why am I even thinking about this?" I muttered under my breath, frustrated with myself. "It was just an accident, nothing more." I couldn't shake the image, even as I tried to focus on anything else. All weekend, it replayed in my mind, leaving me restless.
Why did it bother me so much? Ethan was a guy, just another person, but the concern I felt when I saw him on top of me was unnerving. It was as if he needed protection, and that thought alone was enough to send unfamiliar ripples through me.
I'd always been taught to be the strong one, especially with how my dad viewed the world. Senator Knox wouldn't stand for weakness, not in his world of power plays and public images. And yet, there I was, unable to shake the feeling that Ethan, with his delicate frame and those expressive eyes, had stirred something unexpected in me.
It was a compulsion to shield him from whatever had caused that fear. And that was a dangerous line of thought. It went against everything I'd been raised to believe about strength and masculinity. Was I reading too much into a mere moment of human connection?
God...
I'd reached out to Emily, hoping she'd give me some insight or at least retract all she'd said that might have had Ethan avoiding me. But all I got was her stupid satisfaction. She knew she had hit a nerve, and she was enjoying it. "It's the best thing that could've happened for my podcast," she'd said. Her words were like a red flag, confirming my suspicion that she was using my situation to spice up her content. And the idea that she knew she had found something that really got to me? That was even more unsettling.
My father hadn't yet commented on the podcast. His silence felt ominous. He was always following everything and carefully scouting. It wasn't like him to stay quiet unless he was planning something. Maybe he was waiting for the right moment to use it to his advantage, to spin it in a way that served his purposes.
I stared at my phone again, willing to buzz with a message from Ethan. Nothing. The silence was deafening. I couldn't let this situation spiral. I had to find a way to reach Ethan, to clear the air. But how? How do you approach someone who looked at you like you were both their savior and their biggest fear?
Shit.
"He'll come around," Mike said. "I know he is not the type to leave someone hanging. I can ask Leo. He is Ethan's best friend. Tomorrow, I have a class with him."
Prax leaned forward, a sardonic smile curling his lips. "Oh, Mike, the one you had fun with at the last party in the frat and pretend nobody noticed?" His gaze shifted to me, his eyes narrowing with a mix of amusement and scorn, "And Jackson, Emily's been having a field day with the rumors. You're giving her too much material, man. What's next, switching up your game plan entirely? Maybe Emily is right after all since you keep ditching Hannah."
I leaned back, feeling the weight of his gaze, those vile eyes so like Hannah's. They shared that same fiery red hair, that same sense of entitlement as if the world owed them something. It was a look I had become all too familiar with over the past year.
"Listen, Prax," my voice was a bitter blade cutting through the thick tension. "What I do, who I see, is none of your business. Hannah and I, whatever we are or aren't, that's our deal. Not yours."
My mind flashed back to Hannah's increasingly possessive behavior, her attempts to mark territory where there was none to be claimed. We'd started off easy, just two people enjoying each other's company. But somewhere along the line, the lines blurred, and she started dropping hints, hints that I deliberately chose to ignore.
It was never serious, at least not for me. It was comfort and convenience, but never commitment. And now, her cousin was there, prodding into my life with the same sense of entitlement that Hannah carried like a shield.
"Stick to what you know - tackling on the field, not off it," the words left my mouth sharper than intended. As Prax leaned back, his smirk reducing to a thin line, a twinge of regret pinched at me. Had I gone too far? It wasn't like me to snap, but the tension had been building, and in that moment, frustration had gotten the better of me.
Mike's lips twisted into a sneer. "You're just jealous it wasn't you at the party."
Prax rose from his chair, his eyes burning with a fake contempt as he glared at Mike and me. "You know, some of us still value decency," he spat out the words like venom. "Not like some nasty fuckers around here."
Before I could retort, he turned on his heel and left the room, the door slamming shut behind him. I exhaled sharply, trying to shake off the sting of Prax's words. I couldn't let him get to me, but his hostility was like a thorn, persistent and irritating.
Mike let out a sigh. "Don't mind him, Jackson. Ever since his injury, Prax has been different. He's the oldest on the team, and I think coming back after redshirting hit him harder than he lets on. He's probably feeling threatened or something."
I nodded, understanding what Mike was getting at. "Yeah, I get it. But it doesn't give him the right to be an ass."
Just then, my phone buzzed. I picked it up, hoping for a message from Ethan, but my heart sank a little when I saw it was from my brother, Alex. "Hey, you got a minute?"
I hesitated. Conversations with Alex were always a mixed bag. He was the middle Knox brother, the one who somehow managed to walk the tightrope of our father's expectations while still carving out his own path. He was a lawyer, following the Knox tradition, but on his terms.
"Give me a few, Mike," I said, rising to my feet. "Need to take this."
Stepping out of the dorm, which was more like a mansion matching the school's architecture, I felt the chill of the night air. Clad in just sweatpants and a black shirt, barefoot, I felt the cold bite through, a stark reminder of the unforgiving chill outside.
"Hey, Alex. What's up?" I answered, my breath visible in the cool night air.
"Jackson, glad you picked up. Remember Ella's birthday is coming up soon? We're planning a small get-together. I know your schedule is tight, but can you make it one evening?" Alex's voice was calm, the sound of a brother trying to keep family ties intact despite our chaotic lives. Ella, his daughter, was a beacon of joy in our family. Her birthdays were those rare occasions when, if only slightly, our family tensions seemed to subside.
Of course, without father...
"Ella's birthday, right. I'll make it work. Just let me know the day," I replied, feeling a sense of relief at the thought of a family gathering that was actually enjoyable.
"Great. And hey, are you doing alright? You sound a bit... off," Alex inquired.
"It's nothing, just the usual stuff. Practice, classes, you know how it is." I tried to brush it off, not wanting to dive into my current mess.
"Good game last Friday, by the way. Saw the play. You're doing great, Jack."
A small surge of pride welled up inside me at his words. "Thanks, Alex. It means a lot."
We chatted for a few more minutes about family matters and Alex's work before saying our goodbyes. Returning to the dorm, by this point, almost freezing, my phone buzzed again. I was about to ignore it, still wrapped up in my thoughts from the conversation with Alex, but something made me pause. Maybe it was the hope that had been quietly simmering in the back of my mind, or perhaps just a reflex. I pulled the phone out and looked at the screen. This time, it was a message from Ethan.
"Let's meet tomorrow at 2 p.m., Pinebridge Book Nook." The text was straightforward, with no pleasantries, just a time and a place. An involuntary smile spread across my face.
I'm such an idiot.
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