Always you

CHAPTER 6 : BETWEEN DAYS

(Daxon’s POV)

The sun over Ridgeview High had that harsh white glare that made everything look sharper, almost too perfect—like the school itself.

Polished cars lined the lot; designer bags swung from shoulders; laughter echoed against the brick buildings.

Ryder, Kai, and Nolan were sprawled across the hood of Nolan’s Audi, throwing jokes about the upcoming gym trials, but my head was somewhere else.

I leaned back against my own car, half-listening.

Kai flicked a bottle cap at me.

“Bro, you haven’t laughed once today. You sick or just heartbroken?”

Ryder grinned. “Heartbroken. Always the same answer when he looks that dead inside.”

I forced a smirk. “Maybe I’m just bored.”

Lie. They knew it, and I knew it.

Because every time a certain laugh floated across the courtyard—soft, clear, familiar—my chest tightened.

Tamsyn Dane.

Two years hadn’t dulled the sound of her voice.

I hadn’t spoken to her, hadn’t even looked directly at her, but she was there, somewhere behind the crowd, and that was enough to rip me open.

Lexi’s voice cut through my thoughts.

“Dax,” she purred, walking toward me, with perfect hair and a forced smile. “You’re skipping practice again?”

“Not in the mood.”

She frowned, hand on her hip. “You’re never in the mood anymore.”

I shrugged.

If she only knew why.

She kept talking—something about the party this weekend, who was invited, who wasn’t—but her words blurred.

Over her shoulder, I caught a glimpse of dark hair glinting in the sun.

Tamsyn. Walking with Ashley Wells, head tilted slightly, expression calm.

I froze.

A flicker of memory hit me hard: a summer afternoon, her hand in mine, that same tilt of her head when she laughed at something stupid I’d said.

Then the flash dissolved and she was gone into the building, leaving the ghost of her scent—vanilla and rain—in my head.

Nolan elbowed me.

“You good, man?”

I swallowed. “Yeah. Fine.”

The rest of the day blurred by in slow motion—teachers talking, notes half-written, voices fading in and out.

Every hallway felt smaller, every laugh sharper.

She was everywhere and nowhere all at once, and I couldn’t escape the ache that came with remembering what I’d thrown away.

By the time classes ended, Ridgeview’s corridors had thinned out.

The late sunlight spilt through the tall windows, painting gold streaks across the lockers.

Most people had already left — heading home, to practice, or to the café across the street where everyone pretended they weren’t just waiting to be seen.

Ryder clapped a hand on my shoulder.

“You sure you don’t wanna come tonight? Everyone’s going.”

I shook my head. “Not tonight.”

He shrugged, easy as always. “Your loss. Lexi’s making sure everyone knows it’s her party.”

“Yeah,” I muttered. “Figures.”

He didn’t push it. Ryder never did. He just gave me that look — the one that said he knew I’d rather drown alone than talk about what actually bothered me — and left.

I stayed back, walking slower, taking the long route through the back hallway.

My reflection followed me in the glass panels. Same expressionless face, same grey hoodie.

People liked to call me cold. Maybe they were right.

But it wasn’t always like that.

I ended up outside near the bleachers, watching the field. The sky was dimming, the air thick with that scent of cut grass.

I ran a hand through my hair and sat down.

The world was quiet for once.

Then I saw her.

Tamsyn was at the far side of the field, walking with Ashley. The two of them laughed at something — soft, effortless laughter that carried in the wind.

It hit me like a punch to the ribs.

She’d changed, but not really. Her posture was still confident, but calmer. Her hair was longer, tied up loosely, strands catching the dying light.

It wasn’t the kind of beauty that screamed for attention. It was the kind that made you forget to breathe for a second.

Ashley said something, and Tamsyn turned — and for half a heartbeat, her gaze met mine.

Or maybe I imagined it.

Because just as quickly, she looked away.

And that hurt more than it should’ve.

I should’ve looked away too. Should’ve left before that old ache cracked open again.

But I didn’t.

I sat there, watching her laugh, wishing things hadn’t gone so wrong between us.

Wishing I’d said something different that day two years ago.

Wishing I hadn’t walked away.

By the time she left the field, night had started to fall. The lights flickered on, scattering pale gold across the grass.

I stayed there until the air turned cold and the ache in my chest dulled into something quieter — not gone, just buried.