Crushed

Jax Martin was my first love-the kind that never really fades, no matter how much you wish it would.
He was trouble from the start-reckless, untouchable, the boy everyone warned me about. But I never listened. For years, we existed in the space between something and nothing, caught in a game neither of us dared to finish. Stolen glances. Almosts. What-ifs.
And then he left. No goodbyes, no explanations. Just gone.
Now, he's back-more infuriating, more untouchable than ever, wreaking havoc like he never left. But the boy I once knew is nothing more than a ghost. This Jax is colder, crueler, hardened by whatever happened in the years between then and now.
I should hate him for it. I should walk away like he did. But the problem with almost-love is that it never really lets you go. And no matter how much I try to convince myself otherwise, I know the truth: I never stopped watching Jax Martin. And I don't think I ever will.