I swallow the guilt in my throat before replying. “Yeah. Izzy texted. She wants to grab coffee.”
He rests against the counter, watching me for a moment longer. “You know we have counseling tomorrow,” he says, his tone heavy. “We need to figure out what’s next, whether you move back in or…”
“Or we call it,” I finish, my voice flat, like we're deciding whether to fix a busted old appliance or toss it out.
“Yeah,” he mutters, agreeing. “I guess we need to decide soon. We can’t continue like this. It’s not fair to the girls… or us.”
I couldn’t agree more. I exhale, nodding, the pressure rising in my chest. Jacob’s been showing up to therapy, even scheduling his own sessions, and saying all the right things. Hell, he even uses that cheesy marriage app our counselor suggested. And I should be grateful. But I’m not. I feel… empty. Like nothing’s changed. Like we’re still pretending and worlds apart.
At the end of the night, I try to quiet my thoughts with a little reading in bed. I turn the pages, but nothing helps. No book in the world can ease the pain of no longer kissing my girls every night. Of hearing about their day through a screen. Of missing allthe little moments I had before I blew up our family. I bookmark my spot with a sock I find in my drawer, and put the book on the nightstand. Then I turn on the TV, doing my best to ignore the unread elephant inside my phone.
Chapter 36: Gone Fishing
Dylan: June (Three days earlier)
I cast my line into the still lake, watching the early morning sun stretch across the glassy water. Everything’s quiet except the distant call of birds.
No cell signal. No noise. Just a few days off the grid. Exactly what I needed.
“Where’s the tequila at?” Luis groans behind me, shattering the calm. “I need to spike my coffee and wake the fuck up. Who fishes at five in the damn morning?”
“We do,” I mutter.
“Jesus. Loosen up a little,” he says, yawning as he pours a shot of tequila into his travel mug. “You’ve been extra moody lately, and it’s killing my vibe.”
He’s right. I haven’t been myself since her. Since I realized what the hell I’ve been missing. And what I want now.
A piece of beef jerky flies past my face.
“And remind me never to hook up with anyone you know,” he adds, tossing another piece. “Izzy’s funny as hell. And the sex? Explosive. But we’d kill each other in a week.”
I laugh, the first real one in a while. “Yeah, maybe I didn’t think that one through. You don’t need someone who matches your crazy energy. You need someone more chill.”
“Thanks, Dr. Phil.” He smirks, slowly reeling in his line. “What’s going on with you? Please tell me you’re getting laid again. Your dick’s gonna forget how to work.”
I shrug. “And yours is gonna fall off from overuse.”
“Touché!” He snorts. “Seriously, though, what happened to the guy who could charm the panties off girls since he learned to ride a bicycle?”
I suck in a deep breath. “Maybe I don’t want that life anymore. Maybe that guy’s been dating the same girl for weeks. Trying to give it a real shot. But nothing feels right.”
Luis raises a brow. “Because it’s not Jenna?”
I don’t answer. Just cast again, watching the ripples.
Exactly. No one’s Jenna. And I might never find what we had again. But I’m ready for something real.
Seven largemouth bass and a few good laughs later, we pack up. I grab my phone from the truck. It explodes with notifications.
Gabriella:You back yet? Dad’s losing it over Miles. Says everything’s falling apart without you at the ranch. Apparently, you’re the only one who knows what they’re doing.
I smirk. I am damn good at it.
I used to hate that place. Couldn’t even look at it without thinking about my brother. At first, I just helped out to shut everyone up… Miles, my sisters, even my dad. But the more time I spent there, the less it hurt, and the more it felt like home again.
Gabriella even pushed me back into therapy. She always could see straight through me. Made me face all the shit I avoided—my brother’s death, parents’ divorce, guilt, fear. Whatever’s been holding me back. And I knew talking alone wouldn’t fix me. It didn’t the first time I tried. But something shifted. The therapist kept circling back to the guilt. Wouldn’t let me avoid it. Week after week, she made me say it out loud. That it wasn’t my fault. That I didn’t kill him. That I deserve to live. To love. To be fucking happy.
Eventually… I believed it.
