Back at home, my bed feels lonelier than usual—even with Annabelle passed out naked next to me. I’ve always kept things simple with women—no feelings, no expectations, leave in the morning.
But tonight, I’m staring at the ceiling. Replaying the way Jenna laughed at my dumb jokes. How she connected with my stories. How she looked at me like she saw me… not just what I look like on the surface. And I can’t stop thinking about her damn oranges. I’ll never look at them the same way again. I laugh bitterly, drifting off to sleep with nothing but images of Jenna’s smile and her fruit.
Chapter 6: Ride into Chaos
Jenna: October
Visions of shadows stretch across an endless bridge. The sound of Jacob’s voice is distorted, distant in the wind. The feeling of wings flapping. Suffocation. Weight pressing down, crushing…
Gasping for air, I jolt upright. The nightmare slipping away the second my eyes open. But the sensations linger—falling, freezing cold water pulling me under, and a metallic smell that clings to me.
My hand presses to my pounding heartbeat, grounding me.
“Another one?” Jacob mumbles, his tone more habit than concern. For a second, I think he might reach out and try to comfort me. But instead, he turns away.
“Yeah,” I say softly. But he’s already half asleep.
Lately, we pretend the nightmares don’t mean anything. Just meaningless, weird dreams. Same way we pretend we’re fine,but it wasn’t always like this. The first time I woke up screaming in my sleep, Jacob held me in his arms until I finally drifted back to sleep. He’d whisper, “You’re safe. It’s okay. I’m right here.” There was this strange panic in his voice. And the more the nightmares kept coming, the more he slowly pulled away.
Now, sometimes, I catch him watching me—not confused or worried, but like he recognizes what I’m dreaming. Like something’s on the tip of his tongue, but he swallows it down. And that unknown unsettles me more than the dreams.
The next day, I’m late for work—again. Couldn’t find my stupid keys. Maybe because I’ve been distracted by the last few weeks. The sleepless nights. The distance with Jacob. And the growing connection with Dylan. It feels good talking to someone about everything and nothing. Almost too good. But I had to shut it down, even if I came off a little abrupt at the Halloween party.
As I rush into the office, I feel a scratchy sensation. I look down and my dress is inside out. Great. First, the ketchup stain. Then a button-popping disaster in front of a client. Now this. Next time, I’ll just come to work naked.
Megan, the office’s annoying fashion police, gives me a look. “Consistent… very consistent.”
“Thanks, Megan,” I mutter, biting back what I really want to say.
I’m officially ready for this day to end—and it’s only ten a.m. Jacob texted that he’s working late. And my mom’s still chasing men like it’s her day job, pushing me to meet another guy she found on Tinder. Guess some things never change.
I used to resent her growing up. Even judge her. Felt like she was too focused on her love life. But now, I get it. She was just doing the best she could with the shitty cards life handed her. Probably just trying to distract herself from her own mess while making sure I had food on the table.
After I had Lily, then Ava, she started to come around more, and we grew closer. Not best friends I’d tell everything to, but friends. And the girls adore her.
On my way to my desk, I spot Dylan across the hall, ripping out tiles. His forearms flex with each swing of the hammer, and sweat trickles down his neck, vanishing under his shirt. Exactly the kind of distraction Idon’tneed today.
He glances up, flashing his impossible-to-ignore smile that could light up an entire city, and strides over.
“Hi, Coconuts. I mean, Oranges.” His eyes stay locked on mine as he reaches into his tool bag and pulls out an orange with a goofy face drawn on it.
“Are you ever going to let that go?” I ask, fighting a smile.
“Nope.” His grin widens. “That image is burned into my brain.”
I grab the orange from him, rolling my eyes. “Thanks.” My tone is dry, but I’m not annoyed. “These are for my husband—married, remember?” The words spill automatically, like I’m reminding both of us.
Dylan raises an eyebrow. “Happily married? Or just married?” He sits on top of my desk, close enough to send my pulse racing. Lingering like boundaries don’t exist.
“Does it matter?” I ask, opening my laptop, pretending to look busy.
“That came out wrong.” He holds up his hands in surrender. “I’m not trying to be a creep. I just… find it fascinating. Why people do it in the first place. I’ve learned most people do it for the wrong reasons.”
I open my mouth, ready with my sarcastic comeback, but something stops me. Maybe because I don’t like my answer…. and he’s the last person I should have this conversation with.
He studies me for a second, then softens his tone. “You okay?” He asks, like he already knows the answer.
I let out a sigh. “It’s been one of those days.”
