My gut twists, thinking of the girls down the hall. What if they hear us?
“Our marriage is a waste of time? Sorry, will an hour of therapy cut into your golf schedule?” I lower my voice, but the edge is still there. “Things have changed. I think we both want to go back to what we had.”
A long moment passes. “I do,” he finally admits. “But I don’t think therapy is for me. If anyone needs to figure shit out, it’s you.”
His words bite, but I hold myself together. “Fine,” I say. “If you won’t go, I’ll go alone.”
He nods once. “You do that.” His voice is distant. Cold. Final.
He stops at the door and turns back, his expression softening. “And our marriage is not a waste of time. It matters more to me than you know.” He reaches for my hand. “I just… want us to be okay. I want you to look at me how you used to, like I’m still the only man for you.”
Before my brain has time to overthink, he pulls me in for a hug and buries his face in my neck. Every time he holds me like this, I wonder if it will be the last time. The last hug… the last kiss… the last time I’m with the only man who has ever really loved me.
Tears stream all the way down to my lips. “I do see you,” I whisper, kissing him, trying to hold on. To him. To us. To stop everything from falling apart. “I’m here. But I don’t think you see me anymore. You still see the girl you tried to save. But I’m not her. Not anymore.”
His grip tightens. His breath warm against my skin.
“And you?” I exhale, forcing the words out. “You keep me at a distance. Just close enough to give me hope, then you pull away. And I’m left clinging to crumbs, holding on until there’s almost nothing left.”
“But you married me this way,” he murmurs. “You knew I wasn’t great at opening up. That I need space. Time alone. How is that fair to me?”
“I’ve tried to tell you how I feel in other ways.” I wipe my cheek. “Maybe I haven’t been clear enough. But we’re stuck, Jacob. And I’m exhausted.”
“I’m tired too,” he says, releasing me. “Let’s talk tomorrow.” He walks out and shuts the door behind him.
And I’m left there, lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling, lost in my thoughts. My heart hammers as I reread Dylan’s message.
Once you get a taste—once you wake up and finally know what you want—it’s dangerous.
Somehow, it feels heavier now, with Jacob’s voice echoing, Are you having an affair?
I hover over Dylan’s name, tempted to reply. Desperate for an escape, to distract myself from everything. But I lock my phone and toss it aside. I can’t keep running to him every time things get fucking hard.
Downtown Nashville is alive tonight. Music humming, tourists chattering, yet I feel detached. Alone in the crowd, and my thoughts. My life is… fine. The job, the girls, Jacob are all fine.
So why do I keep sabotaging it? Kissing someone else, stirring up chaos. It’s like I’ve become addicted to ruining everything. And Jacob? Things have been really tense the last few days since our fight.
Izzy grabs my hand, tugging me inside a packed country bar. She has that look in her eyes, the one that always got us into trouble. Her bright red lipstick as fierce and fearless as she is.
“Come on, Jinx!” Izzy calls out. “Our Friendiversary isn’t going to celebrate itself!”
We’ve been doing this every year since we met. She insisted, knowing I’d never stayed in one place long enough to have a best friend. And now, no matter how chaotic life gets, it's our tradition.
The smell of whiskey and BBQ hits as we step inside, the air alive with music and rowdy energy.
“Six tequila sunrises!” Izzy shouts to the bartender, then turns to me. “You know the anniversary rule—shots and bull riding.”
I laugh despite myself. “Why do I feel like I’m going to regret this?”
Izzy raises her shot glass. “Because you’re not sixteen and you can barely handle one glass of wine these days. But cheers to surviving another year with me!”
“To surviving being friends with you.” I clink my glass against hers. The tequila burns its way down, but it feels good to let loose. For one night, I’m determined to forget. No guilt. No responsibilities. No roles as mother and wife. Just fun.
Izzy wastes no time dragging me to the dance floor with our tight jeans and cowboy boots on. “You can’t come to a country bar and not line dance!”
I try to keep up, but my feet have other ideas. I stumble, bumping into people, but Izzy is right there beside me, twirling like she was born for this. Her joy is infectious, and my worries melt away.
Until I see him.
