His voice drops, his guard slipping. “Jenna, forgetting you? Forgetting anything about you? Fucking impossible. Believe me. I’ve tried.”
He shifts a little farther away and searches for something inside his bag. Smart move, Dylan. Because if you were any closer, I'd be making bad decisions. Very bad decisions. And unless someone parks a school bus between us, nothing would stop me.
“What are you looking for now? You gonna pull out a bunny rabbit… maybe handcuffs now?” I tease, unable to help myself.
He takes out his phone instead, scrolling through songs before settling on a soft country playlist. “Friends don’t use handcuffs,” he says, smirking. “Though, I wouldn’t mind tying you to my truck while I—”
I put a finger on his lips, and he nips at it. “Don’t even finish that sentence.”
“For the record, I was going to say, handcuff you to the truck so I can feed you.” He cocks his brow and brings a piece of chicken to my lips. The second I swallow, a moan slips out, low and involuntary.
“Fuck, Jenna.” His voice drops lower. “You keep making sounds like that, and I will not be held responsible for what happens next.”
Heat crawls up my chest. “Sorry,” I mutter, trying to focus on the book. “Your… food… mmm, I could get used to you feeding me every day.”
He grins, and the moment of silence is thick with tension.
“Tell me something real,” he asks suddenly. “Something no one else knows.”
His curiosity about my life pulls me in. It makes me feel wanted, appreciated, seen. And it’s dangerously addictive.
What do I tell him? About the abuse I endured for years? That my marriage is slowly collapsing? That I stupidly hope for my father to show up one day?
Or how often I fantasize about him when I’m with my husband?
Fuck no. Absolutely not that.
“Stop overthinking and spill it,” Dylan mutters, moving one of the pillows between us as he shifts closer. I clutch the warm blanket on my lap, trying to resist the urge to grab him by the T-shirt and—
Without warning, he turns to me and gently slides his hand over my eyes. His other arm brushes against my shoulder. Every muscle in my body tenses up.
“What the hell are you doing?” I cry out, instinctively closing my eyes.
“Relax,” he whispers, leaning in. His peppermint breath fills my lungs, and his voice somehow steadies my pulse and speeds it up at the same time. “Gabriella used to do this thing. She’d sing in front of us, but only if we turned around. Or if she closed her eyes. Said it made her feel less exposed.”
His fingers barely graze my forehead, but it’s enough to send a full-body shiver through me. “Her voice was good. She just needed a little push, like I think you do sometimes.”
He’s not wrong. I wish Jacob would push me. To open up, to talk about my past, my nightmares, our fractured relationship.
“I have these dreams… and nightmares. For years,” I say, my voice shaky as his hand hovers. Heat seeps into my skin before he finally pulls away. It’s the lightest touch, but it leaves me burning. When I open my eyes, he’s just watching me.
“Go on,” he urges, his gaze unwavering.
My pulse pounds. I’m suddenly hyper-aware of how close he is—how his leg is brushed against mine. How my heart wants to jump out of my chest.
I look out toward the bridge in the distance as if it’s part of my dream. “I’m walking across this long bridge,” I murmur. “Below, the water is crystal clear. I can see the other side—a place so beautiful, so magnificent. I try to reach it, but then…” My voice falters. “Shadows swirl around me. Birds circle overhead. It’s this strange mix of fear and peace I can’t explain.” A breath catches in my throat. “And just when I think I’ll make it to the end, I fall. The water turns ice cold, swallowing me whole. Until I wake up in a sweaty panic.”
He listens closely. Making me feel like my words matter. Like I matter.
“I wonder what it means,” he says after a moment of silence. “My grandmother believes dreams are portals to another world, a place we can only reach when the noise of this one fades away.”
I let out a bitter laugh. “If that’s true, then I must’ve fucked up pretty badly in another lifetime. Because sometimes it feels like I’m being punished, in my dreams… and in life.”
Dylan stays quiet, waiting.
I sigh slowly. “What if the dream is my subconscious showing me there’s this beautiful life waiting for me, but something keeps me stuck? I always feel stuck. Stuck with the pain of my childhood. Stuck with the trauma and abuse I let happen for so many years. Frozen, unsure of what to do with my life, my career… my marriage.”
The words tumble out as if I’ve been holding my breath for years and am only now exhaling. “Nothing is ever enough. I’m not enough. My marriage, my career, it’s all just… fine. But maybe I don’t want fine.” My voice cracks. “Maybe I want something more. Maybe I’m trying so damn hard to reach theend of that bridge because I need to believe there’s something worth reaching for.”
