“How’s your dad?” I ask softly, hesitating. I don’t want to push, but he hasn't talked much about him since the heart attack.
“Better,” he says, biting into his apple. “The doctors say he’ll recover, but he has to quit drinking. Amelia wants me to take her to see him.” His eyes flicker to mine, guarded. “And we’ve been spending more time together. For so long, it was only Gabriella. Now—”
“It’s like you have your family back,” I cut in, gripping his hand.
His expression tightens, then softens. “Yeah,” he admits. “It’s like I’ve got part of them back. But seeing my dad hooked up to those machines… seeing the sadness in my sister’s eyes again… it hit me hard. I can’t keep holding onto all this anger.” His voice dips lower. “And I want to be better. For you.”
“No, Dylan. It shouldn't be for me,” I say, shaking my head. “But I’m happy for you. Really.”
He smirks. “You know, lunch is getting out of hand. Since when do we talk more than we make out?” he teases, leaning in. Then his hand glides under my sweater, igniting a slow, burning fire I don't know how to put out.
And we kiss like reckless teenagers.
I pull back, smiling. “I haven’t forgotten your grocery list text. Still waiting to see what you do with a leash.”
He chuckles, low and daring. “Just say the word, gorgeous. And I’ll tie you up and dominate you anytime,” he says, before his grin turns serious. “Real talk for a minute?”
I blink, caught off guard. “Real talk? What man chooses that over sex talk?”
“This man,” he mutters. “I love talking to you. And that you trust me enough to let me in, even when it’s hard.”
I hesitate, my guard slipping a little. “Okay. I’m terrified to go home after I’ve been with you. I’ve never lied to Jacob. Not about anything that really mattered… until you. Now, I don’t know where this is going. I feel guilty. Excited. Awful. Happy. And everything in between.”
His gaze locks onto mine with intensity behind his eyes. “You think this is easy for me? Knowing you go home to him every night?”
I part my lips to speak, but he’s not done yet.
“I’m not mad. I know what this is, Jenna. But fuck…” His voice dips lower. “I haven’t been with another woman since we started this thing between us. And it’s not because I can’t. It’s because I don’t want to. And it’s fucking hard when I know he still gets to touch you and kiss you whenever the hell he wants.”
The confession makes my heart ache. I reach for his hand. “Dylan, I’m so—”
“Don’t,” he murmurs. “No apologies. You’re his wife. I don’t want to hurt anyone. Especially not you.” He pulls me closer, onto his lap.
“Cheesy or not, I’ve never felt a stronger connection with anyone else,” he says, his voice steady. “There’s a reason we crossed paths, and I can’t walk away. I won’t... unless you tell me to.”
His words crawl under my skin, and I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to let him go. Jacob may have my body and a piece of my heart, always. But Dylan? He has my heart and my soul.
“Remember when you told me you’ve been carrying something so heavy, it almost feels like it's become a part of you?” I say, looking up at him. “That if you let it go, you wouldn’t know who you are anymore?”
His eyes meet mine, dark and full of understanding. He’s been there. He’sstillthere. “Yeah. I remember.”
“You’re not the only one with a past that haunts you,” I confess, shifting from one heavy conversation to the next. “Sometimes, I wonder if I’ve been broken for so long that I don’t know how to let go of those parts anymore.”
But that’s what I am, right? Broken.
He stays quiet. I know he carries his own scars. He doesn't have to say them. It’s an unspoken language we both understand, like two people trapped in prisons of their past.
“I get it,” he finally says. “Sometimes I think I’ll always just be the guy who lost his brother. And if I let go of the guilt? I’ll just be… empty,” he sighs softly. “I don’t even know who I am without it.”
I look into his eyes and find the same pain I carry. We don’t need any words. The silence says it all.
“I want to find her again,” I whisper, as his hand covers mine, grounding me. “The old Jenna, before all this.”
He brushes his thumb lightly against my fingers. “What if you’re not supposed to find her? What if you need to let her go and decide who you want to be right now?”
My chest feels heavy. “Do you know what I wish?” I ask, after a minute of quiet. “I wish I’d met you when I was fourteen. Maybe I wouldn’t have gone through hell.”
“I think we all experience hell on Earth sometimes,” he exhales deeply. “For me, it was watching addiction destroy myfamily.” He tilts his head, his brows furrowed together. “Why fourteen?”
