“That’s when things took a turn from bad to worse,” I admit, the memories creeping in. “After my dad left, I met an older guy who made me feel wanted… loved. Something I craved from my dad and never got.”
I force myself to continue. “But it wasn’t love. It was control. Manipulation. He made me believe I needed him. And every time I tried to leave, he found a way to suck me back in. He’d threaten to hurt himself. He’d make me believe that I was nothing without him. That no one else would ever love me. He kept me in a mental prison, and I believed every horrible thing he ever said, like a fucking stupid naive girl.”
My body tenses as I share the story, and the confession makes me feel vulnerable. Like I’ve torn myself open and let him see inside. I glance at Dylan, expecting pity, or worse, judgment. But all I see is pain in his eyes.
His hand tightens around mine.
“He stole so many years I can never get back. I lost my childhood, my innocence, my self-worth. And the worst part? I stayed. For three years, I stayed.” My voice catches, tears pooling in my eyes. “Three years of believing it was my fault. Of hating myself more and more every day. By the time I finally left, I barely recognized who I’d become.”
He pulls me closer. “You’re not stupid. Don’t ever fucking say that again. You didn’t deserve that, Jenna. No one does. None of it.”
He kisses me gently. “God, I wish I’d known you back then too. I would have stopped him. I would’ve made you fall in love with me.”
“But if it weren’t for Jacob…” I swallow hard. “I might still be with him. How can I even think about leaving him now? How can I be here, talking to you, wanting this?”
He rubs my arm slowly. His hand feels strong and warm. “I’m glad Jacob was there when you needed him,” he says softly. “But maybe he’s not meant to be there forever.”
My heart sinks, his words pressing against thoughts I’ve tried to bury.
What if Jacob isn’t meant to be my forever? What if he was only meant to help me through a difficult time? What if I’m sabotaging something real for a fantasy that doesn’t even exist?
For a moment, he doesn't fill the silence. Neither do I.
“Sorry,” Dylan murmurs, rubbing his neck. “I’m not trying to overstep. My sisters always push me to talk, and sometimes I have no filter. But if I remember correctly, you love the inside of my mind.”
A slow smile tugs at my lips, even as my thoughts continue to spin.
“You should talk to someone.” His voice is quiet but firm. “Therapy helped Gabriella. I can give you the number for her therapist. No pressure. Just give it a shot.”
I pause, caught off guard. “Honestly, I’m just not sure if it’ll work. How do you fix decades of the mess in my head?”
“You won’t know until you try,” he mutters. “It helped me when I was younger. Got to a place where I was okay and quit. Thought being ‘okay’ was enough. Turns out, maybe not.”
That surprises me. “Wait—you went to therapy?”
He cocks his brow. “Don’t sound so shocked,” he says, flashing a smile. “Tell you what. If you make an appointment, I will start again and work on my own shit.” The teasing glimmer returns to his eyes. “Even though I’m already damn near perfect.”
I laugh, some of the weight in my chest lifting. “I think I may have said that. And you’re sexy as hell, you know that?” I leanin to kiss him again. “Seriously, though, a man who’s open to therapy? Even sexier.”
His grin widens, but my thoughts drift to Jacob. I hate comparing them. But I wonder… would things have been different if we’d tried counseling? Would I still be here right now?
I stare out the window, wiping away the fog. A red sedan is parked close by.
My stomach drops.
“Shit!” I duck, heart hammering against my ribs. Not from the thrill of a teenager sneaking around, but the icy dread of a woman with too much to lose.
Dylan frowns, following my gaze. “What’s wrong? Who is it?”
I peek up just in time to see the car pull away.
My mom.
And by the look on her face, she saw everything.
“Fuck. Me.”
This isn’t bad luck; it’s a sign. The life I’ve built on lies and stolen time is finally catching up to me.
