Chapter 19
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— Indira —
Iwas mid-text to Vaughn, confirming dinner Friday, when Jacob’s name lit up my phone with our scheduled Sunday call reminder. My thumb hovered between two conversations, two men, two completely different versions of who I might become.
This had become my life in the weeks after my coffee meeting with Jacob. I was still seeing Vaughn, still living the vibrant Nashville life I’d built. But now Jacob was part of the equation too—our Sunday calls gave me a growing sense that he was proving himself in ways I hadn’t expected.
“So you’re seeing Vaughn and talking to your ex?” Emma asked over brunch one Saturday. “That’s a lot to juggle.”
“It’s not really juggling. Vaughn and I have fun together—he’s a great guy and I enjoy spending time with him. Jacob’s just... he’s in Millfield. We talk on Sundays. That’s it.”
“The motorcycle club president is cool with you seeing the hot musician?”
“He says he is. And so far, he’s proven it.” I thought about our last conversation, how he’d asked about a concert I’d mentioned attending without demanding details or getting jealous. “He’s being surprisingly mature about the whole thing.”
“What about Vaughn?” Sarah asked. “How does he feel about your ex sniffing around?”
“Vaughn knows about Jacob. He’s not threatened.”
They both looked surprised. I laughed.
“What, you think we’re getting married? We fucked.
Past tense. After I met with Jacob for coffee, I needed space to figure out what I actually want.
” I shrugged. “We’re still friends, still hang out.
If Vaughn meet a girl he wants to be with, he’s free to do what he wants.
No hard feelings. Besides, any day now he’s going to get discovered, go on tour, and I’ll be the last thing on his mind. ”
Emma studied me over her mimosa. “And how do you feel about Jacob? Really?”
“Honestly? I’m not sure. Part of me is impressed by his growth. Part of me wonders if it’s sustainable.” I shrugged. “Jacob’s twenty-four hundred miles away. Right now he’s just someone I used to date. So I’m taking my time to find out if there’s any reason to think about him as anything more.”
I was reviewing campaign materials for a new client on Thursday evening when my phone lit up with Priya’s name. Unusual—we typically talked on Sundays before I spoke to Dutch.
“Priya? Everything okay?”
“It’s Dad.” Her voice was tight with worry. “He had a heart attack this morning. He’s stable now, but Indira... it was close.”
The world tilted sideways. “How close?”
“Mom said the doctors used words like ‘massive’ and ‘lucky to be alive.’ She’s trying to stay strong, but she’s falling apart. Can you come home?”
I hadn’t been back to California since before Dutch, hadn’t seen my parents in several years. We’d grown apart after I’d moved to Oregon for work, and the distance had only increased after I’d fled to Nashville.
“I’ll get the next flight.”
“Thank you. Mom needs you right now. We all do.”
The next twelve hours passed in a blur of airport terminals and worry.
My father—stubborn, proud, seemingly indestructible—laid up in a cardiac ICU.
Machines beeped in syncopated rhythms, his heartbeat translated into electronic chirps I found myself counting obsessively.
The vinyl chair by his bed squeaked every time I shifted, and I’d memorized every crack in the ceiling tiles during the long hours of waiting.
My mother, smaller and more fragile than I remembered, sat on the other side of his bed trying to hold everything together.
“He was trimming the hedge,” she told me through tears. “Just fell over. If Mrs. Rodriguez hadn’t been outside...”
I spent three days rotating between the hospital and my childhood home, helping coordinate care and managing the flood of concerned relatives. It was exactly the kind of family crisis that put everything else in perspective.
Which is why I was completely unprepared when Jacob called Tuesday evening.
“Indira? I heard about your father. How is he?”
His voice came through low and steady, that familiar rumble that used to vibrate through my chest when he held me close. I closed my eyes without meaning to, remembering the weight of his arm across my waist, the heat of him at my back.
I sank onto my parents’ couch, the same floral-print monstrosity that had been here since I was twelve.
The cushions dipped in familiar places, and the room still smelled faintly of my mother’s sandalwood candles and the dal she’d stress-cooked earlier.
Family photos watched from every surface—me at graduations, Priya’s wedding, all of us from a vacation to India I barely remembered.
“How did you... who told you?” I managed, emotionally drained from another day of medical conversations and insurance calls.
I’d texted him Sunday to cancel our call, no details. When he’d asked if everything was okay, I’d lied and said yes.
“Glitch.” His voice was gentle, careful. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“I’m...” I started to say fine, then stopped. “I’m scared. And tired. And trying to hold my family together when I can barely hold myself together.”
“Where are you?”
“San Diego. My parents’ house.”
“Do you need anything? Someone to talk to, help with arrangements, anything at all?”
The offer was so unexpected that I almost started crying again. “Jacob, you don’t have to—”
“I know I don’t have to. I want to. If there’s anything I can do to help, please let me.”
After we hung up, I sat in the dark living room thinking about the responses I’d gotten.
When I’d texted Vaughn about the emergency, he’d sent back condolences and offered to pick me up from the airport when I returned, followed by flowers sent to my parents’ house with a sweet note—thoughtful and exactly what I’d expect from someone I was casually dating.
Jacob had called, asked what I needed, offered concrete help despite not having a solid place in my life, despite knowing he was probably second place to another man.
Two men, two approaches. Both appropriate for the level of relationship we had. But only one had made me feel truly supported.
Dad stabilized over the next couple of days. The doctors seemed cautiously optimistic. I was starting to think we might be through the worst of it when Thursday’s healthcare update changed everything.
“The insurance company is being difficult about the cardiac catheterization,” Dr. Oakley explained. “It’s experimental, but it could prevent another attack. Without it...”
“How much?” Priya asked.
“Out of pocket? Probably sixty thousand.”
My mother went pale. My parents were comfortable but not wealthy. Sixty thousand dollars was mortgage-payment money, retirement-fund money.
“We’ll figure it out,” I said, though I had no idea how. “Whatever it takes.”
That evening, I called Jacob just to hear a familiar voice. Someone outside the crisis who could remind me that the world still existed beyond hospital walls and insurance forms.
“How’s your father?” he asked.
“Better, but they want to do this procedure that insurance won’t cover.” I explained about the catheterization, the cost, my family’s dilemma.
“Sixty thousand,” Jacob repeated. “When do they need the money?”
“By Monday if we want to schedule it for next week.”
“I’ll wire the money tomorrow. Give me the hospital information.”
I sat up straighter on the couch. “Jacob, no. I wasn’t asking for—”
“I know you weren’t asking. I’m offering. Your father needs the procedure, you need your father to be okay, so the money isn’t a question.”
“That’s not how this works. I can’t accept sixty thousand dollars from you.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s too much. Because it feels like... I don’t know, like you’re trying to buy your way back into my life.”
He was quiet for a moment. “Indira, if I thought writing a check would fix what I broke between us, I would have done it months ago. This isn’t about us. This is about a man I’ve never met who raised the woman I love, and if I can help keep him alive, then that’s what I’m going to do.”
The simple declaration-“the woman I love”-said without pressure or expectation, hit me hard. “I don’t know how to accept something like this.”
“Then don’t think of it as accepting something from me. Think of it as letting someone who cares about you help your family when they need it.”
The money arrived the next day. Wired directly to the hospital’s billing department, no fanfare, no strings attached. When I called to thank him, he deflected.
“How’s your dad feeling about the procedure?”
“Nervous but hopeful. Jacob, I need you to know—”
“You don’t need to say anything. Just focus on your family.”
The catheterization went smoothly and my father’s prognosis improved dramatically.
Through it all, Jacob checked in every day but never intruded. Never made the crisis about him or our relationship. Just offered quiet support from a distance, respecting my need to focus on family while making sure I knew I wasn’t alone.
It was the most unselfish thing anyone had ever done for me.
Sunday evening, as I was packing for my flight back to Nashville, my mother knocked on my bedroom door.
“The young man who paid for your father’s procedure,” she said. “Is he someone special?”
I looked up from my suitcase. “It’s complicated.”
“He must care about you very much. To do something like that for people he’s never met.”
“Yeah. He does.”
“Do you have feelings for him?”
I thought about the past week. About Jacob’s immediate concern when he’d heard about Dad’s heart attack. About the money wired without hesitation or conditions. About daily check-ins that never felt intrusive or demanding.
About the difference between who he’d been and who he was becoming.
“I don’t know yet, Mom. I’m still figuring it out.”
“Well, don’t wait too long. Good men don’t come around often.”
I wondered if she’d say the same thing if she knew he was the President of a motorcycle club. Somehow I doubted it.
Monday evening, back in Nashville, I had dinner plans with Vaughn.
He picked me up from the airport with flowers and pulled me into a hug at baggage claim.
I registered the lean strength of him, the clean scent of his soap, the way his hand settled naturally at my lower back—all pleasant, all comfortable.
He took me to my favorite restaurant, asking thoughtful questions about my father’s recovery and how my family was holding up.
He was perfect. Attentive, kind, genuinely caring.
When he hugged me goodnight at my door, I found myself comparing it to the way Jacob used to hold me—like I was the only thing keeping him grounded.
Vaughn hugged like a gentleman, warm and respectful.
Jacob had held me like I was everything, his hands possessive at my waist, his body surrounding mine like he couldn’t bear any distance between us.
Tuesday evening, I called Jacob.
“How was your flight?” he asked.
“Long but uneventful. Dad’s doing well. He wanted me to tell you thank you, by the way.”
“Tell him he’s welcome. And that I hope he has a full recovery.”
“Jacob?” I took a breath. “What you did this week... that was the most generous thing anyone has ever done for me.”
“I’m glad I could help.”
“It showed me something important. About who you’ve become. And I want you to know that I’m really considering... us. Seriously considering it.”
The silence stretched for a moment. “And the others?”
“At this point, Vaughn and I are just friends,” I said honestly. “But that doesn’t mean I’m ready to jump back into a relationship with you. Firstly, long distance isn’t going to work for me. And, I’m still not sure you’ve really changed.”
“Makes sense.” His voice was rough with emotion. “Take all the time you need, Indira. I’m not going anywhere.”
After we hung up, I sat in my apartment and thought about the choice ahead of me.
I wasn’t ready to choose yet. But for the first time, I was starting to see which direction my heart was pulling me.