Chapter 30 - Jordin
thirty-Jordin
Who would’ve thought my husband cheating would land me in a tug-of-war between the past and the present?
Seeing Oak again made me realize how much I still cared—but what about Ciarán?
I sat curled up on the opposite end of the couch, a wine glass in my hand, trying to act normal.
It had been three days since my meeting with Oak, and he was still heavy on my mind. Sitting just as heavily in the back of it was the fact that Ciarán had a vasectomy and hadn’t told me. But then, why would he? We weren’t in that kind of situation.
Was I tripping… or just looking for an excuse to pull back from him and run to Oak?
I’d gotten my revenge. I’d fucked someone else. I’d let another man see the parts of me Oak used to swear were only his. But now I felt like I was right back at the starting line, staring at the ruins of my marriage and wondering if I was supposed to rebuild them or just walk away for good.
I sighed, my eyes landing on Ciarán. He was sitting across from me, one arm draped over the back of the couch like he didn’t have a care in the world. His legs were stretched out, relaxed, as he watched me silently unravel in real time.
He looked fine as fuck in an army green polo and camo pants, like he was ready for war. It pissed me off how beautiful he could look while being emotionally absent.
But he was also direct. That was the thing about Ciarán—he didn’t do hesitation or uncertainty. He said what he meant, and he meant what he said, no matter how you felt about it.
And somehow, that made it worse. Because you can’t change a man who refuses to flinch. He was stubbornly committed to his own truth, his own boundaries, and his own way of being.
He wouldn’t bend, even for me.
That was the disconnect between us.
He got on my nerves.
I sucked my teeth, rolling my eyes.
He stared at me, face and eyes unreadable. Then, after a short beat, he spoke.
“So, you ready to talk about what happened with your husband? Instead of mumbling and sucking your teeth like I did something to you?”
I’d told him I didn’t really want to talk about Oak and me, and he had respected that. But now…
I nodded, staring down at the deep red liquid in my glass.
“I met him.”
“I know. And?”
I swallowed, shifting in my seat. “He wants to try counseling,” I said quietly. “He said he’s sorry. That he still loves me.”
I could feel him studying me, but I couldn’t bring myself to meet his eyes.
His voice was even when he asked, “And do you still love him?” like the answer didn’t matter.
He was so confusing.
My fingers tightened around the glass. I didn’t want to answer, but I did. I was trying to be more open. Like him.
“Yes,” I admitted.
He didn’t say anything for a long time. Then, just as I was about to look up, he spoke again.
“And me?” His voice was low. “How do you feel about me?”
I lifted my gaze to his, searching his face, trying to find the right words.
“I care about you,” I said slowly. “But we don’t want the same thing. I want a family.”
He let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “The white boy wants to be a husband and father,” he rebutted. “You got your lick back. Got the best dick you ever had. You want him back, tell him.”
He moved then.
His hand found my thigh, and the air changed. His fingers began to trace something—a hypothesis—on my skin.
A soft, traitorous moan escaped my throat before I could catch it. My hips made a small, involuntary arc toward his hand.
His eyes locked on mine.
“But keep me too. I understand parts of you he doesn’t,” he whispered, his voice like smoke—thick and heavy in the space between us. “Why not have the best of both worlds?”
I was confused, but still, somehow… heat spread through my body, pooling low in my belly as his touch got firmer.
I forced myself to whisper, “What does that even mean?”
His lips brushed my jaw, a ghost of a touch that sent a fracture line of lightning down my spine.
“It means I’m not a contingency plan,” he said, voice rough. “If you want to go back to your husband, go back. But on your terms. Tell him I come with you.”
Then his mouth was on mine. He kissed me like it was a form of persuasion, an argument his tongue was making against mine. His hands gripped my thighs, pulling me into his body until there was no space left for reason.
My fingers twisted in the fabric of his shirt.
My breathing turned ragged, broken against his mouth.
Then—my phone rang.
Oak’s Evil Brother Calling.
The name flashed across the studio monitor and echoed overhead through the Bluetooth voice.
Ciarán pulled back and stared at me.
“I’m not answering.”
He nodded.
The soundboard lit up again.
Oak’s Evil Brother Calling.
My heart dropped into my stomach. Marcus never called me. And he never called twice in a row. Not me. Not ever.
The phone rang a third time.
Tampa General Hospital.
My hand hovered over the phone.
The ringing stopped.
I picked it up and dialed Marcus back.
“What?” I rasped, my throat suddenly dry.
Marcus’s voice was urgent, clipped as always.
“Jordin, it’s Oak,” he said. “He’s been in an accident. It’s bad.”
My breath caught.
“What?” I whispered.
“You’re still his wife. You’re on his living will,” he said. “You have to make the decisions.”
I felt like the air had been knocked out of me.
“I—I’m on my way,” I choked out before hanging up.
The second the call ended, it hit me—I had no idea how I was going to get to Tampa.
Driving would take too long, and it was the middle of the night. I probably couldn’t even get a flight.
My mind was spinning. My chest was tight.
“How the fuck am I supposed to get to Tampa?!” I shouted, gripping my phone so hard my fingers ached.
“I got you,” Ciarán said immediately, already grabbing his keys. His voice was steady. Controlled.
“I got a friend with a private jet.”
I barely registered his words. I was too busy trying to breathe. Trying to think.
Then he was pulling me up, guiding me toward the door, his phone already to his ear.
“Yeah,” he said when someone answered. “I need a favor.”
I couldn’t focus.
Couldn’t stop my hands from shaking.
What in the fuck was I going to do if Oak died?
He had been in my life so long…
What if I didn’t know how to live without him?