37. Chapter 37 Superpowers & No Willpower
Jenna: June
Sitting in my car outside my favorite breakfast spot, Biscuit Love, I clutch my phone, finally ready to read Dylan’s message.
And no, I haven’t made a decision. I’ve been too busy thinking about you. Every minute of every hour. I told you, Jenna… you’re one of a kind. I’ll never meet anyone like you again. And I meant that. You took a piece of my heart I can’t ever take back.
Tears stream down my face. I feel a mix of joy, relief, and longing. He always answers each of my questions. Never gets annoyed. Never makes me feel like I’m too much.
Meet up with me? Just as friends. I miss talking to you. I miss watching you bump into things, and spill everything… and I miss you.
Relief crashes over me. He still cares. But where does that leave us?
By the time I walk inside, my makeup and emotions are a mess. I spot Izzy looking effortlessly gorgeous as always. She’s sitting in a booth eating ice cream—at nine in the morning—wearing cut-off jean shorts and a Nirvana T-shirt. Classic.
“Hey, Iz! What the hell?” I mutter, sliding into the booth. “You couldn’t wait for me? I need at least three bowls.”
“What’s going on? Why the puffy eyes? Do you need one of my world-class sex pep talks?” Izzy teases, sliding over the cup of tea she ordered for me.
I pull out a napkin from the dispenser on the table and dab my eyes, smiling softly. She always knows how to make me laugh. Even when my world is collapsing around me. “I wish your sex talks could help right now.”
Another notification dings on my phone. Dylan again. I haven’t replied to the last three, but of course, he doesn’t care. He never cared about “text etiquette.” It’s one of the things that makes him so undeniably him.
Dylan: And yeah, Amelia finally got engaged.
Then they broke up… like I predicted. Douchebag.
Took everything in me not to kick down his door and burn his salmon-colored shirts.
Almost as much as it took to stop myself from kicking down your office door so I could tell you how wrong life feels without you. ”
A picture pops up—a baby girl cradled in Dylan’s arms. My heart squeezes. Damn, he makes one sexy uncle. There goes my mascara again. I really need to buy waterproof.
Dylan: I’m also the luckiest uncle. Meet Evangelia.
Izzy leans forward, her expression turning serious. “Talk to me, Jenna. Who’s texting you? Is that my brother? Are you guys getting a divorce?”
“No, it’s not Jacob,” I murmur, staring at my screen.
“If you don’t start talking, I’m walking out.” She smirks. “And I’m taking your ice cream with me.”
Suddenly, it all comes tumbling out. The lies. The late nights. The mind-blowing sex. The guilt. The tears. The fear of being caught.
Izzy sits frozen, her eyes wide, as if she doesn’t recognize me. I brace for her to call me a terrible person, to storm out. Instead, she takes a slow sip of coffee and says something I’ll never forget.
“Jenna, you get one life. One shot to explore every wild, passionate corner of your heart. If Dylan awakened something in you that you can’t ignore, maybe it’s not about being a terrible wife or mother. Maybe it’s about finding the parts of yourself you’ve buried too long—and listening to them.”
I blink, stunned. “Are you saying I should go back to him?”
“I’m saying you need to figure out what’s true for you. If that means letting go of Dylan, go do it. And if it means leaving Jacob…” She exhales, her voice steady. “Then do that too. Life’s too short to live with what-ifs.”
Tears rush down my mascara-streaked cheeks. “I love who I am when I’m with Dylan,” I confess. “He shows me another version of myself, one I don’t know if I can live without. And with Jacob… it’s not that I want to leave, I just want to leave the person I’ve become with him.”
I search Izzy’s face for anger, for judgment. “Don’t you hate me? Jacob’s your brother!”
Her hand reaches for mine. “Of course not. I hate that this happened to him. But I warned Jacob not to date my friends, remember? I love him, but I love you too. And I know you. You have a big heart and don’t want to hurt anyone. You will make the right decision when you’re ready.”
God, I love her. “I have to figure it out soon. I can’t keep living two lives. It’s exhausting,” I admit.
“You do,” she says without hesitation. “Because I won't keep this from Jacob forever.”
The weight of her words presses down on my chest. “Do you think God will punish me with bad luck?” I murmur. “More jinxes? For being a terrible human being? For the affair? For not appreciating a loving husband and beautiful kids?”
Izzy shakes her head. “No, I don’t think He punishes. I think He’s trying to teach you something. But you’re not listening. You’ve spent so much time trying to be what everyone else wants that you’ve lost sight of yourself.”
“What the hell is He trying to teach me?” My voice is raw with uncertainty. “I’ve been struggling with this decision for years, Izzy. But I got good at pretending. Smiling when I didn’t mean it. Pushing it all down so no one would see.”
She stays quiet, just watching me fiddle with my wedding ring, struggling to get the words out.
“It’s like I’ve been hanging off the edge of a cliff…
for years,” I say, under my breath. “Some days, I’m seconds from falling.
Other days, Jacob pulls me back just enough with his stupid apologies and his fucking breadcrumbs or whatever you wanna call them.
But mostly? I’m just… so damn frozen. Too scared to let go.
How the hell do I jump and destroy everything? ”
Izzy inches forward, her eyes fierce. “Bullshit. This whole story you keep telling yourself about being stuck is one big, fat lie you’ve believed for way too many years.”
The cup I’m holding hangs mid-air to my lips. I don’t know what to say to that.
“You’re not stuck,” she continues. “You’re not a goddamn tree. Every single day you stay in this mess, you’re choosing it. You’re choosing uncertainty. You’re choosing to do nothing. You’re choosing unhappiness. So don’t tell me this crap when you’re the one refusing to move.”
Her words sting like someone ripping off a Band-Aid without warning. “It’s not that simple.” I try to protest, but it sounds weak, even to me.
“No one’s saying it is.” Her tone softens. “It will hurt like hell. You just need to sit with it. To grieve what you might lose. But don’t you dare wait for some magic sign to fall out of the sky. Because staying exactly where you are? It’s a choice too.”
Tears prick my eyes, but Izzy doesn’t let up.
“So stop telling yourself you’re stuck. You’re not, you’re just scared.
And that’s fine. Be scared. Feel the shit out of it.
Sit with it. But then get your pretty little ass up, close your eyes, and pick a goddamn direction,” she says, flapping her hands side to side.
“Go left. Go right. Hell, go backwards if you have to—but move. And if you screw it up? Guess what? You can always turn around and try again.”
My breath hitches as I stare at the words flowing out of her mouth.
Her voice remains steady. “Jenna, listen to me. You’ve tried everything—waiting, hoping, therapy.
You even did the impossible and convinced my brother to go to therapy on his own.
You’ve given this your all, but it’s eating you alive.
I know you love my brother, but love isn’t enough if it’s suffocating you. ”
“I know, Izzy. I know. I just—"
“You just, nothing,” she interrupts. Her tone is firm, but not unkind. “When you’ve been battling the same damn decision for years, it stops being about the person. It comes down to how you feel in the relationship and whether you can picture a future with him.”
“I have kids to think about too.” My voice rises, desperate. “What if I wait a little longer? Do more counseling. It’s not like he’s…” I pause before saying it. “Abusive.”
Izzy’s expression hardens. “Stop. You really believe only abuse justifies divorce?” She lets out a bitter breath. “It’s screwed up how many people tell themselves it’s better for kids to grow up in an unhappy marriage than to be raised in two homes where they actually see real love.”
I flinch, another tear falling. “That’s not fair. I don’t believe that.”
“I know. But stop delaying a decision you already know the answer to,” she presses.
“Counseling won’t turn my brother into the person you need him to be.
You’re not happy. You haven’t been for years.
That doesn’t mean there weren’t good times.
Or that you don’t love him in some way. But if you’re trying this hard to justify staying, then deep down, you already know it’s not right. ”
“What if I don’t know what the hell I want?” I say, wiping my cheek.
Izzy’s hazel eyes soften. “Yes, you do. You're just scared of what comes next. But Jenna, doing nothing—staying in this torturous in-between—is breaking you too.”
A bitter laugh escapes me. “So what? I just strap on a harness and jump into the unknown? Risk everything? What if I can’t do it?”
“You can. And you will.” Izzy assures me as she squeezes my hand. “Then when you do, you’ll wonder why it took you so long. Remember the big guy upstairs? Have a little faith. You’re stronger than you think. And the best part? There’s peace on the other side of all this.”
Her words linger. And an ugly sob escapes me. “I do remember Him,” I mumble through the tears. “We’ve had a bit of a rocky relationship. But I’m not even sure I know what peace looks like anymore.”
Izzy hands me another napkin. “And you won’t ever feel it again if you don’t make a decision. Picture yourself six months from now, still in the exact same place. Is that what you want?”
Of course I don’t want that. But there’s a difference between knowing something and being ready to act on something.
I stare out the window, watching blinking neon lights and tourists crowding the streets, blissfully lost in their own lives.
Nashville was supposed to be my last stop, a fresh start.
And now this place feels almost as chaotic as my mind—loud, restless, filled with empty hope and shattered dreams.
The conversation with Izzy stays with me long after she’s gone. I stare at Dylan’s message, fingers hovering. Should I tell him about the separation? Should I end the conversation here? Should I just let myself enjoy hearing from him for a little while longer?
I type. Delete. Then type again.
Me: Okay. You missed me. Me too. You’re doing good. Awesome. Your sister’s engaged. Congrats. I guess that brings us up to speed.
I hit send, imagining Dylan’s frustration with my abruptness. I know it’s cold, but my flip-fucking-flopping mind knows I never should’ve messaged him. And yet, it’s like I needed a hit. Just a few minutes from him to stop the ache for five damn seconds.
My phone vibrates.
Dylan: Of course I missed you. Not just the sex. I loved having you as a friend and more. I was lucky to have you in my life for the time I did. But are we really all caught up?
My heart softens despite my better judgment.
Me: Shit. I almost forgot how good you make me feel. How easy it is to fall back into this, even with my life upside down. But I should let you get back to your amazing life.
Dylan: That’s it? Why would you tease me like that? Are your girls okay? Are you? Come see me.
Me: The girls are good. And I just messaged you to say hey. See how you’re doing.
And maybe to feel something again. I’m trying to do the right thing. To manage these impossible feelings. But clearly, I’m failing.
Dylan: No, you messaged me asking why we can’t be friends. And now you’re trying to pull away again.
My phone starts ringing, his name flashing on the screen. I answer reluctantly.
“Why do you always listen so closely to what I say?” I blurt out.
“I sound insane, I know. I thought maybe we could be just friends. That it’d be better than nothing.
That enough time has passed. But talking to you now?
” I shake my head, heat rising in my body.
“Clearly, I’ve underestimated your superpowers…
and my willpower. Because there’s no way I’m not thinking about you naked. Or inside me.”
“Keep going,” Dylan murmurs, his voice low, teasing.
I’m completely coming undone now.
“Six months wasn’t enough time to erase you,” I admit.
“Fuck, six years wouldn’t be enough. I’ll be eighty-six years old, still getting wet thinking about your long, curvy, perfect cock.
” I pause to catch my breath. “See? I told you, superpowers and no willpower.” My voice drops, barely there. “But I shouldn’t meet you.”
“Fuck me,” he growls, his tone thick and familiar.
“You’re the one with superpowers. The way you drive me crazy.
The way I’d love to make you wet even at eighty-fucking-six years old.
” He chuckles low. “But that’s not why I want to see you.
Meet me, Jenna. As a friend. It sounds like you could use one. ”
I stay quiet, but the heaviness in my chest grows as I realize how much I’ve missed his voice… missed him.
“Meet me,” he repeats. “At my ranch.”
“How many times are you going to keep asking me?” I finally reply.
“Until you say yes.”
And in an instant, I’m pulled back in. “Okay,” I whisper, waiting for the tension in my body to unwind.
“Okay, what?” he demands.
“Okay, let’s meet.”