Chapter 17
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— Indira —
Isaw him the moment I walked through the door.
He was sitting at a corner table with clear sight lines to both the entrance and the exit.
He’d chosen a spot that gave me a direct path to the door if I wanted to leave, the kind of detail my Dutch would never have thought about.
The kind of detail that meant he’d been thinking about my comfort, not his own.
He looked... different. Leaner. His hair was shorter, more deliberately styled, and he’d let his stubble grow out into something that suited him.
The scar across his left eye, the one he’d gotten in a bar fight years before we met, seemed less harsh now, softened by whatever peace he’d found.
Just like in Montana, he was wearing dark jeans and a simple black henley instead of his usual cut and boots—civilian clothes that made him look approachable rather than dangerous.
But it was more than the superficial changes.
Even sitting still, I could tell he moved differently now.
The arrogant confidence that used to radiate from him like heat had been replaced by something quieter, more self-possessed.
He wasn’t scanning the room like he owned it.
He was watching the door, waiting for me, and when our eyes met across the coffee shop, I saw something in his expression that I’d never seen before.
Hope.
My hands were shaking as I approached the table. Months of emails and phone calls hadn’t prepared me for this moment. The last time we’d been face to face, I’d been throwing his cologne bottle at the wall and screaming about what a lying, cheating bastard he was.
Now I was voluntarily walking toward him, and I wasn’t sure if that made me brave or stupid.
He stood as I approached, another small detail my Dutch wouldn’t have bothered with. “Indira.” His voice was rougher than I remembered, like he’d been holding his breath. “Thank you for meeting me.”
“Jacob.” I slid into the chair across from him, noting that he waited for me to sit before lowering himself back down. “You’re early.”
“I wanted to make sure you had a good table.” He said it simply, without expectation of praise. “Somewhere you’d feel comfortable.”
Something twisted in my chest. He’d ridden five days across the country and arrived early to pick out a table for me. The gesture was small, but it said everything about how much thought he’d put into this meeting.
“You look good,” he said quietly. “Happy.”
“I am,” I said, and meant it. “Nashville has been good to me.”
“I’m glad. You deserve that.”
The sincerity in his voice caught me off guard. Months ago, he would have followed that statement with some variation of “but you’d be happier with me.” This Jacob just seemed genuinely pleased that I’d found contentment.
“What about you?” I asked—the same question I’d asked during our first phone call. I wanted to see how he’d answer it now, face to face, when he couldn’t hide behind distance. “Are you happy?”
He considered the question seriously, and I found myself holding my breath. On the phone, he’d said he was “content” but still learning what happiness meant. Would his answer be different in person?
“I’m at peace with who I am now, which is more than I could say before. The club is doing well. But happy?” He shrugged. “I think I’m still working on that.”
The consistency of his answer—almost word for word what he’d told me weeks ago—loosened something in my chest. He wasn’t performing for me. He was just being honest.
We talked for twenty minutes about safe topics.
But underneath the polite conversation, I was acutely aware of everything about him.
The way he really listened when I spoke instead of just waiting for his turn to talk.
How he asked follow-up questions about my life that showed he’d actually been paying attention to my emails.
The way he kept his hands on the table, open and non-threatening.
This wasn’t the same man who’d dismissed my concerns and told me I was being dramatic.
“Vaughn took me to this amazing—” I stopped mid-sentence, realizing what I’d just said. Vaughn’s name had slipped out naturally, the way it would have with Emma or Sarah. I hadn’t meant to bring him up, but we’d been talking so easily that I’d forgotten to guard my words.
Jacob’s expression didn’t change, but something flickered in his eyes. “Go on.”
The invitation surprised me. I’d expected him to shut down or demand answers, make it about him. But Jacob just waited, giving me space to decide how much to share.
In for a penny, in for a pound. If we were doing this, we were doing it honestly. “He’s not the only one,” I continued, my voice steady. “I’ve been dating. David, James, a few others. Nothing serious. I’m just...” I shrugged. “Living my life. Enjoying myself.”
I watched his face carefully. The man I’d left would have made it clear I was still his regardless. But what I saw instead was a flash of raw pain—deeper than I expected—quickly followed by him working to school his features into something neutral.
Multiple men. I could see him processing that, the slight tightening around his eyes, the way his jaw clenched for just a second before he forced himself to relax.
“Are you happy?” he asked quietly, and his voice was rougher than before.
“I am.” I leaned back slightly, letting him see my confidence. “Really happy. I’ve built a good life. Good friends, good career, good dating life. I’m not the broken woman who left Millfield.”
“I can see that.” The words seemed to cost him something. “You’re... you’re thriving.”
“I am,” I confirmed, and watched something crack in his careful control. His hands, which had been resting calmly on the table, curled slightly into fists before he deliberately flattened them again.
“This is harder than you expected, isn’t it?” I asked, genuinely curious.
He let out a breath that might have been a laugh if it wasn’t so pained.
“Yeah. I thought... I told myself I’d be happy if you’d moved on.
That your happiness was what mattered, even if it destroyed me.
But hearing that you’re dating multiple men, that you’ve built this whole vibrant life that I’m not part of.
..” He met my eyes, and I saw something raw there.
“It guts me, Indira. But you deserve to be happy even if it kills me to know I’m not the one making you that way. ”
That raw vulnerability, not noble generosity, but actual pain at the thought of losing me to someone else—was what made me pause.
My Dutch would have hidden behind arrogance or tried to convince me I was making a mistake.
This Jacob was honest about how much it hurt while still supporting my choices.
He laughed then, though there was no mockery in it. “You want to know something ironic? While you’ve been out there dating, enjoying yourself, living your life... I’ve been celibate.”
I stared at him. “You’re joking.”
“I’m not.” He shrugged, almost self-deprecating. “Haven’t touched anyone since you walked in on me with Crystal. Not a single woman.”
“I don’t believe you.” The words came out flat. This was Dutch—the man who’d treated sex like breathing. The idea that he’d gone months without was absurd.
“Call any of my brothers,” he said, pulling his phone from his pocket and sliding it across the table toward me. “Ask them. They’ll confirm it.”
I shook my head, pushing the phone back. “They’ll tell me whatever you’ve told them to say.”
A grin flickered across his face. “Nah. They think I’ve turned into a pussy. They’ll happily tell you that.” The grin faded, replaced by something more serious. “Handful’s been giving me shit for months. Colt thinks I’ve lost my mind. They won’t cover for me, Indira. They’re genuinely baffled.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. The Dutch I remembered would never have admitted to celibacy, would have seen it as weakness. This man was offering it without embarrassment.
His expression shifted, growing heavier. “There’s something else. Something I need to tell you in case we never speak again after today.”
The sudden gravity in his voice made my stomach tighten. “What?”
He took a breath, and I watched him gather courage like it was something physical he had to reach for. “When you walked in on me with Crystal... you might have heard me say something.”
My blood went cold. I knew exactly what he was talking about. Those words had haunted me for months, playing on repeat in my nightmares.
I’ve been thinking about this pussy all day.
“I remember,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. I felt sick just thinking about it.
“It wasn’t her.” He met my eyes, and I saw something raw and ashamed there. “The pussy I was thinking about. It wasn’t Crystal’s. It was yours.”
I blinked, not understanding. “What?”
“When I was with other women...” He stopped, rubbed a hand over his face.
Started again. “I know how fucked up this sounds. I know it doesn’t make it better—probably makes it worse.
But when I was with them, I was thinking about you.
Every time. I’d close my eyes and pretend it was you.
I’d—” His voice cracked. “I’d spend all day thinking about being with you, and then I’d take that energy to someone else because you weren’t there, and I was too weak and too selfish to wait. ”
I sat frozen, trying to process what he was saying.
“That’s what I meant when I said it to Crystal.
I’d been thinking about you all day. Missing you.
Wanting you. And instead of waiting for you to come home, I took what I was feeling and gave it to someone who didn’t matter.
” He laughed, but it was hollow. “I was so fucked up, Indira. I didn’t even understand what I was doing.
I thought because I was thinking of you, it was somehow.
.. I don’t know. Less wrong. Like you were still the one I wanted, so it didn’t count. ”
“That’s...” I couldn’t find the words.
“Insane. I know. Twisted. I know that too.” He leaned forward, and I could see his hands were shaking.
“I’m not telling you this to make excuses.
There are no excuses. I’m telling you because you deserved to know the full truth.
All of it. Even the parts that make me look even worse than you already thought I was. ”
I sat there, my mind reeling. All those months I’d tortured myself imagining him fantasizing about Crystal, counting down the hours until he could fuck her. And the reality was somehow both better and worse. He’d been thinking of me—wanting me—and still choosing to betray me anyway.
“So let me get this straight,” I said slowly. “You were thinking about me... while you were inside other women.”
He flinched at the bluntness. “Yes.”
“And you thought that made it okay?”
“No. I don’t think I thought about it at all.
That’s the problem. I didn’t think—I just took what I wanted when I wanted it and told myself stories to make it feel acceptable.
” He shook his head. “I was selfish. Immature. Incapable of understanding that what I was doing was a betrayal even if you were the one I actually wanted.”
Something in his voice—the raw shame, the complete lack of defense—cracked something open in my chest. Not forgiveness. But something.
“You’re right,” I said finally. “That is fucked up.”
“I know.”
“It doesn’t make it better.”
“I know that too.”
“But...” I paused, searching for the right words. “It changes something. I don’t know what yet. But it changes something.”
He nodded, not pushing for more. Just accepting whatever I was willing to give.
“Thank you,” I said quietly. “For telling me the truth. Even knowing it made you look worse.”
“You deserved the whole picture. Not just the version that made me look like I could be redeemed.” He met my eyes. “I wanted you to know that, even if you decide I’m not worth another chance.”
I studied him carefully, this man who’d once demanded my exclusive devotion while offering none in return. “You really have changed.”
“I’m trying to.” He met my eyes. “The man I was would have seen this conversation as a failure. The man I’m trying to be sees it as a chance to prove I can actually put your needs first.”
We sat in silence after that, the weight of everything he’d said settling between us like something physical. Neither of us seemed to know what to say next. Maybe there wasn’t anything to say—not yet, anyway.
I looked at him across the table, really looked, and he held my gaze without flinching. No defensiveness. No expectation. Just... openness. Vulnerability. Things I’d never seen from Dutch, but were becoming familiar from Jacob.
The moment stretched. One minute. Two. The coffee shop hummed around us—the hiss of the espresso machine, the murmur of other conversations, the scrape of chairs on the floor—but it all felt distant, like we were in our own bubble of complicated history and uncertain future.
Finally, I stood. He rose with me, and we walked toward the exit without speaking.
My mind was spinning as I walked back to my apartment. The meeting had been more intense than I’d expected. Jacob had been everything I’d hoped he might be—respectful, mature, genuinely interested in my wellbeing over his own desires.
But it was his pain that stuck with me. Not the noble, generous acceptance I’d expected, but the raw honesty that hearing about my dating life gutted him even as he supported it.
That vulnerability—that admission that this was hard for him but he was doing it anyway—felt more real than any grand gesture could have.
I thought about Vaughn, with his easy smile and guitar-roughened hands. About the other men I’d casually dated, the reminder that I had options, that I was desirable and interesting and worthy of pursuit.
I didn’t need Jacob to be whole. The question was whether I wanted to see if the man he’d become could add to the life I’d built, rather than consume it the way he had before.
I didn’t have an answer yet. But for the first time since I’d left Millfield, I wanted to find out.