25. Chapter 25 Fantasy vs. Forever #2
“I get it,” he finally says. “Sometimes I think I’ll always just be the guy who lost his brother. And if I let go of the guilt? I’ll just be… empty,” he sighs softly. “I don’t even know who I am without it.”
I look into his eyes and find the same pain I carry. We don’t need any words. The silence says it all.
“I want to find her again,” I whisper, as his hand covers mine, grounding me. “The old Jenna, before all this.”
He brushes his thumb lightly against my fingers. “What if you’re not supposed to find her? What if you need to let her go and decide who you want to be right now?”
My chest feels heavy. “Do you know what I wish?” I ask, after a minute of quiet. “I wish I’d met you when I was fourteen. Maybe I wouldn’t have gone through hell.”
“I think we all experience hell on Earth sometimes,” he exhales deeply. “For me, it was watching addiction destroy my family.” He tilts his head, his brows furrowed together. “Why fourteen?”
“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 lean in 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.
As I drive back home, the taste of his lips lingers on mine, the scent of his cologne still clinging to my skin. I spray perfume, trying to erase his presence. But he’s still there. On me. Inside me. And I’m still in shock.
My mom’s face flashes in my mind. Her expression full of horror and disgust.
I blast the radio, hoping to block out my screaming thoughts. But they’re louder. They always are. And I don’t think I can run from this much longer.
I’ve never been addicted to anything. Nothing.
Not drugs. Not alcohol. Not even coffee.
But I’m addicted to him. To his smile. His touch.
The way he makes my soul come alive. And I know, it’s probably not healthy.
But my world used to be nothing but shades of gray.
And now? Dylan painted it in every damn color.
The real question is, am I addicted to him or the way he makes me feel?
At home, I slip into the routine of dinner, cleaning, homework.
The kids play with Boner Dong while Jacob is in work mode.
Usually, thoughts of Dylan make the mundane tasks feel lighter, even pleasurable.
Washing dishes. Folding laundry. It all feels brighter, as if the memory of him and the high he gives me cling to me throughout the day.
Not tonight. Tonight, my secret is out there now. Waiting to detonate.
“What’s up with you?” Jacob asks, peering into the kitchen. “You’re acting… off.”
“I’m fine,” I lie, my voice overly bright. “Just thinking about our girls. We raised amazing kids.” That part’s true. “How was your day at work?” I shift the conversation.
“It was good,” he says, moving toward the fridge to grab a beer before kissing me on my cheek. It’s small, but I know it’s him trying. He knows how much I crave affection. But it never comes naturally to him, unless it’s in the bedroom.
His parents really messed him up. Always so cold, emotionally distant, never showing love in a way that made him feel safe. Things have also been weird between us. Maybe because I’m sleeping with another man.
“That’s it. Good?” I arch my brow. “I’m glad every day at work is good, not excellent, not bad, not boring.
Just good.” My voice drips with sarcasm.
“Should I start asking you the way I do with the kids? What was the BEST part of your day, honey? Who made you laugh? Did Bobby play nice with you at recess?”
Jacob chuckles as he takes a chug of his beer. “Nothing interesting happens at work. Same grumpy old men talking about stuff you don’t understand. I’d much rather hear about your day and the girls.”
I hold back a bitter laugh. I went skinny-dipping. I keep risking our marriage for the most impossible-to-resist man I've ever met. And my mom probably wants to disown me.
“Same old for me.” I shrug. “Shantel’s still allergic to my ideas, Debbie’s still ‘accidentally’ dropping things in front of the guys, and I had taco bowls for lunch. Again.”
He shoots me a look like he’s not really buying it.
From the living room, Ava’s high-pitched voice breaks our oh-so-wonderful conversation.
“Bobby was mean again, so I kicked him in his willy dong!”
I burst out laughing. “Avie, you can say penis. It’s a body part, like an arm or leg.”
Jacob looks at me and sighs. “That’s your takeaway from the story? Ava, you cannot go around kicking boys in the private parts. Do you know how sensitive that is?”
“Bobby likes Ava,” Lily sings. “Bobby and Ava sitting in a tree…”
“Stop, Lily!” Ava screams. “Mooooom, make her stop!”
“Girls, enough,” I cut in. “Your dad was about to tell you how sensitive a penis is.”
He gives me the death stare, like I just explained sex to them.
“Seriously, Avie, your dad’s right. Unless you’re defending yourself, keep your hands and feet to yourself.”
His phone rings. Work. Again. He disappears upstairs.
The rest of the night, I wait for my mom to call. To text. To show up. But nothing.
Lying in bed, I say a silent prayer. Please, not tonight. No nightmares. Only sleep.
Jacob turns toward me, lifting a brow. And I know exactly what he wants. It’s been weeks of avoiding his touch, only giving in out of habit because it’s expected. And when we do have sex, it’s a performance, scripted and empty.
And faking it? Getting harder.
But I still love him. Not in the same way I used to. It’s a quieter love now. There, tangled up in years of shared memories from the life we built together. And I know he deserves more. We both do.
“We have a code red tonight,” I mutter. He doesn’t seem to care. His hands find my chest, lips on my neck.
“You could use your mouth, baby.”
I hesitate.
Jacob sighs, almost defeated. “I can’t remember the last time we…”
Guilt crushes me. So I give in, pleasuring him with my lying, scandalous mouth. He finishes in minutes, and I roll over, away from him, staring at the wall.
How did we get here? How did I get here?
I keep telling myself Dylan fills a void Jacob can’t. But it’s more than that. Dylan’s presence is unraveling me. The scariest part? A piece of me wants it to all come crashing down.
My phone vibrates, and my stomach clenches. I hope it’s not my Mom.
Dylan: Did you talk to your mom and smooth things out?
Nope, I don’t plan on talking to her. Maybe next year, I think to myself.
Dylan: I wish Jacob wasn’t next to you… getting to have you anytime he wants. It should be me in your bed.
Then more dots...
Dylan: Sweet dreams, Jenna. I know mine will have you in it.
I read it again. Then delete it without replying, even though it hurts every time. His words are my escape in the middle of chaos. But I can’t risk Jacob seeing them. And now my mom knows.
Fuck. I need to make a decision. Soon.
But the terrifying part isn’t choosing. It’s knowing that no matter what I choose… someone’s heart will break.
Including mine.