Chapter 41
FORTY-ONE
THREE WEEKS LATER
Madeline
Jesse is sprawled against the headboard, one knee bent, shirtless with a paperback open in one hand. I’m tucked into his side, cheek resting on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart while he reads aloud with the seriousness of someone narrating a crime documentary.
He pushes his glasses up his nose. “And then he shuts down emotionally instead of communicating like a functioning adult—” He pauses, scowls at the page. “I hate him.”
I smile into his chest. “Some men need an entire novel to figure it out.”
“True,” he says, flipping the page. “But this guy has had, like, seven chances to say how he feels and instead he’s brooding. Again. That’s not romantic, that’s how a guy loses the girl.”
I laugh softly, tipping my face up to look at him. He’s barefoot, wearing a pair of basketball shorts, hair still damp from the shower, looking ridiculously hot. The fact that he’s reading my romance novel makes my chest feel too full.
Three weeks ago, this man stood in front of my parents and didn’t flinch.
I didn’t know what it would feel like to have someone choose me out loud.
Not privately. Not in whispered reassurances behind closed doors.
But publicly, calmly, with certainty. Jesse didn’t raise his voice or puff out his chest. He didn’t insult or threaten.
He just drew a line. And for the first time in my life, I wasn’t the one shrinking to keep the peace.
The memory still makes something warm unfurl beneath my ribs.
The night that followed lives in my body like a secret I carry.
We didn’t sleep. We didn’t leave the room.
It felt like circling back to where everything began in room 712, but this time without fear and without pretending.
Without holding pieces of ourselves back.
We spent the night talking and kissing and making love until the morning sunlight sliced through the curtains.
We never said the words I love you, but that’s what it felt like.
I knew that night with a certainty that didn’t surprise me that I love him.
The only thing that stopped me from saying it was fear.
It wasn’t fear that Jesse wouldn’t love me back, just the fragile, learned fear that good things don’t always stay.
Jesse turns another page, muttering, “If he hurts her again, I’m throwing this book out the window.”
I trace idle shapes on his stomach then over the ink on his ribs. “You’re very invested.”
“I’m invested because I don’t understand why fictional men refuse to say how they feel,” he says, then glances down at me. “Also, because I’m reading it with you.”
Life hasn’t been simple since the gala. Jesse’s dad is out of the hospital now, moved to a rehab facility Jesse found up the coast where he’s getting physical therapy and real support for his sobriety.
Jesse doesn’t sugarcoat it. Some days are hopeful.
Some days are hard. But for the first time, it feels like there’s a plan that doesn’t rely on Jesse carrying everything alone.
His brothers came to the hospital once. Right after their dad woke up, when he was finally aware and talking.
Ford, Wes, and Noah stayed for maybe half an hour, long enough to see him sitting upright, and then they left.
I can see it in each of them—the push and pull, the bruised history they’re still trying to work through.
It feels like they want to want a relationship with him, but they’re having a hard time forgetting about the past. They’re figuring it out in real time, deciding what they can handle, what they can forgive, and what they’re not ready for yet.
And that’s okay. For the first time, it feels like everyone is allowed to move at their own pace—especially Jesse.
As for my parents, there’s been nothing.
No calls, no messages, no dramatic press releases or carefully worded ultimatums. Just silence, and for once that silence doesn’t feel like a punishment.
It feels like space. I don't know what comes next with them, or if anything ever will, but I’ve stopped waiting for the other shoe to drop.
I’m not bracing myself anymore. I’m choosing to be where I’m wanted, where I’m safe, and I’m letting the rest stay unanswered for now.
A week ago, I’d been looking for a phone charger in Jesse’s bedside table and when I pulled open the drawer, I froze.
Inside, tucked neatly beside a tube of ChapStick, was a stack of the sticky notes that I’d left on his desk or slapped on his folder since I started at Cove.
Some were folded in half and others were flattened out like he’d smoothed them with his palm.
Every single one had my handwriting on it.
“Stop smirking or I’m going to commit a felony,” one read.
“Remember the presentation slides! Also, your cologne is distracting,” read another.
When Jesse walked into the bedroom from the bathroom, towel around his waist, I held up a few in the air like they were evidence.
His eyes flicked to the notes. He’d smiled sheepishly.
“I like how you write,” he said simply. “They’re like a time capsule.
Like having little pieces of you with me.
” My mouth was on his in an instant and minutes later I was coming hard on his cock.
Tonight, he pulls me down until we’re forehead to forehead, his hands in my hair before he kisses me.
We kiss and kiss, and with each second that passes, a strong sense of calm settles over me.
We’ve been through so much already, and we are still here together.
Strong and steady. “Mads,” he whispers, reaching for his glasses to take them off. I stop him before he does.
“Leave them on,” I tell him. He smirks, knowing the effect they have on me.
“Madeline…”
I hum, brushing my forehead over his.
“I love you. I love you so fucking much.”
For a second, I can’t breathe. Instead of saying the words back, my palm flattens over his heart, needing to feel it beating for me.
Like I need proof that this is real and not something my mind made up because I want it so badly.
His skin is warm beneath my hand, his heartbeat steady and strong.
The words he just said seep into me everywhere—down my spine, then down to my toes and up to my heart, echoing in places I didn’t know could feel this alive.
“I love you,” he says again
“I love you too, Jesse.”
His lips tip up in a smile. “You do?”
I nod, my throat tight, emotion blooming behind my ribcage. “I do.” A small, shaky smile curves my mouth. “I’ve known for a while. I just wasn’t brave enough to say it.”
He moves without warning, rolling us so my back presses into the mattress. He positions his body on top of mine, his weight on his knees and his hand pressed into the mattress next to my jaw. One hand gropes my breast as his dark eyes look down at me, a little in awe. God, I love his hands on me.
“Tell me again, Mads.”
“I love you, Jesse.”
His soft gaze is replaced by something hungrier, like hearing me say it only makes him want me closer, deeper, forever. “I wasn’t expecting you to say it back. But it didn’t matter to me. I just needed you to know.”
I trace his lips with my thumb, struck by how gentle he is behind all his strength. He has an achingly beautiful heart…and it’s mine.
“I’m glad you told me.”
He dips his head, his mouth stopping a mere inch away from mine. “Now you know,” he murmurs before a slow, searing kiss. “No guessing. I’m not built to love halfway, Mads. I’m going to love you forever.”
I believe every word, knowing it’s true.
Jesse doesn’t love in pieces. He shows up for the people in his life, and he stays.
His brothers, his mom, his dad. He doesn’t abandon people just because it hurts or it’s complicated.
When Jesse loves you, it’s not temporary.
When you’re his, you’re his. That is Jesse Winters to his core.
“I know, baby. I’m yours.”
He kisses me again, his tongue slipping into my mouth to find mine.
The thrill of shivers that skate over my body have me begging for more.
As if he knows what I need, Jesse lowers his chest to mine, settling his body between my thighs.
I let out a sigh when he pushes his hard length against me.
I bite back a moan. Every part of me yearns for him.
“Let me love you.”
“You don’t need permission. I thought I just told you, Jess, I’m yours.”
It’s a dangerous thing to say to Jesse Winters.
SOMETIME IN THE SPRING
I tug at the hem of my Cove knit for the fourth time in thirty seconds and immediately regret it. I’m going to wrinkle it. I’m going to sweat through it. I’m going to pass out on live video and become a cautionary tale in PR meetings—just like Marco and his beach photos.
Jesse, on the other hand, looks utterly at ease. He stands beside me in one of Cove’s tailored jackets, hands in his pockets, calm radiating off him like it’s his natural state—which, infuriatingly, it is.
He glances down at me and lifts a brow. “You’re doing the thing,” he murmurs.
“What thing?” I whisper back.
“The one where you’re convinced this is the moment everyone realizes you’re secretly terrible at your job.”
I open my mouth to argue, then close it again. “Okay, rude. But unfortunately, accurate. I think I’m going to be sick.” Shit.
Press badges flash everywhere I look. Cove banners hang behind the stage, the name of the company’s newest line embossed in matte lettering.
“Do you need me to take you to the restroom?”
I lift my hand up, shaking my head with my eyes shut. “I’m not really going to throw up, but my stomach is a mess of butterflies.”
“You’re fine, Mads. You’ve done this a hundred times.”
“This is not the same,” I say with a nervous laugh. “This is the biggest line Cove’s ever launched. This is press. This is cameras. This is—”
“The thing you were hired for,” he finishes gently. “The thing you’re very good at.”
I swallow. “It’s still terrifying.”
He leans in, his voice low, just for me. “So was the first time you pitched anything. And you crushed that too.”
He reaches out and takes my jaw in his hands. “And you look beautiful. I love it when you wear the brand.” He kisses my cheek. “You look good enough to eat.”
Before I can respond, Ford clears his throat like he’s about to address the United Nations. He stands at the edge of the stage with Landyn at his side, her hand resting lightly against his arm, steadying him in a way that makes my chest ache with fondness.
“No pressure,” Noah mutters from behind us, adjusting his cufflinks. “Just don’t embarrass us.”
Wes snorts. “Says the man who once pitched a product using the phrase ‘vibes-forward masculinity.’”
“That was based on market research,” Noah shoots back.
“I will push both of you off the stage if you don’t shut up,” Jesse says without looking at them. I laugh despite myself. The tension in my shoulders eases just a fraction. Landyn turns and catches my eye, giving me an encouraging smile like she knows exactly how close I am to bolting.
You’ve got this, she mouths at me.
I nod, grateful.
This is it. The lights shift, the room quiets, someone taps the mic, and suddenly it’s happening.
Ford steps forward, confident and composed.
He talks about Cove’s evolution, about intention and integrity and growth.
After a few minutes, Jesse takes over seamlessly, his voice steady, warm, and magnetic.
When it’s my turn, my heart tries to escape through my ribs.
Jesse’s hand finds the small of my back, grounding me without making a show of it.
I step up. The words come. I don’t rush. I don’t stumble. I talk about design and sustainability and the why behind every choice we make at Cove.
When I finish, the room breaks into applause, and I exhale for what feels like the first time all day.
Jesse turns to me then, eyes bright, pride unmistakable. “See?” he murmurs. “You killed it. Told you.”
I laugh, breathless. “You were right. It wasn’t so bad.”
Behind us, Wes claps me on the shoulder. “That was incredible.”
Noah nods. “Yeah. You kind of killed it.”
Ford meets my gaze, serious and sincere. “We’re lucky to have you.”
The weight of that settles in my chest as the press swarms and the brothers split off into different conversations. Jesse stays with me, fingers laced through mine. I look up at him, this man who somehow makes the scariest moments feel survivable.
“What are you in the mood for after this?” he asks, his thumb brushing over my knuckles.
“I wouldn’t mind spending the next twenty-four hours locked away in your house with you.”
“What about forever?”
“Even better,” I say with a grin, but it fades when I realize he’s looking at me with a serious expression.
“Mads, I want you to move in with me,” he says gently.
My jaw drops.
“You belong with me. You’re there every night anyway. At this point, your condo is just a really fancy storage unit.”
“Jesse, are you sure about this?”
“Never been more. Move in with me, Madi-girl.”
“I can’t believe I’m saying yes to this.” I smile at him. “But I am. Yes, I will move in with you.”
He chuckles and kisses me as I dissolve in his arms. When I pull away, we stare at each other for a second, smiling at one another like two love-sick fools.
This strong, beautiful man is all mine.
Jesse dips his head to mine, his forehead brushing gently against my own just as a camera clicks somewhere to our left.
Then again—this time with a flash. Jesse doesn’t pull away.
Instead, his mouth curves into a soft, unguarded smile, like he’s forgotten we’re standing in the middle of a press event, like it’s just the two of us.
I stay tucked into his chest as another camera goes off.
The next morning, there’s a photo of Jesse and me splashed across social media. The caption reads:
COVE CO-FOUNDER JESSE WINTERS DEBUTS NEW COVE ERA AND A LOVE STORY TO MATCH.
For the for first time in my life, the story the world sees feel like the truth.