My finger hovered over his contact information - the number he’d emailed me after I’d admitted I’d deleted his details months ago. Taking this step felt monumental, like crossing a bridge I couldn’t uncross.
Before I could lose my nerve, I hit call.
He answered on the second ring.
“Hello, Indira.”
The sound of my name in his voice hit me like a physical force. My breath caught, heat spreading across my collarbone, my free hand pressing flat against my stomach as if I could hold myself together. That low rumble hadn’t changed. It still moved through me the same way it always had.
But he sounded different too. More thoughtful. The arrogant confidence that used to define him had been replaced by something quieter.
“Hello, Jacob.” I used his real name deliberately, wanting to signal that this wasn’t about the club or the past or who he used to be. This was about the man he claimed to have become.
“How are you?” he asked, and I could hear his own nervousness in the question.
“Confused,” I admitted, surprising myself with the honesty. “I spent so long being angry at you, and now I don’t know what to feel.”
“You don’t have to know yet. We’ve got time.”
“Do we?”
“As much as you want. I’m not going anywhere, Indira. Not unless you tell me to.”
That should have felt like pressure, but it didn’t. It felt like... safety. Like he understood that this was my choice to make, on my timeline.
“Tell me about Nashville,” he said. “Are you happy there?”
The question caught me off guard. Not “do you miss me” or “when are you coming home” - just genuine interest in my wellbeing.
“I am happy,” I said, and realized it was true. “It’s different from what I thought my life would look like, but it’s good. I have friends, work I enjoy, an apartment I love.”
“I’m glad. You deserve to be happy.”
He meant it. I could hear it in his voice - no resentment, no attempt to minimize my contentment without him. Just... acceptance that I’d built something good.
“What about you?” I asked. “Are you happy?”
He was quiet for a long moment. “I’m... content, I guess. The club is doing well. I’ve got my head on straight for the first time in years. But happy?” Another pause. “I think I’m still learning what that means.”
“What do you mean?”
For a moment, suspicion crept in—was this rehearsed? Had he practiced this speech, the same way he’d probably practiced his explanations about Crystal? My walls started to rise.
But then he continued, and I heard something in his voice that couldn’t be faked. A rawness that made my throat tight.
“I’m working on it.” His voice dropped. “One day at a time.”
I heard him shift on the other end, the creak of leather—his couch, maybe, or the chair in his office.
“That’s all anyone can do,” I said. The words came out softer than I’d intended.
Silence stretched between us. Not uncomfortable—just full.
“Look at us,” I said, aiming for lightness. “Having an actual adult conversation.”
He laughed, and the sound made my heart skip, made my eyes close involuntarily. God, I’d forgotten what his laugh did to me.
“Yeah, well. Losing you gave me a lot of time to grow up.”
