“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 insteadwas 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.
