Page 88 of Jinxed Hearts

She flinches, like I’ve struck a nerve she wasn’t ready to feel. “You could leave Jacob. You could have ended things with me months ago. Hell, you could’ve written your dad a letter telling him he’s an asshole, that he doesn’t deserve your energy anymore. But until you believe you’re enough on your own, none of it’s going to matter.”

Her face crumbles, then she sobs, completely unraveling right in front of me.

My stomach physically hurts. I’ve pushed too hard. And I can't take it back.

She lets out a bitter laugh. “He’s dead. And my mom kept it from me for months. Not even sure if she ever planned to tell me. But I can’t even be mad at her. Look at me. Look at all the lies I’ve told.” Her voice shakes. “It doesn’t even matter. I shouldn’t feel sad for him. He was never really my father.”

I watch her closely, then rest my hand lightly on hers. “Jenna, you don’t have to like him. But that doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to be hurt.”

She exhales loudly. “I’m a big mess.”

“No, you’re not,” I whisper, trying to hide my own hurt. “You need to grieve. Even if he doesn’t deserve your sadness. This isn’t about him. It’s about you, what you actually want. Not what anyone else expects.”

She nods, wiping her eyes. “Jacob finally agreed to therapy,” she says, changing the subject. “I owe it to him. To us. To try.”

I half smile, a part of me happy for them, even though it feels like my heart is bleeding out. “That’s good. I hope it works out. I really do.”

I brush her cheek, my thumb grazing her trembling lips. God, my resolve cracks, and the words tumble out. “You have no idea how much I want to kiss you. Run away with you. Make you mine.”

She bites her lip, hope flickering in her eyes. Waiting. Needing more.

And I almost give it to her. But then I remember her daughters. Her family. Everything I’m not. And everything she needs.

“I meant every word when I said I want to try. That maybe I’m ready for more,” I force out. “But I know that’s not enough. And now, you’re giving your marriage another shot. I don’t want to be more noise in your already complicated life.”

The hope shatters from her beautiful face.

And I kiss her anyway. Soft. Gentle. Even though I know I shouldn’t.

“So, that’s it?” she says, her voice barely there when I pull away. “This is how it ends?”

I trace her mouth one last time, memorizing every detail. “Yeah.” I hesitate, my voice low, wrecked. “God, I’m gonna miss you so much.”

Tears crash down, and I fucking lose it. I pull her into my arms, scared to let go. “Take care of yourself,” I murmur into her hair. “And for once… put yourself first. No one deserves happiness more than you.”

When she climbs out of the truck, I watch her walk away. I’d give anything to chase after her. To make it right somehow. But what choice do I have? I’m too fucked up to be the man she needs. And she wants to try again with her husband.

So, it’s over.

Chapter 31: The Last Drop

Dylan: December

My fists slam into the brick wall. Blood drips down my knuckles, but the sting is nothing compared to the emptiness gnawing at me. Not even twenty-four hours without her, and I’m already coming apart. Desperate to outrun the pain in my chest, I lace up my running shoes and head outside for air.

She’s gone, and I’m struggling like an addict fighting withdrawals. The craving hits hard. Not for booze. Not for drugs.

But for her.

She’s inside me now. In my blood. Inside my goddamn bones. And I have no clue how to get rid of her, of her sweet laugh, her adorable clumsiness, the way she moans when she eats. She’s fucking everywhere.

And I know this affair is wrong. Terrible. Destructive. But when it comes to addiction, people find every excuse to takeanother hit. To justify just one more taste because the high outweighs the crash. And the good moments make the bad ones feel worth it.

It’s like being a cocaine addict and having it dangled in your face every day. You know you shouldn’t. You know it’ll ruin you. But fuck, do you want to. Only difference is, unlike coke, Jenna might actually be good for me. And that makes it even fucking harder.

So I run. And run. And run. Even if I don’t know where I’m going. I just know I can’t stop. By the time I finally slow down, I’ve covered nearly fifteen miles.

Up ahead, neon letters flicker against the dark sky, Joe’s Bar. A ghost from my past, flashing like a warning sign. I bend over, lungs burning, catching my breath. It’s been ten years since I’ve set foot in this God-awful place.