Page 75 of Unbreakable
“Oh my god,” he breathed. “Jeanine, you are so beautiful. Like, nobody else compares. I always want to see you. To think you ever doubted I loved you?—”
“Oh I know I’m hot. I knew you loved me. I doubted that you were still into me.”
He put a hand on my knee, giving it a squeeze. “I’m so fucking into you, Jeanine.” His chocolate eyes bounced between mine, his brows scrunched. “I hate that I failed you like that.”
Dylan cupped my neck, gaze flicking from my eyes to my lips. “You’re my wife. You’ve been here through all kinds of hell. You’ve been here whenIput you through hell. You’ve given me three beautiful children and you raise them to be such amazing people. You, all the things you are, you’remine. My wife.”
My brows drew together, my chest flushing. Dylan was a sweet man, but not typically so poetic.
“I’m into you, J. So fucking into you.” With a little smirk, he pulled us together, our lips meeting in a slow, tender kiss. He leaned more into me, partially standing to clutch my lower back as he took the kiss deeper.
We pulled apart at cheers and a familiar piano chord. Then the melody kicked in, and Dylan laughed. “I think they’re summoning you, babe.”
“No, no way,” I said, my face reddening. The band’s lead guitarist appeared at my side with a microphone.
Dylan couldn’t stop grinning. “They’re waiting for you, Jeannie.”
“You put my name on the list,” I scolded him.
“Maybe. Go.”
With a shake of my head, I took the proffered microphone, dragging my ass to the stage with Dylan starting the crowd into raucous whoops.
“Folks, tonight, we have a Harvey’s alum in the house. Give it up for our very own Jeanine Wendlock!”
I turned and pointed at each band member, mouthing, “I hate you.”
I put the microphone to my lips and pointed to Dylan at the bar. “And I really hate you.”
“SING!” Dylan shouted.
So, I did. I sang the song that brought me and Dylan together, the one that put us in each other’s paths, the one that told me to sit on that cute wholesome-looking guy’s lap and mess with him.
At first, I was hesitant, hitting the notes and cues just fine but without the emotion I used to bring. Gradually, I let my energy build, allowing myself to get lost in reliving a wonderful memory. By the time I hit the first “baby, baby,” I was giving it my all like I was Celine in her Vegas residency.
By the second verse, I took the stairs into the crowd, working the room like I would have when I was in my twenties. And at the point when I sat on Dylan that first night we met, I slid into his lap. That man had the biggest shit-eating grin I’ve ever seen, groping me exactly how he would if we were at home, then ripping the microphone out of my hand.
“This is my favorite part!” he said, taking my hand and escorting me back to the stage. He scream-sang in his very offkey hockey locker room way until it got to a part far out of his vocal range, letting me take over while he hyped the very modestly sized crowd. My cheesy-ass husband stood in front of the stage, clapping non-stop and cheering like the most earnest asshole on the planet as I finished the exceedingly long power ballad.
“That’s my wife!” he shouted, pointing to me on stage.
I hated it. I loved it. I was both surprised and unsurprised by it.
This was the guy I married. The guy who did everything he could to make me happy. The guy who loved me—the real me. Power ballad me who would always have a soft spot forperforming. The guy who had told me time and again that he’d back me up, and whenever he could, he did.
Maybe that was the crux of our problem: he’d met his limit because he was knee-deep in shit too. He was out of capacity, and it added to his pile.
We needed each other, but we were both out of reach—twin flames in the most fiery of ways.
I hugged Rick and gave him my microphone before letting Dylan lift me down from the stage and squeeze me tight.
“You were perfect,” he beamed. “I love seeing you sing.”
“Even though I didn’t crawl on the stage?” I asked, quirking a brow.
“Even so. Plus, that would have shown everyone your tits, and those are mine.”
I peered down my dress. “That’s so funny because I’m pretty sure they’re attached to my body.”
