Page 112 of Fighting Jacob

When I jerk up my chin, Emily’s eyes snap to us in an instant. I thought the tension was thick before, but it has nothing on the glare Emily gives us. Certain her stare centers around food, I ask if she’d like me to bring something back for her.

She just stares at me, unblinking and unmoving.

“Food, Em, do you want me to bring back some food?”

When I wave my hand in front of her face, her trance ends. She shakes her head, but her curious eyes remain glued on Rachel and me as we make our way to the door. On the way to Petretti’s, Rachel shares the story of her walking in on them in her physical therapy room.

“I swear, I only left them for ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes is way too long to leave Noah alone with Emily. I’ve been caught unaware many times the past two years.”

She laughs before walking through the door I’m holding open for her. My stomach grumbles when we follow our waiter to our table. It’s in the far back corner of the restaurant, an intimate, secluded setting that adds to the authentic ambiance of the space.

After the waitress takes our order, Rachel requests a bottle of wine be brought to the table for sampling. As the waitress skedaddles away, my phone buzzes with a text message from Lola, asking if I want to go to the gym tomorrow. I cringe. Not because I don’t want to spend time with Lola, but because I know Hank will hammer the shit out of me the instant I return to his gym.

Any reservations I’m having evaporate when Lola says she might wear the hot pink shorts she worked out in before Noah’s accident. I’ll suffer a month in hell just for the chance of seeing her in her teeny tiny shorts.

“Did your mother not teach you manners, Jacob?”

When my eyes pop up from the screen of my phone, I notice Rachel is glaring at me, unimpressed that I’m more interested in my phone than a real-life conversation. After murmuring a quick apology, I hit send on my text, then put my phone away, returning Rachel's eyes to their standard width.

They widen even more when I ask, “Did I not tell you my mom passed?” I sound shocked. Rightfully so. After everything we’ve talked about, I’m surprised my mom’s death never came up.

“No, you didn’t. I’m so sorry.”

“It's fine. It was a long time ago.”

We’re saved from more awkwardness when the waitress returns with the bottle of wine. Rachel samples it like a real connoisseur. She sniffs it, swirls it around her glass, then takes a delicate sip that’s spat back into her glass after swishing it around her mouth. I laugh. I had no clue she was so girly.

“There’d be less hassle if you drank beer.”

The waitress smirks at my comment. Rachel doesn’t. She grimaces before advising the waitress the fruity essence of the wine would match the palate she’s aiming for tonight.

Although our evening got off to a slightly rocky start, the rest sails by without a single hiccup. We chat back and forth and share an array of delicious Italian food. It’s so delicious, I order one of each item on the menu for Noah and Emily. I’m not trying to be flashy; I just have no clue what Emily can eat since she's pregnant, and I don't want to upset Rachel by asking her if she knows.

With a bag full of food on my hip, I walk Rachel to her car at the back of the hospital.

"You do know the saying ‘eating for two' isn't real?"

Rachel giggles when I shrug. If the pureed food they fed Noah in a tube the past three months is anything like the gunk they serve in the cafeteria, he'll be dying for real food as much as he wishes he could go home.

“This is me.” She waves her hand over a mini convertible coupe.

“It’s safe to say I won’t be driving anywhere with you in the near future. Your car is a matchbox.” Rachel’s smile is replaced with a frown, but I can’t dwell on that. The food I spent a fortune on is going to be cold. “Thanks for dinner; it was a lot of fun.”

“It was; I had a wonderful time.”

When she leans in for a hug, I do my best to return her embrace with the one arm I have access to. It’s an awkward hug that grows thornier when Rachel’s lips brush against mine. I’ve handled my share of friendly goodbye pecks, so I’d be prepared for that, but that isn’t what Rachel is doing. Friends don’t swipe their tongues along other friends’ lips.

I yank back so quickly, I nearly lose my footing. When Rachel peers at me with wide, rejected eyes, I mumble, “I have a girlfriend.”

Her hand shoots up to her chest for a mere second before she dives into her car. With her hands as erratic as my heart, it takes her several attempts to get her seatbelt latched into place. Once she has it fitted, she rockets out of her spot, narrowly missing another motorist.

I’m so surprised by what happened, I go straight home, forgetting about the food I purchased for Noah and Emily. It goes cold in the passenger seat of my car as I rack my brain about how I gave Rachel false signals. . .

I’m pulled from reminiscing when Hank joins me at the side of the ring. “They’re a good bunch of kids, Jacob.”

I pull apart the ropes to help him out before murmuring, “Yeah, they are.”

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