Page 35 of Fighting Jacob

After a few more hours and a handful more beers, Noah strolls into the living room, smiling a big beaming grin. He’s the most carefree I’ve ever seen him.

“Where have you been all night?” I scare the shit out of him since he didn’t notice me sitting in the pitch-black room.

After flicking on the lamp, he turns to face me. “What the fuck?” He lifts my chin to inspect a face I can no longer feel. The pain medication has kicked in nicely. “Who did this, Jake?”

“No one important. It’s not as bad as it looks.”

“Not as bad as it looks? Fuck, Jacob! You look like you’ve had the living shit beaten out of you.”

I appreciate his worry, but it’s not needed. “You think I look bad? You should see the other guy.”

I’m not the only one sporting bruises. The Constrictor left the arena just as gingerly as me. I’m reasonably sure I broke his nose—in two places.

When I attempt to stand, I almost lose my footing. I should have adhered to the warning label on my pain medication. They didn't recommend mixing medication and alcohol. My bad.

“I’m going to take a shower.”

As I hit the hallway, I recall Maggie’s warning. Abruptly, I spin around, which smacks me with another bout of dizziness. “Please don’t tell Lola you saw me like this.”

Noah's nostrils flare, and his fists clench, so the last thing I'm expecting him to say is, "Alright, I won't tell Lola." I exhale a relieved breath. It's quickly drawn back in when he adds, "On one condition." He holds his index finger in the air. "If this happens again, I'll not only tell Lola; I'll hunt down the fucker who did this to you and break his fuckin' neck."

Once again, his concern isn’t warranted, because the next time I meet The Constrictor, he’ll have no fucking clue what’s about to hit him.

Chapter Seventeen

Lola

Upon noticing my hungover stagger into the kitchen, my mom rests a newspaper next to her half-consumed mug of coffee. “Good morning.”

I cringe at her chipper voice. My head is thumping too much to handle her level of happiness this early in the morning. “Morning.”

“Coffee?”

After jerking up my chin, I slump into the barstool that’s usually tucked under the breakfast bar. Considering it was my first night out in months, I got home at a decent hour last night. I just didn’t stop tossing and turning until nearly 6 AM. Jacob was on my mind—all night. Considering he stood me up, he should have been the last person keeping me awake.

I'm resurrected from the dead when my mom places a strong brew of coffee in front of me. The heavenly rich scent awakens my senses, then, as caffeine trickles through my veins, its magical powers do wonders for the rest of me. By the time I've finished my first cup and preparing for my second, I'm back to my usual self.

I freeze with my mug halfway to the kitchen counter when my mom asks, “Is the person waiting outside a friend of yours?” She tries to keep things casual by popping two slices of bread in the toaster, but the vein in her neck gives away her true response. Her interests are as piqued as mine.

After shaking my head, I hold out my mug for a refill. My mom follows along nicely. “Perhaps he’s a friend of Emily’s?”

My brow curves high as my mom fills my mug. “He?”

When a pink hue creeps across my mom's cheeks, my mouth forms an O. After slipping off my stool, I skedaddle into the living room at a speed too fast for a hungover person to move. Yanking back the lace curtain, I spot a rusty red truck at the side of our driveway. When I adjust my vision, my pulse quickens. I've only bumped into him a handful of times, but his inky hair, chiseled jaw, and grungy leather jacket are hard to miss. Noah came to visit. That can only mean one thing. My ploy worked.

My mom’s gaze seeks mine when I skip back into the kitchen, her eyes questioning if I know our mysterious visitor without a word escaping her lips.

“He’s a friend of Emily’s.” I overemphasize the word “friend.”

I smile at her flabbergasted expression before grabbing an apple out of the fruit bowl and making my way to Emily’s room. She’s lounging in her bed, scrolling through messages on her outdated phone. After huffing, she dumps her phone on her bedside table before dragging her floral bedspread up until it's stuffed under her chin.

“How long are you going to keep him waiting, Em?” Emily cranks her neck to peer at me with wide, dazzling eyes. “He’s been out there since I woke up.” I hide the fact I just woke up by taking a large bite of my apple. Its crunch sounds down the hall.

After taking a few seconds to read the mischievousness in my eyes, Emily’s mouth pops open. She dives out of her bed and races to the living room, nearly bowling me over in the process. I laugh, loving her enthusiasm.

Faster than I can snap my fingers, she returns to her room to get dressed. “When did this happen?”

She yanks down a pair of jeans and one of her hideous vintage rock shirts before facing me. “Last night.”

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