Page 33 of Fighting Jacob

“It’ll be fine. Don’t worry about it.”

My tone is gruff. I’m not angry at Hank. I’m pissed shit like this still happens in professional sports. Losing sucks, but you won’t get through life if you don’t learn losses are a part of it.

“You’ll get an opportunity to right the wrong that happened tonight, Jake, but not until I’m assured it’ll be a fair fight.”

After dumping the defrosted ice pack on the bench, I stand to get dressed. My muscles are stiff from sitting the last hour while doctors did a medical workup on me before clearing me to leave. Other than three broken ribs and a range of bruises, I’m uninjured. I just need to get my head in the right mind frame now.

“Do you want me to drive you home?” Hank questions from his station at the side of the locker room.

I shake my head. “No. I’m good. I have a date.” That instantly picks me up. I still can’t believe Lola has finally agreed to go on a date with me. It’s been a long time coming. “What’s the time?”

Hank’s eyes drop to the silver watch circling his wrist. “11:45 PM.”

“Fuck!”

Because my fight went longer than my previous bouts, and the medics wouldn’t release me until they gave me a full check-up, I’m late for my date.

“I have to go. I’ll see you bright and early Monday.”

I snatch my gym bag off the floor, then hotfoot to the parking lot. My body screams with every step I take, but I keep moving. There’s no way I’ll stand Lola up. I’ll lose the chance of a second date if I don’t turn up to the first one.

En route to Mavs, my phone pings with a text message. As I pull up to a red light, I dig it out of my pocket to discover the message is from Lola.

Lola: Maybe next time?

I throw my phone into the console, pissed that the one time Lola agrees to go out with me is the one time my fight runs over. When the traffic light turns green, I hesitate on which way to go. Should I continue to Mavericks, which is one block over, or head home?

After a short deliberation, I head to Mavericks. I’m so close, I may as well keep going. If I’m lucky, Lola may still be there waiting for me.

Mavs’ parking lot is deserted, revealing the band scheduled tonight has finished their set. Fans flock out Mavs’ doors the instant the talent leaves. The scent of smoke and stale beer filters through my nose when I break through the double wood doors. My shoulders slump when my scan of the nearly deserted place fails to unearth Lola. She must have left before sending her text.

Spotting Maggie behind the bar, I stride toward her. “Hey, Maggie, have you seen Lola?”

When her eyes pop up from the glasses she’s stacking, she sucks in a quick, sharp breath. “Jacob...” She stops to settle the crackle in her voice. “What happened?”

With a wave of my hand, I brush off her concern. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

I glance over her shoulder, wondering if Lola is in the back room Maggie reserves for employees only.

“Jacob...?” Maggie's stern tone demands my attention. When she gets it, she peers at me with worry etched on her features.

“I’m fine.” My assurance does little to ease her hesitation, but I don’t have time to settle it entirely. “Have you seen Lola?”

Her eyes stop absorbing the bruises on my face to lock with mine. “She left ten minutes ago.”

So she could still be close?

I thank Maggie for her assistance before yanking my phone out of my pocket, dialing Lola’s number, then squashing it to my ear.

Lola’s voicemail answers a few seconds later. “Hey, you’ve reached Lola; you know what to do.”

"Hey, it's Jake. . Ah, Jacob. Sorry I'm late. Maggie said you just left, so I thought I’d try and catch you before you head home. Call me.”

I hang up before sending her a message.

Me: Sorry I'm late. I'm waiting for you at Mavs.

When I place my phone on the bar, I notice Maggie has set two bottles of beer in front of me. One is open, while the other remains closed.

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