Page 34 of Fighting Jacob

“One is for you; the other for your eye,” she advises when she notices my curious gawk.

I jerk my chin up in thanks before taking a swig out of the open beer and placing the unopened bottle on my swollen eye.

Malted liquid suspends halfway to my stomach when Maggie murmurs, “Jake the Giant.” Noticing I’ve almost finished my beer in one gulp, she sets down a second one. “You’re Jake the Giant, aren’t you?”

“How’d you find out?”

Her brows furrow so tightly, a V pops between them. “I’ve worked at this bar for twenty-five years; I know everything.”

She’s not being modest. Drunk people are horrible secret keepers. I’ve never met one who can keep their mouths shut.

“When patrons mentioned a new fighter, I was stunned. His description sounded a lot like you, but I brushed it off, certain you’re more of a lover than a fighter.”

“I am.”

“Then why professional fighting? You could be anything you want to be, so why pick such a violent sport?”

I shrug, genuinely unsure how to answer her. I don't want to lie because she's always treated me like a son, but she also deserves more than a halfhearted shrug. “Fighting is just for me. It’s my thing.”

It sounds selfish, but when I’m sparring with Hank or fighting in the cage, the focus is on me. It might only be an hour or two each day, but it’s better than nothing.

“I’m glad you’re doing something for yourself, Jacob. I just wish you picked something less brutal.”

“It’s not always this bad.” I pull the bottle away from my bruised eye. “My opponent just...” –cheated, fought dirty, was an a-fucking-hole— “...caught me off guard.”

Maggie sighs, not believing me but also having no reason to distrust me. “Does Lola know?” My head stops mid-shake when she murmurs, “You can’t tell her.” She’s so quiet I can barely hear her.

“Why?”

Realizing she’s said too much, she moves down the bar to clear away visible spots on the countertop. Refusing to bow out of a fight for the second time tonight, I follow her retreat.

“Why, Maggie?”

I’m taken aback when I raise her head via her chin and notice the moisture in her eyes. Maggie doesn’t cry. She’s as tough as nails.

“It’s not my story to tell.” She dumps her dishcloth under the counter before propping her elbows on the bar. “But I will say one thing... Lola is not the girl for you.”

“You don’t know that.”

She gives me a look as if to say, yes, I do, before she serves patrons who’ve not yet gotten the hint to leave. I watch her in silence for several long minutes. I'm pissed but also shocked. Maggie is firm, but she's never straight up told me who I can and cannot date, and sometimes, I wish she would. It would have saved a shitload of heartache.

Over the next hour, any time Maggie catches my eye, she musters up a fake grin, but not a word seeps from her lips. That’s also not like her. I’d keep stalking her from afar, but my focus shifts when Lola finally returns my text.

Lola: I just got your message. I’m sorry, Jacob.

I don’t know why she needs to be sorry. I was the one who didn’t show up on time.

Me: Next time?

Lola: Maybe…. Night, Jacob

Me: Night xx

As I drag my hand across my tired eyes, I shove my phone into my pocket. “I’m out. We’ll restart our non-conversation tomorrow.”

Maggie mumbles a hesitant goodbye before she starts packing down the bar for the night.

When I arrive home, I wash down some pain medication with a beer. I was hoping to have an early night, but what Maggie said won’t stop running through my head. Why would it matter if Lola found out I’m a fighter? And why was she adamant that we aren’t a good fit? She hasn’t seen how well we get along when we’re away from prying eyes. We couldn’t be more perfect for one another.

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