Page 37 of Fighting Jacob

“Okay. Thanks.”

I collect my purse and phone from my locker before scanning the noticeboard. It takes me several minutes to go through the schedules since nearly six weeks’ worth are pinned up. My teeth crunch when I check Maggie's schedule against the calendar in my phone. She hasn't scheduled me for one Friday night for the next six weeks. Friday nights are the busiest night of the week. Half my pay comes from the tips I get each Friday.

With my purse shoved under my arm and my anger sky high, I storm back into the main area of Mavs. “You haven’t scheduled me on a Friday night for the next six weeks.”

I thought Maggie would babble out an apology before fixing her error. She does no such thing. “I know.”

“The weekends are the biggest nights to earn tips. I won’t earn enough to live only working weeknights.”

“You should have thought about that before messing with one of my boys.”

I take a step back, stunned. She can’t be serious, can she? She can’t punish me because I left with Flynn last night. What I do in my private life is none of her business. When I tell her that, she just twists her lips and shrugs.

“And here I was thinking you were different than the rest, that you didn’t like me because you saw a lot of yourself in me.” I shake my head, nearly sending tears streaking down my cheeks, which only angers me more. “How wrong was I? You’re just as judgmental as every other person in this town.” With that, I bolt for the exit.

I’m halfway there when Maggie shouts, “Do I take your storm out as your resignation?”

“Hell no! You can’t get rid of me that easily. I’ll be here first thing Monday morning for my shift.”

It could be my pulse raging in my ears, but I swear I hear Maggie murmur, “Good,” just as I burst into the parking lot at the back of Mavs.

I’m so worked up by our disagreement, I do something I never thought I would.

I rely on someone.

Well, I would have if Jacob had answered his phone instead of getting his voicemail. “Sorry I missed your call; leave a message after the beep.”

“Hey, it's Lola. Call me.”

Chapter Eighteen

Jacob

I flop my legs off my bed with a groan before peering at the clock on my bedside table. I bite out a curse word when I notice it’s a little after 3 PM. I slept for ten solid hours, yet my muscles are still aching. And don’t even get me started on my thumping head. I’m never mixing pain medication with alcohol ever again.

My bare feet trudge across the carpet when my burning throat becomes too intense to ignore. When I enter the kitchen, I spot my dad sitting at the breakfast bar, reading a classic hardcover book. I freeze. With how badly my body is bruised, there's no way I can hide my injuries from him.

After inhaling a shaky breath, I move to the fridge to grab a carton of orange juice. I’m too thirsty for extra theatrics. I’ve filled my cup halfway by the time my dad notices my arrival.

“Good afternoon, Jacob.” He emphasizes the afternoon part of his comment. He’s an early riser, often waking before the sun, so my very late sleep-in would be shocking for him. “Do you know where Noah went this morning? He was up before the sparrows.”

“No fucking clue.”

I curse for a second time—inwardly this time. I just cussed in front of my father. He’s not a fan of curse words.

When my colorful language reaches his ears, he sighs before peering at me over his book. His pupils widen when his narrowed gaze lands on my face. After placing a bookmark in between the pages, he sets it next to his plate of cut strawberries and almond shards, his snack of choice.

“Do I want to know?” His voice is both stern and concerned.

I scratch my brow as my throat struggles through its dryness. “Probably not.”

“Anything illegal?”

I wait for him to prop his hip on the counter next to me before shaking my head. “No.”

He folds his arms in front of his chest while sucking in a big breath. “You know I’m here if you need someone to talk to, don’t you, Jake?”

“I know.”

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