Page 81 of Fight for Me
The words swam in front of her as her vision blurred, tears running freely down her cheeks. She turned to the last image, which held none of Jake’s usual finesse. It wasn’t professionally focused or balanced. It wasn’t even well lit. Instead, it was dark with the harsh glow of a television in the background. The iconic car from theGhostbustersmovie sat frozen on screen as Jake looked up into his cell phone camera, an ironic smile on his face. Barely visible was Lexie, her head nestled against the crook of his neck where she’d fallen asleep.
She turned the page with trembling hands and found a longer entry printed on the back.
Lex, I always thought the girl of my dreams would love Ghostbusters marathons as much as I do. But guess what? You’re not that girl.
You’re even better.
Love, Jacob
Lexie’s hand flew to her mouth to stifle a sob as she remembered the words she’d thrown in his face on that last day.
“... they don’t know me, and neither do you. ... You know an imaginary version of me. ... you’ve just got your head in the clouds...”
She couldn’t believe how wrong she’d been. Jakeknewher. Hesawher—all of her—the way nobody else ever had. And he loved her anyway.
Lexie took a shuddering breath and wiped the tears from her cheeks with the palms of her hands, suddenly filled with asingular sense of purpose. She’d always hoped to find someone who would fight for her, but maybe love was about more than that. Maybe it was about finding someone who was worth fightingforin the first place.
She rose to her feet and hurried toward her desk, where she ripped a blank sheet of paper from the printer tray. Then, she uncapped a pen and began to write.
“So, why areyou here again? I usually get the house to myself over breaks,” Noah said as he came in from work.
Jake didn’t look up from where he lay sprawled on the stained couch, one leg hung over an armrest and the other trailing toward the floor. He rolled his jaw irritably, flipping the television from a sitcom rerun to an NFL game where the linemen were facing off in a flurry.
“Because I got sick of being at home and having everybody hover over me. If I have to listen to Grandma Ruby talk about snow and choices and patience for one more second, I’m going to explode,” he snapped, changing the channel again.
“Okay, still in the angst phase. Got it,” Noah muttered. He shrugged out of his thick jacket and tossed it over the back of a kitchen chair. “So, have you thought about dinner at all? Want to order a pizza?”
Jake grunted noncommittally, still staring at the television.
“Fine, then I’m putting everything on it, and you don’t get to complain,” Noah said as he kicked his shoes into a corner near the back door.
They hit the floor with a loud thud, and Jake winced.
“Actually, what does Lexie like on her pizza?” Noah asked, looking out the window.
“What?” Jake lifted his head off the cushion where he’d parked it hours before.
“What does Lexie like on her pizza?” Noah repeated slowly, and he stared at Jake as though waiting for his words to register.
“Why?”
“Because she just pulled in, and she might be hungry.”
“What?!” Jake surged to his feet, his head whipping toward the front window where, sure enough, he could see Lexie Preston climbing from her car, bundled from head to toe. The mild winter weather had finally taken a turn, and the shoulders of her coat were already dusted with tiny snowflakes that drifted down from the slate-gray sky. She looked hesitantly toward the house as if she were deciding whether or not to knock.
“Good luck with that,” Noah said as he headed for the safety of his bedroom, but Jake barely acknowledged him. Instead, he stood rooted to the floor, watching as Lexie picked her way carefully over the gravel driveway and up the broken sidewalk.
She’d only been to his place a handful of times, and then only to pick him up outside. He looked around frantically, scanning the dilapidated interior with a groan. There were still faded orange paint splatters on some of the walls and cabinets from Noah’s paintball assault months ago, and dirty dishes were piled high in the sink. Actually, he couldn’t remember the last time they’d been washed.
He scrubbed his palm over the week-old beard he’d been neglecting in favor of self-pity. Nothing he could do about that now, but at least he’d showered that morning. That was something.
A knock sounded at the door, and his eyes jumped to the plain wood that separated him from the girl who still had the power to rip him to pieces. He didn’t tell his legs to move, but something propelled him forward anyway, and before he knew it, he was looking down into the green eyes that had haunted both hiswaking and sleeping hours for weeks now. He’d spent so much time thinking of a thousand things he wanted to say when he finally saw her again, and yet, now that the moment had come, his throat was too tight to speak.
“Hi,” Lexie said softly, her eyes wide, as if surprised he’d actually come to the door. She scanned his face, and her eyes dropped to his socked feet and then traveled back up, like she was making sure all his details were as she remembered them.
“I found the pictures. Finally. I never unpacked after... So, I just... anyway,” she babbled, her gaze falling as she raised one gloved hand to push a lock of hair out of her face. She tried and failed to tuck it beneath the edge of her knit cap, and Jake felt his fingers twitch at his sides as if they wanted to do it for her. Her cheeks, already flushed from the cold, turned redder still.
“I know it’s not gift wrapped or anything, but I wrote you a story,” she explained, lifting her other hand to show him a sheet of paper that looked like it had been folded and refolded countless times. “It’s not much, I know, but... here it goes.”
