by Shandi Boyes
"Then treasure every minute she's willing to give you, because not even the most perfect relationships are guaranteed a lifetime. My relationship with your mom is living proof of that."
Chapter Thirty-Five
Lola
Six months later...
Air rattles in my lungs before I free it into the world along with a handful of butterflies in my stomach. The atmosphere tonight is electrifying, but I can’t control the nerves tap dancing inside me. I have no reason to be nervous—Jacob is undefeated—but without fail, at every fight, anxiety gets the better of me—although it’s nothing compared to nearly getting hives when I opened Jacob’s Christmas gift a little over six months ago.
Emily watched me like a freak when I opened the envelope Jacob asked her to give me. Her eagerness switched to confusion when a gold necklace fell out. The simplicity of the packaging matched the oval pendant attached to a single-strand necklace, but the thought Jacob put into his gift couldn't be denied. He had my pendant engraved with the initials CT. Although no one around me knew what it meant, I did and was extremely ecstatic with his gift. I hate the nicknames most couples use: baby, sugar, sweetheart, but I wear Jacob's pendant with pride because I love the nickname he gave me.
After putting on my necklace, I sent Jacob a text thanking him for the gift before spending the rest of the day with my family. I was disappointed Jacob wasn't a part of the festivities, but his essence was. It was him who suggested I order Noah's leather pants two sizes too small, so he got all the credit when Noah gagged upon opening his gift.
It was only later that night as I was heading to bed did I realize my pendant was only one half of my gift. Just before I entered my room, my mom handed me the envelope I had dumped in the trash earlier that day.
“There’s a piece of paper inside. I didn’t read it; I promise.” My mom’s high tone revealed the last half of her admission wasn’t straight-up honorable.
Tucked neatly inside the envelope was a slip of paper thin enough to be hidden if you weren’t snooping. It revealed that Jacob doesn’t just know me, he also gets me.
Merry Christmas, Cock Tease
Saturday night 10 PM.
Jake the Giant vs. The Snake.
See you there.
Jacob xx
It’s been a little over six months since Christmas, but if memory serves, I’m reasonably sure I jumped into the air and shouted, “Finally!” at the top of my lungs. I nagged Jacob relentlessly for months to watch him fight, but he always refused my request. Now, I’ve been to every fight he’s competed in.
This competition is different than what I saw on YouTube. For one, there’s no cage; it’s a standard boxing ring, but the main difference is that this fighting is done in secret. There are no promotional campaigns, no flyers printed, and only invited guests are allowed to watch the fights.
The lack of fanfare doesn’t weaken anyone’s enthusiasm. If anything, it makes it more palpable. The room is full of super-wealthy people who pay top dollar for the seats close to the action. A majority “own” fighters, and then there a handful who just enjoy the spectacle of a sport without rules.
When Jacob told me the fighters have "owners," I laughed. I thought he was joking. It didn’t take me long to realize he was being serious. That was more because of the divide in the room than Jacob assuring me he wasn’t.
Isaac is Jacob’s owner. The original contract Jacob signed was only for twelve months, but with professional fighting off the table, he’s continued their agreement the past six months. I don’t know how long he plans to fight for Isaac. We’ve never discussed it. Actually, we don’t discuss anything with the word “future” attached to it. We like to keep things simple by enjoying each other’s company without looking two steps ahead all the time. We also don’t live in each other’s pockets. Jacob has his life, and I have mine. It might not be ideal for some, but our arrangement works well for us.
When I hear Rage Against the Machine’s hit song “Killing in the Name” blaring over the speakers, I jump to my feet and holler. Even with the crowd screaming his name as he strides down the aisle, Jacob remains humble. He keeps his head down low and his headphones up loud as he shadows Isaac and Hank to the ring. When he slides through the ropes, his head lifts my way. I give him a seductive wink, loving that even in a packed room, he locates me like a missile locked on its target.
After boosting my wink with a cheeky grin, he makes his way to Hank, who is standing in the corner of the ring. He warmed up in the locker rooms, so this is just a final check Hank likes to do before each match. He's as pedantic about Jacob's safety in the ring as me.
Just as Jacob joins his opponent in the center of the ring, a deep voice at my side says, “Is this seat taken?”
With my heart in my throat, I shift my eyes to the highly recognizable voice. It’s been over twelve months since I’ve heard it, but I’d never forget its smug, conceited pitch.
As suspected, Callum's brother Curtis is standing next to me. His arms are folded in front of his chest, and his lips are hard-lined. Before I can tell him the seat next to me is reserved for anyone but him, he slips into it. He slumps down low before spreading his knees to the width of his shoulders. To an outsider, his stance appears casual, but I'm not a stranger to the tension radiating out of him. He has that same egotistical aura he had every time he pushed Callum into acting like an asshole.
More than eager to get away from him, I stand before skirting past him. I don’t make it two feet away before his hand darts out to seize my wrist. With a yank, he shoves me back into my seat before his lips get friendly with my ear. “Sit. The fuck. Down. The show is just getting started.”
The threat in his words is the least of my problems. Since Jacob’s eyes always stray to mine at the start of every match, he’s noticed I have company. Unfortunately, the ref hasn’t. When he blows his whistle, announcing the start of the fight, Jacob fails to notice the quick approach of his competitor.
Hank screams at him to protect his face, but it comes too late. Jacob's opponent strikes him hard against his left temple, momentarily diverting his attention from me.
“This is going even better than predicted.” Curtis’s laughter picks up when Jacob is hit for the second time, this time to his right jaw. The crack of his bone makes my stomach roll, but it also makes me jump into action.
After raising the hand Curtis isn’t clutching in the air, I strike him hard across the face. My slap is so brutal, he needs both his hands to soothe his burning cheek. My palm is also on fire, but it doesn’t slow me down. I scurry past the spectators, ignoring their hisses of annoyance when I block the view they paid thousands of dollars for. I’d apologize, but I don’t have time for niceties. Curtis is on my tail, and his gaze is lethal.
When I step into the aisle between stadium seats, I pivot on my heels, then strengthen my stance. I stand heel to toe as Hank taught me before raising my balled hands to protect my face. Curtis finds my efforts to protect myself amusing. His chuckles are so loud, I hear them over the spectators cheering boisterously.
“Are you fucking kidding me...?”
His arrogant smirk is wiped off his face when my fist makes a whip-cracking noise as it strikes his nose. Pain zaps through my hand and rockets down my arm, but I remain strong, not letting on that I’m injured. Men like Curtis feed off others' fears, and I refuse to give him an ounce of power he doesn't deserve.
The redness dribbling out of Curtis’s nose matches the anger on his cheeks. He’s reached boiling point. “You fucking bitch!”
He rears back his hand, the fury in his eyes unnerving, but the hit I’m anticipating never comes. That might have more to do with the warning sounding through the crowd than Curtis suddenly learning morals.
“If you touch one hair on her head, I'll kill you.”
Jacob is halfway down the aisle. Blood is coursing through his body so fast, veins are bulging all over his delicious sweat-slicked body. From what I can see past the wide span o
f his shoulders, his opponent is out cold in the middle of the ring.
I stop wondering if he just posted a new KO personal best when Curtis sneers, “You already had your shot, and look where that got you. Throwing in the towel.”
I’m so shocked by Jacob’s quick arrival, my mind is a little hazy. What are they talking about? Jacob has never thrown in the towel. He’s undefeated.
Doubt flourishes in my gut when Jacob accuses Curtis of cheating. For a man with no morals, Curtis doesn't like being accused of unsportsmanlike conduct. He's up in Jacob's face in an instant. If Isaac didn't place himself between them, the spectators would get double their money tonight.
“Let it go, Jacob,” Isaac warns Jacob before shifting his focus to Curtis. He doesn’t say anything to him. He doesn’t need to. His stern gaze is enough to have Curtis stepping back.
Although he’s backing away, Curtis doesn’t know how to keep his mouth shut. “Do you always let others fight your battles?”
It takes more than a glare for Isaac to hold Jacob back. It takes three men. “Name the time and the place, and I’ll be more than happy to kick your ass,” Jacob shouts over the men he’s flinging off as if they’re weightless.
“And lower myself to your standards? I’m the heavyweight champion in our region, yet you expect me to fight you in a second-rate match just so I can teach your dumbass a few more lessons?”
I can't hear what Jacob shouts next, but I'm reasonably sure he's seconds from murdering the men keeping him away from Curtis—even more so when Curtis's focus shifts to me. His gaze is highly demoralizing when he scans my frame. He takes in my fringed shorts and fitted shirt as if I'm standing before him naked before returning his eyes to my face. “Until next time.”
He finalizes his cocky statement with a wink before galloping down the stairs. Even being held back by men his size, Jacob manages to grab the scruff of his shirt on his way by. “The only reason you won’t agree to fight me is because you know as well as everyone else in this room that I’ll beat you this time around, even if you cheat.”
The drumming of the crowd’s feet on the stadium floors shows they agree with Jacob’s statement. If Curtis leaves now, he’ll forever be seen as a coward.
Never one to back away from a fight, Curtis yanks himself out of Jacob’s grasp before shifting on his feet to face Isaac. “I’ll be in contact.”
The crowd roars in victory as they do every time Jacob wins, but not an eye in the house leaves Curtis until he disappears through the tinted arena doors—not even mine.
“As much as I’d love for this to happen, you can’t fight him, Jacob. You’re banned from professional fighting, and he’s contracted to only fight for them.”
Jacob sidesteps Isaac’s concern as quickly as he does his body. His focus is on one thing and one thing only: me. After his eyes scan every inch of my body and face, he raises my throbbing hand for a more thorough inspection. It’s the one I used to punch Curtis.
“Your knuckles are swollen. We need to ice them.”
Before I can agree or disagree, he curls his hand around my non-injured one before galloping down the stadium stairs. His strides are so clunky, I nearly miss what he murmurs to Isaac on the way past, “If you organize it, I’ll fight exclusively for you for another twelve months.”
When we enter the locker rooms at the back of the arena, Jacob lifts me to sit on the counter near the sink, then ambles to the other side of the room. He snags a handful of ice cubes out of a large chest before wrapping them in a blue dishcloth. He's so gentle when he places it on my swollen knuckles, if I hadn't felt the coolness of the ice, I wouldn't have realized he was touching me.
“It doesn’t hurt... much.”
Jacob doesn’t take my comment playfully, like I did when he said it the night we met. The groove between his brows deepens as the vein in his neck works overtime.
I’m about to ask what has him all worked up when Hank’s entry into the locker room steals the opportunity. “You did good, pretty lady.”
“Thanks. I was taught by the best, but maybe next time mention how hitting hurts just as much as being hit. My hand is throbbing like a bitch.”
Hank’s hearty chuckle barrels around the room. He’s the only one amused. Jacob’s deep exhalation fans my already overheated cheeks with more warmth as his throat works hard to swallow. I’ve never seen him so high-strung.
“Let me take a look.” After barging Jacob out of the way, Hank assesses my bruised knuckles as he does Jacob’s at the end of every fight. “They’ll be sore for a few days, but there’s nothing to worry about. Everything is where it should be.” He places the ice pack back onto my hand before raising his eyes to mine. “Might need to tape your hands at the beginning of every fight too.”
Jacob’s sigh isn’t quiet this time around. “It’s not funny, Hank. She could have gotten hurt.”
A flare of agreement passes through Hank’s eyes, but he plays it cool. “She’s tougher than you give her credit for. She had him, and if she didn’t, we would have.”
His statement confirms what I’ve always suspected. Hank sees himself as the third wheel in whatever the hell Jacob and I have going on. I don’t mind. I like Hank... his fighter isn’t too bad either—when he isn’t looking at me with sympathetic eyes.
While Hank packs away the mess they made earlier, Jacob devotes his attention back to me. I expect our conversation to center around my hand, so you can imagine my surprise when he asks, “How do you know The Constrictor?”
“Who?”
Hank jumps back into the conversation. “The guy you punched in the nose.”
“Just now?”
Jacob gives me a look as if to ask, how many guys have you punched in the nose?
I give him a frisky wink before nudging my head to my pendant. “Not as many as I should have.”
He smiles—finally.
I want to relish his grin for a few seconds longer, but the pleading look he's giving me rushes the process. "If you're talking about the douchebag out there,” I jerk my chin to the doors we walked through ten minutes ago, "that was Curtis—Callum's brother.”
Hank is confused by my reply, but Jacob knows exactly who I’m talking about.
While working his jaw side to side, he glances over his shoulder to lock his eyes with Hank. “Can you give us a minute?” Realizing Hank takes everything literally, he quickly adds on, "Or ten.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Jacob
Five months later…
“What’s a guy got to do to get a beer around here?” Maggie’s eyes missile to mine, prepping to rip me a new asshole until she spots my mischievous grin. “How the hell are you, Mags?”
I’ve gone from seeing Maggie once or twice a week at a minimum to only a handful of times the past six months. With Noah’s band no longer performing at Mavericks, I have fewer reasons to visit. That and the fact Lola takes up a lot of my spare time—thank fuck.
"Alive, unlike you if you call me Mags again.” After jogging around the bar to hug me, she guides me onto one of the many empty barstools. “It’s been so long, Jacob. You need to visit more often. The only gossip I’ve heard lately is from Daisy, and you know what she’s like...?” An unsophisticated eye roll ends her question. "Now come spill. I'm dying here."
Over the next hour, I update her on everything that has happened the past few months. How Rise Up hit the number one spot on the Billboard charts last weekend. The little blip Noah and Emily had. Jenni and Nick becoming parents, and how Noah’s mom tried to force contact with him through the media.
Maggie sits and absorbs every little detail. She already knows most of it, but she’s a good listener who’d never belittle someone for telling her gossip she already knows. Besides, she prefers hearing stories firsthand from the people involved instead of half-truths from those not in the know.
“And what about you, Jacob?” She peers up at me with her motherly eyes. “For the past hour, you updated me on everyone but you
rself. What’s happening in your life? Surely it’s been just as exciting.”
My lips twist as I struggle to come up with something. “There’s not much to share. I’m still fighting.” She huffs before motioning for me to continue. “I found out a couple of months ago, the only person who has defeated me is Callum’s brother, Curtis.”
Maggie’s eyes widen as her mouth gapes open. “Seriously?”
“Yeah, don’t worry, you weren’t the only surprised. Lola had no clue he was a fighter. From what we can gather, he orchestrated our fight after he saw Lola and me together. That's why he cheated. He believed I had done his brother wrong. I’m still waiting for the opportunity to fix the injustice.”
I take a swig of my beer, hoping it will hide the annoyance in my tone. I’ve been hounding Isaac relentlessly to arrange the fight with Curtis. He keeps saying he’s working on it, but how long does it take? I get he has bureaucratic tape to cut through, but five months is a long time for revenge to fester. If I weren’t still on probation for my first tussle with a Parker man, I’d look at other options. Alas, I’m stuck with a criminal record while the real criminal walks free.
I chug down my beer more freely, hating the fucked up way life works sometimes. It pisses me off that Lola isn't at fault here, yet she's left looking over her shoulder every time we go out. Thank fuck she is as strong as she is stubborn. A lesser woman would have crumbled by now.
Like she can hear my thoughts, Maggie asks, “And you and Lola? How're things?”
I smile at the apprehension in her tone. “We’re good. Same as always...”
“Friends,” we say at the same time.
I bump her with my shoulder. “You know how stubborn she is. If she doesn’t want to do something, no one can force her to. That includes relationship statuses.”