Fighting Jacob

by Shandi Boyes

  When I scan the room, seeking support, I realize Jacob isn’t the only one glaring at me. I’ve attracted the narrowed eyes of many. Disdainful looks are nothing new to me, but in a small, stuffy hospital room, it’s more than I can bear.

  “Coffee, anyone?”

  I only see my mom’s nod before dashing to the vending machine in the hall outside Noah’s room. My attempts to lighten the mood seem to have had the opposite effect. One by one, Noah’s guests filter out, all glaring at me on the way by, but none of them are brave enough to say anything. That’s one of the good things about being seen as a bitch. People are too scared to approach me. It’s a lonely life keeping everyone at arm’s length, but it does save a lot of heartache.

  I stop searching for change in my purse when a pair of polished black shoes enter my peripheral vision. As my eyes float up from the floor, they drift past tailored pants, a rounded belly that would make Father Christmas proud, and a cropped peppered beard before landing on a pair of gentle blue eyes.

  “I’m assuming you're Lola?”

  I cock my hip, my sassiness returning. “What gives it away? The prolonged glares? Or the hushed whispers of scorned women?” My chipper tone hides the hurt I feel for being constantly ridiculed. If only I could fix the pained gleam in my eyes.

  “Hushed whispers? Damn, I'm missing out." The stranger glances over my shoulder like he's seeking the horde of women who bicker about me every chance they get. When he doesn't locate anyone but us, he returns his sparkling eyes to mine. "They seemed to have left, although I'm sure they'll talk about you for at least another hour."

  “Only an hour? Sheesh, I was aiming for three.” While he snickers, I feed quarters into the hot drink dispenser. “I didn't mean to upset anyone. I just wanted to lighten the mood.”

  “I know.”

  Who knew two little words could have so much impact? I don’t know this man, but I certainly needed his reassurance.

  I begin to wonder if I have the situation all wrong when the stranger asks, “Did you want to grab a real cup of coffee? The gunk in the dispenser is nasty, but I’ve heard the barista whips up a good brew in the cafeteria.”

  “Just a coffee? Nothing more sinister...?”

  His lips curl in the corners from my questioning look. “What’s more sinister than coffee at four in the afternoon?”

  “I can think of a few things.” When I push off the wall and head down the corridor, my new companion follows me. He remains quiet, but I can feel the shudders of his laughter. “You’re not the type I usually date, but you seem harmless enough, so what the hell, let’s do coffee.”

  After jabbing the elevator button, I shift to face my new best friend—my only friend. “You seem to have me at an advantage. You know all about me, but I don’t even know your name.” His face is familiar, like I’ve seen him before, but for the life of me, I can’t work out where.

  “Yes, I do have the advantage, don’t I?” After gesturing for me to enter the idling elevator car before him, he holds out his hand in offering. “Thomas, my friends call me Tom.”

  “Nice to meet you, Tom.” I accept his handshake. “Or should I call you Thomas?”

  The elevator car shakes from Tom’s hearty chuckle. It’s so robust, my body shudders right along with his. “You can call me Tom.” When our car reaches the lobby, he gestures for me to exit the elevator first. “Ladies before gentlemen.”

  I let his comment slide since he was most likely born in an era where men were expected to act like gentlemen.

  Once we receive our order from the barista, we take a seat in an empty booth at the back of the packed cafeteria. I add cream and sugar to my coffee. Tom drinks his as is.

  “No sugar or cream? Yuck.”

  Tom chuckles. “I don’t need to add sugar because I’m sweet enough as it is.”

  Clumps of sugar plop into my mug when I whack the shit out of the sugar dispenser. “If my earlier performance is anything to go by, I should switch my order to straight sugar.”

  Tom laughs so hard, he has to dab his eyes with a napkin. He’s spurting happy tears. “I like you, Lola.”

  I nearly reply, I’m glad someone does, but I keep my mouth shut. Today isn't about me. It's not even about Jacob. It's about Noah and Emily and supporting them through an ordeal I hope will be over soon.

  For the next several minutes, Tom and I sit in silence, enjoying our coffee. It's weird that I find comfort in something I generally find confusing. Silence and I have never been close, but Tom makes it not so daunting.

  When I set down my empty mug, Tom’s gaze seeks mine. “Did you want another?”

  I shake my head. “No, I better not. I’m barely sleeping as it is, so adding caffeine won’t help.”

  “You’re not sleeping?” When I shake my head again, he adds on, “Anything you want to talk about?”

  “No.” My one word sounds like an entire sentence since it was delivered with a long, harsh breath. “I’m good. Fine. Just chipper.” Loathing my dejected tone, I shift the focus away from me and my mood-killer temper. “How do you know Noah?”

  The worry in Tom’s eyes remains, but nothing can hold back his smile. “He’s like a son to me. I’ve known him since he was this high.” He splays his hand across his chest.

  "So, you know my sister, Emily?”

  “You’re Emily’s sister?” The longer his eyes roam over my face, the more his eyes bug. “I missed the similarities at the start, but there’s no denying them now. Your identical nose and the eyes should have given away your relation, but the contrast in your skin tone and hair coloring threw me off the scent.”

  When he nudges his head to the milky white skin on my wrist, I cringe. I don’t hate that Emily has gorgeous olive skin while mine is a little bland—I’m noticing the time. It’s nearly 5 PM, which means I have under an hour before my shift at Pete’s. Although it would be nice not to have to work during situations like this, unfortunately, bills don’t take a back seat for a crisis. I still have a mortgage and a car payment to make at the end of the month.

  After sliding out of the booth, I offer Tom my hand to shake. “It was a pleasure meeting you, but I have to go. I have to be at work in an hour.”

  “The pleasure was all mine.” Instead of accepting my handshake, he pulls me in for a firm, much-needed hug. “I’ll see you soon. Okay?”

  When he scoots back to absorb my nonverbal confirmation, recognition slaps me hard in the face. I’m staring at an older version of Jacob.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Lola

  Eight weeks later...

  “Excuse me, are you finished with that?” I point to the Ravenshoe News newspaper a gentleman just set down.

  “This?” When I nod, he slants the newspaper my way, but before I can grasp it, he pulls it out of my reach. “What are you willing to give me for it?”

  “The three dollars it’s worth?”

  I stop digging through my purse for loose change when the gentleman counter bids, “I’d rather have your number.”

  He’s cute... if you like your men in a business suit, but the last thing I need is more complications, meaning the only guy I’m interested in is BOB: my battery-operated boyfriend.

  “I’m sorry, but I’m married.”

  When his eyes drop down to my bare ring finger, I make my voice extra-nasally. “My rings are getting resized. I only got married last week. You should have seen the wedding. O.M.G—it was fab..u…lous—”

  “Congratulations.” He dumps his newspaper on the counter before skedaddling out of the café.

  “Sucker,” I mumble under my breath while flipping to the entertainment section I saw him flick past earlier. It has a small article about Noah hidden amongst a ton of advertisements. From what I read over the man's shoulder, it's an extremely inaccurate editorial on his current whereabouts.

  “Rise Up was noticeably absent from the O’Reilly Brothers concert tour due to their lead singer Noah Taylor’s current admittance at the Hope
Hills Rehabilitation Center for drug and alcohol counseling,” I read from the paper.

  Why in the world are they reporting Noah is in a rehab center for drug and alcohol issues? It doesn’t make any sense. He’s been in a coma for weeks now. Christmas, New Years, and even Emily’s twentieth birthday went by without any signs of him waking up—or word from Jacob. Noah’s bruises have healed, and they’re hoping to remove the bolts from his leg later this month, but he’s still a very sick man. Rehab would be a walk in the park compared to what he’s endured the past almost two months.

  Annoyed at the paper’s inability to separate fact from fiction, I search the credentials of the journalist at the bottom of the story in Ravenshoe News before dialing her number. A friendly female voice answers a few seconds later. “Ravenshoe News, this is Tracy Peters.”

  “Hi, my name is...oh, I don’t want to mention my name.” I’m tempted to punch myself in the throat for how scratchy my voice is. “The story you published in Ravenshoe News this morning about Noah Taylor—”

  "I'm glad you enjoyed my story, but I'm swamped, so I don't have time to answer more questions from deranged fans of Rise Up.”

  My mouth falls open when she hangs up on me.

  Gritting my teeth, I redial the number.

  “Ravenshoe News—”

  “Hang up on me again, and a deranged fan will be the least of your problems.” My voice is a threatening snarl, and it gains me the attention of a few pairs of eyes in the café. “I didn’t enjoy the story you published—because it’s nothing but lies.”

  “Look, I appreciate that die-hard fans like yourself get upset when they learn the stars they idolize aren’t perfect, but I stand by my story.”

  My teeth grit. “I’m not a die-hard fan. I know Noah—personally. He’s not in rehab!”

  “Noah’s management team informed us that he is in rehab, so why would I believe anything that comes out of the mouth of a random groupie?”

  My nostrils flare as my cheeks heat. “I'd rather be a groupie than an imbecile who claims a man is in drug rehabilitation when he's fighting for his life in an intensive care unit!”

  It’s nearly impossible to disconnect our call the old-fashioned way. I’d rather smash my phone on the ground. I would if I could afford to replace it. Alas, broke people don’t have the luxury of ruining things on a whim because they’re frustrated.

  When I let out a long and frustrated growl, numerous pairs of eyes turn to face me. “What?!” A little old lady with big, sympathetic eyes peers at me, quelling the rage tearing me in two. “I’m sorry.”

  With my eyes close to bursting, I snatch my order from the barista’s hands before hightailing it out of the cafe. The past eight weeks have been the worst weeks of my life. I’ve been to visit Noah a handful of times, but any time I enter the room, Jacob makes an excuse to leave. Tom assures me he's just being courteous, so I don't feel uncomfortable, but I'm not convinced. He's avoiding me like I’m not the one who had risqué photos splashed all over Facebook for the world to see.

  Ugh! I’m still angry as hell about those photos. I haven’t slept with anyone but Jacob since the night we met. We never agreed to be exclusive, but why would I seek solace from another man when Jacob was giving me everything I needed?

  Don't get me wrong; during our six-month gap, I came close. Hearing about Jacob's "dates" had me dusting off moves I hadn't used in months, but it never went further than innocent flirting. I forgot how annoying some men are. The tacky one-liners, the false promises, I had heard it all before—except from Jacob. He convinced me he was cut from a different cloth. How stupid was I?

  The unease I felt every time I visited Noah is the reason I’ve cut my visits back the past five weeks. Emily barely acknowledges my presence; she’s too busy staring at Noah, praying he’ll wake up, and everyone else hates me, so why bother? My only saving grace is Hank.

  I still attend my boxing class with him every Tuesday afternoon, except now he’s my sole coach. I also hang out with him on the days I’m not working. People probably think it's pathetic that I'd rather hang out in a smelly rundown gym than with people my own age, but don't be quick to jump to conclusions. Hank is a great guy. His life is tough, but not once does he let negativity tear him down. A few people I know could learn a lesson or two from him—myself included.

  “How’s my pretty lady today?” Hank greets me with a big smile when I enter his gym. "Still not sleeping, I see.”

  I roll my eyes. I could have a mountain load of concealer on to cover my bags, but Hank would still notice them. “I’m good. You?”

  His smile picks up when I hand him the donuts and coffee I purchased at the café for him. Since he refuses payment for services rendered, I found another way to pay my dues. Coffee isn’t much, but it’s better than nothing.

  “Great now.” A moan seeps from his lips when he takes a large bite of a sugar-coated donut. I can’t help but giggle over his enthusiasm. Who knew something so cheap could create so much happiness?

  “There’s the sound I’ve been missing.” When I peer at him in shock, he nudges his head to my mouth. “I haven’t heard you laugh in ages. I’ve missed it.”

  My heart melts a little, but I fully comprehend what he’s saying. I haven’t heard Emily’s giggle or Jacob’s chuckle in weeks. You don’t realize how much you miss certain things until they aren’t around anymore.

  “Shall I start without you?”

  Hank stops shoveling a second donut into his mouth to nod.

  After a muscle-tightening workout, and a super long shower, I pad into Hank’s office. “Do you want to come visit Noah with me today?”

  Hank and Noah grew close after Jacob introduced them a little over a year ago. Although I’ve assured him many times he’s more than welcome to visit him, he always refuses.

  “Not today. I’ve got...stuff to do.”

  I dump the towel I’m drying my hair with on Hank’s desk before plopping my ass on his big leather chair. “Why don’t you visit him?”

  His dark eyes pop up from the paperwork he’s scrutinizing. He considers my question for a few minutes before setting down the papers and sauntering to my side of his desk. “Do you know why I started this gym?”

  Keeping my gaze arrested on his, I shake my head. He’s very fit, so I’ve always assumed he was a gym junkie back in his heyday.

  “From the time he was a little whippersnapper, my son Derrick was a huge boxing fan. He watched reruns of Muhammad Ali’s fights on repeat, convinced they were the secret sauce he needed to become the next heavyweight champion of the world.” He waves his hand around his gym. We’re the only two people here. “I opened this gym to prove no dreams were impossible to reach if you’re willing to put in the work.”

  “Did he?”

  “Yes.” The pride in his eyes forces a smile onto my face. “I’m not biased when I say he had pure, unrivaled talent—much like Jacob. He climbed the rankings so quick, his dream was this close to becoming a reality.” He holds his thumb and index finger an inch apart. “Then, poof, it was all stripped away from him."

  “What happened?”

  It takes him a few seconds to continue his story, and when he does, it shreds my heart into pieces. “After a State Championship bout, Derrick was gunned down by his competitor as he left the arena. He tried to hold on, but his injuries were too critical.” He peers up at the ceiling while rapidly blinking. “On the doctor’s advice, his mother switched off his life support machine a week later. She believed she was doing the right thing, but I wanted to give him more than seven days to prove how strong he was. As you can imagine, that’s a tough thing for even the strongest of marriages to endure.”

  He returns his eyes to me when I nod. “A couple of months after Derrick's death, I moved in here.” I hate his story, but I love his honesty. “I tried to keep his dream alive, but as the years moved on, they faded into the distance. I was in the process of shutting down this place when I stumbled upon Jacob.” The pain i
n his eyes switches to humor as his lips furl. “He had that same goofy look on his face Derrick always had at the start of every fight, but he also had the magic in his eyes, the gleam that revealed he could be something great if he was willing to put in the hard yards.” He shakes his head as if he's still in shock. “I don't know why I approached him. To this day, I’m still wondering if I did the right thing.”

  “You did. He’d be lost without this...” I wave my hand around his gym as he did earlier. “And you.”

  My eyes bounce between his as I struggle to hold in the moisture teeming in them. I lose the chance when Hank says, “Now that I’ve shared, maybe you’ll be willing to do the same? What happened between Jacob and you?”

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Jacob

  “That’ll be $18.95.”

  As I hand the café attendant a twenty, my gaze strays to the TV program behind her shoulder. I've barely looked at my phone the past eight weeks, let alone any other electronic device. I'm not much of a social media fanatic as it is, but my dislike has grown tenfold since Noah's admission. Not because I don't want to read the crap gossip reporters pump out multiple times a day, but because the first time I logged onto Facebook, I automatically veered straight to Lola's page—a page I could no longer see since she had unfriended and blocked me.

  I don't know about you, but as far as I'm concerned, that a massive fuck you, we're done message for the entire world to see. I'm aware of Lola's coping mechanism—when she's scared, she runs—so my first thought was to reach out to her, but every time I tried, something popped up. Noah's first lot of brain scans came back inconclusive, him being sued for failure to fulfill his contract with Summit Records, his birthday, Christmas, and a whole lot of other shit that has me so close to the edge, I'm literally holding on by a thread.