by Shandi Boyes
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.
After a few more hours and a handful more beers, Noah strolls into the living room, smiling a big beaming grin. He’s the most carefree I’ve ever seen him.
“Where have you been all night?” I scare the shit out of him since he didn’t notice me sitting in the pitch-black room.
After flicking on the lamp, he turns to face me. “What the fuck?” He lifts my chin to inspect a face I can no longer feel. The pain medication has kicked in nicely. “Who did this, Jake?”
“No one important. It’s not as bad as it looks.”
“Not as bad as it looks? Fuck, Jacob! You look like you’ve had the living shit beaten out of you.”
I appreciate his worry, but it’s not needed. “You think I look bad? You should see the other guy.”
I’m not the only one sporting bruises. The Constrictor left the arena just as gingerly as me. I’m reasonably sure I broke his nose—in two places.
When I attempt to stand, I almost lose my footing. I should have adhered to the warning label on my pain medication. They didn't recommend mixing medication and alcohol. My bad.
“I’m going to take a shower.”
As I hit the hallway, I recall Maggie’s warning. Abruptly, I spin around, which smacks me with another bout of dizziness. “Please don’t tell Lola you saw me like this.”
Noah's nostrils flare, and his fists clench, so the last thing I'm expecting him to say is, "Alright, I won't tell Lola." I exhale a relieved breath. It's quickly drawn back in when he adds, "On one condition." He holds his index finger in the air. "If this happens again, I'll not only tell Lola; I'll hunt down the fucker who did this to you and break his fuckin' neck."
Once again, his concern isn’t warranted, because the next time I meet The Constrictor, he’ll have no fucking clue what’s about to hit him.
Chapter Seventeen
Lola
Upon noticing my hungover stagger into the kitchen, my mom rests a newspaper next to her half-consumed mug of coffee. “Good morning.”
I cringe at her chipper voice. My head is thumping too much to handle her level of happiness this early in the morning. “Morning.”
“Coffee?”
After jerking up my chin, I slump into the barstool that’s usually tucked under the breakfast bar. Considering it was my first night out in months, I got home at a decent hour last night. I just didn’t stop tossing and turning until nearly 6 AM. Jacob was on my mind—all night. Considering he stood me up, he should have been the last person keeping me awake.
I'm resurrected from the dead when my mom places a strong brew of coffee in front of me. The heavenly rich scent awakens my senses, then, as caffeine trickles through my veins, its magical powers do wonders for the rest of me. By the time I've finished my first cup and preparing for my second, I'm back to my usual self.
I freeze with my mug halfway to the kitchen counter when my mom asks, “Is the person waiting outside a friend of yours?” She tries to keep things casual by popping two slices of bread in the toaster, but the vein in her neck gives away her true response. Her interests are as piqued as mine.
After shaking my head, I hold out my mug for a refill. My mom follows along nicely. “Perhaps he’s a friend of Emily’s?”
My brow curves high as my mom fills my mug. “He?”
When a pink hue creeps across my mom's cheeks, my mouth forms an O. After slipping off my stool, I skedaddle into the living room at a speed too fast for a hungover person to move. Yanking back the lace curtain, I spot a rusty red truck at the side of our driveway. When I adjust my vision, my pulse quickens. I've only bumped into him a handful of times, but his inky hair, chiseled jaw, and grungy leather jacket are hard to miss. Noah came to visit. That can only mean one thing. My ploy worked.
My mom’s gaze seeks mine when I skip back into the kitchen, her eyes questioning if I know our mysterious visitor without a word escaping her lips.
“He’s a friend of Emily’s.” I overemphasize the word “friend.”
I smile at her flabbergasted expression before grabbing an apple out of the fruit bowl and making my way to Emily’s room. She’s lounging in her bed, scrolling through messages on her outdated phone. After huffing, she dumps her phone on her bedside table before dragging her floral bedspread up until it's stuffed under her chin.
“How long are you going to keep him waiting, Em?” Emily cranks her neck to peer at me with wide, dazzling eyes. “He’s been out there since I woke up.” I hide the fact I just woke up by taking a large bite of my apple. Its crunch sounds down the hall.
After taking a few seconds to read the mischievousness in my eyes, Emily’s mouth pops open. She dives out of her bed and races to the living room, nearly bowling me over in the process. I laugh, loving her enthusiasm.
Faster than I can snap my fingers, she returns to her room to get dressed. “When did this happen?”
She yanks down a pair of jeans and one of her hideous vintage rock shirts before facing me. “Last night.”
Once she’s thrown on her clothes haphazardly, she yanks a brush through her long locks. I’m tempted to tell her to put in more effort, but then I realize she is who she is, so why am I trying to change her? If Noah doesn’t like her as she stands before him now, he isn’t the man for my little sis.
Emily brushes her teeth, dabs vanilla oil onto her neck and wrists, then sprints out the front door.
“Have fun!” I doubt she heard me. She's running too fast.
When I return to the kitchen, my mom pretends she wasn’t sneaking a peek out the kitchen window. “Should I be worried? He’s been out there since 7 AM.”
I shake my head. “No, he’s a good guy. He’ll treat her right.”
Noah is a friend of Jacob’s, and Jacob is the kindest and gentlest guy I’ve ever met. I trust his judgment, so if he has no issues with Noah dating Emily, then I have no issues either.
“Stop worrying. Emily is a smart cookie.” I band my arms around my mom's shoulders before guiding her to the breakfast bar. "What would you like to eat? My treat."
“You’re buying me breakfast?”
Her shock is expected. Even with working at Mavs the past six weeks, I’m more broke than a two-dime hooker.
“No...but I can make you something.”
She looks more worried now than she did when Emily bolted to Noah’s truck.
After having breakfast with my mom, which consists of burnt toast and watery eggs, I wander into Mavs for my shift. The first person I spot upon entering is Maggie.
“Do you ever leave this place?”
She stops restocking the beer fridge to glance up at me. With a smirk, she shakes her head.
“No rest for the wicked, eh?”
When she shakes her head for the second time, I dash into the back room to store my cell and purse before jogging back out to assist her in replenishing the fridges. We work side by side for over twenty minutes without a word
being spoken between us.
As we break down the empty cartons so I can take them to the compactor out back, I let her know that I got my license, so she can schedule me for any shifts she sees fit.
“Good.”
She removes the stack of cardboard from under my arm before ditching them under the counter. I stare at her with my mouth hanging open. If I had done that, she’d kill me for messing up her beloved zone.
“Is everything okay?” The concern in my voice can’t be missed.
Maggie stops cleaning the countertop with her infamous red cloth to face me. Her eyes are thin—nearly as stretched as my patience. I hate tiptoeing around things. If I've pissed you off, just tell me. It always works out easier that way.
“I saw you leave with Flynn last night.” Maggie spreads her hands across her cocked hips. “You were here to meet Jacob but left with Flynn.”
“It wasn’t what it looked like—”
“It wasn’t?” When I shake my head, she asks, “Then what did it look like? You walked out of here wrapped in another man’s arms.” I thought she was a hard ass when she was my supervisor; she’s worse when her protective mother instincts have kicked in. “Just as I was beginning to respect you, you do something stupid. I know what happened to you, and I’m sorry for what you went through, but I will not stand by and watch you destroy Jacob. He deserves more than you're offering him.”
“I agree—”
“Then I suggest you think long and hard about what you want from your life. If you don’t want to be still working here when you're a senior citizen, stop the games and start acting like the adult you are.”
After glaring at me for several uncomfortable seconds, she storms into her office at the back of the bar. I stand frozen, numbed by her outburst. For one, I didn’t think anyone knew what happened between Callum and me; and two, if Maggie knows I went home with Flynn, does that mean Jacob does?
Before I can configure a response, a customer arrives at my side to place an order. He's closely followed by a handful of regulars who spend more time at Mavs than with their families. In between pulling beers and mixing concoctions too potent for the early hour, I barely get a chance to look further into Maggie’s outburst, but I do get a small amount of reprieve.
If Maggie’s history is anything to go by, some of her anger about things in her own life may have been projected onto me instead. It’s easier to blame others when your life doesn’t work out the way you planned.
For the rest of the afternoon, Maggie and I work side by side. She doesn’t speak a word to me until my shift is over. “New schedules are on the noticeboard. There are changes you need to take note of.”
“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.”
He's a hard ass, but that's what makes him a great dad. Patrick and I kept out of trouble when we were younger because he was so stern, we were too scared to push his buttons, but that doesn't mean he hasn't always been there for us.
“Alright. As long as you’re aware.”
He ruffles my hair before exiting the kitchen. I wouldn't pay much attention to his slumped shoulders if he didn't leave his snack of choice behind.
“Dad?”
He stops halfway out of the kitchen to peer back at me.
“Have you got a minute to talk?”
An hour later—no, I’m not joking—I head back to my room. My heart isn't as heavy, but my shoulders are a little more weighed down. Dad and I haven't talked like that in months, but no matter how much I tried to tell him about my fighting career, I couldn't bring myself to do it. People say I'm more a lover than a fighter; the same can be said for my dad. He did raise me, so it's only fair I got some of his traits.
My pace quickens when I hear my cell phone ringing. I grab it up just before it goes to voicemail. "Hey, Hank," I greet upon noticing his name flashing across the screen.
“Jacob, how are you feeling today?” His voice is still holding the
concern it held after my fight last night.
“Yeah, good. I'll be back at the gym bright and early tomorrow, ready to train.”
“That’s good, Jake, real good. I’ll see you in the morning.”
He once again disconnects my call before I can say goodbye. When I drag my phone from my ear, I notice I have a voicemail.
Aren’t I popular today? Not as popular as my opponent was last night, though. He had the full entourage with him, and the way the crowd surged for him when he made his way to the cage proved he wasn't a low-ranked fighter.
I stop grumbling about being played when Lola’s seductive voice shrills down the line. “Hey, it’s Lola. Call me.”
I do precisely that without a second to spare.
“Hey, that was quick. I just left a message." Her voice is distant like she's using speakerphone, but I can't miss the uneasiness in her tone.
“Yeah. I was talking to my dad. Are you okay? You sound a little low.”
Air whistles down the line. “I’m good. Just a tough day at work.”
“Is Maggie giving you a hard time?”
She sighs. “Yeah... but I kind of deserve it.”
“Why? What did you do this time?”
My tease has the effect I’m aiming for when she laughs. It isn’t her usual full-hearted laugh, but it’s better than nothing. “What I always do—I fucked up.”
A small stretch of silence crosses between us. It worries me more than what she said. Silence isn’t Lola’s forte. If she isn’t loud and obnoxious, someone is close to dying.
I’m about to ask her who I need to kill when she murmurs, “I’m sorry about last night.”
I don’t know why she keeps apologizing. I’m the one who failed to show up at the designated time.
“Quit apologizing; if anyone should be sorry, it should be me.”
My brows furl when she asks, “You have no idea, do you?”
