by Shandi Boyes
Isaac is a man of his word. Within an hour of me agreeing to be his fighter, I’m walking out of the police station on bail. While driving me home, he advises his lawyer will work on a plea to ensure I’ll avoid jail. I’ll most likely have a conviction on my criminal record and be placed on probation, but I’ll be a free man.
I doubt that would be the case if Isaac hadn’t agreed to compensate Callum. It seriously pisses me the off that Callum can put his hands on a woman, then get a payout. It doesn’t make any sense. Where’s the justice? I would have put a stop to it if Isaac didn’t say it was the only way I’d avoid time behind bars.
“I’ll contact you as soon as I know anything.”
Nodding, I slid out of Isaac’s top of the line BMW. He’s so swanky, he doesn’t even drive himself around. He has a fancy-schmancy driver, although he’s not wearing a chauffeur’s hat.
“Thanks for your help.”
Isaac smirks. “The pleasure will be all mine.”
I wait for his taillights to disappear down the driveway before entering my home. The first person I spot is Noah sitting in the living room. When his eyes lock with mine, he leaps off the sofa and spans the distance between us. I’m shocked when he slings his arms around my shoulders to give me a brief man hug. He’s not a touchy-feely type.
“Does Dad know?” I ask while returning his embrace.
“No. I didn’t think you’d want me to tell him.”
His answer coincides with my dad sauntering into the room. He has a book in one hand and a glass of lemonade in the other. Feeling our stare, he stops reading to peer at us. “Jacob, Noah.”
After a final glare warning us to behave, he continues his trek to his favorite recliner in the corner of the room. He places his drink on a side table before returning his eyes to us, still frozen in the middle of the living room.
“What are you two up to?”
“Nothing.”
Our mirrored reply increases his suspicion. His eyes slit as his lips purse. He appears two seconds away from giving us one of his infamous hour-long lectures.
“I’m going to take a shower, but...uh...Noah wants your advice on something. He’s just started dating someone, and he’s not sure if he’s treating her right.”
Ignoring Noah’s ticking jaw that warns I’m about to be murdered, I bolt for the hallway, leaving him defenseless against an old romantic who loves teaching men how to treat a lady right.
I’m drying my shaggy hair with a towel when Noah enters my room. He’s clearly pissed, but there’s a bit of amusement behind his dark eyes. “Thanks for that, asshole. Now my ears are bleeding.”
“Sorry.” I try my hardest not to laugh but miserably fail. “Did he give you any good advice?”
Noah gags. “Only to wrap it before I tap it.”
When I throw my head back and laugh, he tries to maintain his serious expression. It doesn’t last long. Within seconds, he’s laughing right along with me. “It wasn’t fucking funny at the time. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever have sex again.”
We laugh for several more minutes before the humor on his face recedes for anxiousness. “What happened today, Jake? I’ve never seen you snap like that before.”
I run my hand down my face as I flop onto my bed. “Have you ever asked my dad how he met my mom?”
Noah cocks his brow as if to say do I look like a sucker for punishment?
“You should ask him one day. It’s an interesting story.” I roll over to face the ceiling before giving him a recap of the events. “My mom moved into my dad’s neighborhood when he was fifteen. He claims she was the most beautiful, carefree girl he had ever laid eyes on. What he didn’t know was that she was raised by an abusive, alcoholic father.”
Noah sucks in a sharp breath, the similarities between his childhood and my mom’s too similar for him to ignore.
“When my dad arrived at her house uninvited one afternoon, he discovered firsthand the abuse she had endured since she was little. He reacted the same way I did today. He beat my grandad to within an inch of his life.” I smile. I’m not proud of the violence I showed today, but I am proud I stood up for Lola.
"Because my mom didn't want my dad prosecuted, they fled in the darkness of the night and never returned. I've met my dad's parents a handful of times, but I've never met my grandparents on my mom’s side. I don’t think they even know I exist, which suits me just fine.”
“Wow.” Air whistles between Noah's teeth. “I'm not surprised; your dad is a good man. I just hope you're not getting any ideas about running away." He’s joking, but there’s also a touch of worry in his deep tone.
“I don’t see that happening anytime soon.” When he peers down at me with furrowed brows, I add on, “Lola won’t press charges against Callum, much less run away with me.”
She’s also not answering any of my calls, but I keep that snippet of information to myself.
I don’t express my words, but Noah still hears them. “She’ll come around. Eventually.”
He sounds as unsure as I feel.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Lola
“I just want five minutes of your time.” I brace my back on my partially cracked open front door, certain the boot holding open the frail wood doesn’t belong to who I think it does. Why would Curtis turn up now? I haven’t seen him since the day I fled his little brother’s house.
Bile works up from my stomach to my throat when reality dawns: he knows about my connection with Jacob.
His next comment proves my theory without a doubt. "Come on, Lola. Don't make a mountain out of a molehill—again.”
“What happened wasn’t my fault—”
“I didn’t say it was.”
He’s lying. I can’t see his face, but I don’t need to. I heard the untruth in his words. Curtis is a pathological liar, a manipulator, and a person I’d give anything to see the back of—even more so since I’m home alone.
When our standoff lasts another five minutes with no signs of ending, I suck in a deep breath, push off the door, then spin around. Because Curtis' boot is wedged in it, my move away from the door coincides with its opening, revealing him and his brooding six-foot-two frame. He's dressed like the last time I saw him: designer jeans and shirt, but it’s rolled up at the cuffs, exposing the tattoos snaking up his thick biceps. An idiot could accuse him of being handsome if he weren't such an asshole.
I cross my arms in front of my chest to hide the shake of my hands. “Your five minutes has started, so get talking.”
He lurches for me like a child jumping out of the closet to scare a sibling. “Boo!”
He scares the shit out of me—on the inside. I won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he intimidates me. I’m sick to death of the Parker brothers and their self-entitlement issues. Curtis hated me on sight. And for what? Because I wanted his brother to have a better life than the miserable one they had as children?
“What do you want, Curtis?” My pitch is low and jam-packed with anger. I’m tired and hormonal, and five seconds from slamming my door in his face.
“A little less attitude wouldn’t go astray.”
I curse a million times in my head when his hand moving for my face causes me to flinch. I shouldn’t be so hard on myself. Old habits die hard.
“I won’t hit you.”
Once again, he’s lying. Don’t ask me how I know; I just do.
He brushes my hair away from my neckline so he can drink in my week-old bruises. “I didn’t realize Callum took my taunts so seriously.”
When his hand lowers from my neck, I move my hair back into place, ensuring my bruises are concealed. Long-sleeve shirts, foundation, and the length of my hair mean no one is any wiser about what happened last week at Mavs.
“Now that you have proof of what Callum is capable of, you’re free to leave.”
I unlatch my front door and take a step back, only stopping when Curtis says, “Do you know Callum is addicted to crack? Supposedly he has been for ov
er a year. That means he began using when he was with you.”
I didn’t know, but the change in his personality, his irritability, and isolating us from our friends now makes sense. Callum dabbled in recreational drugs when we first began dating, but that was only occasional ecstasy or sometimes he smoked a joint, and it was only when we went out. It wasn’t everyday use.
“Did you encourage him to take drugs?”
The viciousness in Curtis’s tone reveals he won’t believe me no matter what I say, but I can’t help but reply, “No, Curtis, I didn’t. Callum is a big boy. He’s capable of making his own decisions.”
I’m referring to more than just Callum’s drug usage. Just like his decision to hit me months ago was his choice, so was last week’s incident, so why is his brother fighting his battles?
“Yes, he’s an adult, but then women like you throw wrenches into the works, making usually sane men insane. Take your boyfriend, Jacob, as an example."
My eyes snap to his as my heart thuds against my ribs.
He smiles, loving my stunned response. “You didn’t think I knew about him?” He leans in close to my face. “I’ve known for months. He was doing well until he started dating you. I guess you have an adverse effect on the men you mess with.”
With an arrogant smirk, he saunters to his truck parked at the end of my driveway. Just before he climbs inside, he turns his evil eyes back to me. “Tell your boyfriend his day is coming.”
Detesting the threat in his tone, I slam my door shut before securing the lock into place. Our run-in has my hands shaking as much as my thighs. It takes me several tries to get the lock into place, and even then, I double, triple-check it. The rumble of Curtis’s engine tells me I’m safe, but I don’t feel it. I’m trembling all over, which only increases my irritation. I’m furious at myself that he has me fumbling like an idiot. I’m stronger than this—I’m also not a victim!
Anger is still bubbling in my veins when I hear my cell phone shrilling from my room. I know who is calling me without needing to look at the screen. It will be Jacob... again! He hasn't quit calling since he arrived at my house last week, begging for a chance to speak to me just as Curtis did. I didn't give in to him, though. I maintained my stance like I wish I had just now.
When my phone rings again a mere second after sending his call to voicemail, my anger gets the better of me. I snatch up my phone, swipe my finger across the screen, then squash it to my ear.
Jacob is so relieved I’ve answered his call, he doesn’t wait for me to greet him. “Lola... finally. I’ve been calling you for days.”
“I’m well aware of that. What do you want?”
He takes my angry, rude tone in stride. “I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
His genuine concern halts my bitch façade. “I’m fine.” My tone isn’t as harsh as seconds ago.
“Okay. Good.” He breathes out before continuing, “I also wanted to apologize for how I reacted when you told me what happened.”
“It’s too late for apologies. What is done is done, but maybe next time, consider the consequences of your actions before banging your chest like an ape. I didn’t need saving, Jacob. I’m more than capable of taking care of myself.”
The shake of my words makes a liar out of me. I don’t mean to act cowardly, but my blood pressure is too high for it not to affect my voice.
I hear him scrub at the stubble on his chin—the stubble that used to tickle my chin when he kissed me. “I wasn’t trying to save you, Lola... I just snapped.”
“No, you didn’t just snap; you acted like an imbecile.” As I am now. I’m not weak, so why am I acting as if I am? “I have to go—”
“Please don’t shut me out of your life again.”
His somber tone nearly breaks me. It would have if I didn’t believe this was best for us both. “I’m sorry, but our arrangement isn’t working for me anymore. It’s time for us to move on.”
Before he can talk me out of my decision, I disconnect our call and shut down my phone. With the dam in my eyes close to breaking, I clench my fists into a white-knuckle hold before screaming out my frustration at the top of my lungs. I’m hollering so loudly, I’m certain the neighbors will call in a disturbance, but if I don’t do something, I’ll break—then everything I worked so hard for the last year will be wasted.
I hate what I just did to Jacob—he didn’t deserve all of my anger, but Maggie was right. I need to stop the games and start acting like an adult. I can’t do that and continue leading Jacob astray. He deserves better, and so do I.
That's why first thing tomorrow morning, I'll hand in an official resignation to Maggie, then I can go back to the life I had before Jacob entered it. Back to one where I’m not responsible for other people’s actions. I’ll miss Jacob, but like I’ve already said, walking away is the nicest thing I’ll ever do for him.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Jacob
Six months later...
“Have you got ants in your pants?”
Emily stops squirming in my passenger seat to peer at me. “I’m nervous.”
“You'll be fine.”
I’m tempted to twang her protruded lower lip, but since Noah isn’t here for me to rile up, I save my tease for a more appropriate time. We’re in the process of moving Emily into her dorm room at Parkwood State College. Noah initially planned to help us, but his band has a huge meeting with a record label interested in signing them, so I'm picking up his slack—slack we wouldn't have if Noah canceled his meeting as planned.
He hates backing out of any agreements he makes. If I hadn't convinced him we're more than capable of moving a handful of boxes unsupervised, he would have postponed his meeting with Destiny Records. That's how much his word means to him.
That and the fact he hates leaving me alone with Emily.
I'd never touch a hair on her head, but I have too much fun teasing him to ever let him know that. He has a bit of a jealous streak when it comes to Emily. I can’t blame him. I’ve seen the way heads turn when she enters a room, but I see her more like a sister than anything else. I want to say sister-in-law, but Lola made sure that's not an option.
I haven’t seen Lola since my arrest. She was pissed I thought she needed to be saved. That wasn’t what I was doing. I was teaching Callum a lesson. Did it work? Who knows? But he’ll think twice before he lays hands on a woman again.
Lola no longer works at Mavericks. From what I heard, she got a job at a bar in her hometown. I could investigate her life more thoroughly, but in all honesty, I’m not sure I want to. I begged her for forgiveness. I left her hundreds of voicemails and even more text messages. She didn’t return a single call — not one.
At the start, I understood her anger. I took up a fight she didn't want me involved in, but within weeks, that understanding waned. I became furious she had projected all her anger onto me. I flushed my fighting career down the toilet for her, and for what? Nothing but resentment and anger.
Although I was peeved about how things turned out, my fighting career with Isaac smoothed the rocky waters. It doesn’t matter whether I win or lose in his fighting circle. I turn up, fight, then get paid. I’m not saying I don’t fight to win; my track record is solid. In the past six months, I’ve maintained my undefeated title.
Size doesn’t matter in the circle I fight in. If you believe your fighter is good enough to fight another, you propose a fight to their “owner.” If both sides agree, it’s scheduled for a few weeks’ time. The three-thousand-dollar-a-fight purse I negotiated with Isaac seems too good to be true, but I’ll take everything offered. I don’t see many business owners willing to hire a manager with a criminal record.
I don’t know what I’ll do once our agreement ends. I might take it a week at a time and see how it goes. I was given two years’ probation for beating Callum, so I have plenty of time to work out what I want to do between now and then.
My mind clicks back to the present when we approach Emily’s dorm. “
Stairs or the elevator?”
Emily glares at me like I’m crazy for even suggesting we take the stairs. “The elevator.” She balances the one puny box she’s lugging onto her hip. “This box weighs a ton.”
She’s such a lightweight. She wouldn't be if she occasionally came to the gym with Noah and me. After giving Noah a brief recap on how my parents met, I told him about my fighting career. Because Isaac had just become my "owner," I ghosted over that part of my confession.
Although shocked at my career choice, Noah said he’d support me. That’s how I’ve managed to drag his ass to the gym a handful of times the past six months. I support him by watching his gigs, and he supports me by sparring with me.
Hank took an instant liking to Noah. They often go a few rounds in the ring while I skip rope for an hour. If Hank's plan to make my fighting stance not as solid weren't working, I'd strangle him with the rope he has me skipping a minimum of two hours a day. I doubt skipping will make me more agile, but since it's part of Hank's punishment for being charged with assault, I'll do it.
Hank was furious with me when he found out I’d been arrested. Weeks passed before he forgave me, and even then, he barely spoke a word to me. Mercifully, he’s still my trainer; he just gets paid by Isaac instead of getting a cut of my profits.
During one of our sessions, I asked Noah not to tell Emily what happened to Lola. I don’t like forcing him to keep secrets from her, but I promised Lola I wouldn’t tell anyone. She may not want to associate with me, but I am a man of my word. Noah was hesitant, but he understood why I didn’t want anyone to know, so he agreed to keep quiet on all aspects of it—my illegal fighting career too.
I’m snapped back to the present for the second time this afternoon when the elevator dings, announcing the car has arrived at the lobby. When a bunch of college girls pile out, I greet them with a friendly wink. “Ladies.”
