by Shandi Boyes
“People will either love you or hate you. As long as you get an even number of people in each column, your life will turn out okay.”
I couldn’t agree with her more, and I’m so fucking grateful I’m in the column of people who love her. Thankfully, she loves me back.
Later that evening, back in our apartment, Lola cocks her hip before thrusting the pants I left in the middle of the floor my way. “Do you have to leave your pants on the floor? My apartment is tiny. Two more steps, and you would have reached the laundry hamper.”
I continue flipping through the television channels, pretending I'm not on the verge of coronary failure. From the corner of my eye, I peer at her through lowered lashes. My inability to respond to her question nearly has her eyelids touching. I silently stalk her, praying she'll respond how she usually does. When she screws up her nose like a rabbit, I know she’s close.
Come on, Lola, throw a tantrum.
My silent prayers get answered when she hooks my pants across the room. “I’m not your slave. Put your pants in the hamper.”
Halfway across the living room, a black ring box darts out of my pocket. It drops to the floor in slow motion, capturing Lola’s attention before she storms out of the room in a huff.
She twirls back around, her hand shooting up to her chest. I play it cool, even though I’m anything but. After glancing my way to see if I’ve noticed the ring—I pretend I haven’t—she cautiously bends down to pick it up. My heart beating is the only audible noise when she slowly cranks it open. When the lid pops up, she takes in a sharp breath while I move into place.
“Don’t freak out.” I kneel in front of her, making her shocked gaze stray from the diamond solitaire ring in the box to me. “I know you don’t do hearts and flowers, but I’ve loved you from the moment I saw you. I want you to be my wife and the mother of my children, even more than I want you to have my last name.” I gather her other hand in mine. I’m so jittery with nerves, I need two hands to hold her dainty one. “If you accept this proposal, I promise this will be the last romantic gesture I’ll ever do for the rest of our life.”
Hope clutches my insides when she smirks. It's not the smile I was aiming for, but it's better than a flat out, "No!"
“I’m not asking you to marry me today; I’m just asking you to marry me one day.” I remove the ring box from her deathly tight grip. “Will you please do me the honor of becoming my wife, next week, next month, next year or within the next decade?”
The silence in the room is near deafening as I wait for her to reply. She’s said many times that she has no intention of getting married, but I want her to be my wife. I want her to have my last name, and I want my ring on her finger, declaring to the world she’s taken.
“I love you, Lola.” My declaration nearly has me missing the slightest bob of her head. “Yes?”
“Yes,” she repeats as tears spring into her eyes.
I stare at her with bewilderment, certain I heard her wrong. She just said yes, didn’t she?
Laughing at my shocked expression, she lowers herself to her knees before slapping my cheeks with her hands. “Yes, Jacob. Yes!”
I’m so overwhelmed with excitement, I wrap my arms around her before she’s prepared. We hit the floor with a thud, but Lola doesn’t mind. She giggles before requesting I roll because she can’t breathe. When I do as asked, the glimmer of a one-carat diamond catches my eye.
The ring! I’m supposed to put the ring on her finger.
After gathering the ring box in my hand, I clumsily remove the creation my dad helped me choose last week, then raise my eyes to Lola’s. Her smile competes with the moon when I slip the ring on her finger.
It glistens as brightly as the tears in her eyes when she murmurs, “It’s beautiful. Classic yet refined.” — Much like its owner. — “I love it, Jacob.”
When she straddles my lap to show me just how much, I make love to my soon-to-be wife.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Lola
Six months later...
The day Jacob has been waiting for is finally here. His rematch with The Constrictor will be held tonight in Hopeton. The winner, whom I have no doubt will be Jacob, will be crowned national champion in our region. That will give him an instant green light to fight in the professional league. Jacob is giving it his all to win. His workout regimen the past year has been brutal. He’s the fittest I’ve ever seen him. There’s not an ounce of fat on his body. Believe me, I've checked every inch of him—more than once.
“Are you sure you can’t cancel your class today to come to the arena with Hank and me?” Jacob asks as he paces into our kitchen.
I shake my head. “No, sorry, I can’t. Those ladies rely on me. I can’t just cancel on them.”
He jerks up his chin in understanding, but his eyes still show the disappointment he’ll never express. He knows how much the ladies in my class mean to me because he saw firsthand my reaction when I volunteered with him at Hopeton House one weekend. At the start, I was confused as to why children were living in a home if they had parents, then I realized most of the children’s mothers lived on the streets, and over half were victims of domestic violence.
With memories of Jacob and Hank teaching me how to defend myself filtering through my mind, I offered Chloe’s mom a private lesson. I was shocked when she turned up the following weekend with two women in tow. Since then, the number of attendees has climbed tenfold. I don’t make any money teaching them what Jacob and Hank taught me, but the reward I get seeing their confidence soar is plenty of compensation for my time.
“I’ll be there as soon as my class is over. That’ll be good a good hour or two before the first bell.”
Jacob kisses my temple, revealing he’s pleased with my negotiation. He’s not surprised, just pleased. I’ve matured a lot the past few years. It’s hard not to when you surround yourself with people like Jacob and Hank every day. They kind of rub off on you. Does that mean I no longer have a resting bitch face? Hell no! But Jacob loves me for who I am, so he puts up with all my prickly personalities.
Jacob stops guzzling orange juice straight out of the carton. “Just don’t be late. You know how much Hank hates tardiness.”
After rolling my eyes, I bridge the distance between us. “I was late once.” I hold my index finger in the air to amplify my reply. “And you’ve never let me live it down.”
When I balance on my tippy toes to give him a chaste peck on his juice-flavored mouth, he talks over my lips. “Have you decided on a date yet?”
He chuckles when my teeth get friendly with his lower lip. He’s asked this exact friggin’ question every day for the past six months. Although my ego loves his eagerness, I’m five seconds from killing him.
My brow cocks when a brilliant idea pops into my head. “Actually, I have.” I let him stew a little before saying, “When you become the heavyweight champion of the world, I’ll become your wife that same week.”
“Deal.”
The swiftness of his reply knocks the wind from my lungs. My eyes bounce between him when he holds his hand out for me to shake on our agreement. My head is screaming at me to renegotiate, but my heart makes me reach out for his hand without a single objection.
Confident he has me right where he wants me, Jacob waggles his brows. “You do realize, when I win this fight tonight, I can contend for the heavyweight championship in less than six months?”
My eyes bulge. “What? Are you serious?”
“I’ve never been more serious in my life.” He slaps my backside before strutting into our bedroom. Yes, I said strut. “You better get planning, baby, because in six months’ time, you’re going to be my wife.”
His tone alone reveals he'll train even harder now. He's not leaving that cage without the championship belt, and considering I never back out of a deal, in six months, I’ll most likely be his wife. A part of me is petrified, but the other half—the sentimental mucky side—is a tad bit excited.
�
��Are you sure you don’t want me to clear away the mats?”
My eyes stray to Lydia, Chloe’s mom. "It's fine. It'll only take a minute; then I'm out of here.”
We’ve just finished our final defense class for today. It was my biggest yet, with thirty women in attendance. Lydia has become a close confidant of mine the past year, so she helped me run today's class with the hope of taking over the reins of a class or two in the next few weeks. Things have been tough for Lydia, but ever since Maggie offered her a job at Mavericks, things have picked up. She and Chloe no longer live at Hopeton House, and with Michael's help, she's hoping to soon regain sole custody of Chloe.
“See you next week.”
Lydia waits for me to nod before heading for the exit of Hank’s gym. After rolling up the mats and placing them back on the shelf, I scan the area. Hank’s gym has changed so much the past twelve months. The old, rusty equipment has been updated with sleek new machines, and a new set of ropes and a new mat make the boxing ring look brand new. Even the showers in the locker rooms have been retiled.
Although cosmetics have given Hank’s gym a slick new look, it still holds the funky smell that makes everyone’s stomach lurch when they enter. Jacob isn’t convinced, but I’m certain the scent is a combination of hidden gym socks stuffed at the back of the lockers and sweat. Hank swears it’s the smell of hard work and determination. Whatever it is, it’s gross, and even years later, my stomach still protests when I walk through the large glass door.
I crank my neck when the bell above Hank’s gym jangles. “What did you forget this time?”
The mirth in my tone is pushed aside when the face I’m expecting to see isn’t there. Lydia isn’t standing in the entranceway of Hank’s gym. Callum is.
My heart beats furiously when he fixes the lock into place. After flipping the sign to advise the gym is now closed, he pivots on his feet to face me. “Hello, Lola.”
His brittle tone makes butterflies bunch in my stomach. Although unnerved, I’m confident I have what’s needed to take him down. If he attempts anything remotely intimidating, he’ll be on his ass faster than I can snap my fingers.
Callum’s eyes drift from my clenched fists to my face, taking in my gym shorts and crop top on the way. When our eyes collide, I strengthen my stance. He doesn't need to voice his disdain about my outfit for me to hear it. His slit gaze and ticking jaw tell me everything I need to know.
“Violence won’t be necessary... Or I might need to use this.”
My heart sinks into my gut when he drags his index finger along his nose. His drug use is nothing new; rumors have circulated for months that he’s back on the wagon. It’s the gun in his hand that has my heart stuttering.
He may be double my weight, but I still had the ability to take him down. I can’t say the same about his gun.
“Why don’t you come give your boyfriend a kiss?”
Keeping my eyes firmly planted on the gun, I shake my head. His hand is trembling so badly, I’m afraid he might accidentally shoot me. “I’m good here.”
Unhappy with my response, he storms my way. Air hisses between my teeth when he fists my hair so roughly, he yanks many strands from my scalp. That’s not the worst of it. With my hands needed to save my hair, my mouth is defenseless to his infiltration. He seals his lips over mine in under a second before he slides his tongue along them. My stomach threatens to spill from the disgusting stench of his breath. It’s worse than any roadkill I’ve smelled.
When several attempts to poke his tongue between my hard-lined lips fail, he inches back before dropping his bloodshot eyes to mine. They’re utterly soulless, like peering into a bottomless dark pit.
He stabs the barrel of his gun into my right ribcage, demanding my utmost devotion. “Where’s your phone?”
Too breathless to speak, my eyes stray to my bag sitting open on the gym floor. Noticing the direction of my gaze, he frees my hair from his grip to stalk to my bag. Knowing this is my only chance to escape, I sprint for the exit as fast as my quivering legs can take me.
Just as I reach the front door, gunfire rattles throughout Hank’s gym. A squeal emits from my lips as I freeze like a statue. There’s a bullet stuck in the drywall a mere inch from my head. I'm only alive because Callum has a bad aim. Next time, I may not be so lucky.
I signal with my arms that I’m surrendering before turning back around. This time, Callum doesn’t try to hide his gun. He keeps it pointed at my head, as angry now as he was when I refused his kiss. When he nudges his head to the bench he's standing next to, I hesitantly pace toward him. Being the sole hostage of a madman isn't ideal, but when it's your only option, you must run with it.
Every step I make is done with a shudder; I just don’t know if I’m shaking in fear or from the massive surge of adrenaline racing through my veins. After sitting on the bench, I raise my eyes to Callum. I’m quick enough to see the butt of his gun careening toward my temple, but not quick enough to stop it from knocking me out.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Jacob
I push my cell phone close to my ear when Lola's voicemail answers my call. “Hey, Lola, it’s me. Where are you? You’re not sleeping again, are you?”
I try to downplay my worry with a chuckle, but the knot in my stomach can’t be denied. Lola’s last class usually finishes by three PM, so I’m somewhat surprised she hasn’t arrived at the arena yet. When I teased her this morning about being late, I was just playing. She was only late the day I bombarded her with the kids from Hopeton House, but since she doesn’t have many flaws, I tease her repeatedly about the few she does have.
When I lower my phone from my ear, Hank stops taping my knuckles. “She’s still not answering?”
“No.” The concern in Hank’s voice echoes in mine. Even with us arriving hours before everyone else, Lola usually hangs with us, so I’m not the only one noticing her absence. “Can you check the arena? Maybe she’s already in her seat? Noah and the boys are here, so maybe she went straight to them?”
Nodding, Hank cuts the tape before pushing it down until it sits flush. “I’ll take care of this while you get your head in the game. Now is not the time for your mind to wander. Curtis may be an asshole, but he was trained by the best. If you walk into the cage distracted, you won’t walk back out.”
Hank waits for me to jerk up my chin before exiting the locker room. I jump to my feet to prep my muscles for the fight I’ve been trying to secure for years. There’s no way I’m walking out of that cage without a victory. The time has come to teach Curtis a lesson, and I look forward to teaching him the hard way. Then, once I’m crowned Heavyweight Champion of the World, I’ll make Lola my wife. That’s my prime motivation—making Lola solely mine. I don’t want the fame or the glory. I just want her.
When we made our deal this morning, part of me thought she knew how long the process would take. She's such an integral part of my team, people refer to her as my manager, so she knows how the schedule works. She just doesn’t want to admit she wants to be my wife sooner than she originally planned. I don’t mind. I convinced her time and time again the past three and a half years that she wants me more than she realizes, so I have no qualms doing it again.
My head slings to the side when Noah enters the locker room on Hank’s heels. “You ready for this?”
“Sure am.”
My cockiness slumps when Hank answers my curious gaze with a shake of his head. My eyes drift to the clock hanging on the wall. It’s nearly eight PM. Even if traffic was bumper-to-bumper the whole way here, Lola should have been here hours ago.
Upon noticing my concerned face, Noah asks, “What’s up?”
“Lola hasn’t turned up yet,” I answer. “Have you seen her?”
He shakes his head. “I assumed she was with you.”
Worry churns my stomach. “Can you call Em to see if she’s heard from her?”
While yanking his phone out of his pocket, Noah nods.
Emily wished me luck toni
ght but said she couldn’t watch me fight. I assured her it’s a professional sport with rules and shit, but she still looked sick with worry that I’d get hurt, so she and Jenni are preparing Mavericks for my celebration party, where I intend to repay Slater for spiking my drink at Noah and Emily’s wedding.
I watch Noah carefully when he stores his phone back in his pocket. “Em hasn’t heard from her.”
“Fuck, then where could she be?”
Noah shrugs, unsure what he could say to calm me down. He freaks if he can't reach Emily, so he knows all too well what I'm going through.
Hank slaps my shoulder. “She’ll be here soon, but until then, you need to get your head in the game.” His tone firms when he says, “This is why you shouldn’t have gotten yourself a weak spot.”
"Don't go acting like she isn't your weak spot too, Hank." He loves Lola as if she’s his daughter.
“She is, but I’m not the one about to go into a fight with my head shoved up my ass.”
Noah coughs, hiding his chuckle. When I give him a nasty stink-eye, he holds his hands in front of his body while retreating from the locker room by walking backward. “If she turns up, I’ll send you a message.”
For the next thirty minutes, I continue my warm-up routine with my eyes locked on my phone. I pray for it to ring or buzz with a text, but nothing but silence surrounds me.
Just as I finalize a set of reps with Hank, it finally rings. I dive for it so fast, I nearly barrel Hank over. He excuses my bad manners without a word when he sees the name flashing across the screen of my phone. It’s Lola.
“Jesus, Lola, you scared the fucking shit out of me—”
