Page 120 of Fighting Jacob

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 tonight 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—”

I stop talking when a voice I don’t immediately recognize interrupts, “That’s the point. We want you scared.”

The pulse thrumming in my neck is audible in my words. “Who is this? Where’s Lola?”

Hank balances on his tippy toes so he can press his ear against my phone. He stops trying to eavesdrop when I lower my phone to turn on the speaker.

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