Page 81 of Fighting Jacob

I'm not a fan of hospitals in general, but Noah's badly battered face is upping the ante. His injuries are horrifying. Surviving a head-on collision with a semi is already remarkable, much less all the prodding he's endured the past seventy-two hours. He has machine tubing coming out of him in all directions, and the portions of his face I can see give no indication to the man hiding beneath the layers of bandages.

“I’m going to sit over there,” I say to anyone listening.

When no one voices an opinion, I make a beeline for a chair in the far corner of the room. It's close enough to Noah's bedside he knows I'm here, but far enough away, I'm not in anyone's way. His room is full to the brim with those nearest and dearest to him. His bandmates and their significant others sit on the left of his bed; Jacob and Emily are on his right, and there's a man I've never met before floating at the back.

The mood in the room is so gloomy and sad. It almost seems as if I’m attending a funeral. Noah might be seriously injured, but he’s alive. The people in this room need to remember that.

Hoping to lighten the mood, I make my way to Emily. Jacob watches me approach under lowered lashes, but he doesn't say anything. That's not unusual. Not even my offer of assistance three days ago made him reach out to me. Under different circumstances, I'd be pissed, but this isn't anything close to ordinary. I thought I had all my personalities worked out, but even I don't know how to act in this situation.

Once I reach my sister’s side, I bump her with my hip. “You never thanked me, you know.”

Emily lifts her watering eyes to mine. “For?”

I glare at her, silently warning her to keep her tears at bay. If she cries, I’ll cry, and then I’ll have to kill every person in this room just to salvage my “bitchy” reputation. There’s only one person in this room who’s seen me cry, and I plan to keep it that way.

Confident Emily has her teary eyes under control, I say, “The night Jacob dropped me home from Mavericks, I told Noah the bathroom was on the left.”

Emily's furrowed brows reveal she heard my confession, but she remains as quiet as a church mouse. Perhaps she's confused? I'll try and settle it. “The instant I saw him, I knew he was perfect for you, so I gave fate a little push.”

I don't believe in destiny or every other crock-of-shit love remedies people try to palm off to excuse them from moving in together after three weeks and marrying within six months, but Emily does. She always says she and Noah were destined to be together, so why isn’t she putting that same faith in believing he’ll do everything in his power to stay with her? Besides, surrounding Noah with positivity would have to be more beneficial than acting like he’s one step from his grave—surely!

My empowering the world with positivity rant ends when a heartbreaking sob rips through Emily’s lips. When she sways like a leaf on a hot summer’s day, Jacob grabs the tops of her arms, steading her unsteady movements. He talks to her in hushed whispers, and I realize they’re closer than I thought.

After he wipes away the tears sitting high on Emily’s cheeks, Jacob’s eyes stray to mine. They’re brimming with anger. “What?” I whisper, unable to comprehend what I did wrong. I was trying to embolden Emily with optimism, not make him angry at me—again.

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?”

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