Page 83 of Fighting Jacob

When his eyes drop down to my bare ring finger, I make my voice extra-nasally. “My rings are getting resized. I only got married last week. You should have seen the wedding. O.M.G—it was fab..u…lous—”

“Congratulations.” He dumps his newspaper on the counter before skedaddling out of the café.

“Sucker,” I mumble under my breath while flipping to the entertainment section I saw him flick past earlier. It has a small article about Noah hidden amongst a ton of advertisements. From what I read over the man's shoulder, it's an extremely inaccurate editorial on his current whereabouts.

“Rise Up was noticeably absent from the O’Reilly Brothers concert tour due to their lead singer Noah Taylor’s current admittance at the Hope Hills Rehabilitation Center for drug and alcohol counseling,” I read from the paper.

Why in the world are they reporting Noah is in a rehab center for drug and alcohol issues? It doesn’t make any sense. He’s been in a coma for weeks now. Christmas, New Years, and even Emily’s twentieth birthday went by without any signs of him waking up—or word from Jacob. Noah’s bruises have healed, and they’re hoping to remove the bolts from his leg later this month, but he’s still a very sick man. Rehab would be a walk in the park compared to what he’s endured the past almost two months.

Annoyed at the paper’s inability to separate fact from fiction, I search the credentials of the journalist at the bottom of the story in Ravenshoe News before dialing her number. A friendly female voice answers a few seconds later. “Ravenshoe News, this is Tracy Peters.”

“Hi, my name is...oh, I don’t want to mention my name.” I’m tempted to punch myself in the throat for how scratchy my voice is. “The story you published in Ravenshoe News this morning about Noah Taylor—”

"I'm glad you enjoyed my story, but I'm swamped, so I don't have time to answer more questions from deranged fans of Rise Up.”

My mouth falls open when she hangs up on me.

Gritting my teeth, I redial the number.

“Ravenshoe News—”

“Hang up on me again, and a deranged fan will be the least of your problems.” My voice is a threatening snarl, and it gains me the attention of a few pairs of eyes in the café. “I didn’t enjoy the story you published—because it’s nothing but lies.”

“Look, I appreciate that die-hard fans like yourself get upset when they learn the stars they idolize aren’t perfect, but I stand by my story.”

My teeth grit. “I’m not a die-hard fan. I know Noah—personally. He’s not in rehab!”

“Noah’s management team informed us that he is in rehab, so why would I believe anything that comes out of the mouth of a random groupie?”

My nostrils flare as my cheeks heat. “I'd rather be a groupie than an imbecile who claims a man is in drug rehabilitation when he's fighting for his life in an intensive care unit!”

It’s nearly impossible to disconnect our call the old-fashioned way. I’d rather smash my phone on the ground. I would if I could afford to replace it. Alas, broke people don’t have the luxury of ruining things on a whim because they’re frustrated.

When I let out a long and frustrated growl, numerous pairs of eyes turn to face me. “What?!” A little old lady with big, sympathetic eyes peers at me, quelling the rage tearing me in two. “I’m sorry.”

With my eyes close to bursting, I snatch my order from the barista’s hands before hightailing it out of the cafe. The past eight weeks have been the worst weeks of my life. I’ve been to visit Noah a handful of times, but any time I enter the room, Jacob makes an excuse to leave. Tom assures me he's just being courteous, so I don't feel uncomfortable, but I'm not convinced. He's avoiding me like I’m not the one who had risqué photos splashed all over Facebook for the world to see.

Ugh! I’m still angry as hell about those photos. I haven’t slept with anyone but Jacob since the night we met. We never agreed to be exclusive, but why would I seek solace from another man when Jacob was giving me everything I needed?

Don't get me wrong; during our six-month gap, I came close. Hearing about Jacob's "dates" had me dusting off moves I hadn't used in months, but it never went further than innocent flirting. I forgot how annoying some men are. The tacky one-liners, the false promises, I had heard it all before—except from Jacob. He convinced me he was cut from a different cloth. How stupid was I?

The unease I felt every time I visited Noah is the reason I’ve cut my visits back the past five weeks. Emily barely acknowledges my presence; she’s too busy staring at Noah, praying he’ll wake up, and everyone else hates me, so why bother? My only saving grace is Hank.

I still attend my boxing class with him every Tuesday afternoon, except now he’s my sole coach. I also hang out with him on the days I’m not working. People probably think it's pathetic that I'd rather hang out in a smelly rundown gym than with people my own age, but don't be quick to jump to conclusions. Hank is a great guy. His life is tough, but not once does he let negativity tear him down. A few people I know could learn a lesson or two from him—myself included.

“How’s my pretty lady today?” Hank greets me with a big smile when I enter his gym. "Still not sleeping, I see.”

I roll my eyes. I could have a mountain load of concealer on to cover my bags, but Hank would still notice them. “I’m good. You?”

His smile picks up when I hand him the donuts and coffee I purchased at the café for him. Since he refuses payment for services rendered, I found another way to pay my dues. Coffee isn’t much, but it’s better than nothing.

“Great now.” A moan seeps from his lips when he takes a large bite of a sugar-coated donut. I can’t help but giggle over his enthusiasm. Who knew something so cheap could create so much happiness?

“There’s the sound I’ve been missing.” When I peer at him in shock, he nudges his head to my mouth. “I haven’t heard you laugh in ages. I’ve missed it.”

My heart melts a little, but I fully comprehend what he’s saying. I haven’t heard Emily’s giggle or Jacob’s chuckle in weeks. You don’t realize how much you miss certain things until they aren’t around anymore.

“Shall I start without you?”

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