Page 117 of Fighting Jacob

“Give her to me before you ruin her for eternity.”

Lola steals Maddie off my lap before I can protest that she’s more of a bad influence than me. She must have sewn the outfit she gifted Maddie today because I’ve never seen stripper outfits at Baby Gap. Today is Maddie’s first birthday. She was born the day after Noah and Emily’s wedding, or, as I prefer to call it, the day following Lola’s admission of love.

Twelve months have flown by since then, but I still recall the petrified look on Lola’s face when I requested she repeat what she said. She was the most scared I’d ever seen her, but that didn’t stop her from pretending she never said anything. Mercifully, I knew she was full of shit. No amount of alcohol would make me forget hearing those three little words for the first time. They were the reason I spent half my night ensuring she knew how deeply they impacted me. We didn’t fuck that night. We made love. And we have a good dozen or more times since then.

Did she repeat those three little words? Yes, she did... after I sexually tortured them out of her. Now I have the pleasure of hearing them once, sometimes even twice a day. It never gets old.

It’s been a hectic, crazy twelve months. Today is the first time all the old gang has gathered in one room since Maddie was born. A few months after Maddie’s birth, Noah and his bandmates went on tour. Not long after that, I started fighting again.

I thought my fighting dreams were destroyed after being put on probation for assaulting Callum, but Lola and Hank found a loophole in the system, so once my probation was over for attacking the cameraman who tried to get photos of Noah in a coma, I was allowed to fight again.

Climbing back up the ladder has been a long process, but every fight I win puts me another step closer to securing a rematch against The Constrictor. Although Lola knows the real reason I want to be on the top rung, she still supports me. She always watches me train, and sometimes she’s my sparring partner in the ring. We bounce off each other. I use her as motivation to fuel my revenge, and she uses the tricks I taught her in the self-defense class she runs at Hank’s Gym for battered woman.

When she first started, Lola, Hank, and I made up more than half her class, but as the months went on, and word got out that a woman was teaching the classes, the numbers soared. If they continue to grow at the rate they have the past six months, she'll need to look at hiring another instructor.

Lola’s non-profit business adventure isn’t the only one going gangbusters the past twelve months. Hank’s gym is kicking ass as well. His clientele are so diverse, there’s no chance his doors will close anytime soon. He’s putting the profits to good use. He has his own little house in Ravenshoe and is often included in family events like today—although I’m sure he wishes he wasn’t when he notices my hand getting a little friendly with Lola’s ass.

He still thinks Lola is my weak spot, but he’s also aware my wish to succeed in the cage doesn’t solely revolve around revenge. Lola still works at Pete’s bar, her self-defense class is run out of her own pocket, and we still live in her run-down apartment in the middle of the ‘burbs. Being the champion in my field will give me the means to spoil her like she deserves.

I could give her the world now if I had kept the money Noah sneakily placed in my bank account every month. It took me longer than I care to admit to figure out why the nest egg I built fighting with Isaac had grown larger than I expected. The reason was only discovered when Lola noticed the synchronized deposits at the same time on the same day every month. It was 3:43 PM on the seventh—the exact day and time Noah slid into the backseat of my dad's car, shivering like he was trekking through snow without boots.

Although I appreciate he was looking out for me, I immediately had a check drawn up in his name. Noah worked for everything he has earned, and I wanted to do the same. When he refused to take back the check, I told him I’d give it to his mother. He snatched it out of my hand so fast, it almost ripped in two.

When Lola, Emily, and Maddie go into the kitchen to get Maddie a drink, Noah joins me at the side of the room. “Were you teaching my daughter the finger?”

“No. I'd never do such a thing.”

He chuckles while rolling his eyes. After ensuring the coast is still clear, he leans in close to my side. “Did you get it?”

I run my hand over my pocket to ensure the ring box I’d placed in there earlier is still present before nodding.

“Are you crapping your pants?”

When I nod once again, Noah laughs. “What’s the worst she can say—?”

“No?” I interrupt. God, I really fucking hope she doesn’t say no.

Noah cocks a brow. “And where will that leave you?”

I look at him with a confused, almost constipated look on my face.

Spotting my turmoil, he strives to ease it. “Exactly where you are now.”

That's easy for him to say. He got the lovey-dovey sister. I fell in love with the more stubborn, bossier, and opinionated version of his wife. Does that mean I wish Lola were more like Emily? Definitely not. One of the main things I love about her is that she doesn’t take crap from anyone. She knows she won’t please everyone, so she lives her life the way she wants. It doesn’t make her selfish or a bitch; it makes her smart. The world we live in is ruthless, so Lola's ways of dealing with things are perfect.

“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.

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