Page 23 of Fighting Jacob

"I forgot you were waiting—”

"You forgot! How the hell could you forget?!” He sucks in a deep, ragged breath. “We could have killed them, Jake." He stumbles back, his eyes watering. “Then I would have had another death on my hands.”

He looks physically ill as he backs away with a raging chest and clenched fists. He’s as worked up as me, but instead of taking it out on the person he believes responsible, he goes outside to unleash his fury on a tree trunk. He pummels it without remorse, knowing violence will never end violence, but having no other way to rid himself of his guilt. We all cope in our own ways. Mine is seeking attention from the opposite sex. Noah’s is the brutality he was raised with.

After collapsing onto his knees from exhaustion, Noah turns his eyes to me. They're the darkest I've ever seen them. When he takes off down the driveway, I snatch up my keys from the hallway table and go after him.

My quick strides out the screen door falter when Patrick blocks my exit. “He won’t do anything stupid; he just needs some time.”

He can say that because he wasn’t there when I threw Noah into the shower every morning to sober him up after his brother killed himself.

When I attempt to skirt past Patrick, he steps back into my path, causing my jaw to tick. "You need to stop babying him. He fuckin’ hates it. Give him a day or two to sort his head out, then you can deal with him.”

I nearly tell him to go row up a creek, but a set of wise eyes stops me. My dad is standing at the side of the porch, his expression revealing he agrees with Patrick.

Chapter Eleven

Lola

“There’s no fuckin’ chance I’m taking you out looking like that. Go get changed!”

Callum, my boyfriend of nine months, forcefully walks me into our bedroom. When his older brother’s abrupt chuckle vibrates through my chest, his grip on my arm tightens so much I grimace. I’ve noticed the past few months that anytime Curtis is over, Callum is more aggressive than usual.

“Ouch, you’re hurting me.” I search my arm for a bruise when he shoves me into our room. I don’t have one—yet.

As Callum’s hands rake his spiky blond hair, his nostrils flare. “Are you trying to embarrass me in front of my brother?”

When I shake my head, his squinted gaze drops to my outfit. I’m wearing a pair of denim shorts and a black fitted shirt—a favorite outfit of mine he’s seen me in many times the past year. These shorts aren’t even my raunchiest pair, so I have no clue why he’s so agitated.

“Get changed!”

When I fail to jump at the command in his voice, he rids my closet and drawers of every article of clothing I own. They fly across the room like cannonballs shot from a cannon. Half land on the bed, but the other half don’t even make it more than a foot from my drawers.

Once he finds a Callum-approved outfit, he shoves it into my chest. "Now, Lola. I won't ask you again."

“No.” I dump the clothes onto my bed before folding my arms under my chest. “I'm not changing so you can impress your moronic asshole of a brother—"

My words fall short when fiery heat creeps across my cheek. I’m only just getting over the shock that he slapped me when he rears his hand back for the second time. This hit is even more painful than his first. Although shocked I’m being hit, I don’t register the pain. I’m too stunned to do anything but glare at Callum.

His face is as hard as a stone, not the least bit concerned he turned a verbal altercation physical. "Get. Changed. Now."

Afraid of what he’ll do if I don’t comply, I slip out of the shorts, replacing them with the pants he shoved into my chest before placing a long-sleeve shirt over the one I’m already wearing. It’s not cold outside; it’s actually quite warm, but the icy cold glare Callum is giving me makes it seem as if it’s the middle of winter.

His anger remains even with me doing as asked. “Now get your ass into the car and keep your fucking mouth shut.”

Who is the person standing in front of me? He isn’t the Callum I met twelve months ago. He’s not even half the man he used to be.

Callum, Curtis, and I have dinner at a pizza and wings bar in their hometown of Ravenshoe. I sit quietly, watching them banter and chat as if my face isn’t harboring a new red welt. They eat their pizza and guzzle down beer while enjoying each other's company.

Curtis is a few years older than Callum, but when they sit side by side, they almost look like twins. Their blond locks hang loosely on their heads, and their blue eyes are practically identical, except Curtis's have a ring of black surrounding his irises. I always joked that was his dark side being exposed. Now I'm confident it is.

My eyes float up from my plate when a waiter’s apron brushes my arm. “Are you finished?”

I offer him a hesitant smile before nodding. I’ve hardly touched the meal Callum ordered for me. I can’t trust my stomach to keep anything down. I’m still gobsmacked. Callum can be cruel with words, and he’s occasionally shoved me, but tonight was the first time he’s physically assaulted me.

When the waiter moves away from our table, my pulse quickens. Callum is glaring at me. I smile at him, hoping to appease his anger. He doesn’t smile back. He just throws some bills onto the table before demanding I get my ass back in his car.

Our trip home is as quiet as our one to the restaurant, and the silence does little to settle my flipping stomach. If anything, it makes it worse. Callum’s jaw is ticking so profusely, I hear every grind it does.

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