Page 38 of Fighting Jacob

He's a hard ass, but that's what makes him a great dad. Patrick and I kept out of trouble when we were younger because he was so stern, we were too scared to push his buttons, but that doesn't mean he hasn't always been there for us.

“Alright. As long as you’re aware.”

He ruffles my hair before exiting the kitchen. I wouldn't pay much attention to his slumped shoulders if he didn't leave his snack of choice behind.

“Dad?”

He stops halfway out of the kitchen to peer back at me.

“Have you got a minute to talk?”

An hour later—no, I’m not joking—I head back to my room. My heart isn't as heavy, but my shoulders are a little more weighed down. Dad and I haven't talked like that in months, but no matter how much I tried to tell him about my fighting career, I couldn't bring myself to do it. People say I'm more a lover than a fighter; the same can be said for my dad. He did raise me, so it's only fair I got some of his traits.

My pace quickens when I hear my cell phone ringing. I grab it up just before it goes to voicemail. "Hey, Hank," I greet upon noticing his name flashing across the screen.

“Jacob, how are you feeling today?” His voice is still holding the concern it held after my fight last night.

“Yeah, good. I'll be back at the gym bright and early tomorrow, ready to train.”

“That’s good, Jake, real good. I’ll see you in the morning.”

He once again disconnects my call before I can say goodbye. When I drag my phone from my ear, I notice I have a voicemail.

Aren’t I popular today? Not as popular as my opponent was last night, though. He had the full entourage with him, and the way the crowd surged for him when he made his way to the cage proved he wasn't a low-ranked fighter.

I stop grumbling about being played when Lola’s seductive voice shrills down the line. “Hey, it’s Lola. Call me.”

I do precisely that without a second to spare.

“Hey, that was quick. I just left a message." Her voice is distant like she's using speakerphone, but I can't miss the uneasiness in her tone.

“Yeah. I was talking to my dad. Are you okay? You sound a little low.”

Air whistles down the line. “I’m good. Just a tough day at work.”

“Is Maggie giving you a hard time?”

She sighs. “Yeah... but I kind of deserve it.”

“Why? What did you do this time?”

My tease has the effect I’m aiming for when she laughs. It isn’t her usual full-hearted laugh, but it’s better than nothing. “What I always do—I fucked up.”

A small stretch of silence crosses between us. It worries me more than what she said. Silence isn’t Lola’s forte. If she isn’t loud and obnoxious, someone is close to dying.

I’m about to ask her who I need to kill when she murmurs, “I’m sorry about last night.”

I don’t know why she keeps apologizing. I’m the one who failed to show up at the designated time.

“Quit apologizing; if anyone should be sorry, it should be me.”

My brows furl when she asks, “You have no idea, do you?”

“About what?”

She exhales quickly before pushing out, “Nothing... I’ve got to go.”

When she disconnects our call, I stare down at my phone, confused as fuck. I don't know why I'm shocked. Women in general are complicated, let alone ones as high-strung as Lola.

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