Page 85 of Fighting Jacob

“Noah Taylor, lead singer of Rise Up, was reportedly involved in a serious traffic accident six weeks ago. Initial reports indicated that Rise Up failed to fulfill their contractual agreement with Summit Entertainment because Taylor was admitted to Hills Hope Rehabilitation Center for a mandatory drug and alcohol program. We’ve since learned Taylor’s transport was struck by a semi-trailer, killing taxi driver Ben Ebbett. Rise Up’s publicist, Delilah Winterbottom, confirmed Taylor is in serious but stable condition. We’ll keep you updated on his progress as we receive it. Back to you, Kylie.”

When the segment switches back to the morning show hosts, I turn off the TV before gesturing for Emily to join me in the corridor. We’re barely halfway out of Noah’s room when Emily’s curiosity gets the better of her. “Why would initial reports claim Noah was in rehab? What benefit would anyone get pretending he has a drug and alcohol problem? It doesn't make any sense.”

“I don’t know what benefit they’d get, but I’m reasonably sure I know who did this.” When Emily peers at me with wide, confused eyes, I do my best to settle it. “Delilah has been calling nonstop. Her messages all focused on one thing: did I know why Noah had a marriage license issued in his name?”

I dig my phone out of my pocket before opening up my internet app. After typing Noah's name into the search bar, I hand my phone to Emily. "Every media source in the country is running the story of Noah's accident. Who's to say eight weeks ago, they weren't prepared to expose his plans to wed?"

Emily shrugs, unconvinced. "I kept details of our wedding on the down-low."

“Marriage licenses are public record. It wouldn’t take an intern long to discover your plans, much less a publicist hellbent on keeping her star’s status as single.”

Emily stomps down her foot like she’s about to have a tantrum. “You’re right. She was ropeable when Noah declared he was in love on MTV, so she’d do everything in her power to bury any stories on his plan to wed. But this...making Noah look like a drug addict. That's lower than low. We can't let her do this, Jake. We need to stop her."

“I think I know how.” The anger lining her cheeks fades when I ask, “Will you be okay if I leave you with Noah for a couple of hours?”

“Yes, I guess—”

I cut off her confirmation by planting a kiss on her cheek. I hate leaving Noah, but this can’t wait. “I’ll be back in an hour. If anything happens, call me right away!” I shout while sprinting for the parking lot.

I’m not going to lie; my body kicks up a stink about my fast pace. My fitness has slithered down the drain the past eight weeks.

After throwing open my car door, I slip into the driver’s seat. My fingers tap my steering wheel as effectively as my heart pounds my ribcage when my first turn of the keys has my engine roaring to life. With how long my car has been sitting unused, I’m shocked the battery has any charge.

My luck appears to have run out when the parking attendant advises me the amount required for me to exit the secure lot.

“How much?”

“One thousand, nine hundred, and sixty dollars,” he repeats, his voice growing squeakier with every syllable he speaks.

“How the fuck is it so high?”

“The parking rate is thirty-five dollars a day. You’ve been parked here for eight weeks.”

He gives me a look as if to say you do the math.

I do. It doesn’t work out well for me.

After biting out a curse word, I hand the attendant my credit card. I’ll most likely be hit with an overdraft fee, but I’ll worry about that later.

I make the ten-mile trip from the hospital to my childhood home in record-breaking time. My speed was nearly as fast as my dad’s when he gallops down the front stairs. “Is Noah okay?”

Guilt makes itself known with my gut. I haven’t been home since the day Noah was transferred to Ravenshoe—not even for Christmas Day—so my unexpected arrival probably startled him half to death.

“He’s fine, but I need that contract you stored for him in your safe.”

Nodding, my dad follows me to the safe bolted to the floor in his office. He enters the combination—my mother’s birthday—before handing me the document, which was right next to the contract I signed to be Isaac’s fighter nearly two years ago.

“What’s going on? Anything I can help with?”

“You know how you always said to read every line of a contract before signing it?” I pause so he can nod. “I don’t apply that rule just to contracts I sign. I do it for others as well...” My words trail off when I find what I’m looking for. “And it’s about to pay off.”

I slap my father’s cheeks before planting a sloppy peck to the edge of his mouth. “Thanks, Dad! You’re a fucking lifesaver!”

He loses the chance to reprimand me for swearing when I tear out of his driveway as fast as I entered it.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Walters, neither Cormack or Delilah are answering.”

“Can you try Cormack’s cell again? Tell him Jacob is waiting for him, and I’m not leaving until I see him.” I point to a chair butted up against her desk. “I’ll wait for him right there.”

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