Page 95 of Fighting Jacob

Just as I step into the sterile-smelling space, I spot a face I never expected to see. Noah’s mom is at the reception desk. She dressed up for the occasion with silky slacks and a shirt that costs more than a medical receptionist can afford.

I stomp her way, certain she’s only visiting for one reason: she wants money. “What are you doing here?”

Maree’s evil eyes lift to mine. “I want to visit my son, but supposedly there’s no one named Noah Taylor at this hospital.”

Maree stops glaring at the receptionist like she's gum stuck under a bus seat when I drag her to the side of the desk. I’m not an aggressive person, so my clutch on her arm would usually cause me to feel guilty, but after witnessing the way she treated Noah at Michael’s funeral, she lost any right to be treated like a lady. The person standing before me is nothing but a vindictive, conniving, two-faced monster.

“Why are you really here? Did you run out of money—again?”

Her eyes narrow into thin slits. “That’s no concern of yours.”

“No concern of mine? You had no issues taking my money previously, so what’s changed?”

I put money in her account every month for the past year in the hope it would keep her claws out of Noah. I only canceled the deposit arrangement after Noah informed me she had signed a nondisclosure agreement.

“It’s just dawned on you that your bottomless money pit dried up, hasn’t it—?”

“Is he dead?”

I nearly shake my head, until the excitement in her tone slams into me. She’s not upset at the prospect her only son may be dead. She’s hopeful.

What the fuck?

She thrashes against me, trying to remove herself from my firm grip. “Let me go. I have to call a lawyer.” Her smirk reveals she's even more psychotic than I thought.

When she slips out of my grip, she hobbles toward the hospital exit, her brisk departure thwarted by more than the high heels on her shoes. It’s also from me shouting, “Even in his death, you won’t get a cent.”

She flashes me an evil grin over her shoulder. “Like hell I won’t.”

Her attitude is way too superior for my liking. I better knock her down a peg or two. “Noah had his will drawn up not long before his accident. He made Emily his power of attorney and had it notarized that you were not to get one penny from his estate in the event of his death.”

“He’d never be so barbaric. I’m his mother!”

“Who’s undeserving of the title.” Needing distance before I say or do something I regret, I dart past Maree and break through the double glass doors of Ravenshoe Private Hospital. “Enjoy living in the gutter, where you belong.”

Chapter Forty-Eight

Lola

My brisk pace slows when I hear someone call my name. I pause entering Hank’s Gym to peer back at the person accosting me early on a Monday morning. My palms slick with sweat when I realize it's Curtis—Callum's brother. I haven't seen him since I socked him in the nose nearly a year ago.

When he stops at my side, he slants his head before planting his infamous evil grin on his face. “So this is where you learned your famous right hook from, hey? It’s been so long, I was beginning to wonder if that night was a figment of my imagination.”

“I can hit you again, if you like? Then you can be assured it wasn’t a dream.”

Curtis shakes his head. “Always riled up.”

“Always an asshole.”

My comment was only for my ears, but from the way his eyes narrow, I’m certain he heard it. When the tint on the window next to my shoulder darkens, I realize we have company. Hank won't step in unless necessary, but I'd rather keep him out of a fight he doesn't belong in any more than Jacob does.

“What do you want, Curtis?”

He steps closer to me, bringing the shadow inside Hanks gym closer as well. “I don’t want anything. I just noticed you walking by and thought I should say hello. I haven’t seen you around. Kinda missed ya.”

When he trails the back of his hand down my cheek, my nerves set on edge. He’s not a sweet, missed you type of guy. He’s a menace who’d rather have his dates quaking in fear than ecstasy.

Just as rusty hinges creaking open sounds through my ears, Curtis winks before sauntering to his truck parked in the middle of the empty lot. The anxiety wreaking havoc with my stomach doubles when I notice he isn't traveling alone. Callum is sitting in the passenger seat. It's clear his brush with the law didn't scare him into coming clean. His already svelte frame is missing even more pounds.

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