Page 57 of This Means War

Cole swears loudly, but his dad ignores him. “Where’s Lydia,” he asks. “She needs to see this too.”

“No, you’re not disturbing Lydia with this, Dad. She’s had enough stress this last week. You and I can handle it.”

I can’t take it anymore. Throwing back the covers I make my way to the living room.

“You can’t protect her from this, Cole,” his dad is saying, “the effects are too far reaching.”

“What—” Cole begins, but I interject, my voice coming out far steadier than I would’ve thought possible.

“Cole, it’s okay. I’ve already seen it.”

Cole turns, and when his eyes land on me, the emotion I see there floors me. He’s looking at me like I’m the only thing that matters to him. All my fears about him leaving me vanish under his gaze.

“Lydia,” he crosses the room towards me, “I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.” He takes me in his arms and I settle there, his embrace acting as a temporary shield from the world.

“We need to go on the defensive.” Mr. Jacobson has no patience for our display. “Now I know yousaid no to this initially, Cole, but I’d really like to start with an article about Lydia’s hospital stay. The dip in your polling numbers last week will be nothing in comparison to the plunge this blog post will cause. An article about her health scare should counteract some of that with the sympathy it will garner.”

“No,” Cole says flatly. “There has to be another way. Lydia has been dragged through the media’s circus enough already. I’m not going to exploit her health scare just for a few votes.” He hasn’t released his hold on me, and I wonder if he can feel the way my heart picks up speed from his words.

“Why didn’t you tell me your poll numbers dropped?” I cut in.

Cole looks taken aback. “You were in the hospital…it just…didn’t matter.” He pauses, then adds, “Speaking of which, you should be sitting down.” He tries to pull me towards the couch, but I stand my ground staring at him as I fight my body’s desire to shout, “Cole Jacobson, I must be an idiot, because I am completely in love with you!”

Instead of revealing this embarrassing truth, I turn to Mr. Jacobson. “Let’s do the article.”

“Perfect.” Mr. Jacobson nods approvingly as Cole protests.

“Lydia, really it’s not necessary.”

“Cole,” I face him, “do you want to win this election?”

He lets out a groan of frustration, “Yes, but—”

“Then we’re doing the article,” I say firmly. “I’llbe fine. I’m tougher than I look.” Even as I say the words, I hope they’re true. I still feel raw and vulnerable every time I remember the words in the post, but Cole’s attentiveness to me acts like a salve soothing the hurt.

“Lydia,” Cole starts to protest again, but this time his dad is the one to cut him off.

“Cole, she said she wanted to do it. No point standing around arguing. Besides, if you don’t put out an article in response to this, believe me, the paper will do one without your input. Better to wrap our response into an article where Lydia comes out looking like a brave young woman who survived an ordeal and came out stronger for it than to just let some journalist further decimate her.”

Cole opens his mouth again, but then closes it with a frustrated growl.

“I want to be there when you speak to the journalist,” he says to me. “And you need to sit down,” he adds in exasperation. This time when he tugs me towards the couch I don’t resist. I’m no longer fighting against Cole, I’m fighting for him.

Chapter 41

Lydia

It doesn’t take longfor my bravado to fade. By 10 the next morning I’ve seen my face plastered across Facebook, Instagram, and the local morning news. On top of that, I am now officially on administrative leave until, as my principal put it, we get this whole thing sorted out. Which would be fine, except for the fact that cross country season starts next week, and somehow, I get the feeling that if I don’t start the season as the coach, I won’t be the coach for any part of the season at all.

At least my parents are on my side this time. I spoke with them last night and they both declared themselves ready to stand in my defense. Still, I can't get all of the negative comments I read out of my mind. The ones calling me a gold digger and a sinner of the worst kind.

By the time the reporter from the Holland Sentinel shows up that afternoon, I’m actually looking forward to having a chance to tell my side of the story.

Mr. Jacobson wants me to play up the whole modified bed rest thing, so I stay propped up in bed while Cole goes to let the reporter in.

He’s been tense since his dad’s visit yesterday. He even tried one more time to talk me out of doing the article, saying this was his fight and he should be the one to bear the brunt of the media’s disdain. Then I reminded him that the whole point of doing the article was to transform me into a media darling instead of the gold digger Deb’s Deets made me out to be. In response he stalked out of the room, muttering about how exasperating I am. He’s one to talk.

I wait anxiously for Cole and the journalist to return. I’m hoping it’s a woman, because I feel like a woman is more prone to be sympathetic. Especially if it’s a woman in her twenties or thirties, since she’d take one look at Cole and understand how a woman might find herself forgetting her moral values.

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