Page 39 of Jacob Michaels Is Not Jacob Michaels

Lucas was wide-eyed.

“I would have been happy staying here and going to college—if I could get into one,” I said, “or working at Barkley’s or the café or the bank or…wherever. I didn’t need to be famous or rich. So…why did I get up and leave in the middle of the night and do exactly that?”

The wind whistled under the bleachers again as Lucas and I stared at each other with six rows of bleachers between us. Cold April Ohio air ruffled my hair, and I pushed it back onto my head to keep it out of my eyes. Lucas looked pensive as he stared up at me, as though unable to decide what it was he could say or do to help. Or he couldn’t determine the answer to the multitude of questions I had posed.

“I’m sorry.” I sighed, but I didn’t look away.

“Don’t be sorry, babe.” He said though he was barely audible over the wind. “It’s not your fault.”

“Do we know that?” I gave a bitter laugh.

“I guess not.” He returned the laugh as he reached up to rub the back of his neck. “I know the things I know. And I’m sure that I’m right. But those are the only things I am sure of, babe. I wish I could help more, but that’s all I have. All I can offer.”

“I wish I had something…anything…to offer.” I snorted.

“Hey.” Lucas frowned as he stood and moved into the aisle of stairs that led further up into the stands. “Don’t say things like that. You are extraordinary, Rob. Even if your memory is shit.”

I laughed.

“You wouldn’t happen to want company up there, would you?” He grinned wickedly.

I shivered.

“What?”

“Did you want someone to keep you company?” He reiterated.

“Were you waiting for me?”

Lucas was standing at the bottom of the bleachers, his letterman jacket on, making him look as sexy as he was. I was sitting in the bleachers, my boring coat pulled tightly around my torso to keep me warm. I had been waiting on Lucas. Just like I always did.

“Of course I was waiting on you,” I replied, my voice not as deep as it now was. “I’m always waiting for you.”

He smiled.

“I thought I was always waiting on you.”

“Well,” I shrugged comically, “one of us is always waiting. But…the wait is always worth it, right?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely,” He replied. “Don’t you get scared out here all alone? What if someone tried to get you?”

“You’d protect me.”

“How can you be so sure?”

I shrugged. “I just know.”

“I’d argue,” He said, “but I’d be wrong. And I don’t like being wrong.”

“You nearly fumbled the last pass.”

“I held on. For you.”

“For me?” I chuckled.

“So we’d have a reason to celebrate.”

“How do you think we should celebrate?”