Well I'd rather start off slow
This whole thing's like
Some sort of race
Instead of winning what I want
I'm sitting here in second place
Because somewhere
The one I wanna be with's
with somebody else
Oh god, I wanna be that
Someone that you're with
We're a perfect match. I specialize in emotional damage and Jacob will now specialize in physical.
Would you mess with him?
Caleb didn't fly home, like he was supposed to. Like he should have. He really should have. Instead he was dumb enough to come here. To my house. Figuring that since I told Jacob what happened that Jacob would do what most guys would do, break something and walk out. Except that we did it in reverse, he broke something, walked out and then I went and fucked up royally.
So Jacob, who had been going over paperwork yesterday with his friend and fellow minister Sam, after they put a new door on the den, (say hi to Sam, guys, he'll be around a lot, he's taking over Jake's congregation and hey! Marriage counseling on the fly, boys) answered the door.
And pulled Caleb in by the collar and knocked him out with one punch.
Great.
Really fucking great.
Half of me was staring at the violence in my front hall and wondering how fast I could clean up the mess before the kids came home for lunch and the other half was cheering Jacob on.
Apparently Caleb is much more like Cole than I ever realized, since Cole was also dumb enough to repeatedly show up here despite a judge telling him he would go to jail if he did.
But Jacob wasn't done yet. He straddled Caleb, and pulled him up by his collar again and shook him awake. Caleb came around and Jacob told him if he came here again or touched me he'd snap Caleb in half. Jacob asked for a verbal affirmation so that he was sure Caleb understood his rules.
And then he hit him again.
They asked me to call his driver and I found the number in Caleb's blackberry and then the driver arrived in minutes and carried him out.
Jacob told the driver rather innocently that Caleb must have fallen.
Lucky for us Caleb's people are discreet. Caleb is no fucking saint, nothing will come from this except for hopefully Jacob's point getting across.
After the car pulled away, Jacob just looked down at me with that strange expression of half-wonderment and half-understanding, like the look you get when you ask a question you already have the answer to.
What in the hell do you do to people, Bridget?
