Page 62 of The Eleventh Hour
I rush after him and shove him in the back. “What was that?”
He whirls, grabs my wrist, pulls it up so high and fast that I have to step into his body, and kisses me again.
“What?” I shriek, but he just laughs and walks away.
Rafael stops next to me and chuckles. “Dane is a puzzle even the wisest of us don’t try to solve. Enjoy the kisses and plot evil payback with me. Trust me, I am the king of pranking.”
“I’m thinking the two of you are a bit insane.”
Rafe smirks, and then it drops away. “Yeah. Terrance used to say the same thing. He was our referee.”
“None of you are related, are you?”
Rafe shakes his head while we walk. “No, but none of us had other family, so we just kind of bonded. We were brothers. We are, we are brothers.”
I don’t say anything to his pained whisper. We just walk into the community centre in silence.
Today, we head into the hall opposite the library. The soft murmur of people talking is somewhat comforting. I pause just inside, looking at all the tables. There’s food, coffee, juice on one table. Blankets, pillows, towels on another. A third table holds clothes, as do a fourth and fifth. At the end of the hall is a stage, packed with boxes. And standing in front of it, with his hands on his hips, smiling just like my last memory of him, is the man himself.
Jacob Keylore has grown into himself; the pudge is gone, and the acne scars are barely visible. When he smiles, people smile back. You can see, even from across the hall, that he is loved by the multitudes that come here.
I barely look around as we walk through, just enough to take in the table after table with clothes, food, first aid supplies, blankets. Whatever he is running here, it suddenly makes sense why people adore him. The purpose of this place becomes clear.
My eyes lock back on him, and I see the moment he notices me, his face shutters and grows serious. He turns to talk to the people with him, and then heads in a direction at the back of the cavernous hall. He jerks his head, and we turn to follow him.
I stop a foot away from where he waits, and we just stare at each other for a long moment. He stands tall like he’s living a life he’s comfortable with. His hair is cut short, and his face is open, his eyes, always intelligent, now appear wise. His jaw is strong. He looks like the poster child for ‘happily well-adjusted man’, but then, he serves a higher purpose. He’s happy, I think with a pang. Fit, healthy man in the prime of his life. What am I doing here?
“Jackie Blackwell, you’re alive,” he breathes. “I can’t believe you’re here.”
“Could we, uh, talk?”
He nods quickly and leads us into a small office where he stops and suddenly crushes me to his chest.
“So good to see you.”
I have to admit, this display is odd. We weren’t good friends, not really. We both kind of rotated around Louis’s gravity field. Him on one side and me on the other. He was always stand-offish with me, and I never understood why.
“I thought maybe…he…” he stops talking and sucks in a breath that is in part pain and relief.
I pat his back awkwardly. “No, he didn’t manage to end me.”
“Thank the Lord. I prayed for you. I watched the news, I saw what they were saying, but then you vanished.” He doesn’t seem to register me turning to wood in his arms. “I never believed it. Not you. Him, yes, but Jackie Blackwell, no way.”
The faith, that complete belief in who I am, floors me. Dad, Mason, and now Jacob. Did I really think they’d not believe me? Yes, I’d been positive that they would hate me. But this blind trust…it is staggering and changing my complete view on the world. What would Dad say if I told him everything?
He pulls back awkwardly and holds me at arm’s length by the shoulders. “Look at you, you survived, and you look so good.”
I blush, and my eyes slide awkwardly to Dane, who shifts from foot to foot. This office is small, filled with paperwork, more boxes, a desk that’s older than I am, and a row of windows that have probably never been opened.
“Thanks, Jacob. You look amazing, too. I can’t believe you run this place.”
He sits on his desk and throws his arms wide. “My baby, my life’s work.” He shakes his head. “I couldn’t have done it without the good people of Hurricane. I live to serve.”
“You’re an amazing person, Jacob, and I’m so happy to see you doing well,” I say the words, and I mean them. Jacob was the boy next door. He’s grown up into an amazing man.
“Ah, well, it took a while to recover my broken heart when you and Louis left me, but I found an amazing woman to be my wife, found God, and started this campaign to stop the dark spread of fear in Hurricane. It keeps me busy.”
“Broken heart?” Rafael asks.