A/N: This one shot was written for the JBNP 4 Autism group. If you haven't already, please consider donating to this very worthy and amazing cause. They can be found here:
**Also, an immense amount of love and gratitude goes out to Rhodes11 for her unwavering support, guidance and creativity in getting this O/S completed. She refused to let me give up on it-or myself-even when I wanted to. Love you, baby girl!**
I hate this diner. Ever since I was shipped across the country to visit my father each summer as a young child, I've hated this place. I literally cannot stand the used-to-be-blue-but-has-now-faded-to-something-res embling-gray color on the outside, the smell of grease that almost takes on solid form in the air in the inside, and the fact that each table still comes complete with an old jukebox-type player that only spouts songs from the fifties, sixties and seventies.
I'm thinking this is exactly why Charlie likes the place so much. Each and every time, he will feed quarters to the hunk of metal and pick a song that conjures some story from his youth. Without fail, every time we're here, he tells me all about how the song reminds him of a time him and my mom did this or that.
People have always told me I'm not a typical girl—and Lord knows I haven't lived a typical teenage life—but seriously, no girl wants to hear about the time her parents were at a drive-in, this some came on the radio, and they quickly forgot all about the movie. I may not have tons of experience, but even I get what that means. Thanks, Dad, for contributing to my already-rampant nightly nightmares.
And so I sit here in this diner I loathe, waiting for Charlie to burst into another embarrassing and humiliating tale. I'd rather be almost anywhere else than here, but I'm feeling the urgent need to spend as much quality time with him as I can before it's too late—even if it means indigestion, unease and plenty of mental eye rolls. I've made my choice, and graduation creeps closer with every breath I'll soon no longer need. Soon, I'll never again be able to sit inside a greasy spoon with my dad. I'm about to devastate him in ways I can't bear to even think about. The very least I can do is endure this lunch, and give him as many happy memories as possible.
"What looks good to you, Bells?" Charlie asks over his worn menu, pulling me from my thoughts.
Absolutely nothing. It's all fat, grease, and a heart attack waiting to pounce. I don't say it, even though it's true. He seems just so excited to be here alone with me; the least I can do is attempt some enthusiasm.
"I'm not sure. Maybe a BLT?"
"You and your rabbit food," he mutters, his eyes lowering back to the menu. "I'm going for some red meat myself. Maybe a bacon cheeseburger with the works."
"That stuff with kill you, Dad."
"Life will kill you, Bells," he retorts drily.
I cringe inwardly. Although I'm voluntarily making the decision to end my mortal life, I naively don't want to think about anyone I love's life ending. Certainly not Charlie's or my mom's, but not any of my friends either…like Jacob. He may hate me soon, if he doesn't already, but the mere thought of something life-ending happening to him tears my heart to pieces.
My macabre thoughts are interrupted as the waitress appears seemingly out of nowhere at our table. I can't help but both giggle as well as cringe inwardly as I notice the way she's standing as close to Charlie as possible without actually touching him, her smile so wide I wonder how it's not painful. She's obviously flirting a bit with Charlie. I'm having a hard time deciding which is worse: hearing about my parents' past or watching this woman blatantly flirt with my father right in front of me. I quickly realize I'm being selfish though. I won't be around, so why shouldn't Charlie have someone nice to keep him company when I no longer can? Maybe if he has a woman to soothe him and keep him company…
Okay, so I am overreaching here. I'm not stupid enough to think some woman will erase the intense pain of losing your only child. I know I'm just looking for a way to lessen the guilt I'm feeling, knowing I'm the one about to cause the pain knowingly. I want Charlie to have someone to love—or at least like a lot—so some of the negative feelings can be transferred into positive ones. Doesn't everyone want to be loved and be taken care of?
"Bells? Earth to Bells. Do you still want that BLT?"
Charlie's amused voice breaks me from inner musings over his love life. My eyes snap up to see both he and the waitress in question staring at me expectantly. I feel my signature blush creep up my face as I realize I've spaced out for most of their conversation.
"I'm sorry, Dad. Yeah, the BLT is good."
The waitress nods her head with a smile on her overly red-stained lips. Though she appears to be writing my order on her notepad, she keeps stealing glances at Charlie through her half-lowered lashes. My stomach gurgles angrily, an effect of the fear I'll end up with a slab of beef like Charlie and enduring this woman eye my father as if she'd be happy to have him for her lunch.
"I'll have that ready for you guys before you know it," she promises with a wink in Charlie's direction. It's time for another mental eye roll, despite the fact I was just convincing myself that her flirting was a wonderful things a few moments ago. I watch her sashay away, heading towards the kitchen to keep her promise. I can't help but assess her as she goes. Maybe she wouldn't be the best choice for Charlie after all.
"Where did you go, Bells?" my father asks. He's flipping through the song selections on the personal jukebox at our table. Oh no…
"What do you mean 'where did I go,' Dad?" I'm trying to distract him, and I know it. Leave it alone, leave it alone, leave it alone. Please no music today. Please. I'm chanting my plea in my head, hoping beyond hope that somehow the idea will jump into Charlie's.
"You looked a million miles away just now. What were you thinking about?"
You really don't want to know. "Oh, yeah…I don't know. I guess I was just daydreaming. Maybe I'm just tired." I attempt to sound nonchalant. I can't exactly tell him the truth about what I was thinking. The meal he is about to eat is heart attack-worthy enough; he doesn't need me to further the process along.
"I'm sorry. Did you want to go home and nap instead of having lunch? You could have just told me. I'm sure you'd rather be home than be seen out here with your old man." His voice trails off, a mixture of sadness and disappointment.
My chest constricts slightly. This wasn't how I wanted today to go at all. I didn't mean to make him feel badly. I curse my inability to come up with lies on the fly as I watch him stare intently at the songs he's flipping through instead of meeting my eyes. I feel about as low as I've ever felt, but what could I have said? I was wondering if that waitress would make an acceptable girlfriend for you so that when I die, you have someone to take your mind off it a little? Somehow I think that wouldn't have gone over so well.
"Don't be silly, old man!" I say chuckling as I give his arm a little playful shove. "I don't want to go home and nap. I want to be here with you. How often do we get to do this?" I pull out the biggest smile I can muster, praying between it and my words I've managed to lighten the mood a little.
I watch him sigh deeply and lower his shoulders from around his ears. He looks so relieved and pleased by my answer that it elicits a genuine smile from me this time. My happiness is short-lived, however, when he suddenly begins to scratch the back of his neck and his eyes dart around nervously.
"I'm…yeah, I'm real glad to hear that, Bells. So…I was thinking that maybe we should—"
"Here's your lunch!" the waitress chirps as she lays our plates before us. "I told you I'd make sure your food was ready quick, didn't I Chief Swan?" she asks with a tone that can only be described as seductive.
As if that isn't enough, I'm nauseated by the fact she is winking brazenly at my father once again, but actually more than a little grateful for her appearance. Certainly by now, I can read Charlie's body language well enough to know when he's about to have a discussion that will end in both of our discomfort, and it sure looked like one of those moments before his chipper admirer brought our lunches.
"Thanks, Wendy. This looks delicious."
Her name is Wendy? Wendy the Winker? Well, of course it is. I just hope I'm succeeding in keeping my eye rolls internal, I think to myself, as Wendy struts off to a calling patron reluctantly.
"It does look good, Dad. Let's eat." I'm hoping to make him forget all about the conversation he was about to begin with me. Thankfully, if you place a couple ounces of red meat next to a pile of French fried carbs in front of him, his mind is usually blissfully occupied with them for quite a while.
This time is no different. We eat in amicable silence for a good fifteen minutes until an elderly man slowly makes his way to our table.
"How ya doing, Charlie?"
"Hey there, Doug! It's good to see you," Charlie replies as he stands to shake the man's hand. "I wasn't sure you were gonna come back to these parts, but it's great to see you back home."
"You know how kids are. They grow up and all of the sudden they think they know what's best for you, instead of the other way around. I just needed some time to set that daughter of mine straight."
Charlie chuckles at the man's declaration before turning to glance at me. "Speaking of daughters, I don't think you've met mine yet. Doug, this is my baby girl, Bella. Bella, this is Mister Scally."
"Oh my! So, this is the infamous Bella! It's awfully nice to finally meet you. Your father has done nothing but rave about you for years, my dear."
"Wow, I'm really sorry you had to listen to all that," I mutter as I awkwardly stand to shake the man's hand. "It's nice to meet you too."
"Sit, sit, and enjoy your lunch, Bella. I didn't mean to interrupt father/daughter time. I just wanted to come on over and say hi to you, Charlie."
"Nonsense, you didn't interrupt—" Charlie begins before his phone rings shrilly on the table. It's his cop phone, as he calls it. He isn't really a fan of cell phones in general, but the town makes him carry it in case he is ever needed in an emergency. He groans loudly before picking it up and answering.
"Chief Swan," he announces succinctly. He already has his cop face on, although I can detect the frustration with the interruption to our lunch in his eyes.
In mere seconds, the frustration disappears and is replaced with…horror? A chill runs through me as his eyes dart to me. A feeling settles in my stomach that I don't like one bit. Does his call have something to do with me? Someone we know?
"When?" A simple one word question followed by absolute silence.
"Where?" More silence.
"Why are you so sure?" His cryptic, brief questions are driving me crazy. What the hell is going on?
"I'll be right there," he says as he disconnects the call. "I'm so sorry, Bells, but I have to go."
"What's going on, Dad?" I ask worriedly.
He opens his mouth to answer, but closes it wordlessly. His eyes lock with mine for longer than normal, and I can see a plethora of emotions swirling within his eyes. They are so close to the surface that I'm convinced I can reach out and touch the fear, worry, sadness, and disbelief that circles in the irises that are so much like mine.
"I'm not…I don't know for sure yet. I need to go check something out."
"Want me to come with you?" I ask as I rise to follow him. His whole demeanor is freaking me out. I feel an inexplicable, but urgent, need to go with him.
"No!" he demands, a touch of panic in his voice. "I mean, you've barely touched your lunch and you're already too skinny. Stay here with Doug and finish, then go home and rest. I'll be there as soon as I can."
It's obvious he's trying to appear calm so I don't get concerned, but he isn't fooling me. The curiosity and unease I'm feeling grows stronger. What is he hiding? What could have happened that he's hiding the details from me?
"Yes, Bella, stay with this old man and talk with me. I've heard so much about you over the years, and it's been a long time since I've had lunch with such a wonderful young person that isn't related to me," Doug says, as he gently reaches out to touch my arm.
"Okay," I reply, perplexed by his insistence that I stay. Instinctively, my arms wrap around my midsection in my standard self-protection stance. It's a little weird to stay in this horrific diner with a man I don't know, but I also don't want to appear rude or to hurt his feelings. He's a friend of Charlie's, and seems like a kind older man, coupled with the fact that Charlie seems happy to hear me consent. Both men nod to each other before Charlie heads out the door without another word spoken.
"Thank you for agreeing to stay with me, Bella. As I was telling your father, I very recently came back to town. I didn't get to socialize or have many conversations outside of my daughter's home while I was staying with her," Doug explains sadly.
"Oh, that's terrible. Why was that, sir?"
"Please call me Doug, Bella. To answer your question, my daughter is just overprotective and was concerned about me." He chuckles lightly, but it lacks amusement and never reaches his eyes.
"She was concerned about you going out? Are you okay?" I like this man already, despite my usual shyness. It doesn't seem right that his daughter would try to keep him locked up inside her house unless there was a very good reason.
"That's a rather tricky question, my dear. I'm not sure I'll ever completely be 'okay' again, but I'm learning to adjust."
"I don't understand, but if you'd rather not tell me, I completely understand. I don't want to pry…" I feel a little intrusive, and regret asking so many questions. Everyone knows how private I am, how I hate people asking too many questions and prying into my life, so I'm appalled I just did it to Doug.
"I don't mind telling you my story, Bella, but I'm afraid it isn't a happy one. My beloved wife passed away three months ago. I'm learning to live life without her." There are tears in his eyes as he speaks, and I feel my own well also.
"I'm so sorry, Doug," I whisper.
"So am I. I'm not sure I quite believe it myself yet," he replies, his voice slightly strangled from the weight of emotion it holds barely below the surface.
I remain silent. What are the right words to say to someone in this situation? I've never had someone dear to me die before, yet the irony isn't lost on me, considering why I'm here in the first place. I hope Doug will still be around to support Charlie when my time comes. I wonder who will be around to help my mom...and my friends...and Jake...
"Do you have yourself a high school sweetheart, Bella? I'm sure a pretty young lady like yourself has plenty of boys vying for your attention," Doug says sweetly.
"Umm, yeah, I do have a boyfriend," I answer him meekly. It's always hard for me to talk about Edward since no one outside of his family-and maybe a couple within-seems to approve of our relationship.
"Does he treat you right? Shows you nothing but respect and gentleness? Accepts you for who you are and doesn't try to change you?"
I wince at the word change. After all, I am about to make the ultimate change so that Edward and I can be together in every sense of the word. Am I sacrificing too much of myself to please him? And what about respect? My mind goes back to all the times he's warned me about the wolves, especially my friendship with Jake, and how he's gone to great lengths to keep me as far away from my friends on the Rez every chance he gets. Isn't that disrespect? A general unacceptance for who I am?
"Sure, sure," I answer weakly, unconsciously borrowing Jake's favorite line. I don't look into his eyes when I answer. I don't want him to see the doubt that I'm sure resides in my own.
"It's key, you know, to a lasting relationship. Even when it's hard at times, I always allow my darling wife to have the wings she needs to fly," Doug explains. He has a faraway look in his eyes, as if he's literally replaying various times with his wife like he's describing in his mind's eye.
"What was her name?"
"Emma. My beloved's name is Emma."
It's breaking my heart to see the pain and longing on his face. I notice the way he still talks about her in the present tense as if she's merely on vacation and not really gone forever. I can't help but wonder who, if anyone, will continue to talk about me in that way after I'm gone.
"That's a beautiful name, Doug. Were you together a long time?" For whatever reason, I feel a drive to know everything I can about their love story without being too intrusive.
He chuckles softly. "We met when we were sixteen. Sweet sixteen...do they still use that term, Bella?"
I shrug. "Yes, I guess they do. My dad said it to me when I turned sixteen."
Doug nods, pleased with my answer. "Well, my Emma sure was sweet at sixteen. I was in love from the moment I saw her. On her eighteenth birthday, I got down on one knee and asked her to marry me in front of all our friends and family. Her parents had thrown her a party, and I wanted everyone we knew to see how much I loved her.
"We were married the year after, on a beautiful fall afternoon. Nine months later, our first child was born," he says. His entire face lights up more and more as he tells his tale, and the sparkle in his eye is unmistakable.
"How many kids do you have?"
"Two. A boy and a girl. They are the best things that ever happened to me, even if my daughter is driving me a bit nutty right now. Do you want children someday, Bella?"
It's an innocent question, but not one I know how to answer. The thought of being someone's mom terrifies me, and I had never given the whole idea much thought until that day on the mountain. Suddenly, the vision of mine and Jacob's two children, both a perfect combination of the two of us, replays itself in my mind. I saw myself pregnant our son, saw them with Charlie and Billy, and even saw them as adults watching Jacob and I play with their own children. Is this what my heart really wants? Do I really want a family, a legacy to leave behind, and not an eternity of youth and immortality?
"You'll have plenty of time to decide. You're still young," Doug says as he pats my hand gently. He must think I'm thinking about his question instead of having an internal tug-of-war over what my life could have been versus what it's about to become.
"It sounds like you and Emma had a wonderful life," I say.
"Oh, we've had our troubles like any couple," he corrects me. "These days, too many people give up as soon as they have an argument. Pure rubbish and laziness if you ask me. Emma and I, we had our arguments, but we never went to bed angry. No matter what happened during the day, we always made sure we did three things...
"We always snuggled up close to each other..." I can't snuggle up too closely with Edward, not without a heavy blanket between us, or I'll freeze. I guess that will be possible after I'm...changed.
"We always kissed each other goodnight..." Well, Edward and I do kiss...just not for too long since he's always afraid he'll lose control.
"And we always told each other we love each other." Love. I want someone to love me, unconditionally, just like Doug will always love his Emma.
"You're right though, we did have a good life. We had ups and downs, good and bad times, laughter and tears. We argued and then made up, which is always important and sometimes a lot of fun. We raised a family and built careers. We made mutual friends, as well as separate ones. She had her hobbies and interests, and I had mine. I spent almost sixty years with the same woman, and I am the luckiest man on this earth to have spent it with my best friend."
Having finished his speech, Doug blinks back the tears that fill his warm blue eyes. He is a little flushed from his passionate storytelling, and looks a little exhausted from it as well. Meanwhile, all I can do is stare in quiet admiration and awe of the man before me.
"Thank you, Bella," he says.
"For what? All I did was sit here and listen to your amazing story."
"Exactly-you listened. Ever since my Emma passed, people act like they want to talk about anything but her. I know they think they're helping or taking my mind off of what happened, but I don't want to forget. I would do absolutely anything to talk to her, see her, and especially hold her in my arms one last time. Since I can't do that yet, the least I can do is keep her memory alive every second that I still am.
"But I've taken up enough of your time today. It's Friday; I know a young girl like yourself will want to get going so you can spend time with your friends. Go have fun. Enjoy being young and alive," Doug says as he rises from the table with an audible sigh and a creak from his knees. "It's been a real pleasure spending this time with you, Bella. I hope to see you again soon."
With that, Doug shakes my hand gently before he ambles out the door slowly. I watch him for a minute before he disappears from my sight, though certainly not from my mind. His words reverberate through my mind like a never ending echo.
Friends...
I suppose it makes sense that Doug would assume that's what I'd be doing. Friday nights are supposed to be for friends, aren't they? Too bad I've isolated the pathetically few friends I've made at Forks High. It would just be too humiliating to call Jessica or even Angela at this point. And my vampire boyfriend is off with his family hunting whatever form of wildlife they can find and feed off of, a thought that I'd rather not think about...or the fact that it will be my existence soon as well.
Normally, the fact that I'd be alone on a Friday night wouldn't bother me. Lord knows I've done it often enough, but today I just really don't want to be alone. Lonely and alone, alone and lonely...and I would give everything I have to have even one person in my life that would drop anything just to be with me. But that isn't happening, is it?
Another night alone...
I'm resigned to the fact as I climb into the cab of my old red truck and turn the key in the ignition. The engine whines in protest at first before coming to life reluctantly. I pat the dashboards affectionately, knowing it would never let me down. Even though I adore it, everyone else I know either hates or makes fun of my truck.
Except for Jacob.
I try willing my...what is he now? He's been my best friend almost from the time my plane touched down in Forks. He was there when Edward left and my only thought was how the universe could open up a hole big enough for me to fall into. I know he has feelings for me that goes beyond simple friendship-feelings I reciprocate in ways I refuse to even think about-but none of that matters, right? I've made my choice, so there's no sense in dwelling on what could have been.
Right?
Except that I'm suddenly gripped with an overwhelming need to see him. I don't know if he'll even speak to me after all I've put him through. I've seen so many emotions in his eyes-joy, laughter, tears, love, pain, disappointment-but can I stand to witness disgust and hatred too?
I jerk the wheel abruptly, almost losing control of my truck and crashing into a nearby tree, to avoid going down the road that leads straight into La Push. I didn't realize I was headed in that direction. My heart wants to go to Jacob, but my head knows that's not...what? Appropriate? Right? Or is it just not safe? Not for the reason that Edward always spouts, but because it may not be safe for my ego or my heart to go if he rejects me? Or worse, if he doesn't reject me at all.
A beep from behind me breaks me out of reverie. Timidly, I give the driver behind me a slight apologetic wave before I step on the gas pedal a little too hard and propel down the road towards home.I shake my head in disgust as I ease off the gas and return to the little more than a snail's pace that I'm used to driving. To say I'm not pleased with myself right now is quite possibly the understatement of the year.
I'm still beating myself up as I pull into the driveway, and notice Charlie's police cruiser sitting there. Based on the way he left the diner, I didn't think he'd be here so quickly. My curiosity over his reaction at the phone call returns full force. Why did he react so badly if he was able to handle it in such a short time?
But apparently it wasn't handled the way he had hoped because here is my father-the strong, gruff, experienced Chief of the Forks Police Department-sitting on our worn couch cradling his head in his hands, his body turned in on itself, and radiating total despair.
"Dad?" I whisper. Terror rushes through me as I near the place he is sitting. I'm terrified of what will come out of his mouth, but need to know what has caused his devastation at the same time.
Charlie raises his eyes to mine in a slow motion I thought was only found in movies. I gasp and take a step backwards as the sheer pain hits me full force. His face is reddened and tear-stained. He is a man lost...and I am speechless.
"Bells...oh my God, Bella...I...it's..." Raw emotion wracks his being and closes his throat harshly. He can't get the words out, that much is obvious.
"What is it, Dad? Are you okay? What happened?" I'm begging him to tell me as I rush to him and drop to my knees before him.
"I can't. I don't know how to say the words." He shakes his head back and forth in silent resignation.
"Just tell me, Dad. It can't be that bad." Can it?
Charlie takes a deep breath as if he can simply draw in the strength he needs to speak from the action only to choke on his emotions once again. He recovers quickly though, and steels his spine in pure determination. Once again, he raises his eyes to peer deeply into mine.
"Remember the call I got in the diner?"
"Of course I do. It wasn't that long ago. In fact, I was surprised to see you home already."
"There was nothing left for me to do, Bells. It was already too late..." His voice fades away as he stifles another sob.
"Was someone...hurt?" I know it's bad, that much isn't difficult to figure out. I still don't understand the depth of the problem. I'm still afraid to know.
He only nods to me. No words, just a half-hearted gesture.
"Badly?"
He doesn't answer. The look in his eyes tell me what I need to know.
"Was it someone you know?" No words. Again. Just a barely perceptible nod and a look that I'm pretty sure will haunt me forever.
"Bella, it was...oh God, help me...It was Jacob, baby." His words stumble and stutter out as if it physically hurts to set them free.
"What was Jacob?" My mind can't wrap itself around his words. Or refuses to. The difference seems insignificant.
"The accident. It was Jacob. By the time I got there, he was already gone." A single tear weaves it's way down his ruddy cheeks and gets lost in his moustache and five o'clock shadow.
"No, you're wrong. You are so wrong, Dad. Jake's in La Push," I reply emphatically.
"I wish I was." Four little words. Nine letters. A simple response. They say so much though in their simplicity. They say something I refuse to believe.
"How do you know? How can you be so sure?" I demand. Nothing about this entire conversation makes sense to me. And I don't want it to.
"I saw the wreckage. I ran the plates myself. It was Jacob's motorcycle. And the description of the boy...it was Jacob."
He's up from the couch and pacing as he explains. He no sooner utters Jacob's name then he slams his fist into the wall in a rare explosion of emotion. My old Kindergarten picture jumps off the wall from the sheer force of Charlie's fist meeting the wall upon which it has, up until a few seconds ago, been hanging for the last thirteen years. I know it's going to hit the ground-there really isn't any other choice-yet it still startles me as the cheap wood splinters and the glass shatters across the floor.
"Why, Dad? What's going on?" I shriek desperately as I back away from the chaos on the floor. I don't know why I'm surprised when I stumble on my own retreating feet and fall flat on my ass. I'm shaken to the core and I know it. I've never witnessed such a show of raw emotion from Charlie before and it terrifies me.
More than anything, I'm terrified what he's saying is true.
"Those damn motorcycles, Bells! I warned both of you to stay far away from them, didn't I?" he yells, his voice shaking from pure rage and exasperation.
I don't answer. My eyes won't seem to lift from the brown pigtails and gap-toothed smile of my childhood. I'm fixated on the picture as if the innocence contained there will wash away the chaos of today.
"Well? Didn't I?" Charlie demands. He's standing over me, his face an unhealthy reddish hue and the veins bulging in his neck. I shrink back fearfully at the sight.
"No. No, no, no, no, no," I moan. My voice escalates with each no I utter and I shake my head vehemently.
Charlie drops to his knees beside me before whispering, "I'm so damn sorry, Bells. I didn't mean to yell at you like that. I know you're hurting too. I know you and Jacob...he was-"
"NO! Don't even say it! You are so wrong!" I plead with him, willing him to understand the absurdity of his words.
"You have no idea how much I wish I was wrong, Bells. I saw the wreck. The only good thing I can say is that Jake was killed instantly. He never suffered, thank God," he says as his arms encircle my shoulders.
I freeze immediately in surprise. Is my father, the emotionally awkward mirror image of myself, physically comforting me? Is he seriously holding me as if I am a child whose pet goldfish has just been found belly-up in a pet shop bowl?
"SHUT UP!" I scream directly into his blotchy face. "Don't you dare speak about Jake in the past tense! He's not dead, Charlie!" I shriek as I push and claw at his arms in an attempt to get him away from me. I can no longer tolerate his touch. If I continue to allow him, it will be as if I accept his tale of Jacob's death and I refuse to do such.
"Bells, I know how hard it is to believe but-"
"No, there isn't a but! He's somewhere in La Push. I know he is," I state emphatically as I push myself up from the floor. It's no easy feat. I'm mentally and physically drained, and my limbs feel as though they've become infused with jelly instead of muscle and bone. It takes every ounce of strength I possess to wearily to pull myself upright, even as I dig my fingers into the couch cushions for leverage.
"Bells-" Charlie says, his voice weary and laced with concern. He reaches for me once again, but I won't allow it. I thrust my hands up to ward him off before turning away completely.
"Not another word. I'm going to prove to you how wrong you are right now. I'm going to call their house and you'll see I'm right," I declare smugly over my shoulder.
"I tried calling earlier but no one answered. Bells, I need to speak to Billy if he answers. This needs to come from me."
His words stop me dead in my tracks. I'm not sure why what he said surprises me. It only makes sense that Charlie would've already tried to speak to Billy. Of course he never spoke to anyone or he would already know how wrong he is about who died in the accident earlier.
But then...why is Charlie so insistent that it was Jacob? My father is, above all else, an excellent cop. How can he be so wrong about this? And if it's not Jacob, then who was it? Who else would be on his bike?
It's not Jacob. It can't be him. I would know. Wouldn't I? It's not Jake. No stupid bike accident could take down the Alpha of the strongest pack of wolves to date. I'd KNOW.
I'm chanting all of this over and over in my head as I pick up the phone with shaking hands. Like an idiot, I stare at the phone hoping that somehow, some way, osmosis will take over and it will dial Jake's number without any input from me. A ragged breath whistles through my lips as my fingers finally find the buttons, and my heart beats erratically as I listen to each unanswered ring.
One...two...three...pick up the damn phone...four...five...someone, anyone...six...seven...
"He must already know."
Charlie's declaration interrupts me from my counting. I drop the phone, allowing it to slam against the wall. The sound reverberates through the eerily quiet kitchen. I stare at the dangling cord as it sways, occasionally knocking against the faded cornflower blue paint.
"Maybe Jake's out with Quil and Embry," I say feebly.
"And Billy?" Charlie retorts patiently.
"Maybe he's taking a nap or just didn't get to the phone in time. Maybe he's at Sue's. I don't know," I answer, throwing my hands up in frustration.
"I already tried Sue. She didn't answer either."
"You know what? This is ridiculous. I'm not going to stand here and argue with you anymore. I'm going to prove to you I'm right," I say as I start to walk past him.
"How are you going to do that, Bells?" he asks as he grasps my forearm with just enough pressure to stop me from continuing out the door.
"I'm going to Jake's house and dragging him back here so you can see for yourself how wrong you are," I explain through gritted teeth. He still has my arm in his firm grip, keeping me from getting the hell out of this house. All I want to do is go-to get away from the possibilities of tragedy, loss, profound regrets and missed opportunities.
"Bells, I don't think-"
"I'm sorry if this sounds mean, but I don't care what you think right now, Charlie. Do you have any clue what you're doing to me by insisting that Jake's... " I can't finish the sentence. Bile has risen into my throat, effectively cutting off any further conversation. If I say the word, the contents of my stomach will force its way out. If I say the word, will it become reality?
"I know, baby, I do," he chokes, his eyes filling with tears once again. "What can I do to help?"
"Just. Let. Me. Go." I spit out each word viciously while yanking my arm from his hand.
Startled, he releases my arm, letting his own flop to his side in utter defeat. He stands, slack-jawed and wide-eyed, searching my face for something he obviously needs to see. Although I am too wrapped up in my emotions to truly care what it is, he must see it because he simply lowers his head and retreats to the living room as if he can't get away from me fast enough.
I don't waste a moment more. I dash towards the door as quickly as my liquified legs will take me, stopping only to snatch my keys from the hook beside the door. With trembling hands, I jab the key into the ignition, amazed when not only do I achieve this, but when the truck's engine purrs to live a normal day, I would give my truck a loving pat, but nothing about today was normal. I felt like precious moments were ticking away, moments that were too critical to waste with the gesture.
I'm not thinking about the road before me, which turn to take, or the other drivers as they pass; instead, my mind replays today's events in vivid detail. As if I'm watching a movie, I see the waitress in her too-short skirt and blood red lips wink at my father. My heart constricts as I remember the haunting look on Charlie's face when he told me about the accident. Every word of Doug's tragic love story comes screaming back at me, taunting me, reminding me of the path I've chosen and showing me I'll never be able to have the love they once shared. I would never be able to call Jacob my loving husband, father of my children, best friend, supporter, confidante...he'd never be MY Jacob. So many possibilities...lost.
The old, red house appears before me just as the tears begin once more. I swipe at them harshly before launching myself out of the truck and up the rickety wooden steps. Pounding with every ounce of strength left in me, I pray for the door to open so someone can finally put an end to this nightmare, but all that answers is the echo of my knocks and an unforgiving silence. Undeterred, I race to the garage, ready to give Jacob holy hell for not meeting me as soon as he heard my engine roaring down the road.
"Jacob Black, you get out here this instant!" I demand in a strangled cry as I bang open the door.
Empty.
"Jake?" I whisper into the semi-darkness. I whirl in circles, searching every crevice for him. I'd laugh at myself in any other circumstance; after all, how could a 6'7" muscle-packed shapeshifter hide in such a confined place?
My eyes land on a discarded, ripped t-shirt lying on the workbench. I snatch it from its resting place and press it to my face, inhaling it like it's the very oxygen I need to breathe. The fabric doesn't smell of any fancy, store-bought cologne or even of plain soap, but rather of the wood of the forest trees, the freshness of the ocean salt water and...something indescribable. Every thread is infused with the uniqueness that is the very essence of my own personal sun.
My mind whirls into a slideshow of memories. I whimper as I recall Jacob before reality became completely infused with monsters and fairy tales, his long hair loosely pulled back in a hair tie, trying to scare me with tales of the Cold Ones as we stroll along First Beach; Jacob and I sharing warm sodas as he tinkers with the bikes; a transformed man-boy doing everything in his power to get me to realize he was now a shapeshifter while simultaneously wrestling with Sam's order not to tell me; the sun shining off the snow and reflecting his heartbroken but passionate face as he gathers me in his arms and kisses me right before the newborn battle; and a broken Jacob, lying in his bed as I break his heart yet again.
Please, please give me one more chance to fix all my wrongs. Please don't take someone as pure and beautiful as Jacob from this earth. Don't let this be true!
I move the shirt from my face and clutch it tightly to my chest like a lifeline as I scan the garage once again. Nothing looks different. In fact, it looks like he's recently been here, working on his Rabbit or his motorcycle gauging from the scattering of tools and greasy rags lying about. It gives me hope that I'm correct after all.
His bike...
A new horror rears its ugly head as I spy the dirty tarp that usually covers both of our bikes lying haphazardly in the corner. My bike stands in its usual place, but Jake's is...
"Damn you, Jacob! How dare you?" I yell towards the empty space as if it's the man himself. "You promised you'd always be here! You promised you'd never leave me! How fucking dare you break your promise?"
"Bella?"
A strangled scream escapes when I hear his voice. Just when I've convinced myself all hope was lost, he's before me, shirtless, his hair damp with sweat, his cutoff shorts unbuttoned and barely covering his hips as if they'd just been thrown on carelessly, and a look of pure confusion plastered across his face. It is, without a doubt, the most beautiful sight I've ever seen.
Without thought, I propel myself towards him, crashing my body against his with such force that he actually rocks backwards on his heels in surprise. I bury myself in the crook of his blazing neck, breathing in his scent and basking in the warmth as it spreads through my body. I can't find any words, but only garbled sobs and mumbled sounds that not even I can understand.
"Uh, Bella, would you like to explain to me what you're doing here and what the hell is going on?" Jacob questions from above my bent head.
"The diner...Charlie...phone call...left...accident...dead..." I stammer and stutter incoherently.
"Wait, what? Charlie's dead?" Jacob asks incredulously.
"No, you are!" I wail. I clutch his neck protectively and strain to push myself even further against him. I'm terrified if I let go for even a second, he'll disappear forever.
"What the hell are you talking about, Bells? I'm right here," he states.
"But...but...Charlie's so sure and your bike is gone and no one would answer the phone. I've been such an idiot, and now it's too late!"
"Look at me, Bells. I'm here," he demands. I won't though. What if I look up and realize he's all an illusion? I shake my head no repeatedly instead while struggling to reach out and grasp any piece of him I can.
"Isabella Swan, I told you to look at me," he insists. When I still refuse, he places both of his scalding, calloused hands on either side of my face, guiding my head until I have no choice but to face him.
My legs wobble unsteadily as I gaze into the depths of his eyes. He looks confused, concerned and something else I can't quite pinpoint, but only for a second before his blank, Alpha face slams back into place. I absolutely despise when he looks at me like that, but today, I can excuse it all away. He's alive and breathing which is all that matters.
Without warning, he withdraws his hands and takes two strides back from me. His eyes narrow suspiciously and he crosses his arms before asking, "Now that you see I'm still among the land of the living, would you care to explain what the fuck this whole performance is about?"
I cringe, both mentally and physically at the harshness of his words. My instinct is to erect the wall around myself that usually keeps people out, but today has taught me I can't afford to do that anymore. I slowly approach him and gently say, "I thought I lost you today, Jake."
His suspicious look lingers, even after my declaration. "What do you mean 'lost me,' Bella? When did you ever have me? You've made it crystal clear that isn't what you want."
"Jake..."
"Jake what? I'm not in the mood for mind fucks right now so if you could just tell me why you came here, I'd really appreciate it," he says roughly. Everything about his posture screams that he's closed himself off, from his crossed arms to his rigid stance and angry glare.
I sigh heavily, unsure if I'm strong enough yet to retell the tale, but what choice do I have? "I was having lunch with Charlie when he got a call from the station and took off before I even knew what was happening. I knew something bad had happened, but he wouldn't tell me what," I begin. My words spill faster with each word. I'm uncomfortable under his stare, nervous of his reaction and unaccustomed to revealing my feelings so openly.
"Anyway, Charlie took off and I stayed with Doug. Oh Jake, his story was so beautiful and heartbreaking at the same time! He finally made my stubborn eyes see what's been before me the entire time. I still didn't really accept it until I went home and saw Charlie though," I explain in a jumble of words. "Charlie was a mess-still is, I imagine. He said there was an accident today and that it was your bike involved. He told me you were dead." I say the last line in little more than a whisper. Even though he's standing before me, it's excruciating to say the words.
Jacob cocks his head and examines me critically once again. I can't read his emotions in the least since his blank Alpha face is too firmly in place there. He shifts his weight slowly between both feet, moving his eyes to the empty space his bike normally inhabits. Excruciatingly slowly, he returns them to me. If he doesn't say something soon, I'm sure I will explode. My nerves are shot, and I'm don't think I can take much more.
"Okay, let's break this down for a minute. First, it obviously wasn't me on the bike. It was Quil's cousin," Jacob explains, finally breaking the silence.
"Quil's cousin?" I'm confused all over again.
"Yeah, unfortunately. He came here from college for a visit. He was pretty much an insane troublemaker, like Quil only much worse. They came over earlier today while I was working here in the garage, saw the bikes, and wanted to go for a ride on one. I told the dumb fucker no, and I thought that was the end of it. Obviously it wasn't. Apparently, after Quil and I went on patrol duty, he came back and stole my bike. I don't really know what the hell happened that made him crash, but you know the ending."
"How terrible! I hope Quil and his family are okay," I say sincerely, even though I'm still thanking God that it wasn't Jake.
"It sucks for sure, but the kid was always a wild child," Jacob informs me.
"It was so horrible, Jake! Charlie was so sure it was you," I say, a sob threatening to emerge from just the memory.
"I do feel bad about that," Jacob says as he scratches the back of his neck. "Quil's family is already making arrangements so I'm sure he knows the whole story by now. Now, wanna tell me who the hell Doug is and what this story is that made you come to some eye-opening epiphany?"
There's the million dollar question. Am I truly ready to lay it all out for Jacob?
Taking a deep breath, I begin. "Doug is this nice, older man who's a friend of Charlie's. He stayed with me today after Charlie left the diner to go to the accident. One thing led to another and he ended up telling me all about his wife, their life together, and the keys to a happy marriage. By the end, I was actually jealous of this poor man. I realized how much I wanted someone to love me like he loved his wife, and I wanted to return those same feelings to someone just as special," I conclude. Much as I try, I can't stop the tears from streaming down my face. You'd think I wouldn't have any left to give, yet my vision is blurry and my cheeks are soaked with both shed and unshed drops.
Jacob extends his hand towards me as if he's going to wipe the tears that have fallen, only to jerk it back suddenly. "You were right: it's a beautiful story, Bella, but why are you here telling it to me?" he asks succinctly.
"Don't you get it? Do I have to spell it out for you?"
"That would be helpful."
"It's you, Jake. I want the kind of life that Doug had with his Emma, and the person that can give it to me has been standing in front of me all along. Kiss me, Jacob," I demand, using the same words I said to him on the mountain. If I'm honest with myself, it was also the day I realized just how in love with him I am.
Hope bubbles within my heart as he leans forward only to pull up straight again. He lowers his head, his eyes downward and begins to shake his head feebly.
"Jake? What's wrong? Don't you...will you kiss me like you did the last time I asked you to?"
This time, when he looks up, I can read his face perfectly. The mask has faded away, leaving sadness, fear, confusion and even a little anger to take its place. "No, Bells, I can't. I told you before I'm not in the mood to be mind fucked. I can't keep doing this, not even for you. The last time I kissed you, you ran to him as soon as I walked away to fight your battle for you."
"That's not going to happen this time. I swear to you, Jake," I promise as I take baby steps in his direction, hoping he won't retreat any further away from me.
"Why should I believe you?"
"Believe me, I know why you feel this way. I've been an idiot for way too long. All I can do is swear on my heart that's still beating-that's going to keep beating-that I mean every word I say." I've reached out and grabbed his hand while I say this, placing it firmly upon my chest so he can feel my beating heart for himself. A low growl emanates from his throat, and his eyes quickly darken with raw passion.
"I love you, Jacob Black. I am just so sorry that it almost took both of our deaths to finally admit it."
"I love you too, Bells. I always have and I know I always will."
"Will you please kiss me now?"
"Hell yeah, I will," he chuckles, mere seconds before his lips crash against mine.