Andy POV

"Andy!" Dad called from downstairs. "It's about time to get going."

He was in a good mood now. Only a few hours earlier he had been anyone's worst nightmare, yelling and screaming like the monster I knew he was.

I didn't want to sit next to him, hell I didn't think I could stand to look at him without puking anymore.

"Coming." I called back to him, wishing, not for the first time, that my mother was still alive.

Not that she had provided the warmth that he hadn't, but what she did do was fend him off. She would fight for my brother and I, my brother who was a free nineteen year old living in rural Montana—well, everything in Montana seems to be rural—with his girlfriend, far away from the mess that had become my life.

I had one more year, one more year I had to take this shit and try to reason with a man that just couldn't be reasoned with.

I picked up the heavy box full of my stuff, took one last look in the mirror, taking in account my bloodshot eyes and crooked nose from when I'd broken it when I was ten. My hair looked like it hadn't been washed in a week, my complexion was horrible at best and under my eyes were circles so deep they looked like criminal bruises.

I shook my head and trudged down the stairs, bracing for what I knew would come next; the fake sweetness and jokes, the nonstop jokes, like, as long as you were with him, there was no such thing as being serious until things got ugly.

I liked to say that my father had two modes. One was his happy mode where he played the best guy in the universe, always joking and happy. The second one was much more disturbing. It was when he was in a bad mood, when he yelled at the top of his lungs and demanded that you show him something that I was sure he didn't even know the definition of, much less how to show it.

Respect.

Oh how such a coveted thing it was to respect and be respected. But I had never been respected, never had anyone in my life with enough…heart to show me respect.

So I trudged along, trying my best to ignore my father. When he sensed I was in this mood he normally left me alone, or, well, if leaving me alone counted for flashing me amused smiles every other second as if I were just putting on a nice show.

He drove us to the airport, bitching about the price of baggage and how horrible security was and how bad the government screwed up this time. Albeit, I didn't like having to practically strip for the security guards, but I didn't take it that seriously.

My father had a problem with authority. He felt that he was his own boss and could break all the laws he felt like breaking. Now that's the makings of a real criminal.

When we finally made it through to the terminal, dad had quieted down and gone off somewhere to get us coffee. I picked up a book that I was reading and read until he came back, not daring to pull out my iPhone like I desperately wanted to. He hated it when I listened to music; he said I disengaged myself from the conversation even if there was none.

So I just sat and read until our boarding was called and we trampled onto the plane.

Thankfully, we were not in the same row with each other. We were at least half the planes worth away from each other. I sighed in relief as I sat down and my father passed by me without a word, taking his seat much farther back rather begrudgingly.

Six rather boring hours later, we arrived in Port Angeles, intending to take a car and drive up to the Quileute reservation where dad had bought a house.

The ride was long and awkward, neither of us really saying anything except for a few brief words.

When we arrived, we began moving the boxes inside the small house. Well, okay, it was mostly me that did all of the manual labor. My father never lifted a hand to help just like he never had. And I thought that men were supposed to be manly.

After all the boxes were moved in, I sat down for a break, rummaging through my own bag until there was a knock on the door.

Jacob POV

"She's having a goddamed baby." I said, my chest swelling with anger. This couldn't be happening, it just could not. First that filthy bloodsucker had to take her, now he had her saddled with a child that was sure to kill her.

"Jacob," Sam said, gaining my attention. He pointed up to my house or, well, the house next to my house where a moving truck had just pulled up.

A girl with hair black as night moved out of the truck, going around back to help with the boxes. I couldn't see her face, but I felt a strange draw to her, something that told me to go up and introduce myself.

But I couldn't. At that moment, I was in too much of a bad mood to do much of anything but rant.

Hours past and the girl kept working. Her father, who was watching from inside the house, never even bothered to ask her if she wanted a break, if she wanted some help.

A strange anger came to me at that thought, pricking me like a needle. The girl finally finished when the sun was just going down, walking into the house gratefully.

"Jacob, it's been long enough. Go greet your new neighbors. We'll discuss what to do about Bella and her child while you're gone and fill you in later." I rolled my eyes but obeyed. It had been and alpha command; there was no way I couldn't obey it.

I walked up to the house, giving the door a light knock and waiting.

The girl's father came to the door, keeping the screen closed in front of him. Behind him, I could see his daughters raven colored hair, but she was still not facing me.

"Hi," I said a bit awkwardly. "I'm Jacob Black, your new neighbor." I held out my hand as he pushed the screen door open and shook it.

I didn't like the feel of his skin against mine. It sent shiver's up my spine, making me shudder.

"Andy, get out here." He called to his daughter.

I saw her back tense as she set down the glass of water she had been drinking from and came to stand in the doorway.

I locked eyes with her immediately, pulled in from those pale blue eyes of hers that seemed to have just the smallest hint of both green and violet in them.

The world seemed to stop and it was no longer gravity holding me up.

It was her.