A/N: Major thanks to my big brother-in-law for helping me out with the mechanic scene at the end. Don't know how I would have known what I was doing without him!
I hope you enjoy this (super long, 22 page) chapter, lovelies!
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Though I had done this twelve times over in my very long, purposeless—until just over a year ago—life, it never failed to surprise me what the approach of graduation did to the students around me.
Nearly every one of the seniors' thoughts was frenetic with anxiety, anticipation, and even panic. With finals still ahead of us, most of the intellectually minded students hadn't quite gotten around to the excitement part yet.
Though every thought in my head today was harsher, louder, than usual, there was one voice that stood out above everyone else's. Beau and I strode hand-in-hand through the cafeteria door, Becca Cheney's thoughts nearly hysterical in my head.
…Over a hundred announcements to write out… And studying… And work… And that mix-up about my living situation in the Fall…
Across the room, Allen had his arm over his girlfriend's shuddering shoulders. Her body had responded palpably to the panic she endured. She was tachycardic and close to hyperventilation, and I feared she might be on the brink of an anxiety attack.
She didn't seem to notice us as we took our seats.
"Beccs, don't worry," Allen tried to assuage her, "It's gonna be fine."
He was concerned for the girl he loved, of course, but he didn't understand the severity of her panic over the prospect of her graduation announcements. He couldn't hear the distorted, irrational thoughts that were stemming from what bit of logical remained in her anxiety-riddled brain chemistry.
Finally, Becca seemed to notice our presence, and glanced up at us, pushing her long, dark hair over her shoulders. "Edythe—have you sent your announcements out, yet?"
I smiled at her, careful to keep it soft and friendly, as not to frighten her. "All done."
Becca groaned. "Of course you are," she muttered under her breath, "Of course—everyone else but me has their announcements sent out…" More loudly, she added, "My mom has a thousand cousins and she expects me to hand-address one to everybody. I'm going to get carpal tunnel. I can't put it off any longer and I'm just dreading it."
Where did all my time go? Why did I put it off for so long…? Her thoughts continued to race, growing to such a frenzied rate they were almost indecipherable.
"Becca," Allen tried again, "If you're really dreading it so much, I can come over and help you out if you want me to."
"I'll help, too," Beau volunteered immediately, "If you don't mind my awful handwriting."
I smiled softly at him, smoothing my thumb over the back of his hand. It was so selfless of him to step up right away to volunteer. But I also knew it had to do with his attempts to appease Charlie's new guidelines. It was clear he wanted Beau to spend time with his friends—the ones outside of the Cullen family.
Besides, I had always liked Allen. Of most teenagers I'd ever met, Allen was good through and through. His thoughts had always seemed more benevolent than others', his patience and compassion for others unprecedented. It would good for Beau to spend some time with him, before… Before…
But I couldn't bring myself to complete the thought.
"Aren't you grounded?" Allen asked now. I don't want him going out of his way to help Becca if it's only gonna get him in trouble.
"Nope," Beau said, grinning cheerily, "I got let out early for good parole. Who woulda thunk, hey?"
The group discussed the semantics of getting together, and I watched Beau's face as he talked animatedly. So many of the friends he'd made when he first came to Forks had left him behind during his heartache after I'd left him. I felt extremely ashamed for having played such a big part in it—I'd heard the words they wanted to say to me in their thoughts, but would never be brave enough to do so.
But despite everything, Allen and Becca had stayed faithfully by Beau's side. I considered myself lucky to have played a part in the conception of their relationship. I hoped, after we'd graduated and they'd gone off to college, that Allen and Becca would have a happy life together.
Allen's thoughts were more and more often oriented around the possibility of proposing Becca's hand in marriage—but his hesitations were rooted in the fact that they were so young, and he had no idea how Mr. Cheney would react to his infatuation with his daughter. Whether it was in a year, or in ten, I knew the prospect of their marriage was only an eventuality—I didn't need Archie's vision to see that.
Speaking of Archie's visions… I gave him a sideways look when I saw the grandiose ideas flitting through his mind, spurred by the revelation of Beau's recent freedom. At an astonishing rate, they grew to improbable proportions, and I was about to say something, when Beau spoke up.
"I was thinking something within the country, Archie. I'm not that free." He smirked at my brother when Archie's expression grew crestfallen.
"Free is free," he grumbled, far too bothered for what the situation allowed.
Everybody broke into laughter—only Beau and I knew Archie certainly was not joking.
Quickly placated by Beau's promise of a weekend celebration, they lapsed into an easy conversation about their options. Before too long, Beau seemed to lose interest in the conversation, though I was the only one who noticed.
At first, he just seemed distracted, but then the familiar v-shaped furrow appeared between his brows, and his eyes became troubled. When his knee started bouncing, I leaned in, preparing to ask him if he wanted to leave. We could sit in my car and talk—maybe he just needed some air.
Just then, Archie froze—abruptly cutting off mid-sentence, and lapsed into a jarring premonition. Jarring in the fact that it totally consumed him, and yet the flickering images were so indistinct and blurry, it was difficult to make out what it was we were looking at.
After a few seconds of his concentration, the gloom of the vision lifted a little, and the images were more clear: The Sol Duc river, the stretch of road between our house and town, the view of Beau's house from the shadows of the forest… And a flash of fiery red hair.
We narrowed our focus, physical response rising in our bodies.
But I knew even before I saw the sadistic crimson eyes, or the salacious smile on the feral vampire's too-perfect lips.
Victor would leap the expanse of the Swan property, coming to cling to the sill of Beau's bedroom window.
Archie's vision overtook me with just as much force as it had him, and I had to force myself to remember that I was holding Beau's hand—not to squeeze too tightly—that he was safe in the middle of the high school's cafeteria.
As much as the terror gripped me—Beau would be in jeopardy, I could not leave him for a minute!—equal volumes of malicious anticipation also funneled through my thoughts. Once my family and I instilled a safety plan for Beau, we would be free to wait for the sick monster to come our way, and finally, finally, I would lay all my anxieties about the constant cloud—or, at least, one of them—hanging over Beau's head.
In only a few days' time, I would disassemble Victor's body, down to his littlest toes, set the pieces ablaze, and a part of my mind would blissfully be released from the agony it had endured for too long—constantly wondering where he was, when he would come, whether the four hour timeframe in which Beau worked an afternoon shift at Newton's was putting him in the hands of danger.
But, of course, I would not subject this bit of revelation to Beau. He had enough on his plate right now, and I would not add more to his burden. It would easily be taken care of over the course of an evening. While Beau slept peacefully, my family and I would do away with one of the qualms I knew was constantly bothering him.
I knew because he spoke of it in his sleep, and though his mumblings always alluded to his concern for me in the face of an imagined showdown with Victor, I knew it was the entire premise he was worried about.
Becca and Allen were becoming confused, even worried, now, as Archie continued to stare fixedly, blankly, at nothing.
I waited half a second longer to see if he would respond to Allen's vocal prodding, but he remained unmoving, so I laughed to shift the attention from Archie to myself, and then I kicked him hard underneath the table.
I would have earned a glare from Jessamine for that—she much rather preferred to deflect the attention and allow Archie's visions to play out to their end. She didn't believe in jarring him out of them physically, lest he miss something.
But there was nothing to miss now—and from the way the premonition was progressing, there was nothing else we would like to see.
"Is it naptime already, Archie?" I quipped, locking my eyes on his, which quickly refocused. The tension in his shoulders relaxed, and he recovered quickly, easily.
"Sorry—got lost in thought for a sec there."
Becca laughed. "Story of my life!" she attempted to empathize.
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To avoid answering the questions in Beau's eyes, I stayed extra close to his friends for the rest of the day. I chatted animatedly with them between classes, ensuring Beau would not have a moment of time alone with me to inquire about the answers he didn't need to worry about.
I had no hopes of brushing Archie's vision off, and I knew Beau had noticed the intense glance my brother and I had shared after the lunchtime conversation had gotten underway again. He'd decided with certainty that Victor would not visit Forks until Saturday evening, judging by the position of the moon in the sky he'd seen in his vision, but he'd known I would want to take extra precautions to remove Beau from the soon-to-be murder scene.
Truth be told, I was disappointed I wouldn't be here to do the dismantling myself. I'd spent quite a bit of time building up the moment inside of my head—but, of course, Beau's safety was of utter importance, and I wasn't going to send him off to Florida by himself.
After all, how many times would we have to separate ourselves to prove it just wasn't a good idea?
The vouchers my parents had gifted him for his eighteenth birthday were just shy of expiring, so the timing really was perfect. I just had to think of a way to bring it up without sounding suspicious.
When the final bell rang, we started out to the parking lot together. A momentary frisson of panic coursed through me when I realized all of our usual counterparts were either too far ahead of or behind us to strike up any form of natural conversation.
So I found myself doing something desperate. Something I swore I would never do while I remained sane.
"Hi, McKayla."
She slowed, just a couple feet ahead of us, and tossed her flaxen curls over her shoulder. She turned hesitantly, as if not quite sure she'd heard me right. When she saw me staring expectantly at her—trying to ignore the sudden frightened lurch of her heart—she slowed further. McKayla glanced around us, as if wondering if there was some other McKayla whose attention I was attempting to garner.
"Uh, hey," she said, allowing me to fall into step beside her, even though all the warning bells inside her head told her to move faster. "What's… Up?" She glanced warily at Beau. What does she want? Why is she talking to me? Am I in some alternate universe?
"How were your studies?" I inquired, matching my pace effortlessly with hers. Beau stumbled a bit in his attempt to catch up, and I blindly caught his hand to steady him.
"Um… Fine?" she said as we all headed toward the parking lot together. Who calls them studies anymore? Weird.
I asked her every friendly query I could think of, resorting to drastic measures when I ran out of casual small talk.
"How's your Civic running?"
McKayla cast another bemused glance at Beau, who was trailing along behind us. "Fine," she replied automatically, and then remembered that it was only starting half of the time. "Actually," she corrected herself, "Not so great."
She's got a brother who's good with cars, right? Royal—he graduated last year? Maybe he'd know what to do…
"What's going on with it?" The concerned expression on my face was surprisingly difficult to assume.
"I don't know," she admitted. "The ignition only fires about half the time, and I'm starting to get worried I might end up stranded somewhere." She hesitated, wondering why the sudden picture of herself and me, abandoned on the shoulder of some dark logging road intimidated her so much.
Like I have reason to be scared of her, she tried to soothe herself, She can't be taller than 5"4, and she looks like she hardly weighs 105! I've been playing volleyball for years—I could take her… Right?
She wasn't convincing herself.
I listened politely while she ran through the possibilities. "I had my dad check the ignition fuse and that was fine, so then he maybe thought it was the distributor cap, but that was fine, too. Then he said it might have something to do with the spark plugs, but I just replaced the battery."
Why? she wondered again as her eyes darted to my face and then away almost immediately. She didn't want to meet my eyes. Why is she talking to me? It's freaking me out…!
"Perhaps it's the cables?" I suggested politely. I would have liked to give her a nice wide grimace, to see her truly go pale at the thought of how scary I could be. But she was trying to be civil—and I had to give her credit for that.
"Maybe," she said doubtfully, though she really had no premise to doubt me. "I'll have my dad look at it again—but I'm probably better off just taking it in to Dowling's." Even though I won't be able to afford it—but Dad barely knows what he's doing under there, and I worry he'd wreck something before he fixed it…
"I know a few things," I offered, "I could take a look, if you like. My brother, Royal, has taught me well. And if something stumped me, I could always give him a call and he could walk me through it. Just let me drop Archie and Beau off, and I can meet you over at your house."
Both Beau and McKayla gaped at me.
Okay—this has to be some sort of joke… Or a prank, or something… I don't get it…
"Uh, thanks for the offer, Edythe," McKayla stammered once she'd recovered her composure, "But I have to get to work. Maybe some other time?"
"Certainly," I assured her, grinning more widely now.
It conveyed the passive-aggression I was going for, and McKayla's heart skipped and lurched. She fumbled her keys, and with a hasty, 'See ya' she ducked into the relative safety of her little black car.
"What was that?" Beau demanded as I pulled him toward the Volvo where Archie was already waiting, two cars down.
"Just being helpful," I said, sure to keep my tone innocent as he held the driver's side door open for me.
Where Beau couldn't see my face, I gave Archie a pointed look, and he immediately launched into a lengthy jabber—the likes of which had Beau struggling to get a word in edge-wise. Granted, he didn't put up much of a fight. After a minute or so, he settled into his seat and began to fiddle with the radio.
The Florida trip's a great idea, Archie thought as we headed north, I see no problem with it. You might have to cajole Charlie a bit, but he'll agree eventually.
I hadn't really decided on that course of action as of yet, but after it had been confirmed that it was a foolproof plan, I didn't see why I would need to search for another route. The only real issue would be that I would be unable to go outside in the sun, but I had come up with my excuses before, and I would come up with them now.
When I pulled up to the mouth of our driveway, Archie gathered his book bag and started to get out. As we said our goodbyes, he threw me a sharp look.
All you have to do is convince him. He's the most stubborn part of the whole plan. He threw a quick nod at Beau, too fast for him to intercept with his human eyes.
I nodded inconspicuously as he climbed out and shut the door behind him.
I couldn't quite shake the image Archie tossed at me before he traipsed off into the trees.
Victor, smashing Beau's bedroom window… Pulling him out of his bed and snapping his wrist in the process.
"Oops," he would say, grinning maliciously, not really very apologetic at all.
I braced myself for Beau's inquisition, formulating appropriate, calm responses in my mind. But as we headed back toward town, Beau didn't say anything—though I felt the tension grow more and more strained with each rotation of the tires.
When I snuck a quick glance at him out of the corner of my eye, I saw the mechanisms behind his eyes working, and I felt my shoulders tense. This was one thing I didn't particularly want him figuring out. I was about to ask him to just leave it alone, but figured that might cause more suspicion than good, so I kept my mouth shut.
By the time I pulled the car into the driveway, I couldn't stand it anymore. I had to say something.
"Light homework load tonight."
I snorted silently at myself. Nice one, Edythe.
"Uh huh."
"Do you suppose Charlie would be too objectionable if I came inside?"
"He didn't seem to mind when you picked me up for school this morning," he replied, and popped his door open.
I let him lead me inside and up the stairs, realizing I was holding my shoulders too tensely, not breathing, as we entered his bedroom. I waited for the demanding questions, but they didn't come. Instead, I was surprised when he crossed to his computer and switched it on, chucking his bag by his bed on the way.
He sat in the swivel chair as he waited for the monitor to boot, pushing his left foot against the desk to spin himself clockwise. I watched him make a couple rotations, deciding he was sufficiently distracted, and then pulled open the slim drawer of his bedside table.
Underneath a couple of loose papers, I found them collecting a fine layer of dust. I plucked the travel vouchers from their hiding place and slid them deftly into my purse. When I looked up at Beau again, he was still spinning in his desk chair, staring at the floor. The v-shaped pucker was again apparent between his eyebrows, and I knew he was thinking about this afternoon.
Before I was fully aware of what I was doing, I was in front of him, sliding myself onto his lap, and halting the spinning chair.
"You're going to make yourself dizzy," I murmured, nuzzling his ear.
When my cool skin brushed against his, his heartbeat picked up, his breath catching. In a matter of seconds, his warmth was penetrating the surface of my granite-hard skin, comforting and, at the same time, igniting a smolder just underneath the petrified flesh.
It spread quickly, possessing every inch of my body, but concentrating most in my lips and stomach. It was a tingling, aching, quivering sensation—and as much as it was physical, the reaction in my mind was even more beguiling.
The world around us seemed to disappear, and Beau became my only focus. His perfect visage, the sound of his heartbeat and breathing, the scent of his skin, his hair and his blood, the feeling of the pure heat radiating off of him.
In this moment, there was only me, only him, and the space between us—space which was suddenly unbearable. I needed him closer despite the fact that I was already sitting in his lap.
I lifted my head, weaving my fingers through his hair and holding his face just inches from my own. Both of our lips were parted, and for a couple heartbeats, we passed air back and forth. As I inhaled his fragrance, the familiar burn scorched my throat—but the pain was easy enough to ignore.
"I'm already dizzy," Beau whispered, and as he spoke, I could feel the tremble of his words reverberate through the air and echo across my lips, "But it's not the chair that's doing it."
Barely cognizant of my own thoughts, I crushed my lips recklessly to his—completely and totally overcome by him.
I wasn't as careful as I probably should have been—it was easy to let my lips move along with his when my mind was in this half-hazy state. It was easy to pull myself tighter to his chest. When his hands clutched my waist, dragging up to seize the base of my ribcage, the ghost of a shudder ran through me—it was easy to let him do that, too.
The responses in my body and my mind told me I should stop this before it went too far, but the sensation in my head was distracting—it was akin to tinnitus without the high keening sound.
The forgiving structure of his chest through his thin t-shirt brought heady and irresponsible whims to mind—to slip my hands up under that thin layer of material, and feel the anatomy of the muscle underneath… To press my shape tighter to his shape, until there was no breathing room left between us… To allow his heat to soak into me like I was, suddenly and unexpectedly, nearly the same temperature that he was.
Beau shuddered, and I castigated myself for losing my focus, for disregarding the inevitable chill of my skin. Resigned to the fact that I would need to put some distance between us to ensure he didn't get too cold, I exhaled and began to pull away.
But Beau knew my body's cues so well. He knew I was about to end the kiss, so of course he did the only thing that seemed reasonable in his mind—he pulled himself to me tighter, his lips parting against mine, his sweet breath surrounding me, and suddenly I was the dizzy one.
When his tongue, soft and warm, brushed against my bottom lip, all coherent thought failed me.
The lust was like a tidal wave, or a tsunami, coming up to drown me.
It was one thing to endure the scent of his blood, but when he allowed me taste his skin like this…
Taking advantage of my single microsecond of clarity, I unwound my arms from around his neck, and reached up to restrain his face.
Struggling to regain total composure, I ducked my head to brace it against his attractive shoulder. "Beau." I meant to sound disapproving, reprimanding, but the tenor of my voice startled me—ragged like raw silk, and shockingly unsteady.
Beau's long, slender fingers traced the vertebrae of my spine, electrocuting me with stunning, pleasurable sensation.
"I could say I'm sorry," he offered.
"So could I," I replied, lifting my head to meet his eyes, "But it wouldn't be true."
Beau blinked, and the color in his irises shifted like a tropical storm.
"Maybe I should go sit in the rocking chair."
Beau reached up to touch my bottom lip with the tip of his pointer finger. By the way his gaze lingered there, I knew he wanted me to kiss him again, but I honestly didn't think I possessed that kind of self-control.
"If you really want to…" he said grudgingly.
I couldn't help but grin at him. Want? Definitely not. Need? Probably.
It was a surprisingly difficult task to extricate myself from his embrace—though he let me go willingly enough. I was surprised to find that my body really preferred not to be separated from his.
I forced the swirl of my thoughts to slow, and focused on distracting myself.
I didn't think Beau was immune to the force of our lustful embrace, either, as I watched him shake his head a few times—as if to clear it—as he turned his attention back to the computer, which sat waiting and ready for him now.
"Please pass my well wishes on to your mother," I requested as he pulled up his email software.
"Sure," he said easily.
As he read through her letter, I watched the various expressions play across his face—the shake of his head and the adoring smirk quickly morphing into a frown of disapproval. At one point, he laughed softly to himself. At another, his expression shifted into familiar, troubled territory.
Unable to help myself, drawn by his shifting, perplexing expressions, I got up and crossed the room to stand over his shoulder. When I glimpsed Julie's name in the parting line of Renee's email, I went rigid. She was asking about her—wondering why Beau hadn't been mentioning her much lately—she thought they'd been such good friends…
I tried to remind myself that Beau had every right to whichever friends he chose to have, that I had no control over who he saw or not… But then quickly contradicted myself with the realization that Julie Black was a werewolf—an unpredictable, temperamental dog, and in this case, as Beau's girlfriend and protector, I did at least have a say over his safety.
I didn't want to be controlling, but I would be if I had to be… And lately, I'd had to be. Because Beau seemed fixated on bestowing his gracious apology on the friend who had, yes, saved his life once upon a time, but who lately had been crass and cruel and cold toward him—and above all, was more of a danger to his life than any of his other friends had ever been. I understood a bond had formed between the two while I'd been absent, that she had coaxed him through the terrible months of his depression, but so many friendships were temporary. Why couldn't this one be?
Beau typed his response quickly, filling Renee in on the details of the last few weeks of his life. I watched him paint a happy picture for Renee, and felt tenderness rise up inside me in response.
The fact that Beau adored his mother so, that he tried so hard to fill her head with appeasements and placations touched me.
"Your mother is very lucky to have a son as thoughtful as you," I observed when he hit 'send'.
Beau jumped, not having realized I was standing behind him. Swiveling toward me in the chair, he shrugged. "It's no big deal."
"I think it is," I argued, "Most eighteen year old boys are too busy with their own lives to worry about keeping their mothers up to date. You love her."
Beau flushed a little, probably made self-conscious by my persistent doting. "Well, yeah."
I smiled softly at him. "I think it's sweet," I insisted, and then pulled the tickets out of my purse, casually fanning myself with them.
Beau's eyes widened when he saw them. He opened his mouth. "Where—"
"You miss your mother," I told him, batting my lashes demurely at him over the makeshift fan I held in front of my face, "You've been speaking about her in your sleep more frequently lately."
Beau's gaze flicked back and forth between my face and the vouchers.
"These are about to expire," I informed him, which appeared as a surprise to him, "But we still have a little time left. Your punishment has been lifted, and your weekend is wide open due to the fact that you wouldn't escort me to prom again." I grinned widely at the apprehension in his eyes.
"Florida?" his tone was skeptical.
I nodded enthusiastically.
For some reason, Beau seemed conflicted about this. "I don't know," he hedged, "It just seems a little soon… I just got back on Charlie's good side—"
"I'm sure your father won't object to you seeing your mother."
I felt bad for pushing, but this was the best chance of getting him out of town willingly. I doubted the idea of a weekend tour of Dartmouth would go over better than this.
Beau contemplated a moment. I couldn't fully comprehend his expression—as if he were torn between two sides. I knew for a fact that a good part of him missed his mother, and wanted to see her. However, he seemed to be fighting himself on it.
Finally, he shook his head. "I don't think it's a good idea."
I sighed, hating to be manipulative, but the inevitability of our weekend departure was going to happen, one way or another. "I didn't want to bring this up," I began, starting solemnly at the floor to play it up just a bit. Then I lifted my eyes back to his face, "But the circumstances in which we met last time, in Phoenix, were not my idea of preferable. I'd like to get to know your mother a little more—seeing as I'll be her daughter-in-law soon." I grinned at him.
I expected the convulsive swallow, and the glimmer of panic in his eyes. He shook his head again. "Not this weekend."
The frustration crested behind my sternum. He hadn't asked a single question about Archie's vision from this afternoon, but I was beginning to suspect he was being so stubborn about this because of it.
"I think this weekend is perfect," I countered, ready to take drastic measures when the resolve hardened his jaw.
"No—another time."
With a steeling breath, I prepared myself for the avenue of tactic I never wanted to use, but would resort to if it came to it. It seemed as if things had come to it… Guilt. "I just fear… That your mother doesn't like me very much. After last winter, I doubt she sees me in a very decent light, and I want to try and rectify her negative connotations of me, if at all possible. I don't want to have an antagonistic relationship with her if I can help it."
Beau appraised me, and for a moment I thought he was going to doubt my words. But his eyes softened. "Don't worry about that," he said, "Renee is way more forgiving than you think. She understands what went on between us. She doesn't see you any differently than she did before last winter. Besides—aren't you always telling me it doesn't matter what other people think?"
"Beau," I said, sighing, "Graduation is mere weeks away—"
"Like a month."
"—And we're running out of time." The realization of just how little time we had left tended to bombard me at the most inappropriate of times. Now, the seriousness of it seemed to wipe my feet out from underneath me, making it difficult to concentrate on the conversation at hand.
"We have plenty of time," he argued, but I could see the anxiety surface in his eyes.
I hated to play on that, but desperate times called for desperate measures. "Not as much as you'd think."
"Look," he huffed, rolling his eyes, "I won't be having any kind of celebration if this causes another uproar with Charlie. Let's just… Take it slow, okay? Start with a movie in Port Angeles or something…"
I could see I was getting nowhere with this, and I felt my shoulders slump in defeat. "Fine—we'll talk about it later." I was beginning to see that my only real chance of convincing him would be to first convince Charlie. Though I didn't feel right going over Beau's head like this, the matter was important enough that I would do it if I needed to.
"We'll go," he assured me, "It's just… The timing's not good, right now…"
No, the timing is exactly right!
"We've still got some time before the vouchers expire, right?"
I nodded grudgingly.
"Yeah—so we'll have Archie look ahead, and see when the best time to bring it up with Charlie will be. That way, everybody's happy."
I opened my mouth, ready to pick up the argument again, but Beau interjected.
"Speak of the devil—what was it Archie saw today, at lunch? You never told me."
The sudden stress of his question—which I had known was coming, but somehow, it still took me off guard—had my muscles rigid with surprise. I could feel his eyes on my face as he asked the question, and I knew he was measuring my reaction.
I didn't want to lie, I hated lying to him, but it was the only way, I could think of, that would keep him calm. This was one thing he didn't absolutely need to know. I decided, to ease my guilt, that I would confess to my evasion after the matter was dealt with. He wouldn't be happy about my dishonesty, but I much preferred his displeasure, or even anger, rather than bringing him even more fear. I had put him through enough traumas to last a lifetime—and I refused to force him to endure anymore.
That made it easier to fabricate my story.
"He's been seeing Jessamine in a strange place, somewhere in the southwest, he thinks, near her former… family. But she has no conscious thoughts of returning, so he's worried about her."
"Oh." The relief in his tone solidified my confidence that prevarication had been the correct course of action. His eyes flickered to the ground, and he almost looked embarrassed.
"I didn't realize you'd been worrying," I lied again, "If I'd known it was causing you so much anxiety, I would have told you sooner. Regardless, it's most likely nothing to worry about."
He nodded, still looking distracted. The back of his neck was pink, and his fragrance was made more potent by his blushing. I went to lay my hand on the back of his neck, feeling the concentrated heat pulse against my cool palm.
He looked up at me and smiled, though it seemed a little forced. Did he not believe my lie? The indecision behind his eyes hinted at the idea, but he didn't push the topic anymore. He suggested we head downstairs to get our homework out of the way, and I followed him without argument.
We spread our things out on the kitchen table and got to work. My assignments were old news, and I worked through them quickly, without effort.
Beau labored over his calculus questions—a subject I knew he'd always had difficulty with.
When he glanced up and saw I'd finished already, he rolled his eyes and said, "Of course."
"What?" I'd inquired curiously.
He eyed my stacked books and then shook his head, turning his attention back to his book. "Nothing."
He slogged through the equations a few minutes more, his tension rising exponentially. He began to gnaw at his lip and bounce his knee, and I heard his systolic pressure rise numerous degrees.
Finally, he threw his pencil down. "I give up." He stood, and turned toward the fridge, beginning to pull out various ingredients and set them on the counter.
Automatically, I rose and went to his side. "Can I help?"
Beau appraised me, his expression caught somewhere between disbelief and surprise. "Uh, sure," he said, and set me up slicing vegetables.
It was an easy enough task—though the earthy smell put me right off—and I was finished slicing the mushrooms, which smelled particularly bad, and onion before Beau had all of his materials gathered. As he worked to mix a dish of flour and seasonings together, I glanced at the revolving vessel in the microwave.
When I caught a whiff of the defrosting beef chunks, I flinched, feeling the disgust take shape in my expression.
Beau laughed at me. "If it grosses you out so much, you don't have to help."
"I don't mind," I quickly insisted, "I want to know how to cook for you. Teach me." I smiled up at him, and he gazed down at me, seeming to contemplate.
"Okay," he finally said, stepping back and gesturing for me to take his place at the counter, "Go ahead."
Trying not to let my hesitance show, I positioned myself in front of the dish, various spices lined up on the counter. I picked up the larger container, half filled with specks of black, grey and white and examined it.
"Pepper," he explained.
"I know," I told him, turning to stick my tongue out at him. "I can read the label."
Carefully, I tilted the bottle, spilling a dash of it into the mound of flour in the bowl. I glanced up at Beau questioningly, and he nodded toward the container, indicating I should pour a little more.
I tipped the bottle again, and returned my gaze to his face.
"A little more."
"Oh!" I gasped when much more pepper than I had expected spilled into the dish.
Beau laughed. "Okay—maybe not that much," he acceded, and pulled a spoon from the drawer, scooping some of the pepper out and dumping it in the sink.
"Now what?"
"Now you mix it up."
I picked up the fork next to the dish and stirred the contents together.
"Now?" I asked him as he dropped a hunk of butter into the frying pan, heating on the stove.
"Now you need to dredge the meat."
"Dredge…?"
"Yeah," he said, going to the microwave to pull the dish out. "Y'know, coat the meat in the flour mixture."
I wrinkled my nose at the hunks of bovine flesh in his hands, trying to put the two scents—the flour mixture, and the meat—together in my head. It didn't add up. The flour smelled awful—gag worthy, and the meat, hot and sweaty from the microwave was… Unpalatable.
He held out the bowl to me, cocking an eyebrow.
I took it gingerly, and set it on the counter next to the dredging mixture.
I stared down at my supplies hesitantly. "So I just…?"
He reached over my shoulder, enveloping me in his minty, woodsy scent, and plucked a cube of meat out of the glass dish. "Just toss 'er in there," he coached as he dropped the meat into the pile of flour and spices, "Cover it all up in the flour, and then chuck it in the pan."
I watched with revulsion as he dropped the dusty hunk in the sizzling butter. The smell of meat cooking, I recalled, was even worse than the smell of it defrosted after it had been frozen.
"Ugh," I groaned under my breath.
Beau was waiting for me, so I got to work coating the meat in the dredge, and tossing it in the pan. As we continued with the meal preparation, my disgust only grew in proportion when he added a disgusting combination of flour and tomato paste to the pan. The sour cream, in particular, smelled horribly off-putting.
Beau, of course, thought my wrinkled nose and sounds of displeasure were hilarious, and it made the general mood in the kitchen light and carefree.
Upon his return from work, even Charlie seemed to be in high spirits. His disapproval regarding my presence was much less frequent in his thoughts.
When he invited me to join them for dinner—something he hadn't done since before I left last fall—I regretted having to decline.
"She does eat, right?" Charlie said to Beau as I made my way into the living room and switched the evening news on.
"Yeah, of course—don't worry about it." Beau easily brushed Charlie's concern off as they sat down to eat.
As it turned out, the meal was good distraction, and the two ate in relative silence.
The evening report touched on the situation in Seattle, reporting that the number of casualties had risen to stunning proportions. The newscaster delivered the reports of arson, mass killings and numerous vehicular and structure fires in her well-practiced reporter voice, but as she spoke, I could see the trepidation in her eyes.
In the kitchen, Charlie and Beau were discussing their days. I sat up straighter in the chair, paying closer attention when I heard mention of the Blacks.
"… And then I was on the phone with Bonnie for awhile," Charlie was saying.
"Oh?" Beau's tone was just a little too blasé, "How's she?"
"Oh, pretty good. Her joints are acting up a little—bothering her." Tender concern was suddenly very apparent in Charlie's mind. He cared very much for his longtime childhood friend.
"That's too bad."
"Yeah. She invited us down to visit this weekend. She was thinking of having the Clearwaters and the Uleys over too. Sort of a playoff party…" I felt myself tense at the mention of this. It would make it more difficult to stop Beau from going to a gathering at the Blacks' if Charlie was in on it, as well.
But Beau only said, "Huh" in a way that didn't quite come off as disinterested. Charlie's thoughts were at once confused and suspicious, but he didn't push the matter.
A moment later, I heard Beau begin to clear the dishes, and I quickly rushed to his aid, picking up the dishtowel and going to his side as he filled the sink with hot, soapy water.
Charlie didn't see the point in getting too involved with his son's affairs, and there was another conflicting premise in his mind—a sort of relief, tinged with jealousy that I couldn't quite understand. He got up from his seat, his attentions pivoting toward the game, which had already started.
I knew this was my chance, and I braced myself. "Oh, Charlie?"
He paused and turned back toward us. "Yeah?"
I covertly ignored Beau's profile as I said, "Did Beau ever mention the airplane tickets my parents gave him on his last birthday, so that he could visit Renee?"
There was a hollow thunk as Beau's elbow banged against the edge of the counter, and his heart began to race. I was so focused on Charlie's answer—tense with anxiety, myself—that when the plate he'd been washing slipped from his hands, it clattered to the floor before I could stop it.
"Uh… No. No, he didn't," Charlie finally said, shock and suspicion at the forefront of his mind. His eyes shifted between my face and the back of Beau's neck, which was crimson with blood rush. "Why?"
"Oh—it's just, they're about to expire, and I think my parents would be disappointed if Beau didn't take advantage of the very generous gift they gave him. Not that they'd ever mention it, of course."
My parents, of course, would harbor no ill-feelings toward Beau, even if he chose to forego the use of the tickets. But knowing Beau's likelihood to put the needs and feelings of others' ahead of his own, I suspected this would only help the current situation.
I could feel Beau's eyes on my face now, piercing with their stunned intensity, but I didn't peel my gaze from Charlie's face. He was staring at his son now. His thoughts relaxed some, but there was still a tinge of expectancy in his mind, waiting for the other shoe to drop. I struggled to gain more access to his inner workings, wondering what this was about?
"I think it'd be a great idea for you to visit your mom, Beau. That'd make her real happy. Why didn't you say anything about this sooner?"
"Forgot, I guess," Beau grunted, scrubbing the sponge against the already clean plate so hard that little bits of yellow began to flake off.
Charlie frowned, his doubt ballooning. "You forgot someone gave you plane tickets?" His voice was thick with skepticism.
Beau only nodded, shooting me another bewildered, perturbed glance.
Charlie was beginning to fit the puzzle pieces together, and I gazed at him serenely as he worked out what we might be keeping from him.
"I noticed that you said they're about to expire, Edythe. How many tickets did your parents give him?"
I knew this would go over well if I stayed calm, but it was quickly becoming apparent in Charlie's mind where his suspicions laid.
"Just two," I said breezily, "One for Beau… And one for me."
Beau dropped another plate, his breathing downright ragged now. I could see the tips of his ears had turned bright pink, and I could feel the heat of his embarrassment coming off his skin.
"I see," Charlie huffed, and his suddenly piercing, accusatory glare was fixed between his son's shoulder blades. My stomach twisted when I realized Charlie's suspicious thoughts had turned entirely toward his son. Blame and disapproval were suddenly very clear in his contemplations.
"Beau." He struggled to keep his voice composed. "Can I speak with you in the living room for a minute?"
A small, strangled noise escaped the back of Beau's throat, and I was immediately flooded with castigation. I had not planned for things to go this way!
"Sure, Dad," he said, and turned toward me to take the dishtowel from my hands so he could dry his. He avoided my gaze as he marched out of the tiny kitchen, into the next room over.
"This is absolutely unacceptable!" Charlie shouted in a whisper, "I thought your mother and I raised you better than this—than to subject your girlfriend to asking outrageous questions for you! You're not going anywhere with her; it's out of the question!"
"Dad—"
"No! Do you think I'm an idiot, Beau? Do you think I don't know what you two are planning?!"
"Dad!" Beau said, louder now, his voice cracking under the strain of his mortification.
I drifted toward the archway, wringing my hands. There had to be something I could say, something I could do, to deflect the blame back on myself, where it belonged.
"You're not going," Charlie repeated, "Period."
This was exactly what Beau had been hoping to avoid, and here I had dragged him unwillingly, directly into the line of fire. The guilt was more than I could handle.
But I was surprised when Beau's voice turned hard. "Look. I'm not a kid anymore, Dad. I'm eighteen, a legal adult, and I have the right to go see Mom if I want to. Think what you want about me and Edythe, but I guarantee you, we're going to Florida to see Mom."
What was this sudden turn of events? I wondered where things had turned around.
"Do you expect me to believe that garbage?" Charlie snapped, "Shame on you for using your mother as an excuse to fly out, alone, with your girlfriend… I thought you, of all people, were more responsible than this!"
"Are you serious, Dad?!" Beau spluttered, "Where do you think we're going? Vegas? C'mon!"
Charlie, askance, wracked his brain for a response. This was not far from what he'd been expecting to unveil, and for a moment, he was speechless.
"Mom'll be there the whole time—and besides, Earnest and Carine intended the companion ticket to be used by Edythe. They're just as aware of this as you are, and they're okay with it."
Charlie pursed his lips, hearing this. He hadn't expected my parents to be so well-informed.
"Seriously," Beau urged, "There's no reason to be so bent out of shape over this."
Charlie glared at his son, and I could hear that he was steadily losing ground on the argument in his thoughts. Abruptly, he resigned himself to the fact.
"Fine," he grunted, planning on emailing Renee from work the next day. "I'm putting it on you to keep things... Proper."
"Sure thing, Dad," he responded, and then walked back into the kitchen. When he saw I'd finished the dishes already, he gave me a surprised look. It quickly gave way, however, to a withering glare.
"Hey, Dad," he called over his shoulder, "I'm going out for awhile. My homework and the dishes are done. I'll be back before ten-thirty."
From the other room, Charlie grunted disapprovingly, but he knew he couldn't deny his son this right, since he'd let him off the hook already. "Where?" he replied petulantly.
"Dunno," Beau said as he made his way toward the door to grab his jacket. I followed behind with my books. "But I won't be far."
Charlie only grunted, still disconcerted, but he did his best to shift his focus to the game on the television set in front of him—instead of the images his mind insisted on conjuring of his son and his girlfriend, and where we might go to 'park the car'.
Ignoring Charlie's suspicions—as inapplicably placed as they were—I turned to Beau enthusiastically. "We're going out?" I asked as he helped slide my coat over my shoulders.
"That's right." His eyes narrowed. "You and I need to have a talk."
I tried to appear appropriately abashed as Beau stalked out the front door and across the street to my car. But I couldn't quite bring myself to feel bad for finding success in my venture. As annoyed with me as Beau might be, he would be safe this weekend—and that was what took top priority, after all.
When we were seated, Beau folded his arms across his broad chest, and glowered out the front windshield. I drank in the site of him—surliness and a pouting lip were surprisingly attractive features on the boy I adored with all of my being.
You are so gorgeous… And I am so in love with you…
"So?" he finally demanded without looking at me, "Are you gonna tell me what that was all about?"
"I'm sorry," I apologized, "I know it was wrong of me to meddle, but… I know how badly you miss your mother, Beau. You've been talking about her in your sleep nearly every night."
"Mom, be careful."
"Too high."
"You forgot."
"Be careful."
"I'll be here."
"Fretting would be a more appropriate word," I corrected myself.
"Really?" This seemed to take him off guard, to douse some of his anger.
I nodded. "I'm sorry he put the blame on your shoulders. I figured, if I brought the topic up, he might be more likely to accuse me."
"Obviously not," Beau griped.
I had to smother my amused grin. Did he realize how adorable he looked? I didn't think so.
"Beau," I scolded, but my voice was buoyant with tender affection, "I highly doubt you were in any danger."
"That's not the—" he began to argue, but then abruptly cut himself off, sighing heavily. He lapsed into silence. "Does wanting to visit my Mom have anything at all to do with the gathering in La Push?"
"Nothing, whatsoever." I could say this honestly, because whether he was here or eight states South East, it wouldn't make a difference. He still wouldn't be attending that party.
He didn't seem convinced, still refusing to look at me.
I sighed, leaning over to console. Taking his jaw between my hands, I pivoted his head so he'd be forced to look at me. I couldn't stand his aversion any longer.
The steel resolve was still present in his eyes when he turned them on me, but when I smiled at him, they quickly softened, and he exhaled, rolling his eyes.
"Am I forgiven?" I murmured, trying not to smile.
"I guess."
This time I did grin, and I leaned in to lay a chaste kiss on his lips. "Thank you," I breathed, and I felt his jaw muscles relax under my hands. Abruptly, I twisted away to turn the key in the ignition. "So. Where would you like to go?"
He sighed again, but this time, it didn't carry the weight of his annoyance, and I knew he'd given up. "Let's go to your house," he suggested.
"My house it is," I agreed, and then chirped, "Seatbelts!"
.
"Oh man!" Eleanor crowed when we walked in the front door, "It can't be! Hard-timer, Beau Swan—out on parole? How'd you swing that?"
Beau rolled his eyes as El flashed to his side and faux-punched him on the shoulder. "Good behavior."
"Yeah right—you, well behaved?" she teased. She'd missed the boy she already considered a younger brother.
"Yeah, yeah. I'm bad to the bone."
Eleanor cackled. "Kid, you are downright hysterical!"
"Beau, my man!" Archie appeared at the top of the stairs, and in less than half a second, he was standing in front of us. He pulled Beau into a one-armed bro hug, clapping him gently on the back.
My parents were waiting for us in the sitting room, and when we walked in, Earnest stood to clap Beau on the shoulder.
"Beau, good to see you again," he enthused, "It's been such a long time."
Beau shrugged, his skin steadily changing color in response to all the attention he was getting. "Guess I served my time."
We sat on the love seat together, hands interlocked, while Beau caught my parents up on what he'd been doing these last few weeks. My parents listened with rapt attention; always unerringly grateful for the valiant risk Beau had taken, running off to Italy to save my life.
When I brought up the subject that we'd be visiting Florida this weekend, they showed just enough approval and interest as was warranted.
If you catch the flight out of Sea-Tac at 3:10 on Friday, you'll arrive just before 1am, Archie provided helpfully. It'll be raining around mid-morning in Jacksonville on Sunday, so your best bet for a return flight would be the 10:45. That'll get you home just before dinnertime. We'll definitely have things taken care of before then.
I nodded at him in thanks. Beau, who was updating my parents on Renee, didn't notice our little exchange.
A few minutes later, Archie stood. "Okay, okay, that's enough parental manipulation," he said to Earnest and Carine, "Beau will have plenty of time to talk with you another time." He turned to Beau and lifted his eyebrows, grinning enthusiastically. "You up for a little game?"
Immediately, Beau was suspicious, tensing beside me and tightening his hold on my hand. "What kind of game?" he inquired warily.
I squeezed his fingers reassuringly. "He just wants to play chess," I informed him, "Are you up for it?"
Beau looked suddenly hesitant. "Uh, sure—but is there really much point in me playing against any of you?"
"You might stand a chance against Edythe," Jessamine teased as she carried the family's antique, hand-carved chess board over and set it on the coffee table, "Since she can't read your mind." She arched a perfect brow at me, C'mon—turn it off just for a few minutes and play fair.
"I'll play you," Archie challenged me now.
I grinned angelically at him and slid off the loveseat to sit on the floor. "Prepare to be beat."
"In your dreams."
"Sorry—I don't dream," I retorted cheekily, "I just scheme."
Archie snorted as he arranged his pieces. "Scheme is right."
When we were ready, Archie made the leading move. Then, for a total of three minutes, we barely moved. We sat on opposite sides of the table, both of our eyes fixed on the board, but our mental presences somewhere else entirely. Archie easily read my predicted moves as I decided them, and I picked Archie's thoughts out of his mind as he considered each of his.
Within a matter of minutes, the game was over, the majority of it played out in our heads. When Archie realized I would pull a fast one near the end and trick him, he sighed in surrender, and tipped his King over.
"Checkmate." I grinned at him.
"Oh, you're so funny," he told me sarcastically as he pushed the board toward Jess and Beau. "You two play. At least you won't be able to hear each other's plans as you make them."
Jessamine smiled and lifted her gaze to Beau's. "Beau?"
"Sure," he shrugged, and took my place on the floor.
Jessamine was, arguably, the best chess player in the house—all supernatural extra abilities aside. She was best at strategy games, which made her reigning champion of Risk and Catan. However, she preferred games with an aspect of chance—possibly because that made it harder for Archie to see what was coming—like many poker games.
Regardless, chess was one of her favorites, though she hardly played it with anyone other than Carine. They were the most compatible in skill, which offered just the right amount of challenge for Jessamine. Of course, she'd never won against Archie or myself, but she claimed we took constant victory due to our 'unfair advantages'.
"It's not unfair if it's entirely unintentional," Archie would retort.
Jessamine was not known for going halfway on anything, and she beat Beau in six moves flat.
Beau shrugged his shoulders, exhaling good-naturedly. "Nothing I didn't already expect," he said.
Jessamine giggled. "Sorry about that, Beau," she apologized good-naturedly. "Again?"
"Uh…" He hesitated, "I think I've been effectively humiliated enough for one night."
We all laughed at that.
"You have the potential to be a great chess player," Jessamine complimented him. "I'd be happy to help you harness your talent."
Beau smiled at her. "Cool—that'd be sweet. Thanks."
Admittedly, it still made me nervous to have them in such close proximity to each other. But the strength of Jessamine's resolve was eons stronger now than it had been last fall, and I knew her guilt and shame over the event had changed her permanently.
She took extra precautions now—even more than she'd been taking in September—and her control hadn't wavered for a millisecond in the time Beau had been here.
It was easier for her, now, to think of him as family, and not a victim. An unbelievable change had taken place in my sister, and I couldn't have been more proud.
When the game was put away, Beau and I went up to my room for a while to listen to music. We lounged on the couch together, tangled in a casual embrace. Beau ran his fingers through my hair, braiding it through with his warmth and delicious fragrance.
I let my eyelids flutter shut, almost losing myself in the steady, rhythmic pumping of his heart.
"I've missed this," I murmured softly, "I've missed you."
"We see each other every day." Beau was confused, "You lay in my arms all night long."
I opened my eyes and gazed up into his tranquil face. He didn't understand. "No." I leaned up to kiss him softly, causing his heart to hiccup. "Not like this. Not here, where I'm free to be myself. I don't have to hide here. I love that I don't have to hide from you—not ever again. You don't know how you've liberated me, Beau—how you've given me the liberation to truly be myself."
Color rose into his face in response to my declaration, and his eyes turned liquid and deep—deeper than sleep. I couldn't resist leaning up to kiss him again, locking my hands behind his neck.
When our breathing grew ragged, and Beau's heart reached galloping-horse proportions, I pulled away.
He glanced toward the clock on my wall.
"Time to go?" It was still early, by my standards.
"I just don't want to give him anymore reason to be upset with me. Going home a little early is the least I could do."
"Of course," I agreed with him, "Let's go say goodbye."
.
It was quiet on Beau's street when I pulled up in front of his house a few minutes later. The clock on the dash read 10:18.
Inside the house, Charlie's thoughts were crashing chaotically between embarrassment, resolve and the duty of a responsible parental figure. When I realized what he was amping himself up for, I had to smother a giggle.
Beau didn't notice my sudden humor.
"I think I'll just see you upstairs in a bit," he said, glumly, and I realized that he thought the lights still on in the living room meant Charlie was waiting to give him another piece of his mind. "I don't want to push things any farther than we already have, tonight."
"Don't worry," I soothed him, struggling to suppress my grin when I heard the different opening sentences of the speech Charlie had been preparing. "His thoughts are relatively calm. I'll be up in a little while," I promised.
I watched Beau cross the street and disappear through the front door. My momentary amusement distracted me from our painful separation—even if it was only for a little while.
Desperately, I wanted to stay and eavesdrop on the Sexual Education lesson Charlie was about to bestow on his son, but I thought it would be better to give Beau his privacy. He would already be embarrassed enough without having me listening in.
I considered returning home for the hour it would take Beau to be ready for bed, but in his absence, the anxiety was steadily growing, and I soon found my thoughts locked on a certain pair of ruby-red eyes.
Archie had assured me he would be here no sooner than Saturday, and though I trusted my brother's vision, I was not willing to take any chances. I abandoned my car just outside of town, and made a cursory—but thorough—loop around Forks' limits. I was almost back to the Volvo when my cell phone began to buzz in my jacket pocket.
"Hey," I said to Archie as I continued on the path.
"I know you're out on security detail n' all," he said, "But I just thought you should know that Beau's future abruptly vanished just thirty seconds ago."
Completely contradictory to what my instincts should have been, my feet stopped moving underneath me, and my knees locked. "What?"
"I don't know," Archie said, "But I think it must have something to do with the dogs." His tone sounded almost as disapproving as my thoughts.
Unconsciously, I'd begun to run again, leaving my car behind as I sprinted back toward Beau's house. "Filthy mutts," I growled as the wind streaked my hair out behind me. "Did he leave yet?"
"Probably not," he replied, his tone sullen and belligerent—he hated being blind. "But I can't say for sure."
"I'm almost there," I assured him as I launched myself into the air, foregoing the sidewalks in exchange for rooftops in order to shorten my travel time. A few seconds later, as I reached their street and caught site of Beau's truck still in the driveway, relief relaxed my muscles. "He hasn't left yet," I told Archie, my tone airy with satisfaction. "Thanks. I owe you one."
"No biggie," he assured me, "But do me a favor and conk him over the head for me. Tell him he's an idiot, while you're at it. He scared me half to death."
Knowing Beau was safe inside his house—I could hear his heartbeat—I was able to find humor in Archie's sentence. "Har har."
"You know what I mean."
"I'll tell him—just maybe not in those exact words."
Without thinking, I dashed to his truck, lifted the hood soundlessly, and reached in to rotate the distributor cap an eighth of a turn clockwise. This would effectively disable the truck from starting. By altering the timing, the rotor wouldn't make full contact with each spark plug, and thus, the connection to the ignition would be incomplete.
I shut the hood silently, and then crawled into the cab to wait.
Sure enough, just minutes later, Beau opened the front door, jacket on, keys in his hand. His heart was pounding something furious, the strength of the epinephrine in his system sweetening his scent. Every once in awhile, as he hurried toward his truck, he glanced guiltily over his shoulder.
When he reached the truck, he climbed in without seeing me, inserted his key into the ignition, and twisted.
Click.
His brow furrowed as he tried again.
Click, click.
I shifted just marginally where I sat curled into the corner of the bench seat.
Beau jerked like he'd been electrocuted, and wrenched his face to stare at me. His heart, which had already been pounding, increased in rate even more.
I appraised him with a serious expression. "Archie called."
It hurt to see him so blatantly going against my warnings. Not only was it offensive, but it terrified me. I had not imposed the restrictions for my sake. It was for his safety, and to see him so deliberately disregard that was alarming.
Beau only stared at me, his eyes wide, and his heart still hammering. I waited for the fury to surface in his eyes as I went on.
"He got anxious when your future rather abruptly disappeared five minutes ago." Still nothing, and the longer his silence continued, the uneasier I became. "Because he can't see the wolves, you know—they obscure his vision entirely. Or had you forgotten? When you decide to mingle your fate with theirs, you disappear, too. You couldn't know that part, of course. I realize that. But can you understand why that might make me a little anxious? Archie saw you disappear, and he couldn't even tell if you'd come home or not. Your future just vanished into thin air. Lost."
I understood that this may confuse him, and I wished I could explain it to him—but my family was just as puzzled over the mystery.
"We're not completely sure why this is. Some natural defense mechanism they're born with? That doesn't seem entirely likely, since I haven't had any trouble reading their thoughts. The Blacks', at least. Carine theorizes that it's because their lives are so completely ruled by their transformations. It's more an involuntary reaction than a decision. Utterly unpredictable, and it changes everything about them. In that instant when they shift from one form to the other, they don't really even exist. The future can't hold them…"
I hadn't realized how lost in my own thoughts I'd become, and I trailed off.
I realized he would probably be furious with me—with good reason. I could only understand why he would be angry, but this circumstance was unlike any other. I wasn't simply stopping him from seeing a friend because I didn't like her. It went much, much deeper than that. Of course, Beau didn't see the mutts as a threat; he'd made that clear, time and time again.
With the only one with sound mind in this truck, I figured it appropriate that I make the decisions corresponding to the safest plan of action for him. And right now, it was safest for him to stay here, in his house, where he was protected. His rage was unimportant in comparison to his wellbeing.
"I'll put your truck back in running order in time for school tomorrow morning, if you'd like to drive yourself." I forced myself to acknowledge he may remain angry with me for some time.
I didn't look up when he yanked his keys from the ignition and threw his door open.
"Shut your window if you want me to stay away tonight," I said when his feet touched the pavement, "I'll understand."
The sound of the slamming truck door shook the frame of the truck, and me along with it. I felt my eyes squeeze shut in response. My heart sank in response to his stony silence, though I'd expected nothing less.
Sighing, I hopped out and turned the distributor cap back to its correct positioning, and then I crossed the lawn and rounded the side of his house, staring up at the dark, west-facing window.
Ten seconds later, the light flicked on inside, illuminating the square-shaped beacon to my haven, and Beau appeared in its frame. His face was hard, intensely serious, and as I watched, he reached up with both hands, slamming the window shut so hard that the glass pane shuddered.
I tried to swallow the lump in my throat, staring just half a moment longer before turning my back and starting toward the cover of the trees.
When I was halfway across the yard, I heard the telltale slide of the window re-opening, and I glanced back over my shoulder.
Joy flooded through me when I saw he'd again slid aside the glass pane.
I almost made it to the count of three before my feet touched his bedroom floor.
.
A/N: What a long chapter—phew! And, I'm sure you'll all like to know that the next one will be, too! I fully intend on divulging the weekend Beau and Edythe spend with Renee. Those details were almost entirely missing from the original, and I think it would be lovely to know what went on between those three.
Anyway—I will see you all soon. As always, I would love to know your thoughts on this chapter! :)
Also, I may not get another chapter posted until next week, as I'm going on a retreat this weekend, and will likely not have internet. But chances are, I'll get a bunch of pre-writing done—so that's a plus!
