Chapter Three "Redefine"

So, apparently, I can't ramble. Is this really a shock? Sigh. Probably when the "flashbacks" are done the chapters will be shorter. Maybe? Probably not.

This is again unbeta'd, but I hope you enjoy despite the mistakes. Chapter 1 disclaimers still stand.

See you at the bottom!

Despite the air conditioning, it's hotter than hell in my room.

I shouldn't be surprised; this is Houston in the summer after all. Which basically means: I live in a sauna. But that's not the reason I can't sleep.

The glowing green numbers on my alarm clock glare the ridiculous time into the dark: 3:29 a.m. I groan and roll over onto my back. Heat lightning flashes outside the tiny rectangular window near the ceiling and reflects off the smooth surface of my walls. I've been lying here watching nature's light show ever since I returned home from the pool hall five hours ago. Ever since he walked back into my life.

My mind keeps going over and over everything: every word, every look, every inch of skin he brushed or touched, and especially the way that he watched me, his eyes full of questions I had no answers to, as I backed away from him without a word after we danced.

I haven't thought much about Jasper Whitlock in . . . three years or so? Obviously at first it was all I could concentrate on. Whenever Ally and I hung out, the knowledge of what I'd done—what we'd done—ate away at me, little by little every day, and I can't even count how many times I'd almost told her. But then one day . . . one day it was less, the guilt, the memory. And the next it was less again, until finally, finally, it didn't consume me anymore.

I hadn't forgotten him or what we'd done, and there were still times something would trigger a memory of his hands, or his tongue, or the way my name sounded in his mouth when he let go. But it was no longer a penance for me. It was a memory, something that belonged in the past with the rest of my mistakes. It didn't need to define me.

But now he's back, and with him are all of those feelings I'd stored away: the guilt, the shame, the confusion. And there's also something else, something I didn't expect, something I don't even know how to describe, but it's pushing at the walls of my chest and tingling in the tips of my fingers. And it's getting stronger the longer I lie here thinking about him.

I kick at the sheet surrounding me and free my body from its confines. Frustration seeps into every part of me. I can't relax; I can't clear my mind at all. Everything just keeps replaying like a song set on repeat: the things that happened back then and the things that happened tonight. It's as if Jasper's burrowed a hole in my brain and I can't get him out.

It's a given that his presence rattles me. Why wouldn't it? What happened between us all those years ago is something I could never explain. Even now, when I look back on it, I still don't know how it happened. One minute I was listening to him, comforting him over the loss of a two-year relationship, and then . . .

"I don't understand," Jasper said, his head tipped down under his hat, his hands clasped together in his lap. "Last week we were fine. We were talkin' 'bout the future, 'bout what we'd do when I got back. I mean . . . I just . . . I don't understand."

I didn't know what to say. Alice's proclamation had stunned me just as much as it had him. There'd been no indication that she'd been falling for James, no way to tell she'd been unhappy with Jasper at all.

"Do you know why, Bella Mia? Do you know what I did—"

"No, Jasper." I cut him off and looked up at him. He stared back at me, his eyes so confused, so sad, so blue, even in the waning light. Little wisps of blond hair, much lighter against the rugged tan of his skin, peeked out from below the rim of his hat and curled up a little at the ends. In that moment, he looked so much like the boy I'd caught frogs along the stream with, the boy who didn't say much but was always there when anyone needed him, the boy who'd worshiped the ground my best friend walked on. And I was so angry with her right then that I almost didn't know what to do with myself. No matter how close she and I were—or how close I thought we were—I couldn't condone how she'd treated my other friend. "I don't know what's going on with Alice. I don't understand any of this either."

Jasper tipped his head up to watch the sunset and his fists clenched in his lap. Unthinkingly, I reached over and took the one closest to me, my fingers sliding over his rough knuckles, until he loosened up and let mine slip between his. It should have felt strange, uncomfortable to hold his hand, but it didn't.

Jasper stared down at his lap. "I think I knew she couldn't handle this. Me goin' away and all. I think, somewhere inside, I knew. What's that say 'bout me? 'Bout how much I thought 'bout her. That I decided to go anyway."

"You can't think like that." I leaned into him, reaching over with my free hand to cup his cheek and turn his face toward mine. We were only inches apart now, but I needed him to hear me, really hear me. "This isn't your fault, okay? It's not. Alice has always been like this. She gets a thought in her head and there's nothing anyone can do to change it. It's just how she is. You're doing what you feel like you need to do, Jasper. And for now, the Army is where you need to be. Don't ever question what you could have done differently, because you've always been so amazing with her."

The rim of his hat came up just slightly and then his eyes were on mine. My breath caught at all of the emotions swirling inside them, and I wondered how I'd never noticed how expressive they were before.

"You think I'm amazin'?" he asked, his voice so quiet, so uncertain, and he was looking at me in a way he never had before, like I was all he could see in the world.

That's when I felt it: the small, subtle shift in my stomach, the little fluttering that tickled my insides and made my heart speed up. The next thing I knew, I was leaning in more, and he was so close, and I could almost taste his breath—I wanted to taste it. And then there was nothing but warmth, and the slide of lips, and the shuddering of breath, and Jasper. Just Jasper.

It made no sense then and it still doesn't now. I don't know why I kissed him. I don't know anything about anything.

Until that night, I'd never looked at him that way. He'd always been there, lingering in the background behind Alice, Edward, Rose, and Emmett. Yes, we'd been friends, and yes, I'd known him forever, but he's just never been one of those boys that stood out. He wasn't boisterous and annoying like Emmett. He didn't have those strikingly beautiful features like Edward. He was just Jasper. Quiet, polite, unassuming Jasper.

But then I watched him break in front of me, and something just . . . changed. He didn't look the same anymore, but yet, he was still exactly the same. It was me who had changed. It was my eyes that had been opened, and that same unassuming, polite, quiet boy became Jasper. And Jasper was intriguing, and mysterious, and somehow sexy.

I can't even say what it was that triggered it. Something he said, something he did? The look of absolute devastation on his face? I just don't know. Maybe there is no answer. Maybe there never was. Maybe it doesn't matter anyway. The fact is that this is where we are. This is where we're stuck. And this is why I've been up all night.

My skin is tingling and prickling like fire ants are crawling all over me and taking bites of me along the way. I take this as a sign that sleep is futile.

I kick my mattress a few times and heave myself out of bed. My room lights with several quick flashes from outside and I stand, stretching my arms above my head. I yawn as I climb the stairs.

The first floor is dark, darker than normal as it looks like Rosalie has drawn the room darkening shades. I frown, because she usually doesn't do this. Unless . . .

"Oh, ew," I say to myself with a shudder. The last thing I need right now is to imagine all the things she and Emmett were probably doing on that couch. I'm seriously contemplating whether or not I even want to sit on it ever again.

Crossing the room, I make my way over to where the couch sits in front of the window. I reach out to pull back the shade, when my pinkie toe cracks into the leg of the coffee table.

"Ow! Shit!" I cry out as I pitch forward, my hands grasping at anything within reach. My fingers close around the fabric of the curtains, but my weight is too much for the bar to bear and we both come crashing down onto the couch. Only the couch doesn't feel like it should: it's hard and lumpy, and it's moving.

I let out a high-pitched screech and throw myself backward, only something comes up around me and holds me in place. Lightning fills the room with several short bursts of light, and I see what has ahold of me, or rather, who.

"You okay?" Jasper says, and every part of my body heats up with those words—the same ones he uttered after we were together that night. My mind flashes back to him above me, his damp hair sticking to his forehead, his eyes wide and filled with concern, confusion, and lust.

I force back a shiver and become increasingly aware that he's holding me flush against his chest, his arm wrapped around my lower back, our noses practically touching. He's not wearing a shirt, and my hand is resting on his bare skin, the chain dangling from his neck wrapped around my pinkie. I can feel the thud, thud, thud of his heart pumping against my palm, and I swear it's racing as fast as mine.

"I . . ." I say. "I think so—"

A loud bang sounds from the other side of the room and the overhead light pops on.

"What happened? What's going on?" Rosalie stands in the entrance to the living room, her hair a large, poofy mess around her head. She's wearing a man's t-shirt and is brandishing a metal baseball bat. Emmett ambles in behind her, rubbing his eyes and bumping into walls.

"Oh, I . . ." I say, turning back to face Jasper. He's staring at me, and I notice he seems just as awake as I am, like he's had trouble sleeping too. "Falling on Jasper, I guess."

The corners of his mouth lift a little.

"Oh," Rosalie says, and lets the bat slip down in her grip. "Well, have fun with that then." She grabs Emmett by the shirt and drags him back toward her bedroom. "Come on, Em, I need you to calm my nerves so I can get back to sleep."

Emmett's face brightens and he gives a fist pump, before brushing his hand over the light switch and plunging the room back into darkness.

And then we're alone.

In the dark.

Jasper and me.

And I'm not sure I've ever been more afraid in my life.

My heart is beating so fast and hard now I'm positive he can hear it. A few more flashes of light spark and die out, but neither of us move. His chest rises and falls against me, his breath spreading over my neck and collarbone, and it's all I can do not to tremble. His fingers move slightly against my back, and it's then I remember what I'm wearing—or, specifically, what I'm not. My cheeks burn when I think of the very tight tank and boyshort panties that currently adorn my body.

"Uh, Jasper . . ."

"Yeah?" he says. It's barely a breath, but I feel it everywhere.

"You, uh, you can let me go now," I say, though deep inside I feel my body protest.

"Oh. Sorry. I wasn't thinkin'." His arm loosens from around me, and I slip my hands outward, grasping the only part of him I can to help myself up. My fingers wrap around the curve of his biceps, just as he places his hands on my hips and helps me stand.

"Oh!" I say when I try to put weight on my foot. Pain shoots out from my toe and spreads up my shin. "Shit. Shit. Dammit!"

Jasper stands and grabs my arm to keep me steady. My eyes prick with tears. "What's wrong?" he asks.

I inhale through my nose and exhale slowly through my mouth to ease the pain and try to hold back the tears. It's no use; it hurts like a son of a bitch.

"My toe. I hit it on the coffee table and now it hurts like a mother. I think it's broken." My voice cracks on the last word and a couple of tears escape down my cheeks. I swipe them away, beyond embarrassed, and I wish to God he wasn't here to see this. I've never liked crying in front of people, especially over something as stupid as a toe.

"Let me look," he says, and twists to turn on the lamp, but I tighten my grip on his arms.

"Wait, Jasper—"

"What?" he says. "You need to let me look, sugar. If it's broken, we'll have to wrap it."

"No, it's . . ." My cheeks burn again. "Well, I'm not . . . I'm not wearing any clothes."

Jasper doesn't say anything; he doesn't move. But I can hear the way his breathing speeds, and the hitch in it before it does. After a few seconds, he turns and bends down to the couch. When he comes back up, he reaches out and drapes a thin blanket around my shoulders. The tips of his fingers whisper across my collarbone as he pulls away, and I almost can't contain myself.

"Better?" he asks, and his voice is so soft.

I nod, but realize he can't see me in the dark, so I answer, "Yeah."

He turns away again, and I hear a rustling and a clank of metal nearby. A minute later, when the light snaps on, he's wearing a t-shirt and his jeans from earlier, and something in my chest pangs. He's covered himself up to make me comfortable.

Jasper turns back to me. "Can you make it over to the counter? I think I can see better in that light."

I nod and hobble the few feet across the room, wincing and gasping each time the pain shoots up my leg. Jasper holds onto my arm the whole way in case I fall. When we reach the kitchen area, he flips on the light and looks at me, hesitation in his gaze.

"What?" I ask, cinching the blanket tighter around my body, wondering if I'm showing him more than I should.

"I need you on the counter."

My face blazes. "Wh—what?"

His mouth starts to curl up, but he tightens his lips to stop it, and then tilts his head and scratches at the back of his neck. "Uh, the counter? I need you to sit on it."

"Oh. Right. I knew that." I turn away, sure more than my face is red now, and try to figure out how to get up there without flashing him, when I feel him step up behind me.

"Let me help you, darlin'."

Before I can say anything, he's turning me around and his hands are on my waist, fingers tightening into my flesh as he lifts me up. My breath catches and I grab onto his shoulders to steady myself. A moment later, he sits me on the Formica counter and removes his hands from my waist. I slowly drop mine from him too, though it's harder than I imagined it would be.

"All right?" he asks, and I nod. "Okay, I'm just gonna check it out. You can pinch me if I hurt you." He smiles, and it's just the right amount of crooked, leading to a shallow dimple in his left cheek. My chest flutters, my stomach flutters, everything flutters, and I don't understand this at all.

"I'm not going to pinch you, Jasper. I trust you."

Something crosses his eyes now and his smile falls away. I don't know what to make of that, but I don't have time to really ponder it, because he's crouching down in front of me and his hand is around my calf, sliding slowly down to my ankle. His touch is searing hot, and I can feel it everywhere, like all of my nerves have suddenly caught fire. I press my hands down on the counter top and curl my fingers around the edge. The sharpness digs into my palm, but I don't even register it over the overwhelming sensation encompassing my leg.

Jasper's head is down, and the only thing I can focus on is the line of his shoulders. They're wider than I remember, thicker too, and I can't help but wonder if they would feel the same as they did the last time I dug into them.

"It doesn't look broken," he says. "But I'm goin' to need to touch it to see for sure."

I grimace and bite my lip, as a little whimper escapes from my throat. I don't like pain and tend to be a big baby about it. I wonder if he remembers that about me.

He glances up at me, with a look in his eyes that tells me he does. "I'll be gentle, I promise." I don't answer, but I do nod. Jasper reaches up, takes one of my hands in his, and places it on his shoulder. "So you can pinch me."

"I'm not going to pinch you—Ow!" And then I pinch him, or dig him, rather. "Ow! Jasper! Jesus!"

"Hold on," he says, and he gently manipulates my toe some more.

"Shhhhhittt," I grab his other shoulder to steady myself, and squeeze my eyes shut.

His hand moves off from my toe and up to my ankle once more. He rubs lightly, soothingly, and I open my eyes. He's looking at me, and I don't even know what it is his eyes are saying, I just know they're shouting it.

"It's not broken," he says. "Just bruised. It's gonna be pretty sore though."

"How do you know?"

"I saw a lot of broken bones in the Army, fingers and toes included. I got pretty good at recognizin' the difference, seein' so many."

"That must've been . . . gross."

He chuckles and shrugs, and that's when I realize I'm still holding on to him. I let go, hoping I didn't dig him too hard. "Well, thanks for looking at this for me. I feel a lot better having a broken bone expert examine me and all."

He grins. "Happy to oblige, ma'am." He lays on the accent thick and fake-tips his non-existent hat.

I laugh. "You know that's totally unfair, right?"

"What?" He stands, and as he does, the cool slickness of his dog tags slide up my shin, bump against my knee, and dip briefly between my thighs. Goosebumps pop up everywhere it grazes.

When I speak next, my voice is shaky. "That accent. The ma'ams and darlin's. The g dropping. All of it. Us girls, we can't really defend ourselves against it."

Jasper places his hands on the counter next to my legs, and leans in slightly, his gaze intent on mine. "You grew up 'round here with me, Bella. You heard this accent every day for years."

I swallow hard, because I know this is it. This is the moment it all becomes real. This is the moment we acknowledge it. And I'm scared to death of what that means. "But it's different now."

His gaze shifts from one of my eyes to the other. "Is it?"

"You know it is, Jasper."

He sighs and lowers his head. "Bella, I—"

The overhead light in the living room flicks on once more, and Jasper and I turn toward it. Emmett walks across the room, his arms stretched over his head and a big goofy grin taking up his face.

I roll my eyes, because I know that look. "Dear God, here we go."

"Good morning, good morning!" Emmett bellows. "Man, I could eat an entire herd of cattle after the lovin' Rosie just gave me. The girl can be such a hellcat."

Jasper and I both groan.

"On that note," Jasper says, turning back to me. "Why don't I help you back downstairs?"

"You don't have to do that. I can—" Before I can finish my sentence, Jasper sweeps me up off the counter and into his arms. He pulls me against his chest, and I'm immediately surrounded with warmth, and boy, and Jasper.

"Darlin' my mama didn't raise me to let a lady in need go without assistance. You wouldn't want to give her reason to fix me up a tongue lashin' for not bein' a gentleman, now would ya?" I narrow my eyes at his obviously exaggerated accent and southern speak. He leans in, and his voice rumbles in my ear. "Plus, you're not gonna let him damage me for life by makin' me listen to his ramblin' 'bout his and Rosalie's exploits, are you, Bella Mia?"

I turn to him and there's a very real plea in his eyes. I don't blame him. Having been the victim of Emmett's sex descriptions on more than one account I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy. "All right, fine. Take me to bed, then."

I regret my choice of words the moment they leave my mouth.

Emmett spits the milk he's drinking all over the counter.

"Wait . . . No, that didn't come out right—"

"Hold the hell up!" Emmett slams the milk carton down and his face twists in anger. He glares at Jasper, his eyes lowering to Jasper's hands on my legs, like he just noticed them.

"Emmett," I say. "Wait a second—"

"No, you wait a second." His glare is directed at me now. "After everything that happened with him, you gonna start up again like this?"

"Emmett!" I say, at the same time Jasper says, "Now, you know it ain't like that."

"The hell I do! Why do you got your hands all over her like that then?" Emmett nearly shouts. "And why's she asking you to take her to bed? You just got back, Jasper, isn't that moving a little fast?"

"Emmett!" I try again, but it's futile.

"I ain't got my hands on her like nothin'!" Jasper says.

"Bullshit. You two have been acting sketchy around each other all night," Emmett says. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you both were—"

"Emmett!" I finally shout, and both boys peer at me in shock. I blow a piece of wayward hair out of my face and then swipe at it with my hand when it does not go where I want it to. "Jesus, would you please shut the hell up." Emmett stares at me with his mouth hanging open. "Jasper is not 'taking me to bed' like that."

"But you just said—"

"I hurt my foot when I tripped by the couch. Jasper was just going to help me back downstairs. Stop being an idiot."

Emmett still looks hesitant. "You sure, B? I mean, you know I'm just looking after you after what happened before—"

"I'm sure." I cut him off before he can say anything else about that. "Really," I say, softening my voice.

Emmett's protective stance loosens and he takes a step back, still eyeing Jasper as if he isn't sure I'm telling the truth.

I turn back to Jasper and I say, "I'm ready now." Because I am ready, and I need to get the hell out of there before Emmett says anything else.

Jasper looks between Emmett and me, confusion evident in the creases of his brow, but he eventually nods and starts toward the doorway to the basement. It's beyond dark in the stairwell, and the tension between us is palpable. Just before we reach the bottom, Jasper speaks.

"What was Emmett talkin' 'bout back there?"

I bite my lip and absently rub my thumb against his shoulder. "Nothing. Just forget about it."

"Does he know?" he asks, and I startle at the question.

"What? You mean about . . . about . . . no, no one knows. Unless . . . unless you told someone . . .?"

He's quiet for a moment, and then, "I never told anyone."

I can feel the awkwardness growing between us and I wonder if we will ever be able to get past this. If I will ever be able to look at him and not immediately remember that I know how he likes to be kissed, and where, and what he tastes like when I do.

When we step off the bottom of the stairs, Jasper carries me all the way into my bedroom. It's dark and so quiet in my room; the only thing I can hear is the sound of our breathing. He stops at the edge of my bed but doesn't immediately put me down. Instead, he stands there, holding me against him in the dark. My heart starts to pound harder and my fingers twitch on his shoulder.

"Jasper?" I say. My voice is quiet, but it sounds so loud in the silence.

He lets out a breath, and I swear I hear it shake. His fingers flex against my thigh and under my knees, and for a moment, I feel like we're both back there again, that it's four years earlier and we're about to make the same mistakes all over again. And I really don't think I have the strength to stop it.

"Jasper," I whisper once more, and this time it's me who sounds unsteady. "Are you okay?"

He doesn't say anything for what seems like forever, and then, "I don't know."

I start to say more, but he bends then and slowly lowers me to the bed. I leave my arms around his neck all the way down, the short, soft strands of his hair pushing between my fingers, and I can't help but close my eyes when I feel his breath on my throat. When he starts to draw away, his dog tags drag along the top of my chest and bump the tip of my chin, and I have the sudden urge to wrap them around my hand and pull him back down by them.

I still don't understand this feeling, this . . . yearning, this want. Maybe it's the memory of him from years ago. Maybe it's the dark and silence inside my room. Maybe it's everything and nothing all at once. All I know is I can't seem to shake it, and everything in me seems to be asking—begging for something.

Jasper pulls back, and I let him go. Because it's the right thing to do. It's the only thing to do. Even though it feels like it's killing me.

He starts toward the door, and I can't stand how tight it makes my chest. I don't want him to go. I don't want to leave everything unsaid. I don't want to wonder what this was, or what it is, or what it might be.

"Jasper?" I say.

He stops in the doorway, and he's that silhouette again. Only this time he doesn't look like a nervous, unsure boy. He looks like a man. A world-worn, strong, confident man. "Yeah?"

I can hardly speak past the fullness in my throat. I don't know what this is. I don't know what to do. But I know I can't leave things the way they are: all of this confusion, and uncertainty, and secrecy. No matter how much I had wanted to forget, it's obvious neither of us have.

"We should talk. You know, about that night. Shouldn't we?" My pulse is speeding a hundred miles a minute, because I don't know what he thinks about it or if he even wants to.

He lets out an audible breath and looks down at the floor before answering.

I'm afraid of his answer. I'm afraid of how I feel. I'm afraid of the way he looks at me. I'm afraid of him leaving this room and walking out of my life again without us ever having the chance to figure this out. But most of all, I'm afraid I'll never feel again the way I felt when I was with him.

"Yeah," he says, glancing back up at me, that one word promising a million different things, and I don't know any of them. "We should. We will."

I nod, and he stands there for a few more moments. And then I see the uncertainty again. I want to spare him of it; I want to spare us both, but I know I can't.

I draw in a breath and say the only thing that makes sense for me to say right now, "Goodnight, Jasper."

He smiles softly and grabs the knob of the door, drawing it closed as he moves out of the room. I close my eyes and through the dark I hear a quiet, "G'night, Bella Mia."

And this time I don't even try to stop the shiver.

As I said up top, I can't ramble, but I'm going to try to keep these chapters 1 POV at least.

A note on Jasper's accent—in case anyone wonders why he's the only one with a really defined one. Yes, for this story, all the characters "grew up" together in the Houston area of Texas. That doesn't mean they were all born there or that they all lived there all of their lives, it just means they've all lived there since they were kids. More on that later in the story.

Not everyone in Texas has an accent—not even people who were born and raised here. And I know, because I live here. ;) There are a lot of different factors that go into the various accents here, some of them including where in Texas you live, whether you're a city dweller or a "country" dweller, how your parents speak, etc. etc. For the purposes of this story, Jasper grew up as a "ranchin'" boy. He worked the fields and with the animals with his family from a very young age, and his parents, grandparents, etc. all have the very deep, twangy accent. This is why he has it. It's what he heard from birth, so it's how he learned to talk. The others were either not originally from Texas, or they grew up in more urban areas.

Hopefully this makes sense and clears up any questions that may have been floating around about that.

Until next time,

Xoxo ddpjclaf