Thanks to my beta: LauraWeasely
Playlist:
Bruno Mars – Just the Way You Are
Avril Lavigne - Things I'll Never Say
Lenny Kravits – Can't Get You Out of My Mind
Sara Bareilles – Come Round Soon
Adele – Daydreamer
Disclaimer: I'm not from the Forks area. In fact I've never been to Washington State, so please bear with me about my location details and environmental descriptions.
Tip: If you want the latest as soon as possible, I post all my chapters to TWILIGHTED(dot)net DAYS before I post them anywhere else (FFn and MyVampFiction). You can find me under achelle131 on Twilighted.
Chapter 3: Evasion
I can never re-live this moment without excitement.
I sit in the kitchen, my eager hands practically tearing at the seams of the box of my new camera. As I pull out the heavy weight of the camera out, my heart reels with anticipation. My fingers tremble anxiously as I attach its lens.
I'm shaking with exhilaration. I have to do some new test shots right away.
"We're going to get some groceries," my mother tells me, kissing me on my forehead. "Your father and I will be back soon."
"Okay," I respond absentmindedly as I fiddle with my camera, not even giving them a glance as they walk out the door.
But I let my eyes scan my surroundings to look for something to photograph, and I begin to recall the way the cloud-filtered sun hit kitchen table through the windows. Suddenly hit by a strong sense of déjà vu, I turn, my eyes scanning the house—my brother, my sister.
Suddenly, I feel sick. This moment is oddly familiar. Something in my gut is screaming that this is wrong.
I look at my siblings going about their business as usual. But something is different; there is a change in the air.
I know what I am doing when this moment passes, when this happened the first time. Oh, God. "Don't get into the car!" I try to scream once again, for a millionth time, but no sound comes out.
I drop my camera, and it shatters into millions of pieces, but at this moment it doesn't matter.
Like always, I have to stop them. Even though it never ends well, I can't help but fight. I have to fight.
I run to the door, trying to turn the knob, but it won't open. "Stop!" I scream at the top of my lungs. "Wait! Don't go! You can't leave!"
I turn to my siblings, but no one hears me. Rebecca is twirling her hair around her finger and laughing flirtatiously at the voice on the other line. Jacob has Wolverine in his hand, facing off with Magneto in the other.
"Help me!" I exclaim towards them. "Help me open the door! We have to stop them!"
But, like many times I've experienced this before, they can't hear me; continuing on playing and talking and laughing.
My fists pound helplessly at the door and the windows, my mouth stretching out.. I try the door again, using my whole body this time, pulling with my hands, with my weight, using my feet for leverage.
Somehow I feel that someone else is here with me. Someone can hear me, but I don't see him. I just feel him.
I finally break the door free and run out of the house into the rain, the car is a distant dot down the road. I know—I know within my gut—what news will be returning to us… and who will not be.
"Mom!" My legs try to run after the car, and all I can see is her waving from the rear window.
Suddenly warm arms grab hold of me—strong, heavy. "We have to stop them!"
"Everything will be okay," the voice says from behind me. It was deep, smooth, assuring.
"No!" I scream, unable to concentrate on that assuring voice in the frantic need to get my mother to safety. "Let me go! I have to stop my mother!"
I stare helplessly after the bright smile on her beautiful face, slightly deformed from the streams of water the rain caused on the rear window.
"Mom, no!" I fight the arms around me. I can't let them go. Why won't he let me stop them? "Let me go! My mom! I have to help my Mom."
"Rachel, baby, you can't change fate."
The arms let go, the large hands grabbing hold of my shoulders, turning me to face him.
"You have to let me go! I have to stop them!" I choke out, my tears streaming, sobs erupting from me.
His eyes are the color of chocolate, his dark brows arched in concern. "I know," he says. "But everything's going to be all right. I promise."
"My Mom," I croak. "I have to stop my mom."
"We'll get through this," he whispers, touching his forehead to mine. The massive hands come to either side of my head, cradling my face. "You're not alone. I won't leave you."
"But my Mom," I protest, turning in the direction of my car. "I miss my Mom."
"I know you do." His thumbs rub gently against my cheeks. It feels nice, and I begin to calm down. My sobs are slowing, the twisting pain in my gut still present, but I feel secure.
But then I realize he's actually interacting with me. "You hear me," I say, looking into his eyes again. They're beautiful— irises like liquid, with specks of toffee colored light. "No one ever hears me when I scream."
Through his expression of worry, his lips curl up in a smile. "I hear you," he assures me. "I hear you, and I know you miss her."
I shut my eyes, the last of my tears brimming and spilling over my cheeks. "I do."
"Look at me, Rachel."
My eyes open to see this man, and I can't place who he is. Somehow, though, there's a feeling of tightness in my chest that assures me that I do.
"I will help you," he promises me, his hands sliding back, fingers digging into my hair. "You'll never have to face this alone."
I nod because his tone is soothing; his warm touch is undeniably comforting.
He brings my face to his and I let him kiss me. My eyes shut, and I instantly moan as our lips meet. I lose myself in the warmth of his kiss, the gentle yet burning movement of his lips, the velvety texture of his tongue. This doesn't dull the pain I feel, but the loneliness is withering away.
He pulls back and smiles, and I take in the perfect nose, the chiseled cheekbones, the square jaw. As I drink in the perfect russet skin, the shiny, black hair, and the coffee eyes, one name comes to mind:
Paul.
Like a million mornings before this one, my eyes flew open. I swallowed as my hand came to the column of my throat.
Was that really a dream? As always, I felt a swirling sense of unease in my stomach over reliving the last moments with my mother, but something was new. There was a stirring from within me—an aching in my chest for the strong arms, and that smooth, deep voice. I longed for it. Yearned for it.
I shut my eyes, and in the privacy of my own thoughts, I let my mind flood with images of him. I recalled the sound of his voice, the feel of his touch, and the taste of his mouth.
And in this dream, he was like a soothing balm to my grief. To my soul, even.
Was that really Paul? And why the hell was I yearning for him the way I was?
Reality crept into my thoughts, and I realized I needed to shake this very yearning off.
It was just a dream.
I began to recollect the events from Saturday night—meeting Paul, talking to him, and then kissing his lips. Making out with him so shamelessly in front of everyone. I'd gone home and straight into my old room. Even when my dad asked if I was all right, I said nothing about what happened and just asked to be left alone.
I was sweating underneath the covers, so I threw them on the floor. I stretched my back, reaching above me with my arms. The air mattress sucked, but I just couldn't find it in me to sleep in my brother's bed. Yes it was my old room, but the bed was his. Though I slept in his room at the moment, I still crashed on the floor.
I stared at my brother's Volkswagen Calendar that hung on the right side of the room. The day was Monday, August 7th, 2006.
Had I really spent a day hiding in the house from everyone in LaPush? Had Saturday night really happened?
Our house wasn't so big and I could hear my dad in the kitchen from the room. I could tell he was using the oven judging by the sound of a pan sliding on a rack. I sat up slowly and switched on my MacBook.
I pulled out the disk from my Nikon and uploaded the photos from my camera, something I routinely did on weekend mornings. Without school and without a job, this early Monday was just like any other weekend.
As I reviewed the shots for color-correction and processing in Photoshop, I'd forgotten that I'd taken some photos at the beach. Now looking at my disk, I realized I took over a hundred from that day.
Systematically, I opened up each file, fixing the brightness and contrast of every still—adjusting the levels of color. I paused at one that caught my eye. The best shot of the night was one of the boys roughhousing. It was a great action shot—one of a series taken in continuous mode. However, as I zoomed in to inspect it carefully, he was there.
I swallowed hard.
I remembered snapping this series of shots that afternoon, not even intending to get him in this particular image. Apparently, I had. Paul was behind Embry and Jared, staring directly into the camera. Within the depth of field, his face was blurred, but even so, I seemed know him anywhere.
As I flipped to the next shot, it was the reverse, with the focus on him and the boys on the foreground fuzzy. A shiver went down my spine at the force of his chocolate gaze, which was crazy given that it was just a photograph. My heart began to race.
I closed the file and flipped through more. Leah giving me the evil eye with her hand blurred while blocking the camera, Seth posing like he was in GQ, Quil and Embry running for the ball.
I hit next and there it was—the photo that shouldn't have been my favorite. It was a close up of Paul's profile, laughing. My heart swelled up within me, and my chest grew tight. His eyes were warm and friendly, turned toward the horizon on the sea. My hand went to my chest, sliding up to my throat and I gulped again. I hadn't seen his face in close to forty-eight hours. Why did it feel like I was seeing the sun for the first time? Why did I secretly want to save this as my desktop's background image?
A knock at the bedroom door sent me slamming the laptop shut and jumping off the air mattress.
I went to get the door, and as it swung, the smell of sugary cinnamon wafted with the door's breeze. There was my dad facing me, his long, shiny black hair in a neat ponytail. "Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you."
I sighed in relief. "No problem."
"Come eat with me," he said. "I made your favorite."
"Cinnamon rolls?"
He beamed at me. "Just out of the oven."
"Sure," I answered with a smile. "Twist my arm, will ya?"
He laughed, as I joined him in the kitchen for amazing Pillsbury goodness iced with cream cheese frosting.
"Any plans for this weekend?"
"Fishing on Saturday," he said, pouring himself a glass of orange juice. "And then I'll probably go to Harry's in the evening, if you wanted to come along."
"Maybe," I nodded. I hadn't seen Sue Clearwater since years before Harry's death. I probably should pay her some respect. "How about Sunday? What are your plans then?"
He took a long drink of his juice, and looked at me as he put his glass down. He hesitated for a moment before he spoke. "I'm going to Bella's wedding."
"You are?" I asked. I shouldn't be shocked. Charlie was his best friend. He had every right to go to his best friend's daughter's wedding. However, I couldn't help but feel like it was a betrayal to my brother.
"Why do you look so surprised?"
"I just—" I began, but changed my mind. I knew we'd go in circles discussing my brother. "Nothing."
He furrowed his brows. "What is it?"
I was hesitant to bring it up, because I knew it was useless. My father would dismiss my concerns like he's done the last few days. But as he looked at me with concern, I answered anyway. "Jake," I admitted. "I'm still worried about Jake."
He reached across the table, placing his hand on mine. "I know, sweetheart, I know. I'm sure he'll be back soon."
I sighed. "Yeah, I know. You've said that already."
"Rachel," he rebuked lightly, "just trust me on this."
He watched as I looked away, absently cutting my roll with a fork and stared into space. "Soon isn't happening fast enough."
"He's broken hearted, but obviously, she wasn't the one for him. Things will be different once he finds the one. He's learning right now. I wouldn't have preferred that he left but if this is his way of dealing, we can't force him to stay."
"You've given this much thought, I see," I told him, looking up at his face, searching his wise, hopeful eyes.
He nodded. "I have. I'm hoping that he gains some new perspective out of life from this experience. Your brother clearly loves with his whole heart, and that will make for a great man. It'll only make him stronger from this point on."
Let's hope so, I thought to myself, but I dropped the subject, drowning my worries in sticky cinnamon goodness.
As promised, I called Leah after breakfast and invited her to lunch and a movie. Maybe even dinner. I was a bit nervous to see her, considering Saturday night's events. Thankfully she couldn't do anything today, so we made plans for Tuesday night. I was all right with that though, hoping that time would erase some memories from her mind. I didn't have it in me to discuss the kiss with Paul.
Ugh.
My dad and I headed to the grocery store after breakfast. We were running low on bread and milk, and I wanted to replenish the cleaning supplies. As I perused the aisles at Ron's Food Mart for different products the house needed, someone at the cashier caught my eye. I recognized the towering height, the close-cropped 'do, and the wide shoulders, and my stomach fell to the floor.
He turned to put some items on the counter from his basket, and I felt a flood of relief. The profile didn't match the one in the picture I so admired earlier.
But that didn't extinguish the flood of butterflies in my stomach, or the thunderous beating of my heart.
It was Jared, and I knew with Jared, his best friend wouldn't be far behind.
I immediately crouched down and bowed my head in an effort to hide myself. I began to scan the different aisles, my head turning every which way, paranoid that he was here. I tried to calm myself down. Maybe he wasn't here. Maybe he and his BFF weren't so joined at the hip. I was annoyingly a little excited at the possibility of seeing him again, though most of me dreaded it.
Suddenly, I bumped into someone carrying two bags of drinks, both of us reacting right away. "I'm so sorry—"
"Yo, watch where you're—"
But before either of us could utter another word, our eyes met and it was over.
The strong eyebrows. The masculine line of his jaw. The softness of his youthful, friendly eyes within the lines of his impossibly aged features. Rugged. Gorgeous.
I was taken back to Saturday night… the flash of memory. The fiery warm skin. The fingers combing through my tresses and digging into my scalp , pushing me into his face. The kiss deepening, lips moving frantically against each other.
"Rachel," he breathed, with an arms load of sodas and Corona bottles in plastic bags.
"Uh…" I stuttered for a good moment, nothing coherent coming out of my mouth. Like a fool. I'd been rendered speechless many times in my life, but never to the point of dumbfoundedness. Not like this, at least.
"Paul," I heard my father say from behind me. "How are you?" He put a package of bacon and a carton of eggs into our basket.
"Billy," Paul said, shaking himself out of his own daze. "Just the man I wanted to see."
"Anything new?" I heard my dad ask as they both walked away from me and toward the bread aisle together.
"A bit but not too much," Paul muttered, before dipping his voice even lower in volume. "Sam says…"
I began to absentmindedly handle the apples in the produce section. Their discussion was too muffled from where I was standing to make out. Not that I cared to hear what they were talking about. Nothing could have been that interesting. All I could think of was God, this town was entirely too small for its own good.
They returned to me, a loaf of Wonder whole wheat in my father's hand, as well as a bag of English muffins.
"Nice seeing you again, Rachel," Paul said, his voice silky and soft, his smile small. Nervous. Anxious.
"Yeah," I choked. "Sure." I turned away, feeling my cheeks burn.
His mouth opened again, like he wanted to say something more.
I began to tremble, my heart rate pounding behind my ears. Whatever he had to say, I didn't care to hear it; especially not in front of my dad. I was trying not to draw attention to the awkwardness—hoping my dad couldn't read that something happened between this young man and me.
"Paul, come on," Jared urged from outside the store, ready to leave. "I want to get home and catch some sleep."
"All right already, damn," Paul groaned, shooting Jared a dirty look before turning back to us. "I'll see you both later." He began to walk away.
Not if I could help it, I thought.
"Uh, Paul," my dad called, sending Paul spinning around to turn back to us.
"Yes, Billy?"
"I assume the beer is for your father, right?"
"Uh… yeah," Paul clearly lied. "Sure. Yes, sir." He cleared his throat. "Bye."
My dad laughed, his head shaking.
I fought the urge to look up and watch him leave. I was once again drawn to him, wanting to follow him wherever he went.
After they left, we headed for the cashier.
My father seemed to study me. "What's with you?" he asked.
"What do you mean?" I asked, confused.
"You're usually so friendly. You seemed a bit standoff-ish. Almost snobby."
I didn't look at him. I just put the goods on the counter for the cashier to ring up. If only you knew, I thought.
"Do you not like him?"
"No. He's fine," I responded. "It's nothing. Nothing about him," I fibbed with a surprisingly even tone.
My dad's brows wrinkled. "Okay?"
"Don't worry about it, Dad. I'm just in a hurry to get home. Nothing personal against… the boy."
He shrugged it off and helped bag the items as they were rung at the counter.
I breathed a sigh of relief that I was able to defer his curiosity.
Tuesday was my day with Leah. I picked her up and headed onto Port Angeles to grab lunch, do some window shopping, and probably catch a flick at Lincoln Theater.
We sat at a booth in Smuggler's Landing, the casual pub right on the water. I had my Crab Cake Sandwich while Leah enjoyed her Grilled Cod. We were seated in a great area, overlooking the harbor. I was just as nervous to see her as I was to call her with the possibility of discussing Paul. It wasn't all that bothered me, of course. With Jacob still missing, I always had that unease in the back of my mind. Every day that passed that he wasn't home added anxiety deep within my gut.
She lifted a curious brow at me. "You okay?"
"I'm fine," I answered before taking a sip of my iced tea. "Why?"
"You look… I don't know." Her eyes studied me. "Worried."
I sighed. "Does it show?"
"Yes."
"My brother," I admitted. "I'm concerned that he's okay. And we haven't heard from him. And it's upsetting to be around my father, who seemed to have surrendered to the fact that Jacob left. He's not even trying to find him."
Leah looked at me, her mouth opening as if she was hesitating to tell me something.
"What?" I pressed. "Do you know something? Do you know where he went?"
"No," she admitted. "But I know how much he's hurting, so I don't blame him for leaving."
I flinched at her statement. She and my brother were never close, for all I knew. Had things changed? "How do you know that?"
"Look, a lot has happened since you left. Though I know Jacob and I aren't the greatest of friends, you can say I've seen—or witnessed, rather— how much he cares about that girl. I've seen how much she's lead him on, only to make a choice that didn't involve him. Jake just needs time to deal."
"He could at least check in with my dad."
"True," she admitted. "But I don't think you need to worry. He probably has a good excuse for not checking in. I'm sure he'll be back before you know it."
I put down my sandwich and eyed her speculatively. "You know, everyone I ask about my brother is being selective in their words with me. I can't help but think that all of you know more."
Her face was careful before it turned into an expression of bewilderment. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"You. My dad. Embry and Quil. Seth." And Paul, I tacked on mentally. I leaned forward, looking her straight in the eye. "You sure you aren't hiding something from me? Is there something you're not telling me?"
She looked slightly uncomfortable for a moment before she put on a poker face. "I only know as much as Seth knows."
Sighing heavily, I leaned back in my chair and chewed absently on a French fry.
"Look, I understand. No one knows more how it feels to have a younger brother, and want to protect him. Your dad, you say he has surrendered to the fact that Jacob left?"
"Yes."
"Do you think that maybe he is right in believing that Jake will come back? Don't you think his confidence in your brother's wellbeing, as well as his return, is from nothing?"
"Well, no. I'm sure my dad has all the confidence in the world about Jake."
"Don't you?"
"I don't know. I," I looked at her for a moment. "I guess," I admitted.
"So try to keep that thought in mind. Your dad isn't going to be silly about his own son. If he has confidence, so should you."
I hate that she had a point.
We'd spent most of lunch with random chitchat, and I was thankful that the topic of Saturday night didn't come up.
That is, until it did.
"So what happened to you and… Derek, was it?"
"Darren," I corrected her, lightly, solely on reflex.
"That's right, Darren," she said.
I put down my sandwich and wiped my fingers with my napkin, picturing my ex-boyfriend's blue eyes and sandy blonde hair. "Um, yeah… that didn't work out so well."
She looked at me with curiosity.
I tried to figure out a clever way to tell her. "Her name was Heather," I said with no emotion.
She frowned, disgusted. "Figures."
"Yeah. She was from the sister sorority to his frat. His choice, I guess."
"How did you find out?"
"I walked in on them."
"Walked in on them what?" she pressed.
I winced at her, recalling the picture of them taking a romp on his bed.
Leah read the scene from the expression on my face. "Wow."
"Yeah, I know." I was a little shocked at that moment that the memory didn't sting as much as it used to.
"How long was that for, again?"
I shrugged, a little surprised myself that looking back on the relationship didn't bother me so much anymore. "I think about a year and a half. I'm not sure."
"Well, good riddance," she sighed.
"Yup," I agreed.
"What?" she asked, noticing me deep in thought.
"Nothing it's just… it used to be so hard to talk about, but lately, it doesn't hurt to think about him anymore."
She seemed to have an emotion that I couldn't recognize as she regarded me. It seemed like a strange lack of surprise in what I said.
"What?" I asked her. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
"I'm just… not shocked is all."
"Why do you say that?"
She seemed to shake off whatever thought she had in her head. "Nothing. I just… admire people who are able to move on."
I nodded, grabbing my sandwich and taking a bite.
Leah continued to work on her lunch as well. As she ate her fish, she seemed to ponder something before speaking. "Look, I'm sorry about Saturday night," she sighed.
"Saturday night?"
"My reaction to the, uh, kiss—"
"No problem, really," I interjected, feeling the burning flush on my cheeks and ears. Clearing my throat, I took a bite out of my sandwich and took a moment to chew on it thoughtfully. As I took a long pull of my iced tea, I felt Leah's stare at me as if I were going to continue.
"So," she began, and I took a deep breath, "Paul, huh?"
I sighed. "Don't even start with me," I muttered.
"Don't even start? Please!" She folded her arms and eyed me suspiciously. "I wasn't the one sucking face with him by the fire."
My cheeks grew flaming red. "Please don't remind me."
"What? You mean to tell me you didn't like it?"
"That's beside the point." The statement flew out before I knew what I said. "I mean—"
She gave a face that was half smirk and half wince, like she was disgusted and amused at the same time. "So you did like it."
"Leah…"
"What?"
"It was just a fluke. A stupid… one-night… mistake."
Her eyebrows rose towards her hairline. "Mistake? Is that what you think it was?"
"Yes," I insisted.
She looked at me speculatively. "And you didn't think of him at all when you got home that night? Or anytime since then?
"No!" I maintained. "It's ridiculous. He's practically a child."
She wore an expression of disbelief, but continued her speculation anyway. "Well, I can't argue with that fact, but—"
"It was nothing," I proclaimed, though I felt like I was convincing myself just as much as I was trying to convince her. "I guess I was just… curious. He seemed nice to talk to, and he's funny. But that was it. Just one night. Not like I'd be in town for long anyway."
She arched a brow at me as if she was waiting for me to say more.
"Just a fling," I insisted. "That ended just as soon as it began."
She sighed over dramatically as she cut another piece of her cod and dipped it in the sauce. "Well, I'm here if you need to talk," she offered.
"I really don't want to talk about it anymore, Leah," I pleaded. "Nothing to talk about."
"You sure now?"
I growled. "If we talk about him, then we'll also have to talk about Sa—"
Her eyes were quick to shoot a glare that would've killed me if it could. "Don't even go there."
"Well, we need to be fair," I insisted.
"Look," she said, leaning forward, her voice dropping low, "I realize I don't have many friends these days. I lost many of them when I was with… well when I was occupied. You're one of the few. I was just simply stating that you can come to me with anything. I'm here for you."
I placed my hand on hers, touched at her sentiment. "Well, thanks Leah. I'm here for you too."
"Thank you. I just think you should know, whatever you choose to do with your life, and whoever you choose to do it with, I'll support it. And I promise not to judge." She sighed and looked away and then turned back to me with a wicked grin. "Or at least try."
"Very funny," I grumbled.
My cell phone went off, to both of our relief. I smiled as I looked at my caller ID with an 808 area code. "Hey Becky."
"Hey," she greeted me on the line. "Sorry I didn't call you yesterday. I had a late shift."
"It's all right. What's going on?"
"Not much. I just called to ask… Is Jake home yet?"
Regret pricked at my skin, thinking I probably shouldn't have rushed ahead and told her about Jake when I found out. But it was such a shock that I had to tell her.
"Not yet," I said. "But guess who I'm with."
"Who?"
I handed the phone to Leah, whose hand was already stretched out towards me expectantly.
"What's up, biyatch. Glad to know you know how to use a phone. Too bad you don't know how to use one on me."
She beamed at me as she spoke to my sister, and I returned the smile. God, I missed this. There was a time when all three of us were inseparable. We switched the phone back and forth, joking around with her and reminiscing for a moment before we let her go.
After paying for the check, we visited some shops and tried on clothes at local shops. It wasn't long before we headed onto the movie theater to watch Deadman's Chest. We bought our drinks and a large bucket of popcorn to share and then found our seats in the dark theater. Leah found a great spot and maneuvered herself into prime viewing position with no issue.
As I was settling in my seat, Leah's head shot to the right. "You've got to me kidding me," she grumbled under her breath.
I followed her eyes, and my stomach churned with butterflies as a caught the very eyes I was hoping not to come across, but longed to see since the beach. Paul followed the crowd of moviegoers, filing in on the other side of the theater. I noticed he was there with his best friend, taking a seat beside Jared, with Kim on Jared's other side.
There was a tap on my shoulder, and a red headed kid that worked in the theater handed me a box of Milk Duds and a bottle of Dasani. "For you," he said.
Leah and I exchanged confused glances before looking back at the kid.
"Compliments of the gentleman over there," he said motioning over to where Paul was sitting. "The one in the leather jacket and green hoodie." I wasn't sure if the kid ever excused himself before he walked away, because my attention was on Paul.
"Of all the corniest things to do," Leah sniped, falling into a chuckle.
But I barely heard her. My eyes were on his, returning the burning stare he always had, letting my craving eyes satiate their thirst for him.
His fist was already up by his face, and his hand opened with purpose, in a very slick version of a wave hello.
Awkwardly, I mouthed 'Thank you," very quickly.
His answering nod was something you'd see James Bond would do.
"Wow," Leah said through her laugh. "I never thought he could be so cheesy."
Paul's eyes shot past me over to Leah, his mouth curling up behind his teeth in a growl that couldn't hear from where I was sitting.
She laughed harder in response, prompting a few neighbors to shush us as the movie began.
I tried my best to concentrate on the movie, but even when Jack Sparrow was doing something stupid, or William and Elizabeth shared love scenes, I could feel Paul's presence, his stare.
When the movie let out, I was ready to bolt, but Leah stayed to say hello to Kim. I figured it was probably best that I at least thank Paul for his cheesy, yet adorable gesture during the movie.
It was tough to find people out of the crowd of movie-goes, but luckily Jared and Paul were taller than the average person. I had to admit that height wasn't the only thing that helped me locate the kid.
I realized I could pick Paul out from anywhere. He just didn't move like others did. Actually, he seemed to move like a predator. His thick shoulders rolled with his gait, his walk with determination. With very strong direction. Though it was clear he was headed our way—that his sights were set on me—I also observed that his eyes continually scanned his surroundings. He was so aware of everyone and everything. I got the sense that he could wipe out everyone in the theater house if he wanted to. It ironically gave me a sense of unease and security at the same time.
I'd never seen him this fully dressed—dark baggy jeans, a jacked with a heather grey t-shirt and hunter-green hooded sweatshirt underneath, and tan boots that you would find rappers wearing in hip hop videos.
"Hey girls!" Kim said, giving us both hugs. "So nice to see you."
"Yeah," Jared said. "Totally unexpected." His tone was a little mechanic, a touch of sarcasm in his rehearsed reaction to the fact that we were at the exact same theater watching the exact same movie at the exact same time.
Paul caught my line of sight and waved silently.
As Leah and Kim chatted for a moment, Paul made his way through some folks to stand close to me, clearing his throat and looking ahead instead of at me.
I fidgeted as I stood next to him. "Yeah… uh. thanks for the candy and stuff."
He gave a soft nervous laugh. "No problem," he said. His voice was silk again, and I felt the burn of his stare on me as I kept my eyes unseeingly at the people leaving another theater. "I was right, wasn't I?"
"About what?"
"Chocolate."
I stared at him, confused.
"As opposed to Sour Patch Kids, or Twizzlers, or something like that. You like chocolate better," he deduced. "Don't you?"
"Yeah," I breathed. "How'd you guess?"
He was smug. "I guess I'm just lucky that way."
"All right," Leah interceded, sourly. "How did you know where we'd be?"
"What? I don't know what you're talking about."
She folded her arms in front of her chest. "I know a bunch of you guys went to see this movie already, so don't play with me."
"Hey, this is a public theater. Besides, what's it to you? So what if we wanted to see it again?"
She frowned. "Pirates? Really?"
"It's a fun movie."
"Bull," she protested.
Kim and Jared interrupted, sharing their thoughts about the film with us and Paul joined in for a moment.
I realized quickly that I didn't want to stand around and socialize for too long. Sue had invited me over for dinner with her and Leah tonight and I didn't want it to become a larger affair than intended.
Apparently, Leah was thinking the same thing. "Seriously," she began, pulling Paul away, "how'd you find out where we'd be and what we'd be watching and what time?"
He sighed dramatically. "Seth, all right?"
Leah frowned. "I'm gonna kill that kid."
"Why do you care if we're here or not?"
She stepped up to him, right in his face. "Because you're crashing on my night with my friend."
Paul didn't budge, his face stern and challenging. "So?"
"If you want to see her, you should go and ask her out yourself. Unless you're too chicken to do that, which wouldn't be a shock."
He scoffed. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"How would you like it if I crashed your date, moron?"
I touched her arm. "It's fine Leah. Let's just go."
"Where are you all headed off to?" Paul asked, his chocolate gaze fixed on me.
Nosey. "Home," I answered quickly.
Leah hugged Kim, nodded her head at Jared, and narrowed her eyes at Paul before heading for the door. I waved at everyone goodbye and followed her to the car, all the while feeling the heat of Paul's stare after me. Again I fought the draw, the instinct to turn back and look at him. I drove away training my eyes forward.
Pull or no pull, I will avoid him.
The day was Thursday. I slept in and then started the laundry. Padding over to the kitchen, I made myself a bagel and cream cheese with a glass of orange juice between loads. I sat down in front of the TV to eat, though it was tough for me to do so. Yesterday, I'd spent with my dad in the daytime and applying for jobs in Seattle in the evening.
Today was the day. Today was the day that I chose to face my biggest fears and visit my mother at the cemetery. I hadn't been back to the gravesite since the first year of her death. It was so painful for my sister and I that my dad never bothered to force us. He'd always let us deal with our grief the other way. I guess that sort of made sense now, considering how much freedom he'd given Jake over his grief with the Swan chick.
I couldn't get myself to finish my breakfast. I ended up chucking one half of the bagel and pouring the rest of the juice into the sink.
I walked to the car with determination that I'd never had before.
I was gonna do this.
I turned the key in the ignition with shaky hands, and drove to the sacred burial grounds. If I could get through this, I could leave and join Dana in Seattle and begin my job search. I would be able to move on. But it had been too long, and need to see her. Visit my mother's grave.
I mentally winced at the last word I thought of.
The day was overcast, as usual. A little dreary, and quite chilly, like high 50's and low 60s. It was normal for our summers this cold. I made it a point to notice the weather, and the beautiful wooded surroundings of Quillayute Road. Anything to keep my mind off of what I was about to do.
Nausea began to grow once I saw the sign for the Quillayute Cemetery. I realized I really should have forced myself to finish the bagel and the juice.
I pulled up and put my car in park, staring blankly ahead of me. I could see the heads of the gravestones just past the bushes that marked the cemetery's entrance. The sight of them made me sick. Flashes of her funeral came back to me, spinning my mind back onto things I hadn't wanted to relive all these years that I'd been away.
The pain. Complete and utter sorrow.
I sat in my car, my hand on the door latch, unable to pull. I was such a chicken.
But I knew that my resolve was waning.
I was so weak.
My courage, my determination, was fading.
I couldn't do this.
I pulled out of the cemetery, making a u-turn and going back down the road I came from.
I felt like I had failed. I had failed my mother. I'd spent a good six or seven years avoiding the spot. I never visited her, not even for her birthday. What kind of daughter was I? I spent several moments mentally beating myself up over that fact. After a while though, I began to reason it out.
Maybe next time, I figured. Maybe the next time I was in town, when I'd started my career, and settled in the big city. Maybe then I could face this without any reservations. Without any fear. Without any guilt.
There was a loud pop and the car veered to the right, sending my heart into overdrive as I tried to swerve to miss the trees.
I checked my pockets, my seats, and my purse, but my cell phone wasn't anywhere to be found. "Crap," I growled, realizing I'd left it on the kitchen counter and never took it with me.
I stepped out to look at my car, realizing that one of my tires blew. "Damn it," I growled, frustrated. Tired.
I'd learned from my dad long ago how to change a tire, but with the help of a jack. However, the one in my car was broken from the last time I'd done this over two years ago. And the last time I'd changed a tire was two years ago, so my memory of the process was a little rusty. There was nothing for at least five miles on Quillayute Road from either direction.
"Great," I groaned to myself, frustrated at being completely stranded. "Just great."
It was a small moment that I sat there, staring at my tire, fighting the tears that began to well in my eyes. Here I was, a failure at visiting my mom, and now I was stranded with a flat. Maybe it was a way of her punishing me for not making it.
And then I heard rustling leaves and breaking twigs , my eyes scanning frantically around me at the surrounding thick woods. "Hello?" I called out, my voice shaky. "Is anyone there?"
The sounds—like footsteps—approached, becoming louder and more distinct. They were running.
Running towards my direction. I began to freak out, trying to recollect the crime rate in the area, or the sightings of bears or other predatory animals.
"Rachel?" I heard a gruff voice ask. "Are you okay?"
Of all the rotten luck.
I should've recognized that voice. I should've hid from it.
I looked up to see Paul emerging from the shadows of the forest, Jared close behind him. He stalked forward, his predator-like gait with an edge of urgency. It was the first thing I noticed before I realized how he was dressed.
Shirtless.
Exposed thick, smooth muscles. My eyes couldn't help themselves from feasting on him- especially when he was dressed this way; so scant. His chest and abdomen were ribbed with awesome strength. His cut-off khakis hung over sturdy, corded thighs and calves. Heavily roped shoulders and arms.
Maybe my luck wasn't so rotten after all.
I shook off the thought. "I'm fine," I finally answered, when I got over my inappropriate gawking and internal fawning of the young boy. "Flat tire," I muttered.
"Yikes." Paul looked at the tire and then me. "Well, at least you're okay."
"Yeah, I guess."
"So now you're stranded," he stated.
"Do you always state the obvious?"
He narrowed his eyes at me. "I don't have to help, you know."
"I don't need you to."
He looked at my Corolla, and then back at me. "You sure about that?"
I sighed out of frustration. So much for Project Evasion of the Underage Boy.
"Mind if I take a look?" he asked, walking over to the side of my car.
"Sure," I groaned in surrender. After all, what choice did I have?
He stood up and walked to my trunk. "Got a jack with you?" Paul asked, taking a look inside. "Ah, there's one."
Jared turned to me. "You just sit over there and we'll take it from here."
"Um, not a good idea," I informed them, ignoring Jared's request. "I don't think you can use my jack. It's broken."
"We'll manage," Paul assured me, pulling out the spare from the trunk.
"I'm sure we can figure it out," Jared insisted, his smile full of mischief. "You just need to sit over here."
I did as he said, sitting on a fallen tree near the side of the road. I found it strange though, that they would insist that I sit so far, like they were hiding what they were doing to my car.
To my surprise, the car lifted, but there was a lot of action. They worked so fast that I could hardly distinguish what they were doing.
The silence was awkward, filled with shy glances between Paul and me. I decided to fill it with a question, especially since it was so strange that they appeared out of thin air, stepping out from a thicket of trees and wearing next to nothing.
"So what were you doing out in the middle of nowhere?" I asked from where I was, hearing them screw and unscrew bolts
Paul looked up from the car at me. There was a long moment of silence as he seemed to try to word his answer. "We were just taking a hike."
I regarded their outfits. "Dressed like that?" I asked before thinking.
Paul's lip curled up on one side. "Why? Does it bother you that I don't have a shirt on?"
I cleared my throat. "No—uh—you… you just look ridiculous is all."
He turned back to his work with an annoying smile. Stupid, cocky bastard.
"We're done," Paul called over.
"Already?" I was surprised enough that they were clearly to fix an already broken jack, but to be finished so quickly?
"Come see for yourself," Paul offered.
"Wow, that took no time."
"Told yah," Jared said.
I walked over slowly. The tire was on nicely, like nothing was ever wrong. "Good job," I muttered, despite my desire to seem indifferent towards him, and everything he did. And all the things that he was.
"Well, your brother isn't the only young mechanic in LaPush," Jared boasted as Paul rolled the flat tire over to the back and loaded it into the trunk. "Paul's just as good, if not better."
Paul glared at Jared.
"What?" Jared said. "It's the truth."
As Jared went to put the tools away, Paul turned to me. "I'm sorry," he whispered.
"About what?" I asked.
"That he mentioned… Jake."
I shrugged it off. "Don't worry about it. I should be the one apologizing… for bothering you."
"You're not," he assured me, sincerity in his eyes and the lilt of his silky voice.
"Well thank you, anyway," I said.
"De nada," he mumbled nodding. "This is only a doughnut, so you'll have to get your real tire fixed. If it can't be fixed, you'll have to buy a new one."
I let out an exhale of frustration.
"There's a tire place just walking distance from my house. Stan's. I'm sure you know it."
"I do," I sighed.
"I can come with you." He looked at Jared, and then backs at me. "We both can, right J?"
Jared didn't look too pleased. "I—whatever," he answered, dismissively.
"You guys don't really have to. Seriously."
"No, really," Jared assured me. "It's cool."
"Told ya," Paul interceded.
I climbed into my car, Paul taking the passenger seat, and Jared sitting in the back and dialing a number on his cell phone.
Immediately, he leaned toward my dash board, reading the meters and the lights. "You need an oil change."
"Yeah I know," I clipped, dismissively.
"Yo, and your check light engine is on. Don't you take care of your car at all?"
"I've been busy," I said, a little embarrassed. I was already apprehensive enough with him in the car, but the fact that he was pointing out obvious things to me made me feel stupid as well.
He let it go, seeming a bit nervous himself. It didn't take long before I caught Paul eyeing my wallet full of CDs. "You mind?" he asked, his hand going for the CD book.
I shrugged. "Go ahead."
He searched through the selection, mumbling the names of artists. "Fall Out Boy, Green Day, Panic at the Disco."
"And?" I asked, curious.
"Nothing, you just have similar tasted to Jake—I mean."
"It's okay," I assured him.
"Sorry," he whispered.
"Really, you don't have to keep apologizing. He's my brother and your friend. He'll come up."
He nodded and watched me as I drove before continuing to rummage through my collection.
"Dude, really?"
My eyes flickered to him and then back to the road. "What?"
"N'sync?"
The warmth of a blush permeated my cheeks. "Yeah, so?"
He laughed. "Nothing."
I pressed my lips together, annoyed. I could hear the quiet hum of Jared's voice on his cell phone with Kim, giving her a report of my car troubles.
Paul continued to rummage through my car's music collection. He nodded in approval of other CD's: John Legend, Ne-Yo, Robin Thicke, and Chris Brown.
He cleared his throat. "Let me guess," he said. "You're a Justin Timberlake fan?"
I blushed red. "Is it that obvious?"
"Well considering you have not only his complete albums, but all his singles on CD as well."
I frowned. "There are mixes and special versions on those disks that you don't get with the album," I explained in almost a growl, defensive.
He chuckled. "Sure." He eyed my iPod that sat in the compartment under my head unit. "I bet that iPod is full of JT, too."
"Your point being?"
"Just being observant."
I winced in disbelief. "You mean to tell me you don't like any of his songs?"
His large shoulders shrugged. "Eh. Maybe one or two," he admitted.
I shot him a look, a little smug. "See."
"That's beside the point, girl," he insisted. "You're obsessed, admit it."
"So what's it to you?" I asked, my eyes narrowing in his direction as we pulled into Stan's Tire Repair. "Jealous?
He turned to me with the same tight eyes. "And what if I was?" he challenged me.
Swallowing hard, I diverted my eyes from him, concentrating on parking instead.
"Well," Jared said, cutting the silent tension in the car. I hadn't even realized that his phone call had ended by then. "This has all been… exciting, but I need to get back to Kim."
"Go on," Paul urged, waving a dismissive hand at Jared. "No one will miss you.'
He glanced between the two of us. "Oh. Heh. Well, that was far from my worries," he responded with a chuckle.
"See you later, Jared," Paul growled.
He laughed again, raising his hand farewell. "Later, peeps."
"Bye," I breathed with a wave as Jared stepped out and walked towards the road.
I regarded his lack of shirt before we walked in. I guess I must've made a face when I did so, because he paused and asked, "What is it?"
"Are you really going in dressed like that?"
He rolled his eyes and pulled a piece of white cloth out of his pocket. He stretched it out with his fingers—a very thin, white wifebeater—and pulled it over his head.
As he smoothed it over his abs, I hadn't realized I was staring at him. He narrowed his eyes at me. "Is that better?" he asked, his gaze shooting right through my own, into my heart. And maybe lower.
I gulped and turned away. "Yes. Much." My voice was uneven and shaky. Completely embarrassing. I cursed at the fact that I found him endlessly attractive, clothed or not.
Paul helped me carry the tire to one of the guys and explain the flat. He also brought it to the mechanic's attention that I was due for an oil change and my maintenance light was on.
As we sat in the waiting room, I thought again about my brother. All the talk about cars would've naturally lead me to think of his aspirations to be a mechanic, without Jared or Paul's previous mentions of him. Of course, if you asked Jake,he already was a mechanic. I wondered then, how he was going to react to the fact that Dad is attending Bella's wedding. Would Jake hold it against him? Would Jake understand?
Paul got up from his seat and asked if I wanted something to drink. I accepted absentmindedly, my thoughts still with my brother.
As Paul walked to the refreshment table, I contemplated on my brother much further. I couldn't wait until Jake got back, so I could smack some sense into him. It wasn't all that bothered me. I still had an underlying feeling that everyone knew something more about Jake's whereabouts than I did.
"So all they had was this generic soda."
Paul's deep voice brought me back to the present, his hand reached out with a plastic cup full of soda. "It's fine."
"Your car will be okay," he reassured me, misreading my face. Obviously, it was tough for me to hide my feelings. "Just a tire."
I took the drink from him. "Oh, that's not—I mean, yeah, I know."
He sat beside me, his eyes never leaving my face. "What?"
"That's not what I was thinking about."
His eyes watched me carefully as I took a sip of whatever grape-flavored drink it was. "Well, you're worried about something."
He put the cup to his lips as I shrugged my shoulders.
"Jake?" He said my brothers name carefully, like he was treading dangerous waters.
I sighed, nodding my head in silence. What was the use in hiding it? In lying?
"I see," he mumbled.
"Is it that obvious?" I studied the floor tiles.
"Not really," he said. "I'm just observant, I guess."
I furrowed my brows. "Right," I scoffed.
He was quiet for an instant before he turned in his chair so that his body faced me.
I ignored it, looking forward. I felt uncomfortable with his intense stares… like he was leering at me. However, I was pretty sure the reason for such uncomfortable feelings came from the fact that I was horrified in the pleasure that I found in his attention. In his company.
"Look," he began, his voice like satin sheets against naked skin, "the kid gets on my nerves. Always has. He's a bit of a twerp, and a big tool sometimes, but the thing is, he's strong. Perfectly able to take care of himself. He's got a good head on his shoulders, and his own mind. A stubborn mind at that. And when he's ready to come around, he will."
It was strange as I processed his words, how much they had a calming affect over me, like Paul's assurance nurtured me from the inside. It didn't wipe away my doubt completely, though. "How are you so sure nothing's happened to him?"
He began to shake his head even before I finished my question. "Nothing has. I'm sure he's fine."
So certain of himself. Of my brother. "But how?" I asked. "How do you know that?"
There was strength and confidence in his eyes as his gaze burned into me. "Just trust me, Raych," he said, his voice sure and… trustworthy. "I just do."
The way he said Raych moments ago caused my heart to flutter involuntarily. He said my nickname with an odd combination of reverence, comfort, and familiarity. I found myself longing to hear it from him again.
"He'll come back." He placed his hand on mine, the burning heat of his palm sending a shiver up my spine.
I pulled my hand away and cleared my throat.
I wasn't sure how he did it, but that reassurance seemed to be enough for me. My mind seemed to calm, the anxiety swimming in my gut seemed to evaporate. The muscles in my torso relaxed. The worry in my heart felt as if it were fading.
"So what were you doing in that direction?" he asked, changing the subject and thankfully deflecting the awkward moment.
"Just taking a drive," I lied.
He didn't look convinced. "Were you… at the cemetery?" He wasn't exactly a genius. There wasn't much of anything else down that way.
I felt the burn of a flush on my cheeks. "Um…"
He shifted in his chair, the motion making him seem closer to me, even though he kept the same comfortable distance from me. "You can tell me, you know."
I studied his face—gentle, concerned. Rugged and chiseled. "I tried to go," I admitted. "I tried but…"
"But you couldn't?" he guessed.
I pressed my lips together and shook my head.
"Rachel Black," the guy called behind the counter.
Paul followed me to the counter, shadowing me, but never crowding me. How he was able to be around me and not get on my nerves, I couldn't understand.
As the specialist went over what was needed with my car and explained they had a few jobs to do before my own, I frowned. What would I do without a car? I was disappointed that I would be stuck at the shop for close to three hours.
"So since there's a long wait, why don't you come over for a while and hang out? My house is right around the corner. Have lunch with my dad and me."
"I don't… I don't think so." As if to protest to what was coming out of my mouth, my stomach grumbled.
Paul giggled. "I don't think your stomach agrees with you."
But as I shook my head a him, he stood up, grabbing hold of my wrist and pulling. "Come on," he urged. The force was present—the inevitable pull. He was a magnet for me.
I stood up on my feet, the strength of his pull bringing me to stand up. Reluctantly, as well as nervously, I followed him out.
The walk wasn't too far at all. He literally lived just around the corner. I hesitated at his door bashfully as he walked in.
"Paul? Where have you been? Out all night again?" Mr. Lahote walked into the living room from the kitchen. He was tall, but not as much as his son. They didn't look too much alike either, but it was hard to tell since, like my father, his hair was long, and pulled back in a rubber band. I could see the resemblance in them with the eyes. His were aged in the same way his son's were. "Oh, sorry. I didn't realize you had company."
"S'all right, Dad. You remember Rachel Black."
"Oh," he said, a hint of recognition in his face. "Oh, right. Billy's daughter. Hey," said reaching his hand out to me.
I took it and gave it a good shake. "Hi Mr. Lahote."
"Hank," he corrected me. "Please, just call me Hank."
"Okay," I nodded. "Hank."
"Listen, I'm sorry about your brother. If there's anything I can do to help—"
"Don't worry about it," I said. "Thank you." I caught from the corner of my eye Paul making a cutting motion with his hand across his neck toward his father.
"Well you came just in time. Your aunt and I just ordered some pizza."
I stepped in and realized his aunt Pam was there. From recollection, she was Paul's single aunt, and Hank's only sister.
There were two boxes of pizza out on the kitchen counter.
"Feel free to help yourself," his aunt told me. "It'll probably be best that you eat in the dining room, where there's more space."
I was too shy to move in on the food myself, so Paul placed two slices on a paper plate and handed it to me, following right behind toward the dining table with the box of pizza. "You know, I probably won't have anymore pizza," I said as I saw he was pulling the whole pie of pepperoni toward us.
He shrugged. "I know."
I noticed that he didn't bother with a paper plate, opening the box in front of him. "Wait… is that… all yours?"
"You betcha." With his large hand, he picked up a slice and brought it to his lips.
I shook my head. "God, you eat like a horse."
Paul answered in a smile before practically shoving half of a slice in his mouth, tearing off a huge chunk.
"Gross," I teased him, giggling.
He chortled along with a full mouth of pizza.
After consuming our pizza in silence for a bit, Paul ended it. "I can come with you."
"I'm sorry?"
"The burial grounds. I can go with you."
I looked at him, confused.
"If you want," he continued.
I didn't know what to say, taking a long pull of my sprite before looking back at him.
"Look, I know how you must feel."
My eyes shot up to him, waiting for him to explain further.
"Simply put, you haven't let her go. And going to visit her will only confirm it for you."
I exhaled. He was right about me. Once again. When was he not?
"Kids," Hank said, whisking away at something in a glass pitcher. "I've got some iced tea here in the kitchen, and some cookies."
"I'm on it," Paul said, already up on his feet.
"Not so fast, young man."
He stared at his dad, confused. "What?"
"Where are your manners? I taught you better than that. You know ladies are always first."
"I was just about to get it for her," Paul argued, lightly.
"Oh," Hank laughed, flinging his long, black ponytail over his shoulder. "You usually race to food. Sorry."
I chuckled.
Paul came back and put colorful packages on the table. Chunky Chips Ahoy and Double Stuffed Oreos. Clearly Paul wasn't concerned with his caloric intake. I joined them for this dessert for a moment with a strange sense of comfort. Like I was somewhere I belonged.
"Rachel Black. You used to watch our Paul here, didn't you?" He asked this through the soundtrack of Paul's munching on more cookies than I could count.
"Yes, sir, I did," I said, picking up the glass of tea.
"And you're here again," Hank noted, his tone concerning me. I was sure I wasn't going to like the next thing he was going to say as he eyed his son with speculation. "Guess Paul never got over his little infatuation with you."
I stopped drinking my tea mid-sip and pulled the glass away from my mouth. "I'm sorry?" I choked.
"Dad," Paul grumbled on top of my question, his mouth fool of food. He was giving Hank a death glare.
"Paul you shouldn't talk with your mouth full," Pam lightly scolded him.
Hank smiled at him sheepishly before he turned to me. "You know he had the biggest crush on you when he was younger."
"Dad!"
Pam laughed and so did I, but mostly out of unease than humor.
He turned to his son. "Sorry, kid. Am I embarrassing you?"
Paul turned to me. "Don't listen to him," he said. "He's lost his head."
"Fine, fine," his father grumbled. "I won't mention anything again."
"I'm going to go change," he told me, getting on his feet and brushing the crumbs off his lap. "'Scuse me for a sec, k?"
"Sure," I muttered.
I asked for the restroom, and his aunt showed me to one near the garage door. After using the facilities and checking my hair nervously, I stepped out and took a wrong turn, ending up in the garage. To my surprise there was a drawing horse, an easel, sitting right inside. Someone in the house was an artist.
"There you are," Paul's voice said.
I jumped, turning to see him.
He was dressed in a collared polo shirt and full-length khaki pants this time. "Did I scare you?"
He cleaned up so nice that I forgot that he'd asked me a question for an instant. "Nah," I lied.
He lifted his cell phone from his pocket. "Come with me outside," he instructed. "I've got better reception there."
As I followed him out his front door, he dialed Stan's to check on his status, and then handed the phone to me. He let me call my father to let him know that I was with Paul and the status of my car. I ended up promising to be home and have dinner with him that night.
"You know I was serious about what I said earlier," he stated once again, after I'd given him his cell phone back. "I can go with you. It might be easier that way, not being alone."
I hesitated, my mind battling the rest of my body, including my heart. The truth was, I wanted him with me, and it wasn't just because I found him endlessly attractive. He was in a much safer place in his grief over his mother than I was with my own, and I was helpless to find it inspirational.
I considered this—that I needed him. Even if it was just as a friend. Even if it was just to help me get through my fear. My hurt. My loss. All the grief that I'd wanted to ignore and avoid all these years.
He was already a solace—a crutch—to my anxiety about Jacob. Already I felt confident in my brother's safety and wellbeing after just the touch of Paul's hand, the assurance of his voice. In all of the smallest lines he said in his voice, I took away from it his quiet strength, and unwavering confidence in Jake. It was with no effort but to take his word, and I already had belief that Jacob would come back soon and healthy.
Could he also be the key to my largest and deepest fears and issues—coming to terms with the loss of my mother?
He reached his hand out to me, his palm flat, fingers stretched invitingly. "Come with me," he urged.
That gravitational pull was there again, and he was like the center of the earth. The center of my world.
My own fingers flexed in reaction his hand. By some miracle, however, I was able to keep my hand at my side. "Fine," I sighed, bypassing the offer, and walking to the passenger side of his car—an old mustang. "But you're driving."
He smiled, odd aging lines appearing and surrounding the boyish grin. I know he was just a boy, but I couldn't help but respond to the man I saw before me. He unlocked the car with his key, opening the door for me.
I battled with myself internally as I climbed into his passenger seat.
I bit my lip and turned to look out the window, hiding my face from him. I hoped that I wouldn't regret this decision.
Author's End Notes:
Additional Disclaimer: As this takes place in 2006, I am remaining true to the time, including hit musical artists of that time such as Chris Brown. Though I am a fan of his music, I am not in support of his more recent mistreatment of women.
Thanks for reading!
Be sure to follow me on twitter: achelle131 for updates, or find me in the twilighted forum under "achelledenalicullen."
For teasers and discussion on this story, please visit the Hungry Like the Wolf (HLW) thread on the Twilighted Forums under Fanfiction / Breaking Dawn.
