Chapter Four - "React"

Same disclaimer as Ch.1, same unbeta'd-ness.

Hope you enjoy!

It's been three days since my past came back to bite me in the ass, since my most guilty secret sauntered back into my life and shattered any sense of self-forgiveness I'd ever allowed myself. Three days since I've felt anywhere close to normal, or truthful, or like a loyal friend. Three days since he pressed a folded slip of paper into my hand, squeezed gently when an involuntary shiver overtook me, and told me to call when I was ready.

"Order up, Bella."

I blink a few times to clear my mind and reach up for the plates my boss, Jacob, has placed in the warming window. The moment my fingers close around the searing edge of the dish and I lift, I realize my mistake.

"Shit!" I say, dropping the plate to the counter with a clatter, the fries flying in every direction, and the burger slipping off the bun into a haphazard pile of meat, cheese, lettuce and bread. I groan out a quiet, "Dammit," and start to gather the spilled contents into a pile.

"You okay?" Jacob asks, and those words . . . those words make the hairs on the back of my neck rise. Because I can still hear them in another voice, see them form on another's mouth.

"Yeah," I say. My finger throbs and I stick it into my mouth to soothe the burn. "I forgot the thingy." I gesture to the special "tongs" we use to transfer the hot plates onto our trays.

Jake frowns and replaces the fries and fixes the burger for the order I decimated. "Is everything all right? You haven't seemed yourself lately."

I sigh. Jesus, I'm so obvious. "I'm fine. Just have a lot on my mind." I try to smile to brush it off. He looks at me skeptically, and I think he's probably not buying it. "I promise," I say, remembering the "thingys" this time and setting all four plates onto my tray without a problem.

"Well, if you need to talk . . ."

"Thanks, Jake, but I'm okay. Really."

I turn toward the dining room and squeeze my eyes shut tightly for a second. I really need to get a grip, because my spaced out brain is not working, and soon everyone is going to catch on that something is off about me.

When I open my eyes, I immediately groan when I see Emmett weaving his way through the crowded room and heading right in my direction. "God, not again," I mutter under my breath as I turn away from his approaching form and proceed to deliver the meals from my tray.

"Okay," I say, "One turkey on wheat, hold the mayo, with extra lettuce. Sweet potato fries and baked apples." I slide the plate across to a man wearing a dirty green cap and an oil-stained flannel shirt. "And a double deluxe cheeseburger with extra pickles and mustard, hold the ketchup and mayo."

"So, are you ever going to talk to me again?" I hear from behind me.

I roll my eyes and continue to distribute the last two plates of food. The diner is full, the pace demanding, and I don't have time for Emmett and this conversation again. I smile at my customers and tell them to enjoy their meal, before turning back toward the counter to grab the next order.

"Come on, I said I was sorry."

"I know, and I said okay," I answer. "We don't have to rehash this, Emmett," I wipe my hands on the apron wrapped around my middle. "Jake," I call. He looks up and raises his brows. "I forgot table sixteen wants medium rare, not medium well. Sorry." He nods and glances past me, where I know Emmett is standing. Probably impossibly close, like a hovering vulture waiting for its prey to die. I can feel his breath on the back of my neck.

"But you're still mad," Emmett says.

I begin to stack more food onto my tray, forcing myself not to turn around. "I'm not mad." A few fries fall onto the counter and I hurriedly brush them into the garbage before hoisting my tray onto my shoulder once more. "I'm just busy."

"You haven't really talked to me in three days. You're mad. I'm SOR-RY."

He's right, I haven't talked to him much since the night he went off on Jasper and me, but it isn't because I'm mad.

Truthfully, I haven't really spoken much to anyone. I've mostly kept myself busy, begging Jake for more shifts at the diner and holing myself up in my room under the guise of "working on a new story." Which, of course, is a lie, because I've written no more than fifty words since Jasper Whitlock showed up at that pool hall. How am I supposed to write about a tattooed, rockstar wannabe, when the only thing I can think about is the soft-spoken, cowboy-soldier, who breezed into town and brought up thoughts and feelings I'd buried years ago?

I'm so confused.

It's no surprise though, is it? I did something a long time ago with someone I shouldn't have and now he's back, and it's all coming back, and . . . I need time to think. I just need time to think. Alone. I'm trying to act normal, to be normal, but every time I turn around, Emmett, Rose, or Edward is looking at me with concern. I get it, but I don't want them watching my every move, I don't want them watching me at all. Because I'm not sure what I'm thinking or feeling, and I can't figure it out when I'm worried about what they're seeing. So, yeah, I'm not talking to anyone.

Especially Jasper.

Unfortunately, Emmett doesn't know how to take a hint and leave things alone.

"Come on, Bells. At least look at me."

I sigh and turn toward him. He's not going to stop unless we have this out, and, regrettably, it's going to be at my place of employment where I'm surrounded by needy customers and burgers, and my boss is eyeing me from back in the kitchen. "I know you guys are just looking out for me so I don't revert back to . . . what I was like after Edward . . ." I can't hold back a grimace. Remembering how I acted then is never a highlight of my day. "But you shouldn't have said what you did to Jasper."

"I know, and I'm sor—"

I hold up my hand. "Stop saying you're sorry to me. It's over and done with now. We can just forget it." I start to walk back into the dining room, when Emmett grabs my arm.

"We shouldn't forget it," he says, his eyes soft and remorseful. "We thought we lost you back then, Bella. I mean . . . we understood why you were doing the things you were doing, we just hated seeing how . . . self-destructive you were." He cups the back of his neck and looks up at me with a sheepish expression. "I know I blew everything out of proportion the other night, but when I saw Jasper holding you like that, and heard what you were saying . . . it was like my mind blanked out on who you two were, and all I could see was you back then. You and them. I mean, I know what I saw wasn't like that, and I know you would never get with Jasper. I just had a giant brainfart. And I . . . I worry about you, Bells."

I swallow hard and try my damnedest not to think about how much my friends don't know about me. How much they don't know about Jasper and me. Heat creeps into my cheeks as I turn over what Emmett's saying. There are definite truths to his words, but definite falsehoods too. I was lost back then . . . but I'm also a little lost right now.

"You don't have to worry. I'm not like that anymore. I'm not going to be ever again," I say, quietly, trying to push back the memories of guy after guy, night after night of searching for something, anything to take away the deep feelings of inadequacy left behind after Edward and I split, and the guilt. God, the guilt. But I can't blame Edward for the way I chose to deal with everything. Our relationship may not have been right, but it wasn't bad because we were bad to each other. It was bad because we were bad for each other. But the truth—the truth no one knows but me—is that my failed relationship with Edward was not the largest thing behind my behavior. Not even close.

"I know," Emmett says. "That's why I'm sorry. I know you, and even though he's been gone for four years, I know Jasper too. I think I just forgot for a few seconds there—you know, because he has been gone so long, and is probably sex deprived—that he was more than just a guy you picked up off the streets."

I ignore the slam on my . . . behavior from the past, because he's right: Jasper is definitely more than just a guy I picked up. Emmett just has no idea how much more. "It's not like he was in prison, Emmett!"

"So? He might as well have been. I mean, he was over in probably one of the shittiest parts of the world for at least a year—did you know in some of those places they keep their women covered from head-to-toe?"

"Yes, Emmett. But I'm sure he's not deprived."

I start toward my tables, my stomach tightening at the thought. I'm a little startled by how much I hate the idea of Jasper not being "deprived"—though I'm aware of how ridiculous and hypocritical that is, considering my exploits over the past few years. Closing my eyes, I draw in a slow breath. I'm tired of thinking about Jasper; I'm tired of thinking period. Forcing a smile to my lips, I distribute the meals from my tray and turn back to Emmett.

"So . . ." he says, his voice changing from joking to vulnerable. "Are we really okay?"

I move forward and stretch up on tiptoes to wrap my arms around his neck. "Yes," I say into his shoulder. "We're fine. I promise." Emmett tightens his hold on me.

"And don't worry," he mumbles, before pulling back, his hands still on my waist. "I've asked Jasper to meet me here, and I'm going to apologize and explain it all to him."

I jerk back and blink up at him. "What? What do you mean you're going to 'explain' it all to him?"

Emmett opens his mouth to speak when the chime over the door goes off, and I know. I can feel it all over my body. When I peer over, I watch as Jasper steps into the diner dressed in the same ensemble of jeans, t-shirt, cowboy boots and hat that I've seen him wear a thousand times. Only my heart never skipped beats like this when he walked into a room before. It's like, even though I try not to remember, or at least not obsess, my body knows him in a way that is visceral and real, and nothing I do, or think, or say stops it from reacting the way it does to him.

Jasper's eyes sweep the diner, and when they land on me, I swear I see them spark. He reaches up and pulls the hat from his head. Damp, dark blond locks tumble out from underneath, and the way they curl just slightly as they dry is enough to make my breath catch. My mouth drops open, and Emmett frowns in confusion. I snap my lips shut and frown back. My teeth nip nervously at the inside of my mouth, and the unease inside of me reaches a crescendo as Jasper comes nearer. The three days I've given myself to come to terms with his presence have done nothing to make sense out of this new and disturbing phenomenon happening inside of me.

The sight of him still makes my stomach flip and my mouth go dry. The skin around my ankle and along the inside of my thigh tingles as his fingers trace the rim of his hat, and the light catches the chain around his neck just right.

I'm not ready for him though. I'm beginning to wonder if I ever will be.

By the time Jasper stops in front of us, I'm pretty sure he and Emmett both can see my heart beating through my chest.

"Hey, man," Emmett says, holding out his fist in that way guys do. "Thanks for coming."

"Sure," Jasper says, bumping Emmett's fist and shifting his gaze to me. "Bella."

"Hi, Jasper," I say, and I'm proud of the fact that my voice doesn't shake. His mouth rises just slightly on one side, and I've lost my composure all over again. I clear my throat. "Did you guys want a table or to sit at the bar?"

"A table would be great, Bells," Emmett says. "Do you think you could seat Jasper while I take a piss?"

I shake my head. "Do you have to be so crass, Em?"

"That's a stupid question."

I roll my eyes. "Come on, Jasper." I don't look back as I make my way toward the front of the diner. I don't need to. I know exactly how near Jasper is to me. It's like I'm standing too close to a fire, my skin burning and blistering and flaking away, yet I don't move because I'm in love with the way it hurts.

After grabbing two menus from the waitress stand near the door, I stop in front of a booth by the window. I set them down and whirl around, not expecting Jasper's chest to be right there. My forehead connects with his sternum, and he reaches out, his fingers curling around my hips as I lurch backward.

"Ow," I say, rubbing my forehead. "Sorry."

"No, I'm sorry, darlin'. I shouldn'ta been walkin' so close." He steps back and starts to move around me.

Without thinking, I reach out and grasp his arm. He freezes. I freeze. Time freezes. I look up, and he's right there, right in front of me, his eyes wide and questioning, and I can't not say something. "I'm sorry I didn't call," I say.

Jasper frowns. "Why're you sorry? I said when you were ready."

"I know." I let go of him, my fingers brushing along his skin as I do, and I feel goosebumps rise on his flesh. "But I should have. I just . . . I couldn't . . ."

"There's no should involved here, Bella. We don't have to talk about it yet if you don't want. In fact," he glances down and his Adam's apple bobs in his throat, "we can just not at all."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," he meets my gaze once more, "we don't have to make this weird. We don't have to drag it all back up. It happened, but it's been a long time now. What's the point of torturin' ourselves over it?"

I frown. "This is torturous for you?"

"Isn't it for you?"

My mouth drops open, and I don't know what to say. Jasper leans in further, placing his hands on either side of me and trapping me between him and the table. The heat coming off from him makes me dizzy, and his eyes are so sincere and blue that I can hardly stand to look into them.

"I don't want to make things harder than they are, and I'm sorry that me comin' back here has brought all this up again. I can pretend, Bella Mia. If that's what you want, I can pretend again. Just don't keep avoidin' me."

"Jasper—"

"I get that you feel guilty, I do. But when . . . when we . . . when we did what we did, neither of us were thinkin'. Neither of us were worrin' 'bout anything or anyone but ourselves. We were just feelin'. And I'm sorry, but I don't feel guilty for that, 'cause it felt so damn good to do somethin' that wasn't 'bout what Alice liked, and Alice wanted, and Alice controlled. It was just about me and what I wanted." His voice lowers. "I wish you could see that we didn't do anything wrong."

I swallow and step out of his grasp. "Maybe it wasn't wrong for you, Jasper, but it was for me. And it's . . . hard . . . for me, because I don't . . . I don't . . . feel the same as I did before."

His stare moves from one of my eyes to the other. "'Bout what?"

I draw in a breath, and this time it shakes. "You," I whisper. "I don't know how I feel about you, and that scares me."

"Why?"

"Because you were my friend," I say. "You were one of my best friends, and she was—" My voice breaks and I clear my throat. "And I don't know how to look at you anymore. I don't know how to look at you and be normal, because I don't see my friend anymore. I see you that night. I see the way you looked at me afterward, and the way you moved my hair out of my face, and the way you asked if I was okay. I see the way you watched me when your bus pulled away. And I feel all this . . . stuff . . . and it doesn't make sense. It shouldn't make sense."

Jasper's eyes are wider than I've ever seen them, and I look away because I can't take what I see in them. I didn't mean for that to come out that way or right now. But there it is. There it is.

"Bella, I—"

"Please don't," I whisper. "Don't say anything. Not right now. I shouldn't have said anything either. I'm sorry. It's just we . . . we can't . . . right now."

Jasper is quiet for a few moments, his gaze cast down, though I know he's struggling by the way his breath has quickened. "All right," he says. And the way he surrenders kills me. Because I know what things were like for him with Alice. I know how she took advantage of his sweet, southern gentlemanliness. And I hate that I'm doing the same thing now. He won't fight me on this. He won't give me an ultimatum or a time limit. He'll just wait, like he always does, because kind and patient is the only way he knows how to be.

And I, apparently, don't know how to be anything but a selfish, confused girl who can't figure out her own mind.

The jingle of the bell over the door sounds again, but I don't look up to greet the customers coming inside. The only thing I can focus on is Jasper. My fingers itch to reach out for him, to run along the tops of his broad shoulders and around his neck, as I pull him into me. But I know I can't. Hugging him didn't use to mean the things it does now, and that makes me sad. Once upon a time, this boy was my friend, my good friend, and now I can't even touch him without it feeling wrong.

"Jasper, I—" But my words are interrupted by a sharp gasp, followed by a high-pitched squeal.

Jasper and I both turn toward the sound, and when I see the reason for it, my stomach drops to my feet. Standing in the doorway to the diner, body swathed in designer clothes with her dark hair pulled up into an elaborate do, is Alice Brandon. Her hand is poised over her mouth and her eyes are wide.

"Jasper?" she says, and her voice is filled with awe.

I glance up at Jasper, and he's looking at her. But his gaze is not filled with the wonder hers is. His is plain, stoic, seemingly unaffected, though I notice a slight tightening of his jaw. He doesn't speak, and I swallow hard. I glance back at Alice. She's removed her hand from her mouth now and is smiling, lips stretched wide over white teeth.

"Oh my God, I can't believe it's you!"

And then she moves forward.

In reality, the whole scene takes only seconds, but to me it seems like hours. I see every one of her steps, every sway of her skirt and click of her heels, every inch her arms reach out for him. I watch helplessly as she grabs on to him, her body fitting itself up close to his, her hands slipping around his neck and her fingers curling in to hold him there.

And I can't stand it. I want to rip her hands off from him and push her away to take her place. But there's nothing I can do but stand here and watch as she buries her face into his shoulder and holds him as tight as her tiny arms can manage.

It's been a long time since I've hated her as much as I do in this moment.

"Oh, God, Jasper. I'm so sorry," she says, and I can hear she's crying. "I'm sorry for what I did. For how I did it. I'm so sorry."

I close my lids and turn away, my eyes burning and throat tightening. My chest aches with the need to breathe, but I can't draw in any air. I can't breathe and I can't make my feet move to get me out of there.

Suddenly, an arm wraps around my shoulders and tugs against me. My eyes pop open, and I'm met by Jake's concerned face.

"Come on, I got you," he says, and I can feel he does.

I sag into him and allow him to lead me away. The further I get from the spectacle that is Alice and Jasper, the lighter the air feels.

"So he's the one, huh?" Jake says.

I frown up at him. "The one?"

He nods. "The one that's got you all tied up."

I shake my head and open my mouth to protest, but Jake cuts me off.

"Don't worry, I won't say anything. But if y'all are trying to be subtle, you need to work on your game faces."

"What do you mean?"

Jake doesn't answer. Instead, he lifts his chin in Jasper's direction. "Seems like you're not the only one who's not thrilled with that greeting."

Reluctantly, I turn back toward the front of the room. Alice still has herself wrapped tightly around Jasper's lanky frame, but he's not responding in kind. He's standing ramrod straight, his arms hanging stiffly at his sides. For a moment, I let my eyes linger at the way his hands are fisted, and then I let my gaze wander up, my breath catching when I realize Jasper isn't even looking down at Alice.

He's looking at me.

It shouldn't make me feel good that one of my oldest, dearest friends is basically being shot down after a very emotional apology. It shouldn't make me pleased that she's going to be crushed when she realizes he's not hugging her back. It shouldn't make me glad that, even though he has a girl plastered against him, a girl he used to know inside and out, used to love with all of his heart, he's looking at me.

I turn away from them once more and the corners of my mouth pull up slightly.

No, I shouldn't feel happy at all.

But I do.

So, that's Alice . . .

Jasper POV next time.

XOXO, ddpjclaf