Paul's P.O.V.

I can't believe that just happened. There's no fucking way.

The Elders know. They shouldn't know shit about Jake and me, no fucking way at all. And I know we weren't as careful as we should have been and I take responsibility for that whole heartedly, but this? I don't give a damn what the fuck Sam said to Chee, this meeting should have never happened.

This shit is insane. Surreal. They fucking know now and that means it's only a matter of time before word spreads throughout the entire Reservation and hits home that I… Shit.

I look up to the house across the street. The screen door is closed, but the front door's wide open. The dining room and kitchen windows are all lit up like Christmas, but the rooms are empty. The only room that's occupied is the living room where the TV is flickering on and off, which says he's waiting for me.

I swallow down my beating heart and breathe in the humid and sticky air and go inside.

Dad's sitting in the middle of the couch watching the TV switch from commercial to commercial. There's a beer bottle in his hand and two empty ones on the table that clearly came from the six pack by his feet. He looks like shit and I can smell that he's barely eaten or showered. I've barely been home since the accident, in and out every few days to get a fresh change of clothes and whatnot, but never long enough to stop and pay attention to him which is a mistake I'm about to pay for.

I shut the door behind me and stand there for what seems like forever as he casually drinks down his bottle. He doesn't speak nor does he acknowledge my presence in the doorway. None of this is new, I just have to figure out how he's going to react because it's always different with him.

When he doesn't make any inclination to do or say anything after three minutes, I take a step past just to test the waters. He doesn't budge. Then more until I'm out of his sight and by the stairs.

"Get back in here."

I freeze up and brace myself with an unsteady chill on my spine and walk back into the room.

He's sitting up on the edge of the cushion with the bottle dangling from his fingertips. He gulps down another three inches of the brown glass and sharply turns his wide eyes on me like an owl.

"Where the hell have you been?"

My left shoulder goes up. "I told you, Jake had an accident and-"

"That's not what I asked you," he says, and it's the rise of his voice that puts me on the edge.

I shift from foot to foot. "Jake and Billy's house." Damn near twenty-two years old and I still feel like I'm seven whenever he talks down at me.

He sits back and exhales through his nostrils. "And I had to call around asking for that shit when you could've just told me?" He snorts. "What's up with that?"

I start to shrug, but I catch the twitch in his eyes. "I don't know. Sorry."

He holds my eyes captive. "Well, what I do know is that the next time you walk out that door, I don't care if it's to take the damn trash out, you tell me exactly where you're going. Are we clear?"

The wrong answer will set him off, so I just nod it on. "Crystal."

He settles back down and turns his focus back to the TV and his drink.

I wait for a minute then two before I switch gears. "Have you eaten, yet?" He usually won't because theirs either nothing cooked or he's too lazy to order take-out.

He takes the last swig of the beer, swishes it around in his mouth, and then swallows it. "Why, you cooking?"

I sigh. "Yeah. I'll fix something." I haven't eaten all day, either but I'm not really sure I have much of an appetite after today's events. "In the meantime, you mind getting washed up or something?"

He raises his thick eyebrows at me. "What, you saying I stink?"

"Well, it doesn't exactly smell like Martha Stewart's home remedies in here." It's always light jabs at him, enough for me to feel like I'm winning here, but not too much to set him off.

He rolls his eyes. "You worry about dinner, alright." He reaches down and cracks open another bottle.

It's not even worth mentioning that he's borderline drunk. All it takes is one to three bottles. It's disheartening to see him this way. He has his up's and down's from time to time. One minute he's cool as a cucumber and then he's suddenly pissed off about something I did or didn't do. It's just who he is.

I turn around and the smell of marinating week old garbage hits me as soon as I step into the dining room. I break open all the windows and crack the kitchen door. There's dishes piled up to yonder in the sink and on the countertops and there's empty cartons of milk and orange juice on the floor that tumbled out of two overfilled trashcans.

I let out a flustered groan. This is one of the reason why I hate being here. He never takes care of the place and when he does, it's very rare, and I mean very rare. Granted, I've been gone longer than I needed to be, but shit, really? I take the bag up all the trash and drop as many dishes that don't have too much crusty residue in the dishwasher and set the remaining few in hot soapy water in the sink.

"Taking out the trash!" I say it loud enough so I know he hears me. I dump it out back and then spray some air freshener because it fucking reeks in here.

"That's enough of that got-damn spray!" he shouts.

I don't even say anything. There's no point in even arguing because this night will only get worse. I just want to go and be with Jake. That's it. I don't want to be here. Being away from him now that he's doing better is itching at me and I suppose with Billy there with him, he's fine. It's just, in know he'll be okay. And as long as that fucking Leach doesn't touch him, I'm fine. I swear, let somebody give me the fucking chance and I'll tear him apart and roast his remains.

I check the freezer and pull out a few burgers and fries stashed underneath the ice cubes and blueberry waffles. I don't even bother checking the fridge because I'm sure that it's stocked in spoiled food or it's just barely holding together with the basic essentials and I refuse to deal with either one tonight. I do a grocery run tomorrow or something so he won't complain.

I heat the griddle iron and drop the burgers on it with seasoning and put the fries in the oven. I go and clean off the table. Nothing but week old mail and bills that I'll have to check in the morning because he won't. The TV's still on, but he's nowhere in sight. The shower's suddenly running upstairs. Outside of being the number one asshole, he does at least listen to me every now and again.

I click the remote and snag his empty beer bottles, trash them, and then plop down at the table.

I have no idea how to fucking handle what's going on. First, there was the accident, and then the fucking Leach and…I can't even picture his face without growling and imaging his broken pieces scattered around Washington. And then the Elders finding out about everything. It's just, it's too much.

It wasn't supposed to be this way at all. I was raised to believe an imprint will be the turning point of my life, that meeting my soul mate would make everything else fall into place. Jake and I, we're supposed to be happy and in love. That's how it should be. There shouldn't be a fucking mooching parasite hovering over his shoulders every minute of the day waiting for his chance to strike. Nobody outside of our inner circle should know anything about us.

Everything is just wrong.

The burgers start to sizzle and I flip them and check on the fries. The phone rings and I dash to grab it before he starts to holler about it.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Paul? How are you, hun?" It's Miss Odina, one of dad's old friends from his job down at the construction company.

"I'm good, Miss Odina. How you doing?"

"Oh, I'm good, darling. I'm good. Listen, is your father around?" Here we go. "I have to speak to him about something."

I sit back down. "Nah, I think he's in the shower right now." I don't hear the water anymore.

"Oh, shoot. Okay, well, would you mind having him call me when he gets out? It's very, very urgent."

It always is. "Yeah, I can do that."

"Yeah, please have him do that. It's extremely urgent." She inhales deeply. "Anywho, how is everything? How's Jacob? Colin said something about him getting into some type of accident and I know you all are very close."

You've gotta be kidding me. "He's uhm, he's fine." That fast? Are you fucking serious?

"Oh, good, good. Okay, well, let Jacob know I asked for him and make sure Will calls me as soon as he's finished, alright? I'll talk to you all soon."

"Gotcha. Bye." The line drops and I stare at the phone.

It doesn't mean anything. Colin's her youngest son and he could've just told her something happened down at the beach without telling her exactly what happened, which would mean that he was there when it did happen, so he knows. That's a problem because if he told his mother, he'll tell his friends, who'll tell more people until the entire Reservation is talking. Fuck.

Everything is just spiraling out of control and I can't even talk to anybody about it. I've barely heard from or spoken to Emily besides the one or two times she's dropped by to see Jake, and even then she was kinda withdrawn and quiet. Sam can severely fuck off. I could call up Becca and Rachel, but I don't want to add anymore worry to their plate. Besides for all that, I might as well just talk to Jake. We have to figure it out. This is our problem.

I check the food and plate the burgers and actually utilize three of the four items left in the fridge; ketchup, cheese, and a bottle of water. I stack two burgers for the both of us and bring it out to the table when dad strolls in with clean underclothes and a fresh beer in hand.

I eye the bottle. "Did you want some water or something, make your food digest better?" It's a blatant jab and he sees right through it.

He drags the bottle from his lips and sets his steel dark eyes on me. "How about you mind your fucking business and eat your own food and let me be the damn parent." He cuts his eyes away and chugs again before diving into his food.

I grind my jaw to pieces. Stay cool, just for tonight and then you'll be off to Jake's, Paul. Chill. I take a bite out of my burger and the hunger awakens in me and pretty soon, I'm scarfing down whole bites and shoveling fries in my mouth.

I feel his eyes on me and I ignore him. He was a shifter, too, once upon a time, so that whole 'chew your got-damn food before you choke' shit has been dead since I was younger. I finish my plate within minutes and I swallow it down with some cold water.

I look at the window at the moth buzzing streetlights bathing the block in a dirty orange glow. "Miss Odina called while you were in the shower," I say before I forget.

He takes a swig while clearing the ground beef from behind his teeth. "Yeah, what she want?"

I cross my arms on the table. "I don't know, but she said it was really urgent."

He snorts and inhales his fries. "It always is."

I drink some more water. I watch as a black car cruises down the street. The brake lights paint the street red as they slow down a few cars down from us. I can only see out the front of the house from my seat.

"What's the matter with you?"

I'm not surprised he's asking, not in the slightest. "I'm just tired. Long few weeks."

He stares at me and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "Hmph. How's Jacob doing?"

I tread carefully even though I would know if he knew about everything by now. "He's uhm doing better, back on his feet and stuff."

"Is that what you've been doing, taking care of him?"

It makes me hesitate. I look away from the window and see the question in his brown eyes underlined in hues of jealousy and curiosity.

"He's my bestfriend. I look out for him." I wait for him to make a snide remark or roll his eyes, but he just grunts into his food. If that's the only way I can explain it to him without lying, then that's how it's gonna be.

Outside, the crimson red brake lights fade into the night. A car door opens and shuts quietly a few moments later. There's a long pause and then a very soft, but sure knock on the screen door.

He leans back and looks at the door and then to the window. "See who that is?"

I lean out of my seat to look out at the street. The car doesn't look familiar and the tags aren't from Washington. I mean, we live close to the main road into the Reservation, so it's probably somebody looking for direction or something. "I don't know."

He gives me an irritated look. "Well, answer it. You see me still eating."

There's literally only a bite of burger left and four fries on his plate. I push away from the table, rattling his bottle intentionally, and walk hard across the floor.

"Watch yourself," he grumbles.

There's another half a knock and then I'm snatching the door open.

And all of a sudden, I can't breathe. The woman standing in front of me is both the monster and the angel of my dreams and nightmares that have plagued me ever since I was nine.

She stares at me like she doesn't recognize who just answered the door. That's because she doesn't. Bewilderment and confusion and remorse flash across her face all at once. Her face is just as I remember; shaped in an oval heart, with dimpled cheekbones and a small mole on the right of her chin, right above the scar where I chucked a toy at her face when I was three. Her eyebrows are still sharp and gravity defying, but kind which partially explains the laugh lines around her eyes that tell a different story that what I know. What I knew.

I catch a whiff of her scent and I feel my legs melt into jelly, but I hold myself upright as best as I can on the door handle. She smells like rosemary and crushed peppers and lavender and something else that I don't recognize. She smells like home, but her idea of home isn't real.

She can't be real, not here, not anymore. But the way she blinks and opens her mouth to speak without making a sound tells me she is and all I want to do is run and hide in the nook beneath the stairs like I used to when I was scared.

I'm more afraid now than I have ever been.

"Who is it?" Dad asks.

I can't even speak. The woman blinks out of her entrancing gaze, but she doesn't take her eyes off of me.

I hear his chair slides across the floor as he gets up and rounds into the room. "What are you, deaf? Who are you-" His hard steps come to a cold stop behind me.

The monster's gaze on me finally breaks and she takes in dad and nobody moves for a long time. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I can hear how slow the clock is ticking. The tension in the room is unreal.

The monster clears her throat. "May I come in?" she asks, dragging her words out as if she's unsure why she would ask that. Her voice has always reminded me of spring chimes in a night breeze. Clear and soothing, but sharp and loud.

I can hear my heart thundering in my ears louder than the blood pulsing beneath my skin and then I feel dad's heavy hand prying my fingers off the doorknob. I'm literally shaking the door.

He steps in front of me and opens the screen door wordlessly. He doesn't let my hand go as he steps back and I move with him as he backs up into the room. She studies the door for a moment and then she opens it and steps inside.

Suddenly the house feels overcrowded. Her sandals unnaturally click against the floorboards. She fixates on both of our faces, lingering on mine the most, and then she takes in the rest of the house in unmistakable wonder. Her eyes catch everything. There's a dent in the wall just above the couch where dad and I got it into it a while back that her eyes hone on. There's scratches and groves in the floorboards when he and I chose to move the entire downstairs around and then decided we didn't like it and moved it back. There's a whole bunch of shit wrong with this house now that she missed out on.

"Penelope." He hasn't said her name in over ten years, but his voice brings her swift eyes back around to him as if they've been arguing for the past hour. "What are you doing here?" He sounds sober now and he says every syllable as if he's trying to keep calm.

She gazes off and away from us. "I just wanted," She treads careful with her words. "You, uhm…you two, to know that I was in town." Her voice lightens and shakes. "And," she says, eyeing me. There's water building in her eyes and her lips tremble at the cry that will surely shake the foundations of the house. She looks at dad again and forces herself to smile through it. "That's it."

I'm well aware of Dad's grip tightened on my hand. I don't know how he looks at her, but she bows her head and steps back through the door and holds on to the railing as she goes down the steps and to her car. I hear the door open and shut and the revving of the car, but the red light doesn't leave the street.

My hand drops by my side as he shuts the door and locks it. He stares at the white washed wood for a while before he turns, takes one look at me, and goes upstairs. His bedroom door slams shut.

I slide down onto the couch. The red light outside finally begins to creep down the street and then it's gone, but she's not. She's…

I wipe my face with shaking hands.

For the first time in thirteen years, my mother has come home and I don't understand why.

Alright. I've been interested in a storyline with one of the characters being blind sighted by someone from their past and I just happened to choose Paul. Hopefully, it doesn't feel like random wrench thrown into the story because I kinda foreshadowed it in "Wake Up Call", when Paul and Haley were talking about her. I did that for someone else as well, but I'll leave it to you to figure it out.

Anyway, college just picked back up and I'm taking a boatload of classes, so the updates for Crossroads will be more spaced apart than what they are now. I'm always working on these chapters, so don't worry. I haven't abandoned you guys!

Outside of that, shoot me your thoughts and I'll catch you later.