CHAPTER NINE

When I woke in the morning it was six-thirty and I was alone. I turned over just to make sure, but Paul was definitely gone, the quilt pushed back and the pillow still showing an indentation from his head. My pulse quickened and I peered over the side of the bed. His clothes were gone too. I let my breath out in a rush and rolled onto my back.

The house was silent. Had he just left, then? Without saying anything? I frowned, not sure if I was upset by that or relieved. I was certainly confused, more so than I had been before I fell asleep. I still couldn't quite believe I slept with Paul. What had I been thinking? I could try and blame the beer again, but I hadn't been drunk, only carried away, lost in the moment, finding myself longing for someone so much that maybe anyone would have done. No, that wasn't it. It was him I had wanted. I groaned softly and then froze as I heard the toilet flush and then the shower start running. He was still here. Shit. I wouldn't have the first clue what to say to him now. My heart thumped wildly, partly from excitement that he was still in the house and partly from dread that I would have to face him.

I turned over again onto my front and hid my face in case he came back in. Perhaps if I pretended to be asleep, he would just leave. He had a plane to catch after all, he probably wouldn't hang around. Besides, he might be just as keen to avoid me as I was him. Maybe he regretted it or just saw it as a one-off that he would quickly forget.

'I've always been a little bit in love with you.'

Had he really said that? He wasn't going to regret it or forget it. And he probably wasn't going to just leave either. My heart, which was already hammering, sped up and it was impossible to keep my breathing even and pretend to be asleep. I stayed face down however, my cheeks burning as I thought about last night; how good it had felt with his lips on mine, his arms holding me, his dick in me.

The shower stopped and a few minutes later I heard soft footsteps going into the kitchen, a rush of water as he filled the kettle, the click of the toaster as he pressed the lever down to make breakfast. Damnit, he wasn't going to leave and pretty soon I was going to have to get up. I was beginning to notice the fullness of my bladder and cursed myself for not emptying it of beer before I came to bed. Still, that was the last thing I'd been thinking about last night.

Another five minutes and I knew I would have to get up. I slid out of bed, grabbed my shorts and pulled them on, then put my jeans on as well. I pulled fresh underwear and a shirt out of a drawer and made my way to the bathroom, avoiding looking in the direction of the kitchen.

I used the toilet and showered quickly, then dressed again and paused another couple of minutes to clean my teeth. When I turned the tap off I heard whistling coming from the kitchen. Paul was whistling?

'Go and talk to him, stop being such a dick,' I silently told myself.

I walked slowly into the kitchen, my stomach in a knot and my heart fluttering. He was silent now, leaning against the kitchen sink, sipping coffee. He put the mug down immediately and smiled at me.

"Hey. Did you sleep ok?"

"Um...yeah."

"You want some coffee?"

"Yes, please."

I avoided his eyes and shoved my hands into my pockets. He switched the kettle on again, scooped more coffee into a clean mug and added milk. I couldn't think of a thing to say. He handed me the mug of coffee and I gulped some, burning my mouth and grimacing. I put the mug down on the counter.

"I'm gonna have to get on the road soon," Paul said. "I didn't book a flight back, but there's one around midday I was hoping to catch."

"Ok."

He moved towards me suddenly, rested his hands on my waist.

"I wish I could stay longer."

He leaned closer and I knew he meant to kiss me. It was just going to make everything harder and I turned my head to the side.

"Don't." I pulled away from him and a brief glance at his face showed me his disappointment.

"I shouldn't have let it happen," I heard myself say.

"You regret it."

"I've never done this," I confessed.

"With a guy? Well, I guessed that."

"With anyone." Why the hell did I just tell him that? What did it matter?

His breath hissed out suddenly.

"And you didn't expect your first time to be with me," he said. "Is it really that bad?"

"I just wish I hadn't done it. Not like this."

"I'm sorry you feel like that. Last night I thought we had a connection. Not just the sex, before that."

"It was a mistake," I said awkwardly, wondering if I was making another one by saying that. I was too confused; I needed time to think and I couldn't do it with him there. I just didn't see how anything could come of it when he was about to fly to the other end of the country and I was too worried about everything to even try.

I glanced at him again for a second and then dropped my eyes again quickly, but not before I had seen the crushed look on his face. I felt like I owed him some kind of explanation, but I didn't know how to be honest when I didn't really know what I felt.

"I don't want to get hurt again," I mumbled. "I'm just not ready."

That was it really, in a nutshell. If I let myself think I could be with him, it would hurt.

"You can't go through the rest of your life alone," he said.

He turned and went into the living room, grabbed some of his things which were in there, then went to the guest room for his bag. I turned away, resting my hands on the edge of the sink and staring into it as I heard his footsteps going from one room to the next. Suddenly he was at the door, the keys to the rental car in one hand, his bag in the other.

"I never would have hurt you, Jacob," he said softly. "I love you."

The door closed behind him before I could turn around and say anything, or even think about what to say. What could I have said? 'I love you too'? Did I? Maybe a little bit. I could have at least said something instead of just letting him go thinking I felt nothing.

The rental car reversed off the drive and headed up the street. My emotions got too much for me and before I could even think about running after him, telling him I was an idiot and I did feel something, I phased. I let out a snarl of anguish and my claws scratched the polished wood floor, tearing up deep furrows and probably costing me hundreds of dollars in repairs.

I bounded into the living room, trapped by the house walls. There was nowhere to run to unless I hurled myself through the panes of one of the windows and then someone would probably shoot me again. It was daylight, people were around setting off for work, which is what I should have been getting ready to do. I paced about, growling to myself, tormented, then eventually I stood still in the middle of the living room and howled, not knowing how else to let out what I was feeling. The sound was deafening.

A moment later I was human again, crouching naked on the carpet, shivering and cursing out loud, hoping none of the windows were open.

"You fucking idiot, Jacob, half the town probably heard that!"

I got slowly to my feet and glanced at the clock. Seven-forty. Somehow more than half an hour had gone by and Paul was long gone and now I was going to be late for work. I went to my room to get some more clothes, trying to get control of myself.

If only I could have had the last hour over again, I wouldn't have let him leave without at least saying something. He loved me! And he probably thought that I didn't give a shit, that I was glad to see the back of him. I'd told him I regretted sleeping with him, for God's sake, even after admitting it was my first time.

I reminded myself that I now had Sam's cellphone number, but I wasn't so sure calling him and asking for Paul's number would be very smart. He'd wonder why I hadn't got it when Paul was here. Why hadn't I got it when Paul was here?

"Fuck," I muttered.

I was a mess. Another coffee, then I'd go to work, not that caffeine was going to do much for my peace of mind. I flicked the switch on the kettle and went to the refrigerator for the milk, then froze. A small piece of yellow paper from the notepad I kept on the kitchen counter was sticking out from under the stupid Garfield fridge magnet which had been stuck on the refrigerator door when I moved in. I snatched the note so vigorously that the magnet flew off and bounced to the floor. There was a phone number with 'Paul' written underneath it.

My knees sagged and I leaned against the refrigerator door. It must be his cellphone number. I pulled out my own phone and quickly saved the number in the contacts before I did something else stupid like lose the note; then I pressed the call button before I could stop myself. It went straight to voicemail and I hung up and punched the wall. Shit. He turned his phone off. He would be more than half way to the airport by now and probably wouldn't switch it back on until he landed in Seattle. He had said he planned to get a flight around noon and I remembered him saying not long after he arrived that it took three and a half hours. Seven and a half hours from now. I would just have to wait and call later. At least it gave me some time to think about what I was going to say.

My day at work seemed to last a week. I had plenty to do and I threw myself into it, but I looked at the clock on the workshop wall every few minutes and the hands barely seemed to move. Hank stuck his head around the door at twelve-thirty to ask if I wanted some lunch fetching from the diner, but I knew I couldn't have swallowed a single bite.

"I'm not hungry, thanks anyway. I'll watch the pumps."

He nodded and set off. Twelve-thirty-one. Paul's plane would be in the air, if it took off on time. I turned back to the car I was working on. The afternoon passed slowly; three-thirty came and went and I guessed the plane must have landed in Seattle. After another fifteen minutes I pulled my cellphone out and stared at it, considering calling him right away, my stomach lurching, but Hank was too close for comfort and a customer could turn up at any time. I put the phone away again, chewing my lip and got on with my work. By the time I finished, he would have driven home. Then it would be easier.

When I got home at ten minutes after six I still didn't call. I lost my nerve and as usual, over-analysed everything. I could call him, tell him I didn't mean it when I said I regretted what happened, and then what? He'd still be in La Push and I'd still be in Fredericksburg; we still couldn't be together even if I had the guts to take the risk that throwing myself into it might hurt me. I put the phone on the coffee table and stared at it all evening until I went to bed, almost expecting it to ring, but it didn't. I went to bed at ten and slept, only because I was completely exhausted.

I continued to argue with myself for the rest of the week and by Friday, even Hank had noticed something was wrong with me.

"You alright, Jake? You look like hell," he grunted. "Sick or something?"

"Uh...maybe...I don't feel so good," I said.

I didn't; I felt like going to bed and staying there indefinitely.

"I don't think I'll bother opening up tomorrow," I added.

Hank raised one eyebrow and grinned. "Not working on Saturday? Jeez, you must be sick."

When I went home that evening, I did just what I felt like doing; absolutely nothing. I skipped dinner for the third time that week, took a shower and fell into bed. My heart hurt and my stomach felt as if someone had punched it. I was lost, lonely, longing to feel Paul's arms around me again. I was a jerk. He said he loved me and I pushed him away because I was scared. I had convinced myself that the minute I let myself get close to someone, they would tell me they wanted someone else more and leave me. Just because Bella had done that, didn't mean Paul was going to. He had loved me for years; avoided getting involved with anyone else, apparently because he wanted me too much to be happy with another guy. So what the fuck was I doing longing for him when he was right at the end of the phone?

I closed my eyes, imagining he was there with me, remembering some of the things that happened at the weekend. Laughing together over those comedy movies, Paul catching hold of my hand and kissing me; him teasing me about my lousy coffee; taking me to bed, kissing, touching, fucking; falling asleep in his arms. I would call him in the morning.

Somehow I slept and when I woke it was Saturday. I'd been dead to the world for twelve hours and someone was knocking on my door. Who the hell was knocking at - I glanced at the clock - seven-thirty? I threw myself out of bed, dragged my jeans on and rushed to the door to find two workmen outside.

"Yes?"

"You got some damage to a wood floor?"

"Oh. Sure." I had completely forgotten I called a carpenter on Monday and asked them to fix my floor at the weekend. "Come in."

I directed them to the kitchen.

"How the hell did that happen?" one of them asked, staring curiously at the torn up strips in the floor.

"Um...I...uh...was moving a piece of furniture," I said. "Had something sharp underneath."

"Right." He glanced at me again and then shrugged. "Right, we'll get to it, then. If we replace the damaged strips, that'll be the best way. Probably take a couple hours."

"Sure, that's fine. I'm just going to take a shower." I left them to it and went into the bathroom.

By the time the workmen finished, I was tense and irritated. Paul would be at work by now; I knew he opened his store around ten and I could hardly call him there. I made myself find things to do, heading out to the supermarket to stock up on groceries since the refrigerator and the cupboards were bare, then cleaning up the house which was untidy and filled with dust from the workmen sanding the new parts of the kitchen floor.

When seven o'clock eventually came, I pulled out my cell. I guessed Paul would probably have got home by now. My heart was hammering and my mouth went dry. Would he still want to hear from me? He hadn't called me after all.

'I never would have hurt you, Jacob. I love you.'

His words echoed in my head. That wouldn't have changed in just under six days. He probably didn't call because he thought I didn't want him to. I found his number in my list of contacts and pressed 'call'.

It rang several times and I almost ended the call again, but then suddenly he picked up.

"Yeah?" he barked.

He sounded pissed. Anything I might have said went straight out of my head and for a long moment I said nothing.