A/N: It's been a while. See you on the other side.
Sound: Drop the Game — Chet Faker
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Move Together
Chapter Ten
And we'll argue, the tiniest thing
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I jumped awake, terrified by a blood-curdling scream. It was several moments before I realized that it was coming from me and the scream abruptly dies on my lips. My hands shake as I wipe away the beads of sweat that cling to my brow, trying to cast off the remnants of my dream. But the horrific visions linger. I dreamt that that all my friends and family were gone — drained by leeches. The worst part was that Sam was gone too and seeing him lifeless and cold, even in a fictitious dreamscape, left me unsettled. I couldn't imagine a world without him in it.
Buzz-buzz.
"Hello?" I rasp, voice roughened by sleep.
"Hey," Sam sighs into the phone. His dark, low voice wraps around me and soothes my fraying edges. "Everything okay?"
"Yes," I say easily, night terror all but forgotten.
"Just got this feeling that something wasn't."
"Well, I didn't get a good night kiss," I tease. To be fair, Sam had just learned that here were new leeches. He was more than a little bit distracted when we parted ways.
"That's awful," Sam quips. "Do you think he'll get a second chance?"
A stupid grin takes over my face, a giggle escapes, "I think so."
Oh this boy, what he does to me.
"Well that's a relief," He rumbles. "I'm sure he'll make it up to you."
"Yeah?"
"Mm-hmm."
"Sam?"
"Yeah?"
"Why are you awake at," I glance over the alarm clock that sits on my bedside table. "Four in the morning?"
"I was patrolling when I got this feeling that something was wrong," Sam offers.
I fall silent, stunned. Is it possible that he had sensed my distress? It couldn't be. The imprint hadn't been strengthened by claiming. And yet, somehow, Sam sensed it. Spirits, this bond — no, magic — is frighteningly strong.
"I had a nightmare," I finally speak, low and quiet like I am telling a secret.
"About?"
"I dreamt that La Push had been attacked by vampires."
"Oh, Bella," Sam says on the heel of a sigh.
"You were attacked too," I confess. "You were…gone in my dream."
"That'll never happen," Sam says firmly, leaving no room for argument.
But I can't help myself so I ask, "How can you be so sure?"
"I was on my own for a long time. I had no choice but to hone my skills. It was me or them."
"How many have you killed?"
"Enough."
"C'mon," I press. "How many?"
"Too many to count," Sam says sardonically.
I know I should let it go, but for some reason I couldn't. Why was he avoiding the question?
"Why won't you just tell me?"
"Maybe 'cos I don't want to," Sam snaps.
Immediately, I bristle.
"Hey! Don't get short with me. I'm just trying to have a conversation here."
"No, you're not," Sam scoffs. "You're grilling me for information. There's a difference, Bella."
"I thought you were going to try."
"Don't throw that in my face," Sam growls, voice cold enough to free. "I meant it when I promised you that I would try to be more open. But there are some things you don't need to know — that I won't share with you."
To me, it seemed like a distinction without a difference. I want to know all of Sam — the good, bad, and the ugly. Why does he insist on hiding parts of himself?
"It's late," I state flatly. "I should let you go."
Don't let me hang up.
"Yeah, okay," Sam agrees, voice hollow.
Click.
There was no yelling, no hurtful insults hurled, and yet, I felt like we just had a fight. And it didn't feel good at all. In fact, it felt horrible. A hard lump sits at the back of my throat like a stone has been lodged there. My fingers twitch at my sides, itching to call Sam back and apologize for prying and to hear him out properly but it really was late. And I am too tired. I'll make things better with him tomorrow.
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I jerk awake, startled, for the second time in the span of just a few hours. This time though, it's not a scream that has disturbed me but a loud — very insistent — pounding on my front door.
"What the fuck…" I mutter, wiping the sleep out of my eyes.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Hastily, I launch myself out of bed and down the stairs.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
"I'm coming!" I holler angrily, stumbling on the last step.
I rip open the door, only to find Quil on the other side.
"Is there a reason that you're trying to break down my door?" I snap, smoothing down my wild bedhead to the best of my ability.
"Alpha's orders."
Quil takes a large step froward, forcing me to yield and let him inside. He moves through the house, sniffing deeply every few seconds. I follow him warily and when we reach the kitchen that he is shaking ever so slightly. Immediately, alarm bells go off — something must be wrong.
"Hey," I halt him, grabbing a hold of his wrist. "What's goin' on?"
Quil glances down at me, eyes glowing bright like an amber crystal in the sun, "We found new vamp trails."
"Yeah, I know," I respond, confused. "Paul told Sam and I last night."
"No," Quil shakes his head. "Fresh ones, this morning, on our land."
"And it's not the Cullens?" I ask, somehow already knowing the answer.
"No," He says. "Sam sent me here to make sure you were safe, to protect you."
Dread creeps over me like an icy chill, numbing my brain. In this frozen state my mind offers me only one thought: Sam. I couldn't bare the thought of him out there, tracking — maybe even fighting — a Cold One. Especially when I hadn't even gotten a chance to make things right.
"Shit," I breathe shakily. "This is bad."
"It'll be okay, the Pack is just scoping the situation out," Quil offers. "The leech might be gone. There's a chance that they won't even catch it."
I nod, trying to take comfort in his words but I can't. Every muscle feels tight, ready for action and a very large part of me is crying out — demanding for me to sprint out the back door, into the woods, to find Sam. My heart begins to race, and my mind starts to replay my dream from the night before.
"Hey, knock it off, Swan."
My eyes snap to Quil's, which are now back to normal.
"I can practically hear the gears turning in there," He teases, tapping my temple lightly.
"Shut up," I bat his hand away, laughing lightly.
"Ah, there's the sass!"
I roll my eyes playfully, "So are we just supposed to wait around?"
"I gotta scope out the area around your place."
"Oh, okay."
Quil heads outside, leaving me to putter around the kitchen. I find the note that my parents left me — they've gone out to run errands — and I can't help but be thankful for their perfect timing. I don't know how I would even begin to explain a jittery werewolf rattling around our house.
I am just adding cream to my coffee when I hear someone at the door.
"This place is like grand central station," I snark, irritated by all the activity in the mooring — well before my morning coffee.
I abandon my cup of java in the kitchen and trudge my way to the front door. I open it up to reveal someone I never thought I would. It's Jake. Dark, purple blotches mar the delicate skin beneath his eyes, beads of sweat dot his face, and his once lustrous mane is dull, hanging limply around his face. Despair clings to him like a shroud, the Jake I know and love — all sunshine and megawatt smiles — is nowhere to be found.
"I-it's happening to me, Bells," Jake whispers weakly, briefly meeting my gaze before averting his eyes to the ground. "And I don't know what to do."
I step back, motion him to come forward, "Come in, and let's see what we can do, 'kay?"
I should have been angry with him, and a lesser friend might have turned him away. But I didn't — I couldn't. I had known this kid since we were little and we had seen each other through thick and thin. Plus, there would be time to yell at him later.
I help Jake inside and settle him on the couch, before going into the kitchen to grab my coffee and a cold water for Jake.
"Well shit," I palm my face, push my hair out of my face, and try to figure out what to do.
My first instinct was to call Sam because I was pretty sure that Jake was on the verge of phasing, but Sam certainly wasn't available at the moment. Though, I could keep Jake here until Sam was. It wasn't the best plan, however, it would have to do.
I grab a cold water out of the fridge and head back into the living room. Jake is where I left him, seated on the couch and my heart falls to my feet as I look him over. Lids clenched shut tightly, fists balled at his side, jaw set. An anguished wail breaks free from his lips and he tosses his head as a violent tremor rips through him. I set down my coffee on the nearest flat surface, take a seat next to him, and press the cool bottle of water against his hand. Jake, still recovering, takes the bottle with a murmured thanks.
"Where's your dad, Jake?" I ask.
If anyone could help us — other than Sam — it would be Billy.
Jake's lids flutter open, "Fishing with Harry."
"He left you like this?"
"I've been hiding it," Jake mutters. "This is the worst day yet."
Stupid boy.
Before I can tell him just how dumb he's been, I hear the backdoor open and Quil's booming voice, "Coast is clear, Swan!"
Jake's eyes flash to mine, charged with anger, "You've been hanging out with Quil?"
"Kind of, but — "
He launches himself off the couch and furiously shouts, "I can't believe this shit! I don't even know why I came here!"
"Whoa, hey Jake, what are you doing here?" Quil greets with a grin, but it quickly slips off of his face when he notices just how angry our best friend is.
"Me?" Jake fires back. "What about you? Why are you here? Where the fuck have you been?"
"Uh …" Quil awkwardly rubs the back of his neck.
"Hanging out with, Bella? Without me?" He accuses. "I bet you're in with Sam, just like her!"
He begins to shake, violent tremors move over his body in waves, rattling his entire frame. If he doesn't calm down soon he's gunna transform for the first time in my damn living room. I rise from my spot on the couch and his head whips over to me, cataloguing my sudden movement. Warm, chocolate orbs flash amber, a snarl curls his upper lip, and a terrifying growl sounds from his chest.
"Jacob," I approach him slowly. "You need to calm down, okay? Can you do that for me?"
"Don't tell me what to do!" He barks.
"Bella," Quil hisses. "Back the fuck away from him, he's about to phase and it could get ugly."
Jake lets out another growl and gnashes his teeth at me and I was sure, in this moment, that my best friend was nowhere to be found. The Wolf was in total control. Quil is right. I need to put some distance between Jake and myself. And fast. When I take a step back and Jake takes a step froward, I realize that I am royally fucked. Never run from a wolf. But I had no choice.
I don't see, so much as I feel, Jake phase. One second I'm running, the next, I'm knocked to the ground. I assume that Jake has accidentally tackled me as he transformed. It isn't until I roll onto my back that I realize just how wrong I am. Hot, moist breath washes over my face. I open my eyes and regret it almost immediately. A large russet wolf — Jake — stands over me snarling, growling and eyeing my like I'm its prey.
"Please, Jake," I whimper as hot tears leak from the corner of my eyes and down my temples. "It's me."
The wolf, for whatever reason, flees. It darts forward and out of my sight and I move to get up but Quil stops me.
"I wouldn't move if I were you, Bella," He cautions.
"What are you talking about?" I ask as I move to get up, and I quickly realize why. White-hot, burning, pain rips through me. I collapse back against the hard wood floor with a wet splat and let out a strangled scream when I realize I am laying in a quickly growing puddle of blood. My blood. My back throbs with pain — its deep and warm, but not in a nice way. It feels like someone has torn a strip off me.
"Oh god," I cry out.
"It's gunna be okay, Swan," Quil soothes, now crouched at my side, but he doesn't sound so sure. "I've called for help. They'll be here soon."
The pain begins to fade, transforming into an icy numbness. Black fills the edges of my vision and the only thing I can hear is my own heart beat. My breath comes in ragged, shallow gasps. It might be seconds but it feels like hours. In this moment, one word repeats over and over again in my mind like a broken record. Sam. Sam. Sam. What if I don't get to see him again? What if he'll never know how sorry I am? For last night. For getting myself hurt.
Then, I hear voices.
"They're here, Bells," Quil tells me but he sounds so far away.
People are all over me, touching, talking. I want to tell them to stop, that it hurts, but I can't find the strength to voice my thoughts. Instead, I give myself over to the darkness and let it drag me down.
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The stark smell of bleach is almost as overwhelming as the bright light that slips trough my closed eyelids. Organ and red bleed together behind my lids. Feeling powerless and heavy, I can not move my hands, my feet, or my head. I struggle for a few moments but eventually my body begins to cooperate. I slowly start blinking, desperate to see what's going on. Where am I? I look at the sickly green walls, florescent lights, the tear away curtain, and monitors. I must be at the hospital.
"Ah, Ms. Swan, so nice to see you awake," a man too pretty to be a doctor greets as he strolls — no, glides — into my room.
Dr. Pretty stops at the end of my bed, picks up my chart, and looks it over. He really is pretty. Not handsome, not dashing, nor good-looking. No, none of those adjectives did him any justice. Icy blonde hair, a jaw that could cut glass, and cheek bones that gave Sam a run for his money. But even they weren't his most striking feature; his eyes were a light, warm honey colour and absolutely captivating. Though, he was a bit pale if I was being honest.
"Hi," I go to say, but my throat feels like I swallowed a mouth full of sand so it comes out all scratchy.
"I'm Dr. Cullen — "
"Cullen?"
Cullen. As in a Cold One. As in vampire.
The machine next to me starts going crazy, beeping like mad, and I realize that it's tracking my heart rate.
"Yes, Cullen," he smiles weakly. "You're very lucky, Ms. Swan. You came in earlier today with some pretty serious lacerations on your back.
His emphasis on lacerations does not escape my notice. Something told me he knew exactly what had happened to me. That they weren't just lacerations — they were claw marks from a werewolf.
"Had the cuts been any deeper there could have been severe nerve damage. That said, we were able to stop the bleeding and close with wounds with countless stitches. We won't be keeping you here over night, so you'll be ready to go home shortly. One of the nurses will be along shortly to advise you on at home care. Do you have any questions for me?"
"Will there be scars?"
"Yes, but we won't know for a while how apparent they will be. Plus, there are courses of treatment that can minimize their appearance," Dr. Cullen states sympathetically.
I had never been a vain person, or at least I never thought I was. But when Dr. Cullen confirmed that there would be scars, I got this sinking feeling in my stomach and my lower lip started to tremble.
"I'm sorry," I ramble, wipe away the few tears have escaped. "I don't even know why I'm crying."
Though, somewhere deep down, I think I did. I had been attacked by my best-friend-turned-werewolf and would never be able to forget it. And if I couldn't forget, would I be able to forgive?
"Don't apologize, please," Dr. Cullen admonishes and hands me a box of tissues. "You've been through quite a lot."
I grab a tissue and blot away some more tears. He sure had good bedside manner for a dead guy.
"Thanks," I sniffle.
"Do you have anymore questions?"
"I don't think so."
With that, Dr. Cullen leaves. The rational part of me tells me that I should stay in bed but the stupid, much louder, part of me insists that I should go and see how bad the damage is. Before I know it, my feet are on cold linoleum and I am shuffling towards the bathroom. I stand in front of the mirror for a moment and psyche myself up. With a deep breath I turn, untie the hospital gown, and peek over my shoulder. The sight is jarring — angry, raised, jagged cuts run the length of my back from my right shoulder down to my left hip. Steeling myself, I look again. Tears come unbidden, pressing against the back of my eyes, as I recall what happened. Jake standing over me. Growling. Blood pooling around me.
I've just settled myself back in bed when my parents come rushing in. I have never seen them so upset. Mom looks distraught and Dad looks like he wants to rain hell down on whoever hurt me. It becomes apparent, quite quickly, that they know everything. And I mean everything.
"Wait a minute," I demand. "Who told you?"
"Quil did, honey," Mom answers, fussing with my blankets. "We came home just as the ambulance was arriving. He had no choice."
Oh no, I think to myself. Quil is gunna be in major trouble.
"Why didn't you tell us, Bella?" Dad asks.
"Why didn't I tell you?" I parrot indignantly. "What was I supposed to say? 'Hey Mom and Dad, just a heads up, all my friends are turning into werewolves and oh, by the way, the guy I've been seeing is their Alpha.' I don't think so!"
"Well, you won't be seeing him anymore," Dad states firmly.
"What do you mean?"
"He's not human," Dad hisses, eyes blazing with anger. "It could hurt you. Just like the other one."
"It? They aren't animals, Dad," I fire back. "You're talking about Sam — about Jake, for crying out loud."
"Look at what happened to you!" He yells.
"Sam didn't do this to me!" I cry. "You can't keep us apart!"
They couldn't. It was simply unacceptable. Sam and I needed each other. We belonged together — to each other. Nausea swirls unrestrained in my gut as I try to come up with the right words to make them see my side.
"Please," I beg, looking over at my Mom. But I can tell she won't be swayed either. "Don't do this."
"This is for your own good, young lady," Dad insists, dropping a bag onto the end of the bed. "Now, I want you to go and get changed and then we'll be taking you home."
"This is so not fair!"
"Life's not fire!"
"Argh!" I groan, grabbing the bag and fleeing to the bathroom.
Once inside a plan quickly forms in my mind, but it would only work if my cell phone was in the bag. I rummage through, feeling my way through clothes, toiletries, and other bits and bops. I am just about to give up when my hand closes over the cool, smooth, rectangular shape that is my phone. Yes! I cry internally, relief flooding through me. I turn on the taps in the bathroom and quickly call Sam.
It rings and rings.
"C'mon, Sam," I whisper hotly, "Pick up!"
"Sam's phone," Paul greets, voice strained and almost drowned out by all the noise in the background. Growls, snarls, and the sound of a heavy object crashing to the floor greets my ears. What is going on? Why is Paul answering?
"Lahote?"
"Swan?"
"Where's Sam? I need to talk to him," I demand, foregoing all pleasantries.
"Um," Paul hesitates. "Sam is indisposed at the moment. He can't come to the phone."
Anger rolls through me and I feel like I might scream.
"What do you mean? Why can't he come to the phone?"
"Sammy's a lil' unhinged, Swan," Paul confesses begrudgingly, the cacophony of noise getting worse if possible. "He needs to see you, to know you're okay, but he can't keep it together so we can't take him to the hospital — Fuck, Jared, get a hold on him before he ruins his own house!"
"You try, asshole!" Jared hollers in the background.
"Listen to me, Paul," I press, trying and failing to keep my voice low. "My parents are bringing me home but — "
"Thank the Spirits," Paul buts in. "As soon as Sam sees you I'm sure he'll settle down. See you in a bit, Swan!"
"Wait, no — " I go to say but Paul hangs up on me.
"Shit," I whisper to myself.
I'm about to try and call Sam — er, Paul — again when Mom knocks on the door, "Everything okay in there?"
"I'm fine!" I snap, twisting off the taps and hastily dressing.
I clench my fists tightly, until my nails dig into the palms of my hands, but I barely notice. What am I gunna do?
It's not until I look into the mirror that I notice I've been biting my lip so badly that it's on the verge of bleeding. Immediately I let go. I need to calm down. More importantly, I need to get out of this washroom before my parents start to get suspicious. As if they weren't already, I berate myself.
I take in a deep breath and school my features, trying desperately not to give away the fact that I had called Sam or, well, Paul. I rejoin my parents and the nurse who has come to tell us about taking care of my, ah, injuries at home. It doesn't take long and, soon after, we leave the hospital.
I sit, fretting in the backseat of our car, the whole way home. The closer we get, the more nervous I feel. What if Sam and Paul are there? What will happen? But, apparently it is all for not, because I see no signs of Sam or Paul once we arrive. Relief floods through me and I thank the Spirits for saving my ass, for now, at least.
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"I'm here."
My heart leaps in my chest, I trip my way to my window that looks over our front lawn, and see Sam's car parked across the street. Paul leans against it, arms folded over his bare chest. I couldn't believe I was gunna do this.
Once I had gotten home, at the first possible chance, I sent a text to Paul and explained the situation to him. To put it lightly, Paul wasn't pleased. But we didn't have any options. And so, we agreed that he would come and get me and bring me to Sam as soon as the coast was clear. Or, rather, as soon as I could hear my Dad's snores.
"Coming."
I text back.
I slowly open my bedroom door and tiptoe past Mom and Dad's room. My chest feels tight and my belly flutters with nerves as I make my way down the stairs.
Creak.
The sound is loud, disrupting the tense silence. I freeze, clenching my eyes shut and wait for the lights to flash on. I wait for my mother's shrill voice asking me to get back in bed. But it never comes. I carry on.
Yes, go Bella!
I cheer myself on as I slip on my beat up converse and out the door.
The night air has a bite to it and I shiver a little. My sneakers scrape the ground as I run to the truck. I throw myself inside, settling back against the seat with a soft thud.
"Let's get out of here!"
"Never snuck out before, huh?" Paul snarks, turning the key in the ignition.
"Once before. Grade nine. Promised them I'd never do it again."
"But?"
"Desperate times call for desperate measures."
With that, we pull away from the curb and head off to Sam's.
My heart beats hard and fast in my chest. I want to lie to myself and say that it's just the thrill of doing something I shouldn't. But I know that's not the case. It's the bond. My heart had been aching — literally aching — in my chest all evening. And it had been so hard to just breathe knowing that Sam was somewhere out there and I couldn't go to him. And now it had kicked into overdrive, like it somehow knew that relief was coming. The imprint was a nightmare and a dream all rolled into one. Something out of a Brothers Grimm fairytale.
A flock of butterflies breaks out in my stomach as we turn onto Sam's drive. His house comes to view and then it happens. I see him. Seated on the steps of the porch. The closer we get the stronger the urge to run to Sam is. An image of me tucking and rolling out of the truck floats in my mind briefly. Don't be ridiculous, I scold myself, it'll just be a few more seconds.
Paul rolls to a stop and my fingers are already on the handle of my door, tugging.
"Whoa," I hear as a warm hand encircles my other arm. "Slow your roll, hot wheels."
"What?" I snap, giving Paul my undivided attention. It's rude but I can't help it. I have to see Sam. I need to. And he was just so goddamned close.
"Sam isn't exactly himself at the moment," Paul states slowly and carefully as if I don't have all my wits about me.
Can you blame him?
"What do you mean?"
"His wolf is really keyed up, you gotta be careful."
"Sam wouldn't hurt me."
"Yeah, and I'm sure you never thought Jake would either," Paul arches a thick brow, daring me to disagree.
My mouth dries up and words fail me. I feel silly. My distinct lack of care had landed me in the hospital just a few hours ago. Paul is right.
"Okay," I nod. "I'll be careful."
"Good."
I open my door and slide out of the truck. Gravel crunches under my feet as I lower myself onto the ground. I close my eyes briefly, take in a deep breath, and let myself look at him. He wears black jeans and a grey shirt that hugs him in ways that make me feel jealous. Hair tousled, shoulders hunched, he looks so worn down by it all — this day, this curse, this life.
The little control I had snaps as I push off the side of the car and run to him. We collide somewhere in-between. My breath leaves my body in a whoosh as I wrap my arms around his neck and legs around his hips. Just like that, the tight, coiled threads of our bond relax. And I'm finally able to breathe again. This, right here, is heaven. I siphon in a deep breath through my lips — tasting warm spice, damp earth, and man. Sam. My heart slows and the ache in my chest bleeds away. A warm hand grabs the back of my neck firmly as Sam presses his face into the crook of my neck. Lips brush — no, kiss — my pulse point. I shiver in his arms. And it's not from the chilly night air. Sam traces the line of my jaw with the tip of his nose down to my chin. Hot, perfectly sculpted lips, land on mine. Finally. I return the kiss, threading my fingers through his perfectly messy mane. He pulls back. Kisses my lower lip. Then my upper lip.
"Hi," Sam greets, voice low and soothing.
"Hi," I respond, leaning back to look at him. My eyes skip and jump over a face that is just too pretty to belong to a man. From the tall cheek bones, to the scar on his brow, back down to those soft, plush lips. I lean forward and press a kiss to them. Just for good measure. Dark orbs dance with mirth, bouncing between mine.
"I heard you went kind of crazy without me," I whisper conspiratorially, pressing my forehead to his.
"That's because I kind of did," Sam confesses.
"I'm okay," I vow quietly.
Sam closes his eyes and hugs me closer, careful not to press on my back too hard. I rest my head on his shoulder, rub my hands across his broad, well muscled shoulders, and back up into his hair. A lupine whimper greets my ears as he presses his nose to the space behind my ears and draws in a deep breath.
"I promise," I kiss his neck. "I really am."
He tugs on my arms, urging me to loosen them and I comply. My feet meet the ground again and it just feels wrong. I want to be back in his arms. Always. He looks down at me, smoothes my mussed hair back from my face, and settles his warm, soft hands on my shoulders with his thumbs braced against the column of my neck.
"I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"That you got hurt."
"It's not your fault, Sammy," I scold gently, lacing my fingers together behind his back. "It's…not anyone's."
"I can think of someone," He growls, eyes flashing amber briefly.
"I'm sure you can," I drawl sarcastically. "But let's not go there, for now, okay?"
"Come inside?"
I was only supposed to come and see him for a little while. To let him see me and know that I was okay. I bow my head. Stay strong, damn it.
"That wasn't part of the plan," I shake my head, jerk my thumb in Paul's general direction.
He pulls me back in, moulding me to his front and ducks down to press a kiss to my temple. I move my hands around his torso and up to his chest, bracing myself to push him away but I end up grabbing fistfuls of his t-shirt instead. His lips move down my cheek, not kissing but appealing pressure. My shaky breaths are loud and uneven as I fight the instinct to give into him.
"Sam."
"Please," he begs.
I press my lips to his cheek, rest my brow against his temple, "You're not playing fair."
"I'm a wolf, little one," He responds, voice low and gritty. "I never play fair."
"I can't stay long."
"I'll take what I can get."
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It's been a while since I've updated, I hope that the chapter was worth the wait! Speaking of…what did you think? Surprised that Jake hurt Bella? Do you see her forgiving him? Looking froward to hearing your thoughts.
Until next time,
Beavoicenotanecho