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/ Let this be our lesson in love / Let this be the way we remember us /
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"We need to talk."
They are the dreaded words she wishes to never hear.
Not from Jake.
Not now.
Renesmee remains at the kitchen table, scribbling and colouring within the art book she had been gifted from Leah's own mother over the holidays. Her heads bobs up and down, her tongue poking out between her lips in concentration, showing one of her few childish traits.
Jacob stands holding open the screen, inching his chin out towards the porch.
Leah rolls her eyes and ducks under his arm, the cool chill biting her shoulders as she settles on the railing in a seated position. She watches as he softly closes it behind him, before he leans back on the side of the red house for some kind of stability.
Again, his eyes, dark and ever present, fall over her like a soft curtain of awareness.
The sharpness in his jaw and the tense hold of his arms tells her it's something important. Tells her he's struggling under the weight of his thoughts, struggling to say exactly what he means.
Much like Billy, Jacob talks in riddles most times, talks in a language that demands conscious thought. He however does not ramble, nor does he speak slowly. He speaks with a voice that has been thousands of years in the making; a voice that has been at the forefront of their tribe for eons. When he speaks, he speaks with his ancestors tongue, in their own language.
Leah has to roll the words around in her head before she understands them completely. It's been years since she's had to translate the old language. Years since her daddy used them in their home whilst talking to her mother, or while teaching the younger children who would visit each Saturday morning with their fathers.
'Time's running out.'
"Isn't it always?" she replies in English, pressing her palms against the railing near her thighs.
He sighs, nodding his head, though his gaze flicks toward the kitchen window, checking on the child there. Leah follows his line of sight thoughtfully.
Renesmee is the reason he is using their language, to discuss something in private, away from her ears and worries.
'What exactly did you and Bella talk about the other day?'
Suspicion bites at her insides like a viper.
Jacob's eyes focus back on her at the question, his mood darkening.
'Do you trust me?'
'That's not an answer,' she snaps back quickly. 'You know I do.'
Jacob bites his lip into his mouth as he crosses his arms against his wide chest.
'If you had a choice to save someone, someone you love, would you do it? Regardless of the consequences? No matter how many other people you hurt in the process? Even if they would never forgive you? Would hate you for an eternity?'
Instinct draws Leah's attention back to the child sitting at the table. Her deep red curls spiral over her petite shoulders, her upturned nose scrunching in distaste as she drops and chooses another coloured pencil for her picture.
'Leah?'
Pulling her thoughts together, she realises Jacob has inched closer. Each step draws him further into her space, into the pocket of air she is breathing.
'I don't know, Jake' she replies honestly, because she doesn't know.
If that someone was her brother, mother, even Jacob himself - maybe.
But this was a guessing game at best, and she wasn't about to give him slithers of fabricated lies for him to build a foundation of action upon.
She has always promised her allegiance to him; an allegiance which includes the truth.
'All I know is that you're Alpha for a reason.
And I have to trust that whatever it is you are about to do, is because you've thought about every possible scenario and come out with two options.
Bad - and worse.'
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