Seth

Edward Cullen: If you have time this afternoon, stop by the cottage.

Edward's text is just casual enough not to be suspicious, but just cryptic enough that I know there's some hidden meaning behind it. I don't need any extra subtext to decipher his intention: he wants to talk about what I asked Carlisle at the hospital four days ago.

I don't want to leave Katie alone, I really don't. But she wouldn't actually be alone. Leah's here – she hasn't left Katie's side either since the accident. We give each other a few hours off every day to shower and eat bland food we don't really want but need the caloric intake from, and cry. Or whatever Leah does when she goes home. Those are usually the things I do on my break.

It's not so much as I need a break from Katie. If anything, she's the one who needs a break from me. I'm hovering. A lot. But she has a concussion. Stitches. General trauma.

Katie's head lifts from my lap at the sound of my text. "Everything okay?" she asks, peering up at me with her deep brown eyes. She still looks tired, but being at home these last several days has helped.

"Yeah," I say. "Edward asked if I was free. I haven't been out to see him lately."

Leah's in the kitchen making sandwiches, and she catches my eye, letting me know that even if Katie buys it, she doesn't.

"You should go," Katie says, sitting up slowly. She learned the first day we came home that the IV was actually doing more work than she originally thought, and her body's still recovering. "I'll be fine."

My brow furrows. I study her face for signs that she's not being truthful, but I don't find any. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," Katie and Leah say at the same time.

Leah brings the tray of sandwiches over, holding out a fresh bottle of water for Katie. "We'll be fine, Seth. If we get bored, we'll just drink wine and go get tattoos or something."

Even though Leah's joking, I still narrow my eyes at her. No need to put any ideas in Katie's head when she's already bored out of her mind.

"You're sure you're okay?" I ask Katie, although my hand's already twitching toward my keys.

Katie nods, sipping slowly at her water. "Just promise me that if Edward tries to buy me a new car, you'll at least FaceTime me so I can pick the color."

She's in good spirits, which eases the knot of tension in my chest. But now that she's said it, Edward's going to hear that idea in my thoughts; I don't think Katie would actually kill him.

But maybe we won't talk about the car at all.

I opt for driving to the cottage as opposed to running. I haven't phased since the day of Katie's accident. There are too many voices in my head when I do. Too many opportunities for me to slip up and reveal the cause of the crash, which Katie doesn't want.

I'm not sure why she asked me to keep it a secret. I think it's shame, or maybe embarrassment. I keep telling her it's not her fault, but I don't know if she believes me.

She's in a constant spiral of What If. "What if I had asked to be switched to a different group? What if I'd shut him down earlier? What if Leslie hadn't spilled the coffee?"

Dr. Hutchison, the psychologist who works at the hospital, says this is normal. It apparently goes hand in hand with the stages of grief. The bargaining part, maybe?

I'm hanging out squarely between denial and anger.

I don't let myself think about him. If I do, I get too angry to think about anything else. I broke a piece of the hospital bed Katie was laying in. It was too close of a call. So I shove my rage down instead, pack it tight.

I do an okay job, I think, leaving it until Katie's asleep and can't see me foaming at the mouth in the woods outside our house.

Leah found me there the first night after we came home from the hospital. She knew I didn't want to phase, couldn't phase. She talked me off the ledge, even offered to be my human punching bag.

I refused, but only just. If there's anything good that will come out of this, at least I'll have my phasing in absolute control. Most of the original packs have a good handle on it, but I think it's a skill that really only Jacob and Sam have mastered.

Every wolf has a different outlet for aggression. Paul took up boxing a few years ago to help him let out some of his frustration, and Jared joins him sometimes. Embry and Jake just pound metal in Jake's shop.

I used to surf, but I think if I touched a board right now, I'd crack it in half.

I let myself into Edward's cottage. I'm not sure if it's just because it's been a while since I've been here, or if my mind is swimming, but it feels like something's changed.

Maybe it's just me. What's the opposite of rose-colored glasses?

"Seth," Edward chimes from behind me.

Edward's just come in from outside, and he shuts the door soundlessly behind him. He moves at full speed, bracing against a kitchen chair effortlessly.

"Hey man," I say, and for a second it feels too good to be back in the company of a friend, too familiar. I relax into myself, something I haven't done in five entire days. The tightness in my muscles ease, and my stomach settles. The iron wall around my thoughts – the numbness – slips away. If I didn't know better, I'd say Jasper's around.

Edward's eyebrow twitches upward before his face turns to stone, and I know instantly that he's seen everything.

When I realize it, I sigh in defeat, and let the last bit of my defenses tumble.

I relive the last few months of my life. Helping Jacob with the cabin and how busy it made me. How distracted. Katie busy with school and work. The mess with Leah and Adam. The announcement of her moving to Seattle. Sam and Emily and baby Levi.

Jordan. The accident.

A growl threatens to tear from my throat, and I don't realize I'm shaking until Edward's firm grasp grips my shoulders.

"Let's talk outside," he offers with a half-smile. Behind the smile, something is darkening his golden irises. "Bella wouldn't appreciate claw marks in the hardwood."

He's trying to make me laugh, but it doesn't work. Red tinges my vision, but I manage to take a deep breath. "I'm okay. I won't lose it. I haven't yet."

He nods solemnly. "Carlisle said you asked him if he could make Jordan disappear," Edward murmurs, crossing his arms over his chest in a relaxed posture I've never been able to master.

"I want him dead," I correct. "It would be so easy."

Jordan's injuries weren't that serious. But I had it all planned out, and I thought I presented a very logical argument to Dr. Cullen. Blood clot, or maybe punctured lung from a missed broken rib. The doctors would try their best, but it simply wouldn't be enough.

And Jordan would be gone.

"Carlisle has a little more tact than that, but yes, I understand what you've asked him. You had to know he would never resort to such measures."

My muscles are straining under my skin, and heat licks at my spine. "I had to try. Edward, you don't know how broken she is."

"And you think this will heal her?"

"I don't know what else to do," I growl. "I'm helpless. I should have stopped him. I—you can stop him."

He must be racing ahead in my thoughts, because he starts to protest before I've even finished the sentence. "Seth—"

"You've done it before," I breathe. "His type. They were your favorite."

Edward and I don't talk about his past often. Now that Bella and Nessie are in his life, now that he knows what the others in his family have had this entire time, he doesn't dwell in his shady history.

But me, it's all I can think about. I dreamt about it last night, one of Edward's previous victim's with Jordan's face, lifeless and pale on the cracked pavement of some back alley.

"Seth," Edward hisses, baring his teeth. His irises are more caramel than golden now. I'm sure my own eyes are close to black. "That was an extremely long time ago. A different life. I have a family now."

"Katie is my family," I plead. "What would you say if this happened to—"

"Stop talking," he snarls. "I know. Just—let me think for a moment."

My body stops shaking at the slightest hint of the hope he's offering.

"I won't kill him," Edward says quickly. "But perhaps I could take him for a little ride."

"Yes," I breathe. "Make him hurt, make him sorry."

Edward looks anguished as we stare at each other. The silence stretching between us is loaded with suggestion. Somewhere in the house, a clock ticks. Outside, I hear a squirrel opening a nut. Further away, there's a family of deer drinking from the stream. One doe and two fawns.

"It's risky," Edward finally sighs.

Like I didn't already know that. My comeback is solid, and a valid argument in itself. "It's Katie."

He purses his lips tightly; they nearly disappear into his porcelain face. "We'd have to leave."

"Obviously," I say, because I'd already thought about that. "Take him into Olympic. They have rangers. Someone will find him eventually."

Edward muffles a soft groan. "No, I meant that my family would have to leave."

This, though. I wasn't expecting this. I shift, leaning against the back of the couch. "Leave Forks?"

He shrugs, beginning to pace. "Carlisle's been discussing leaving for a while now, and I've been resistant. But with Renesmee—" He reaches out for something, then stops as if he's suddenly realized it's not where he left it.

It takes me a minute to place what it is, and I only realize what he's grasping at when Edward's fingers move to twitch against his thigh.

The piano that used to occupy this corner of the room is no longer here.

"Housewarming present," he murmurs, and when I meet his eyes, they're leaning golden again, lit with warmth and admiration. They're still tinged with sadness. "Or cabin-warming, rather."

He gave his piano to Nessie and Jake?

"You're actually leaving?" I'm surprised to find emotion clogging my throat. Edward is one of my best friends.

"Nothing's been decided, Seth," he says softly. "Carlisle's been in talks with a few major hospitals. Minneapolis, Toronto. Chicago."

I don't miss the way his voice lifts at the last option, and my heart momentarily soars for my friend. I know he misses his hometown.

"I do," he agrees. "But like I said, nothing's been decided. We haven't… discussed it with Renesmee yet. Bella says we should have something concrete to tell her. Which is why I would appreciate your discretion while running patrols."

I gulp. "I haven't run patrol in a week. I can't think straight right now. Not with—" Jordan's smug face flashes in my mind, and I growl again.

Edward nods tersely. "I know. This will be the last time we discuss this. Understood?"

It's not an outright granting of my request. But he also didn't say no. It's the best I'm going to get right now. And I have to be okay with that.

It's been a month since the accident, and as of her follow-up appointment two weeks ago, Katie's officially back to normal, cleared concussion-free, safe to drive and work and… touch.

I haven't yet.

I woke up again this morning after another lucid dream, my boxers sticky and my brow sweaty. I just barely made it to the shower before Katie woke up. I don't want her to feel bad.

Actually, I guess what I want is for her to touch me.

Dr. Hutchison explained that the "return to intimacy" is a long and a winding road for assault victims. There's no telling how Katie will react; everyone is different.

Some people take charge of their sexuality after an attack, while others shy away from it. Some are triggered by words, sounds, touches to certain areas. Others get triggered by something that has nothing to do with their assault whatsoever.

One thing Dr. Hutchison made sure we knew: consent is essential. The only yes is a "yes". I can't take a non-answer as permission and I can't take liberties with guessing what Katie's comfortable with, like I have in the past. She's too important.

But knowing this, I still feel clueless about how to love my wife. Do I just ask her along the way, at every possible step? Or do I wait for her to initiate something, let her take charge and move me how she wants me? Not that that couldn't work out well for us, either.

Oh, and in addition to my perpetual blue balls, the sale on Leah's house is closing in two days. So things are going great over here for me.

The pack had a party on Saturday to send Leah farewell, and Edward called me yesterday afternoon to let me know the "good news": the Cullens (minus Nessie, and by association, Jacob) are officially moving to Chicago.

Edward made no mention of the Jordan thing, and I didn't prompt him. But oh, did I want to.

Some days I do okay, pushing it aside. I'm nowhere near acceptance or forgiveness, but I feel a little bit closer, watching Katie return to work at the diner and Port Angeles.

If there's anything good that's come out of this situation, it's that Katie is getting decent at driving manual. She drives my truck most days; I don't think she's quite ready to get another car for herself yet.

Today I'm helping Leah pack up the attic after work.

The attic is a glorified, uninsulated closet above the spare bedroom. There's not even enough space for us to stand upright, so I'm sitting cross-legged on the floor. Leah refuses to sit, and alternates between hunching and squatting as we work our way through various boxes.

Mom and Dad always lived pretty modestly, but overflow was inevitable with kids in the house. And apparently, the attic was where old paperwork went to rot and die.

"There's nothing in this one but tax returns from twenty years ago," Leah grumbles. "Let's just trash it and be done with it."

I sigh. "We should be more careful than that. This is Dad's stuff, too." There's a catch in my throat I can't quite explain.

Leah drops the bundle of papers, and they flutter to the floor. "Mom already got everything important out. It's just junk."

"You can't possibly know that, Lee."

She sighs. "You know Dad's not in these boxes, right?"

Her words sting like a slap, and my fingers close in a fist around an old magazine dated 1986. "That was rude," I gruff.

"Oh come on," she says, rolling her eyes. "It's been almost ten years. I think this will be good for us. All of us. If Mom was able to move on, I think it's time we try it, too."

Leah's never been one to unnecessarily fill awkward silences, so I'm surprised when she takes another breath.

"We have a lot of good memories here. But the memories don't belong to the house. They belong to us. And the Lowerys are good people. They're not going to wreck the place." She chuckles. "No more than we did, anyway."

The Lowerys are the young family that had the winning offer on the house. This house. Our house.

I nod slowly, blinking furiously to try and clear my eyes. "Do you still miss him?"

"That's the stupidest thing you've ever asked me. Of course I fucking miss him, Seth." She clears her throat, and with a cloud of dust, she finally plops down on the plywood next to me. "I told Adam I'd probably never want to get married because Dad wouldn't be there to walk me down the aisle."

"Leah," I breathe, shuffling over to her and draping an arm around her shoulder. "I knew you weren't big on getting married, but I didn't know that was why."

She shrugs, wiping at a rogue tear roughly with the heel of her palm. And then she lets her head fall to my shoulder. The move is very un-Leah-like, so I know she's more emotional than she's letting on. "I mean, let's be honest, could you see me in a wedding dress?" She laughs, but the sound is garbled.

"What, you don't want to wear Mom's?" I say with as much seriousness as I can muster. Mom's wedding dress is eighties-atrocious, with big poufy sleeves and highly flammable lace applique.

I fleetingly wonder if my children will think Katie's wedding dress is as ugly as I think my mother's is.

Now's not the time for those thoughts, Seth. You haven't had sex in a month. One thing at a time.

"Fuck you," Leah says, shrugging my arm off. "That's not funny." Despite her words, she's laughing again, which had been my intention.

I push myself up and immediately stoop back over – this attic was not built with werewolves in mind – and throw the box of tax returns in the trash, trusting Leah's judgement. She's usually right.

"Hey," I say, turning back to her as she starts to rifle through the box I'd abandoned. "If you ever changed your mind, I'd walk you. If you wanted."

She rolls her eyes. "You'd probably trip me. But noted."

When I finally make my way home, Katie's at the stove stirring something absolutely mouthwatering.

"Please tell me that's almost ready," I say, planting a kiss in her hair, then on her cheek.

I consider it a win when she doesn't flinch. In fact, she leans into the contact, rather than shies away from it. "It has to simmer for a bit," she murmurs, turning to bury her face in my shirt.

I'm sure I smell like sweat and dusty attic air, but Katie doesn't seem to mind. Before I know it, she's tiptoeing up, pressing her lips to mine.

We've kissed since the accident – the off-to-work and goodnight kind – but it's been so long since Katie's wound her fingers through my hair that the sensation sends a shiver down my spine. My mouth falls open to try and get some oxygen. Since when did it get so damn hot in Washington in June?

Katie sighs into my mouth, kneading our lips together like she's just as hungry and touch deprived as I am. Is she?

Consent. Ask.

"Katie," I groan. "What do you want?"

"Couch," she says against my mouth, and then I'm guiding us blindly toward our secondhand sofa.

She tumbles over the armrest, and I tumble after her, her hands pulling at the hem of my shirt and tossing it aside quicky. Her fingernails scrape over the ridges of my abs and pecs, and my lips continue to move against hers.

I want to explore her, touch her, taste her. Consent.

"Where can I kiss you?" I mumble, sucking her tongue into my mouth in the way she likes.

Her hips lift off the couch, and her hands claw at my back, pulling me hard between her legs. "Seth, just—please."

My brain is so foggy. It's been too long, and just the taste of Katie's lips is enough to make me tingle. I don't know if I could handle tasting her anywhere else.

My lips make their way to her throat, that little hollow between her collarbones, and I suck at the indentation until there's a strong possibility Katie will have a hickey tomorrow. I unclench my hand from the couch cushion and run it down her side, grasping her on the thigh tightly.

Katie tenses. "I should check on the food," she gulps.

Game over.