A/N: Sorry for the long wait again. Thankfully, job interviewing is complete and my free time free again :D thanks for sticking with me! I hope you guys enjoy this chapter! The end of this chapter after the cut is rated M. Skip if you wish, there's no plot there lol. As always, please ignore the 902308718617 typos.
Indiana.
I take a deep breath, picking at my nails as the anxiety works its way through my bloodstream.
After nearly a week of offering and at one point actually begging to, Paul agreed to let me help with his father. Begrudgingly, I might add, and only with the exception that he could be right outside the entire time. Now that I'm twenty minutes out from the end of my shift, I'm so nervous about it I feel like I could puke.
"It'll be fine," Leah reassures me, flipping aimlessly through a magazine. She's finally back from her stay in Tacoma with Jesse. They're finally back – and moving into a house off the highway to Forks.
There's no wasting time between those two.
I busy my hands with the task of wiping down the counter for what feels like the millionth time in the last half hour. "I'm not worried about it," I lie.
She snorts. "Okay," she replies sarcastically. "I can smell your anxiety from here."
"I'm not afraid to meet his dad," I clarify. "I'm afraid of what it'll do to Paul."
It already took a lot for him to detail the events his childhood to me, and I don't know how he'll react to this. All I know is that I can't bear him having to spend more time alone with his father than he needs to. If I can lift even a little bit of the burden off his shoulders, I want to.
Leah sighs and shuts the magazine before tossing it onto the counter. "Paul will be okay," she says. "Jesse's gonna hang out with him. Keep him calm."
The way we're talking about it makes it sound like I'm going on a dangerous mission or something, when in reality I'm just going to the home of a senior who's living in a different world than the rest of us. I know he used to hurt Paul. I just have to remind myself that he can't anymore – at least not physically, and even less so mentally if I can step in in Paul's place.
We pass the time by talking about Leah's new home. She's infatuated with it almost as much as she is with Jesse, and can't stop awing over the big windows and the cute, old-fashioned kitchen. Gone is the bitter, heartbroken woman I met when I first walked through the doors of this coffee shop.
I think this is the real Leah.
Jesse is good for her. All it took was that one night on the beach and he was in it for the long haul. No questions asked. They've been moving forward like a well-oiled machine.
It's nice. Leah deserves that.
Paul's 4Runner pulls up right at the very minute my shift is over. He and Jesse climb out and are laughing as they walk inside – which is hopefully a good sign.
Leah nearly floats around the counter and into Jesse's arms. He gives me a nod of acknowledgement and one of his ever-happy smiles before lifting her in a spinning hug.
Paul narrowly avoids being whacked with her feet and approaches the counter, leaning over it on his elbows. "So, what's it cost for a tall drink of you?" he asks playfully, wiggling his eyebrows.
"Something I'm sure you can't afford by your lack of a shirt and shoes," I joke.
He covers his heart with a hand. "Ouch, that one stung. Taking pointers from Jared?"
"Someone's gotta keep you in check." I lean halfway over the counter and tilt my head, catching his lips in a warm kiss. His hand immediately finds the back of my neck and holds me in place.
The new girls that work the evening shift walk in a second later, giggling and hurrying into the back room. They're fresh out of high school and – like every other girl on this reservation – have a thing for the guys in the pack.
You can't blame them.
And on top of that, Jesse literally resembles a model. I think he draws more attention than the guys in the pack do.
"Are you ready?" I ask, mumbling the words into Paul's mouth.
He shakes his head and keeps kissing me, hand still holding me still. He's stalling.
I let him take the time that he needs until the girls emerge from the back room and jokingly ask me if we want to relocate back there. Paul flashes them a smirk and only then do the four of us finally leave the shop.
Paul fiddles with his keys nervously by the car while Jesse and Leah take their time kissing each other goodbye. I force myself to stay collected for his sake. If he sees that I'm okay, hopefully that'll provide him with some reassurance.
"See you later, babe," Jesse says smoothly, running his hands through Leah's silky hair.
She smiles warmly, kisses him one last time, and waves to us before hopping in her car.
Jesse then climbs in the back of the 4Runner while Paul and I sit in the front. Sue's house is close by, so none of us bother to buckle on the drive, but Paul definitely goes under the speed limit to try and prolong the inevitable.
When we turn into the driveway of the house across from hers, Sue is walking out of the front door with a full trash bag. She smiles at us and Jesse immediately hops out to take the bag from her.
It makes me smile. He's wooing her – not that I think he needs to. Jesse has a naturally warm aura. People seem to gravitate towards him.
"Hey, Indie," she says when I climb out of the car. "Ready?"
She agreed to introduce me and show me around the house to spare Paul. Her schedule has slowed down now that she's hired another staff member to help with the flower shop, so she's been available during the days to help Paul's dad when the other girl can't. If things go smoothly today, I'm planning on asking Tiffany if I can work the later shift at the coffee shop a few days a week so I can cover here when Sue is unavailable.
Paul catches my arm before I can join her and leans down so his mouth is by my ear. "Remember, I'm right outside…"
I smile and nod, kissing him gently before following Sue.
The house is simple and easy to navigate, but I feel like I'm walking through a time portal. This is Paul's childhood home. You never would've guessed it though, by the lack of school pictures or child achievements. There's not a lot of decoration at all, and the furniture doesn't match, but the aroma of coffee at least makes it a little more inviting.
"Gene?" Sue calls out, leading me down the short hallway, past a staircase with a wheelchair lift, and into the kitchen.
There, seated at the small, square kitchen table, is Gene Lahote.
I don't know what I expected him to look like. After all of the terrible things he did to Paul as a child, I guess I thought he'd be more intimidating. But I've learned firsthand that the scariest monsters are the ones that hide it the best.
His hand is wrapped around the handle of a Big Gulp cup and he's staring down at the newspaper spread out in front of him. He doesn't look up when we walk in.
We approach the table and Sue puts her hand on my shoulder. "This is Callan's girlfriend, Indie."
I give her a confused look but then quickly remember that Paul said his father thinks he's someone else – his own son.
"Callan's got a girlfriend?" There's a flicker of excitement as he looks up, face old with age, and squints at me. "But what kind of name is 'Indie'?"
Sue frowns at him. "Be nice, Gene," she replies, patting my shoulder.
He looks nothing like Paul, which I'm honestly a little thankful for. His thin, greying hair is parted into two braids, and there's a long scar across his forehead. Worry lines are nestled between his brows and his eyes are much darker than Paul's – nose much wider. Their jaws don't match at all, either. He must look more like his mom.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," he grumbles, waving her off with the back of his hand.
Sue offers me an apologetic look, but I'm not offended in the slightest. I'm used to people finding my name weird. Take Malachi, for example.
"Indie's going to help out today while I run some errands, okay?"
He hums in response, eyes turned back to his paper, and takes a drink from his cup.
I follow her to the front door to see her out.
"He's really no trouble." She grabs her purse from the closet and hooks it over her shoulder. "But if you have any issues, just give me a call. My phone number is on the fridge."
Nodding, I give her a small wave and watch her head out, catching the sight of Paul pacing in the front yard before the door closes. I hear Sue tell him that I'm fine and that Gene is just reading the paper.
I can feel Paul's anxiety from here. I pull out my phone and send him a quick text, telling him I'm okay and to not worry. Unfortunately, it doesn't seem to ease any of his tension.
Glancing over my shoulder, I can see Gene is still deeply immersed in his paper and I can tell he doesn't want to be disturbed. I guess knowing how he's feeling will give me the upper hand in this situation. I don't really know what to say to him right now anyways, and the more time I have to think of something, the better.
I decide to get a feel for the layout of the downstairs.
Turning on my heel, I open up the first of two doors on the right side of the hallway. It's a full bath – small, but with a shower-tub combo tucked into the far end. Like the rest of the house, it's minimally decorated.
I know I shouldn't snoop, but I can't stop myself from pulling open the drawers to take a look inside. It's been years since Paul lived here last, but there's still evidence of him hiding away in the corners. Hair gel – the same brand he still occasionally uses, sports wrap, a very old, empty Dr. Pepper bottle. The surfaces in the bathroom are sparkling clean, but the drawers hold their age.
Door number two, I realize seconds after walking in, is to Paul's old room, and my heart instantly stops.
The bed has off-white sheets and an old, green body pillow thrown haphazardly across it. There's a laundry basket in the corner of the room – still full – and a desk with an ancient-looking computer on it. Next to the desk is a small trash bin full of empty soda cans that looks like it was knocked over and never cleaned up.
Every part of me wants to look around, but I quickly back out of the room. It holds too much pain, and it looks like it hasn't been stepped inside of since he left it for the last time.
Taking a deep breath, I finish walking down the hall back into the kitchen and take a seat across from Gene. He looks up at me briefly and then back down at his paper.
The silence isn't comfortable like it can be with others. At least, it's uncomfortable for me. It doesn't seem to bother Gene though. He is perfectly content with his paper and his coffee, attention devoted to politics and gardening articles.
"Do you mind if I have a cup?" I ask, pointing to his coffee.
He pushes his mug across the table. "Only if you refill mine."
Progress.
I take his giant mug over to the coffee maker and fill it back up, pouring the last small bit into a mug for myself. "Black? Or do you want some cream or sugar?"
He snorts. "It ain't coffee if you add all that shit to it."
I smile to myself and carry the mug back over, placing it in front of him. He looks up from his paper and grabs the handle with a shaky hand. "Where'd Callan meet a little white thing like you?"
Sitting down across from him, I cradle my mug with two hands and take a sip. It's still nearly scalding hot. "Do you know Josie Cameron? I've been living with her."
"Always runnin' around with that Call kid," he replies, taking a drink from his mug. "Paul's friends. Bit old for you to live with, ain't she?"
I shrug.
"You met Callan's dad, Paul, yet?" he asks.
My stomach rolls a little. This is the part there was no preparing for. "I have."
"No clue how he raised such a good kid." His eyes dip back to his paper and he takes another drink of coffee before setting the mug down. "Callan gets a little bitchy sometimes, but don't they all."
I don't reply and opt for another sip of my coffee instead. How am I supposed to have a conversation like this with him?
"Callan tell you the legends of our tribe, yet?"
"A little bit."
Gene sits up straighter and folds his paper together. "We don't usually share the real stuff with outsiders," he says. "But I guess if you been livin' on the reservation, you ain't really an outsider."
He starts off the same way Billy Black did that night on the beach. I pull my knees to my chest and rest my chin on them, listening to him retell the legends of the Quileute tribe. He's not nearly as eloquent as Billy, and curses far more often, but it's kind of interesting listening to the legends from someone else's perspective. He swears several times throughout that if he'd ever crossed a cold one he was positive he would've turned into a warrior wolf, too.
"Paul could never. It skips generations. Callan though – I'd be surprised if it never happens to him. That kid is outstanding. He's built for it, no doubt."
He really doesn't remember.
I know that our brains sometimes black out traumatic experiences – burying them deep where they can't hurt us – but it's another thing to witness the aftermath. Paul's first phase happened right in front of this very man, and he doesn't have a single memory of it.
Chewing on my lip, I let my legs drop back down and gather our mugs. "The legends are really amazing."
"Billy Black tells 'em better," he adds as I carry our cups to the sink. "Skipped him. Bet it went to his kid, Jacob, though. Ain't see him around in a long time."
It's amazing how much he knows without knowing he knows. What he thinks are just assumptions hit the nail right on the head. I turn and lean into the counter with my hip, scanning the fridge and looking at the different things pinned there.
Sue's phone number neatly scribbled, a menu for the nearest pizza parlor that delivers, a tide schedule booklet, and random flyers for events that are coming up and that have already passed.
I remember what it was like living in a bubble from the outside world.
The clock reads 5:37 PM. Sue said she would be back around eight to take over, which leaves me two and a half hours.
"Are you hungry?" I ask, opening the fridge. "I can make dinner."
"Make some more coffee while you're at it, would ya?"
Maybe coffee is his safety blanket.
I put enough in the coffee maker for just a single, regular-sized mug and get to work on dinner.
Gene goes on and on about how proud of Callan he is, mentioning notable achievements like winning the baseball championships amongst other things that can only really belong to Paul. I try to drown them out but every single word he says sticks in my head. It must've been horrible for Paul to sit here with him day after day listening to him being proud of the things he's done but only because he thinks they belong to someone else.
Gene hated these things when they were Paul's, but he's so proud of them when they're Callan's.
By the time dinner is done, my head is weaved together so tightly everything is in knots and tangles. The nausea bubbling in my stomach is so strong I know the second food hits it'll come right back up. Thankfully, I doubt he'll notice if I'm not eating.
If it makes me this sick to my stomach, I can't begin to imagine the way Paul felt.
"Where'd you learn to cook?" Gene asks, stuffing a spoonful of the stir-fry I made into his mouth.
I push some of the vegetables around on my plate. "My father was a chef," I tell him.
He pauses and gives me a curious look. "You don't look like the daughter of a chef."
I smile slightly. "What does the daughter of a chef look like?"
He ponders that for a moment. "I don't know – fat probably, for one."
"Gene," I scold. He really can be obscene.
For a fleeting moment, he feels guilty for saying that, but then returns to his meal and asks for another, bigger cup of coffee.
"You should try water when it's this late."
"Callan used to say the same thing, but all I've seen that kid drink is beer and Dr. Pepper."
I can't help but laugh at that. That sounds exactly like Paul – taking advantage of his high metabolism in the unhealthiest of ways. "What's the thing you enjoy most about him?" I ask, attempting to divert the conversation away from coffee.
He snorts and gives me a look with raised brows. "What's the thing you enjoy most about him?"
My teeth worry the inside of my cheek as I think. "His loyalty," I reply honestly, though I think he was being cruder than that when he asked. "And how adventurous he is."
He grumbles and shifts in his seat, scooping the last of his meal into his spoon. "Well, that he did get from Paul."
My heart flutters because that is the nicest thing I've heard him say about Paul all night. I gather up the dishes and head to the sink to start washing them. I hear Gene unfold his paper again and we fall back into silence – the only sound being the water pouring from the sink.
As I finish the dishes, I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket. I quickly dry my hands with a towel, then wipe my palms on my pants before fishing out my phone.
/
From: Paul
Message: Are u ok?
/
Sighing, I smile sadly and tap my thumbs against the screen. I know he's right outside, worried and waiting for the opportunity to come and rescue me, but I wish he wasn't. It breaks my heart the way his father talks about him, and I know he's heard every word all night.
/
To: Paul
Message: I'm fine. Please trust me
/
From: Paul
Message: It's him I don't trust
/
I lock my phone and slide it back into my pocket.
With Gene locked and focused on his paper again, I walk down the hallway to the front door and pull it open.
Paul is at the front step in an instant, pulling me against his chest. His heart is pounding erratically but slows down quite a bit after burying his face into my neck. I wrap my arms around his waist and smile over his shoulder at Jesse who just shrugs at me from his place in the front yard.
"I tried!" He shouts playfully.
"I'm fine, Paul," I say quietly. "Just one more hour and you can take me home."
He inhales deeply and pulls away, cupping the sides of my face like he's checking to make sure I'm not hurt. I assumed this would be hard for him, but I guess I didn't know how hard.
I wrap my hands around his wrists. "I promise, I'm okay."
"I hate you being in there."
"I hate that you ever had to be even more."
His eyes soften and he releases another deep breath before pressing his forehead to mine. "See you in an hour…"
"See you in an hour," I repeat with a smile.
The last hour flies for how quiet it is. Gene read his paper and I tidied the already-tidy kitchen – Sue's doing, I'm sure – until 8:00 PM hit and Sue walked through the door with an anxious Paul at her heels.
He didn't even acknowledge Gene before practically pulling me out of the house and to his car. Only when we're both buckled in and the doors are shut does he finally seem to calm down at all. I glance in the back seat and notice Jesse is gone, then look back at Paul whose knuckles are white around the steering wheel.
"Hey," I mumble, reaching out and trailing my fingers over his knuckles. They relax and he slumps back in his seat, rubbing a hand over his face.
"I almost lost it with you in there."
My fingers lace through his. "Well I'm fine, and he didn't even leave his seat at the table."
I can see his throat bob as he swallows. "And if he had?"
"Then I think I can outrun him," I joke, squeezing his hand.
He wants to be mad that I'm not taking this seriously, but he cracks a smile and chuckles, shaking his head as he starts the car.
Contrary to his driving earlier, this time he drives over the speed limit, anxious to get home and back to his safety net. The second we walk through the front door, he surprises me by lifting my legs around his waist and pinning me into the nearest wall.
The softness of his kiss doesn't match the urgency of his hands.
"Paul," I whisper into his mouth, my hands molding to the side of his jaw. He breaks the kiss and looks into my eyes. "I'm sure me smelling like your father's house isn't helping you relax. Let me go take a shower."
Reluctantly, he nods and I slide down his body until my feet hit the floor. I make it halfway up the stairs before pausing and turning around, walking back down just far enough to where I can see him still standing there by the door.
"Do you want to come with?"
His head whips around and he doesn't need to be asked twice.
The bathroom is cold when we walk in – since Paul left the small window open – but quickly warms up with the heat of the running water. He slowly lifts my shirt above my head and smooths his hands over my shoulders, dipping his head down to kiss me again. We undress each other and stumble through the shower door still attached at the lips.
He pulls the door shut behind us and cradles the back of my head with his hand. I let my head tilt back into the water for a brief moment before kissing him again, placing my hands on his chest and feeling his heart thump under my fingertips.
We kiss softly for a few minutes before I gradually reach down and wrap my hand around his hardening member. His hands move to my hips and his mouth trails down the side of my neck to my collarbone where he nips at the skin there.
There's so much emotion pent up inside of him from today. I know he needs me. I don't know if he realizes he does, but I do.
The other half of my soul is in pain and I need to fix it.
I know how to erase his anxiety. I know how to alleviate his tension. Some people might argue that sex is the wrong way to go about it, but we're not a normal couple. He's not a normal human being. There's a primal side to him that often trumps logical thinking, and that's the hard truth.
He continues to nip and suck at my skin as I stroke my hand up and down along his smooth skin. He's pulsing in my hand, breaths turning to sharp pants against my collarbone. I kiss the shell of his ear before taking his earlobe between my teeth, and he squeezes my hips tighter as his jerk into my hand.
Without warning, he suddenly lifts me back into his arms, pushing me against the shower wall.
My hands grip his shoulders and I arch my back away from the cold tiles. He reaches up to angle the shower head at our bodies before kissing me again roughly. The water is just hot enough that the burn feels good, pouring down over my neck and chest and pooling between where my legs are now wrapped tightly around his waist.
He grips the underside of my thighs and pulls them wider until the head of his cock is at my entrance and then he pushes in at a painfully slow pace, allowing my legs to wrap around him again only once he's fully sheathed.
"Fuck," he hisses, pulling away and resting his forehead against my shoulder.
The steam is so thick in the air it's getting hard to breathe. I gulp it greedily as he draws his hips back and thrusts into me.
Just like that, the day is wiped clean.
There's nothing but him and I and the way his hands and mouth are everywhere as he moves inside of me. His skin is like fire against mine. It almost hurts to touch him in the heat of the bathroom like this. I can feel my body sweating in an attempt to alleviate some of the heat, but it's just washed away by the spray of the hot water.
My arms move around his neck and he crushes our mouths together, tongue parting my lips and curling around mine. I moan into his mouth and he presses me harder into the wall, his chest firm against mine and lower abdomen rubbing against my clit with every deep stroke.
The pressure starts to build in my belly. I pull away from the kiss nearly gasping and my head slumps forward onto his shoulder. "I can't breathe," I pant, hands holding onto him for stability.
One of his hands anchors in my hair, gently tilting my head to the side. He places his lips against the mark on my neck and before he can even do anything I tighten around him and my nails dig into his shoulders, black dots lining my vision as my orgasm hits. It's so intense my throat constricts around my strangled moan.
"Cant. Breathe." I gasp.
In a matter of seconds, Paul shoves the shower door open and chaotically throws a towel onto the floor, lowering me onto it while still deep inside me. The burst of semi-fresh air fills my lungs and just when I start feeling like I might pass out if this goes on any longer, he groans into my neck and stills as deep as he can go, pulsing inside of me with his release.
He stays there for a long time, breathing into the side of my neck. A shiver runs through my body when my breath eventually regulates and the dots slowly start to disappear from my vision. That's when he finally lifts his head to look at me.
His eyes are so soft and warm that I lose myself in them for a moment.
I love being connected to him so deeply. We can have the most mind-blowing, primal and unadulterated sex and he will still give me the softest of looks when we're done. He will still hold me so gently and kiss me so tenderly, showcasing how much depth there really is to him as a person.
I reach up and wrap my arms around his neck in a hug. "I don't care what anyone says," I tell him, squeezing him tightly. "I don't care what he thinks or what you think about yourself. You're amazing, Paul Lahote."
He laughs quietly into my neck and slides an arm under my back. "Did I fuck you too hard and scramble your brain?" he asks playfully.
I pinch his back. "No," I reply. "You've spent your life having people tell you you're not good enough, but you are. I know you sat out there and listened to every mean, nasty thing your father said about you today, but I want you to know I didn't hear any of it, because I know the real you."
He nuzzles further into my neck before sitting up and pulling me into his lap so he can wrap both of his arms around me. "Thank you," he says, his voice so quiet I almost don't hear him.
It's then that I realize the shower is still running and is getting the floor all wet.
"The bathroom is flooding," I mumble, not wanting to ruin the moment but also not wanting the bathroom to get ruined.
Glancing over his shoulder, he jumps up and sets me on my shaky legs, reaching in and turning the water off.
"You didn't even wash," he smirks.
Smiling, I grab a few extra towels and throw them on the floor to start soaking up some of the water. "That's because I made the mistake of inviting you to join me."
"Mistake?" he feigns offence. "I'll show you a mistake. The mistake of making that statement."
Dripping, I jolt out of the room with him chasing behind me. He catches me – easily, of course – and tosses me onto the bed before grabbing my ankle and yanking me towards him. He pins me down with a hand on my chest and smiles as he leans over me and presses his lips against my forehead.
"You're the best thing that has ever happened to me."
So are you, Paul. So are you.
A/N: Again, thanks for reading! Leave me a review if you have time. Hope you enjoyed! xx