Got some positive feedback on the outtakes! If you want to find out what really happened on Karaoke Night, sign up for author alerts. As we all now know, I have no self-restraint with waiting to post, so look for that within the next few weeks.

P.S. That flash-forward is Chapter 15 in case you need a refresher. Okay that's all folks bye.

And it's been so long, but if you ever think you got it wrong, I'm right where you left me – "right where you left me" by Taylor Swift

Quil – Still September

Due to lack of options, mostly, Jacob, Embry, and I end up at the bar we went to for Omar's birthday last year. Maybe that's where all of this started.

With the college semester freshly begun, it's busier than it was last time. There's less to study for when there's only been one week of classes, I imagine. I never went to college, so I wouldn't know.

Embry grabs our first pitcher of beer (we open a tab), and we somehow get lucky and snag one of the tables in the back.

"So how are the kids?" I ask them both. It's a great way to take the focus off me. "Any buns in any ovens?"

It's funny—or maybe ironic—but Kim Cameron was the one to ask at Christmas if anyone was pregnant, and she went and got knocked up in April. It's another boy; he'll be here in January probably. Jared is stoked, but Kim has already informed him they'll be trying again until they have a girl.

And with Kim and Bethany being besties, they have this weird goal of being pregnant at the same time. Part two of that goal is having those babies grow up and either fall in love or become best friends themselves. Bonus points for both. I think it's a female bonding thing.

Like he's reading my mind, Embry chuckles as he takes a sip of beer. "Bethany wishes."

"And you?" Jacob asks, munching on a handful of nuts from the communal bowl.

Embry's ears go red, and he looks down at his tattoo. He got it this summer: thick, stacked black bands for each member of his family. With plenty of room to grow, I note.

"Okay, we wish," he says. "I think we'll be done with three, though. We already have one of each, and isn't that the dream? Besides, Bethany's already worried about how pregnancy will treat her body in her thirties."

"She said when she had Park, it was a lot different than at nineteen," I say. It's hard to believe, but Parker is already a year old as of last week. He's a whole ass independent human. He has favorite toys (stuffed dolphin) and foods (green beans, oatmeal, not together) and people (me, obviously).

Jacob nods, but his grin is smug. "Perks of Ness being…" He looks around at the crowd and drops his voice. "Special."

Embry and I share a look and punch Jacob's shoulders in tandem.

"Hey!" he exclaims, folding his arms in. "It's not my fault my wife has supernatural healing powers. Marie was right. You guys are mean."

I throw on a fake pout and adjust the sling around my neck. Given enough beers, I may ditch it altogether. It hardly hurts anymore. "Marie thinks I'm mean?" I chug my remaining half-glass.

Jake gives me a half-and-half gesture. "I think her word was 'pouty.' She knows you're sad."

If an almost-five-year-old can tell I'm sad, that's saying something. Then again, Marie has always been more advanced developmentally, and the girl can read a room. Literally. It's a gift.

Regardless, a weighty silence descends on our table, and I pour myself another glass from the pitcher, right to the top. I throw it back.

It doesn't help.

"Are the girls getting excited for their trip?" Embry asks Jacob. Nessie is taking Marie to New York City in a few weeks—she's currently obsessed with Hamilton (who among the musical crowd isn't?), and in true Cullen fashion, Nessie decided there's no other way to watch it than on Broadway.

Jacob grins, sipping at his beer with a respectful pace while I'm nearly finished with my own. Again. "Yeah. They're stopping in Chicago on the way back to see the Cullens. Which means Marie and Ness will both come back with more clothes than days to wear them. I swear if Rosalie buys Ness one more—"

"Can we not fucking talk about the girls for once?" I blurt. With the long day and hard call, I forgot to eat lunch. That must be why the alcohol is going straight to my mouth.

Jacob and Embry's faces freeze, and they share a look I can't decipher under the cloud of this fast-acting booze.

Embry flags down a passing waitress, but I'm too embarrassed to bother listening to what he asks for.

"I'm sorry, guys," I say. I push my glass away and drop my forehead to the sticky table. "I'm fucked up right now."

"Right now?" Jacob says jokingly, but I can tell he's still a little offended, despite my apology.

Of course they want to talk about their families. Normally I'd be all for it—fuck, I'm the one who asked the question in the first place. But I hadn't realized how much it was going to hurt to hear how perfect things are in their homes.

My home is across an entire ocean, and I don't have a key to get in. She went and changed the locks.

"I don't know what to do," I say, sitting back in my chair. The feeling of hopelessness is something I can usually push down, with distractions like work. But after such a tough day, even that's not enough, Mia and Brady notwithstanding. "Sometimes I want out."

"Out of what?" Embry asks, his brows furrowing in concern for me. "Out of life?"

"No," I say intensely, shaking my head to drive home the point. Despite the pain, I have never once thought this world would be better without me in it. "I meant out of this feeling, the missing her.

"Sometimes I wonder," I continue, eyeing a group of girls at another table, "if maybe if I just slept with someone else if it would… release me."

Not that I think I'd be able to stomach getting in someone else's bed, or that I'd be able to get it up if I did.

My best friends are good at reading between the lines. Embry reaches over and refills my beer again—not quite to the top, but close.

"It doesn't," he says. "You know what happened when Bethany and I broke up that one time." His knuckles crack as he forms a fist, but otherwise he keeps his temper in check. "She did sleep with someone else, and it caused pain and anger and regret, but it didn't release anyone from anything."

"She didn't kiss him, though, right?" My heart beats harder with the hope of it. "Maybe that's it."

"That would be cruel. And besides," Embry says. "You already kissed Callie."

"I wouldn't call that a kiss."

Jacob clears his throat as the waitress deposits two baskets of fried mozzarella sticks, and we don't resume our conversation until she leaves. That was fast. I can only imagine what Embry said to her. My brother is hangry and sad. I'll give you fifty bucks if you can bring something in the next three minutes.

"It happened when we locked eyes," I speculate. "Maybe if I looked at her again, like that. Recreated the first time. It would break it."

"This isn't some Freaky Friday shit, Quil," Jacob retorts, a mozzarella stick paused halfway to his mouth. A drop of marinara sauce falls on the table. "This is imprinting. It's bound by the Ancestors. There is no breaking it."

"There has to be a way," I murmur. "Claire—" I still choke on her name, even after all this time— "might never come back, and I'll be waiting here for a girl who wants to stay gone. It's not fair. I deserve to move on."

Because I have no other options. Given feeling like this for the rest of my life or attempting to sever the deepest connection I've ever had, I'd choose to cut ties. That's how miserable I am.

Everything is tight in my gut, and I'm only just thinking the words right now.

I have to break the imprint.

Quil – October

So far, I've had no luck. I've picked Billy Black's brain, Sue Clearwater's. Even managed to get Grandpa Quil to stay awake for long enough to ask him. Every time, they told me the same thing: it is impossible.

And every time, I countered with the same argument: isn't all of it supposed to be impossible? Shapeshifting, vampires, imprinting at all. They had no answers, and I was left with more questions. How did this happen? When will it stop? Where is she? Does she miss me, too?

Does it matter?

I've done research, talked to every Tribal elder I can. Written an email to a professor at some tiny private college down in California who claims to be an expert on these obscure tribal legends. I even called Dr. Cullen to ask if he's ever witnessed or heard of someone breaking the imprint. He hadn't.

The only thing I can conclude is that if I have any chance of getting out of this, it's going to have to be face to face. This all started because I looked her in the eye seventeen years ago. That's my way out; I know it.

Work is hardly a reprieve. Now that Mia and Brady's relationship is out in the open, he's even more obnoxious than he used to be. They don't hide that they carpool. They have the same picture hanging in their lockers, picture strips from a photo booth. And they don't do PDA, but their eyes are doing obscene things to each other anyway. Mia's baby bump is small but noticeable now, and she's been reassigned to light duty while her broken leg heals.

Which means it's my turn to make dinner. I'm in the process of trying to figure out whether I want to bake or grill the chicken when Chief calls my name.

"Got a minute?" he says, and even though I don't, I flip the stove back off and follow him into his office.

"Take a seat," he says.

I try to make myself comfortable, but these chairs needed replacing ten years ago. Maybe he does this on purpose, so everyone who comes in here will feel like they're in the hot seat.

Hot seat. At a fire station. That's funny.

He clears his throat and clasps his hand on the desk, covered with papers. "You've been nominated for the state valor award," he says, cutting right to the chase, and although there's no heat behind the words, they blow me back a good six inches.

"Chief?" I say, not understanding.

He shuffles the papers and hands me the one he was searching for. There's a date scrawled on top for a few weekends from now.

"Your actions when saving Shelton's life last month were commendable. Stupid," he allows. "But commendable. People took notice. People much higher up than me."

"I didn't think people actually read those reports."

"You'd be surprised."

I gulp, studying the details of the nomination. Chief highlighted this one line, Quil Ateara and guests and wrote 'six' in the margin next to it.

"Quil," Chief says, and the shock of hearing my first name from him is enough to grab my attention. "The nomination is a formality. You're going to win."

My mind is spinning. "I don't want an award just for doing my job."

"Doing it exceptionally well," he says. "These fires took lives. It's not insignificant that you saved two. Three, if you count yourself."

"I can't accept this. There has to be someone more deserving than me," I say, still in disbelief.

"Not this year."

"Brian," I try. "Can I call you Brian?"

Chief Marston looks bored. "You cannot."

"Chief. I don't accept," I say again, in a more direct way.

"Here's the thing." He looks uncharacteristically sheepish. "This isn't the sort of thing you can refuse."

"I just did," I say, holding my ground.

He coughs, severing our eye contact. It should feel like a win that he broke first. It doesn't. "Let me rephrase. You're accepting this award next Saturday, and you'll give a speech to go with it. Five to ten minutes should be good." He claps his hands, then eyes me more suspiciously. "Maybe wear the sling. There will be press, and the people who attend these things feel philanthropic by the end of the night." His gaze is on the arm of my chair, where the stuffing pokes through.

The walls close in on me. "I don't have a choice, do I?"

He smiles. "Absolutely not."

Two Saturdays later, I'm dressed in the formal uniform I haven't worn since I graduated the academy. I had to hunt for all the pieces in my closet and rush-order a dry-clean. I just got dressed in Embry's bathroom after picking it up. I pin on the lieutenant collar brass I never bothered to attach when I got the promotion.

I don't want to do this tonight. Accept this award. Have an empty seat at my table. That's not even mentioning the speech.

My guests are Embry and Bethany, Callie and Jon, and my mother. I didn't bother inviting Claire. The empty seat will be in her mother's honor instead. That makes it easier to swallow than knowing she didn't choose me again.

"Whatever," I say aloud, then head to the kitchen. The kids are already over at Embry's mom's for the night.

Embry's standing by the table in a white button down and khakis, fixing his cufflinks. A sports coat is hung over the back of a chair.

"You clean up nice," I say, patting him on the back. I grin as wide as I can—which isn't wide, honestly.

"Don't look so bad yourself, brother. I'm really—" Something over my shoulder catches his attention, and his jaw unhinges. That can only mean one thing.

"Hey Beth," I say as I turn. She's wearing a curve-hugging black dress, her hair in loose waves around her shoulders. Her lips are oxblood red. I pull her into a side hug and kiss her temple. "You look beautiful."

Embry scoffs. "Beautiful? That dress could get you pregnant," he says to her, eyeing her up and down.

I reach over and wipe imaginary drool off his chin. "Easy, tiger. Long time until you can rip it off."

Bethany steps back, her palms up to ward off her husband. Her neck flushes. "Nobody is ripping off this dress." She smooths a hand over her midriff. "But thank you."

The awards banquet is down in Ocean Shores, on the other side of the channel from Westport. Apparently, the higher-ups at the fire association try to plan it as close to the winner's station as possible so the crew and guests can make it, but there are a total of three event spaces in Forks, and two of them have moose heads hanging on the wall—the other has trout. I guess that's not the vibe they're going for.

On the drive down, Embry and Bethany play this little game they have, where they try to guess the song on the radio before the other person. My job is to fact check when necessary. It's necessary a lot.

There's a cocktail hour, and Chief leads me around to people whose names I forget two seconds after being told them. My guests are happy to chat with each other at our table while I make those rounds. I hold my drink with my "bad" hand (God, I'm over this sling) so I can shake hands with my good one.

I meet the president and vice president of the Washington State Fire Fighters' Association ("Try saying that five times fast," I say, which earns me a laugh), a few board members, and other firefighters who were nominated for the same award I was. Some of them will give speeches too.

We're herded back to our tables, and on stage, the vice president (I missed his name again. And he just fucking said it) introduces the president, who spends about twenty minutes thanking the various stations and departments and vendors that made tonight possible.

Dinner is fresh salad and perfectly cooked pork. Mashed potatoes. Macaroni. It's not worthy of a Michelin star, but this is a room full of firefighters. I'd say they got it just right.

I try to ignore the worried gazes of the people at my table. I haven't let anyone hear my speech. It's not finished, and what is written is a dumpster fire on paper. I am really hoping the words will just come to me once I'm up there.

"And now, to introduce the Valor Award winner," the announcer says, "Clallam County Station One fire chief, Brian Marston."

Here's hoping.

I try to internalize Chief's words, have them bolster my confidence and my sense of belonging here. But the more he talks, the more I can't help but feel like an imposter. That last guy who spoke had burns on his arm and neck, for crying out loud.

I scratch at the strap of the sling and swallow thickly.

"It gives me great pleasure to introduce this year's valor award winner, Lieutenant Quil Ateara," Chief says, and the room erupts with cheers. People rise to their feet as I do, and I make my way to the front of the room with slaps on my back, quick handshakes. My mother is crying. So is Callie. At the next table over, the rest of my crew bangs on the table and clangs their glasses.

The first thing I see when I reach the podium is the empty seat at my table.

Great fucking start, if I say so myself.

"Hello," I say. "As Chief Marston said, my name is Quil Ateara, and I'm a lieutenant with the Forks Fire Department in Clallam County."

I clear my throat, smooth my papers over the podium stand. Someone rushes on stage and deposits a bottle of water. If only a dry throat were really the problem. My eyes land on the empty chair again before I force them away. All the girls are recording me. Why does there need to be three video copies of this shit show?

"Most of you all know about the devastating wildfires that have been ravaging the west coast for the better part of a year now," I say. "Many of you have helped combat them. I did, and it's the reason I'm standing here today.

"One of my crew members, a kick-ass woman if I say so myself—" Omar lets out a soft whoop— "decided to go back into the blaze after we had been given the order to fall back. She was making sure the campgrounds were clear of civilians when a burnt log fell and pinned, broke, and burned her leg. When I found her, she was trying to create a lever system with her pack and a tree branch. She had been out of oxygen for close to thirty minutes, and she was ten weeks pregnant," I say, watching Mia. Brady's arm is slung around the back of her chair, and she's trying not to cry. "For that reason, she deserves this award."

My gaze shifts to Brady. "Her partner, the father of that child, is also on our crew. When he noticed she went back in, he was dead set on performing a one-man rescue mission, despite being visibly upset and exhausted. He had no care or concern for his personal safety, so long as those he loved were safe. He was the one who convinced me to go after what's worth saving. For that reason, he too deserves this award.

"At one point my fellow fire fighter lost consciousness, and I was left alone with my thoughts while the fire raged around us. My gloves slipped, causing the tree to come barreling back down toward her, which could have permanently damaged her leg. I made the split-second decision to take the brunt of the tree's weight. That action resulted in a broken collarbone and shoulder separation." I lift my sling. "Believe it or not, this is not a fashion statement."

The room laughs politely like I knew they would. I wish it made me feel better.

"I could have called for help, but I would have unnecessarily endangered other firefighters. I had no other option but to carry us both out. The reason I won this award over others on my crew, or any of the other nominees, is because I know how easy it is to lose everything.

"A year and a half ago, I lost one of the brightest stars in my sky."

Those were the last words I wrote before writer's block set in. I scratch my neck where the sling rubs uncomfortably. I eye that empty fucking chair.

"Two of the brightest stars," I suddenly say. "A week apart from each other. And I still see them everywhere. I see them in the faces of people I pass at the grocery store. I see them in my dreams. And I see them on the job, imagine they're the ones in need of help instead of whoever is actually there. I did it the day of the fire. I don't know whether this makes me smart or selfish."

A low rumble of whispering starts in the audience, and I try my best to course correct.

"The word 'valor' means courage in the face of danger. Bravery. Some people think it also means fearlessness, but I would have to disagree. I don't think valor is being fearless. It's acting despite your fear. Going head-to-head with it and saying, 'I'm going to win this one.' Choosing to walk into an unknown future, ready to take a few on the chin. Losing the battle, knowing you'll win the war.

"There are people who do this every day, choose to head into danger simply because everyone else runs away. For that reason, they too deserve this award. I'm not this kind of person yet, that kind of fire fighter, but I aspire to be. I will learn from those around me, the other award nominees, and my crew members. So that one day, I may feel like I too deserve this award. Thank you."

When I look for the empty chair this time, someone has whisked it away.

Someone else takes the stage, the treasurer of some association or something, and talks about tax dollars and contributions. I make the decision to tune him out after ten minutes, having done it unconsciously up to this point.

I lean over to Callie on my left. "How bad did I suck? One to ten."

"Solid five," she murmurs, then nudges my shoulder and grins. "It was really good, Quil. Don't be worried. She'd be proud of you."

I don't know who she means, but for the first time, I think there's a right and wrong answer. Hannah would be proud of me.

Claire?

God, I need to fucking forget about Claire.

On stage, the speaker concludes to polite applause, and we're released. Before anyone can stand, someone's phone buzzes.

"Oh!" Bethany exclaims, knocking over her water.

Embry swiftly saves her phone from the puddle. "What's the matter? Is it the kids?"

"No," she says. She sounds shaken up, and it's enough to catch the attention of everyone at our table. My mom comes over and places a hand on her shoulder, accompanied with "you alright?" Bethany doesn't answer her.

She turns and looks at me, takes her phone from Embry's hand and places it in mine.

There's a single text on the screen. One name and four words. That's all it takes, and everything changes.

Claire Young: Happy Restaurant. Khao Lak.

I fumble the phone but catch it before it slips to the ground. And then I read the screen five more times.

"What is it, son?" Jonathan prompts.

"I think Claire sent her location."

Six faces crowd in around the phone, and everyone talks over each other while still somehow having a functional conversation. "Is that even English," Callie asks, and Embry says "No, Google says it's in Thailand," and Jon exclaims "Thailand?"

I turn to Bethany, who looks like she might be sick. Her hands are pressed to her belly, like she's trying to hold herself up, or together, I can't tell. Same.

"Why did she text you this?" I say, my head swirling. Nothing makes sense.

She inhales, but it's shaky like a sob. "I—I sent her the video of your speech. I didn't think she'd—fuck."

"It's okay," Embry says, wrapping her in his arms.

"Quil," Callie says, tugging on my coat sleeve. "You know where she is now. You have to go get her. Bring her home. She wouldn't tell you where she was if she didn't want to be found."

She didn't tell me, I think. She told Bethany. But Jon is nodding, his eyes red and glassy. My mom looks less convinced, but still hopeful. Embry and Bethany share a look I'm not capable of understanding.

This is as much as Claire's given me since she cut off communication. A chance. And while most around me think this is a chance for reconciliation, for me it's a chance to look her in the eyes and break this connection, once and for all.

I'm going to Thailand.