forty-five.
(Leah)
After waiting for six, seven, eight minutes for Jacob to show his face, Leah and her classmates are rounded up by Mrs Holt, who whips the lingering students into order with the tenacity of a drill sergeant, barking orders at them to follow her inside.
With one last glance across the parking lot — that is most definitely not accompanied by a mournful sigh — Leah reluctantly makes her feet move, realising a little too late to do anything about it (without causing a scene, anyway) that she has unwittingly fallen into step beside none other than Alex Dunne himself.
The stiff nod Alex gives her as they squeeze through the door barely registers as an acknowledgement; it's little more than muscle memory, hardly a courtesy.
"Clearwater," he says.
"Dunne," she retorts. The clicks of her heels against the vinyl floor are louder; she makes sure to strut with purpose until she's confident the echo drowns out her simmering urge to deride him. "Ready for college?"
"Yes," he replies tersely. "Ready for unemployment?"
Leah merely smirks, allowing the jibe to wash over her like water as she takes her place at the front of the line. Nobody, nothing will ruin this moment for her, not even Alex Dunne and his spiteful jealousy because he didn't quite make the cut.
(Thank God she's not expected to make a speech, she thinks, because he would probably heckle her until she lost her wits. That, or they'd cut the mic the very moment his name left her mouth.)
Behind them, the rest of their classmates are a bundle of nervous energy as they talk amongst themselves, fiddling with their robes and awaiting the assembly to start. Leah tunes them out. There's nobody in front of her to talk to, and Alex has suddenly taken to pretending that she doesn't exist — not that he's doing a particularly good job of it; he actually looks rather furious about having to stand behind her. She wouldn't be surprised if he's silently cursing his parents for not bestowing him a surname that would have placed him first on the roster.
The minutes crawl by, mind-numbing in the silence, and it's an effort for Leah to refrain from wringing her hands with anxiety. She still hasn't seen Jacob; she can't feel him nearby, can't sense a single glimmer from his end of their shared bond in the way she has been accustomed to during these last few months, and she wonders what the hold-up could be. What's more important than this?
She hopes he makes it in time. If his face isn't in the crowd . . .
It feels as if they have been on relatively shaky ground the past few days. They made up, sure; she promised him there was nothing to forgive — not on his part, anyway — and she meant it. (She also meant it when, later in bed that night, she suggested pressing charges for assault.) She doesn't blame him. And they have been spending every spare minute they have together since her finals officially ended, but still it's been . . . weird. Almost like they've fallen out of sync, somehow. Jacob has been less sure of himself, less forthcoming; he waits for her to make the first move every time, and he never, ever mentions that girl, not even in passing — he actually point-blank refuses to acknowledge her existence, and that suits Leah just fine. There's just something . . . different . . .
She is so wrapped up in her thoughts about him that she is almost caught off-guard.
He's here.
His presence sends lightning skittering over her skin, and something deep inside of her loosens with an innate sense that he has finally arrived, that he has sought her out; she does not need to turn to confirm it, not when she feels his warm arms coiling around her waist, bringing her comfort at last and giving her all the assurance she needs that this event won't be a total disaster after all.
"Found you," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to her temple.
"Took you long enough," she replies in her best haughty tone, not quite managing it.
Almost exactly at the same time, an irritated tone cuts through the air. And through the fog of her imprint-induced stupor, Leah faintly recognises the voice as Mrs Holt's.
"Mister Black."
"Mrs Holt," he replies politely.
Leah looks up at him for the first time, meeting his eyes, ready to rebuke him for his smart-ass retort — nevermind waiting until the last possible moment to arrive — only for the words to evaporate on her tongue when she sees the naked affection staring back at her, drowning out everything except for total relief that he is here; he is with her.
Her trademark shit-eating grin forms on her face as Jacob gazes down at her, his mouth slightly agape, almost as if he can't believe that she's real. Or, in the cliche words that have become the go-to explanation, like a man seeing the sun for the first time.
"Mister Black," Mrs Holt says again, her voice markedly more clipped. "The last time I looked, you were not a senior, much less a student at this school."
(Leah vaguely considers how familiar she is with the chagrined sighs and murmured rebukes from her Principal; how she is not quite accustomed to Jacob's name following the clipped words — not lately, anyway, not since he phased and disappeared from the halls. It makes a refreshing change.)
Distracted, Jacob blinks, seemingly deliberating something for a few seconds; his eyes flicker between Leah and an unseen spot over her shoulder, and it's only when Mrs Holt makes her approach that he makes his move: Leah feels his warm hand suddenly clamp over hers, giving her zero warning before he pulls her away. It takes her brain a good few seconds to catch up with his momentum, and she teeters on her stupidly high heels, having to channel every ounce of brainpower into keeping up with him. Because, of course, where he goes, she will always follow.
"Mister Black!" her Principal yells behind them.
He doesn't answer, nor does he look back.
"Five minutes!" is all Leah can think to shout over her shoulder. The last thing she sees before Jacob tugs her around the corner is a flash of the incandescent rage on her Principal's face and the mixture of shock and amusement of her peers behind her.
Leah's heels click like a metronome as they dash down the hallways, and she has to put her free hand on her head to keep her cap from falling off.
"Jake, wait—" she gasps, but his grip on her only tightens as he tugs her into the nearest classroom, throwing the door open with enough force that it ricochets off the wall and swings shut again, barely missing her shoulder.
"Jake—" she starts again. "What are you—"
Her words are swallowed as his mouth descends upon hers, equal parts frenzied and purposeful. He lifts her up and kisses her so hard and so thoroughly within the circle of his arms that she almost forgets everything — graduation be damned; a single touch makes her forget where she is, and what she's supposed to be doing, and—
Jacob tears his mouth away for a split second, separated from her flesh just long enough to bury his face in the juncture between her neck and her shoulder, a place that he hardly lets himself explore on a good day. Now, with his teeth against her skin, possessive and demanding all at once, she fists her hands in his hair and wonders exactly why the hell she's been so worried. Absolutely nothing has changed between them.
A growl rumbles deep inside his chest that belongs solely to the animal inside of him, loud enough that her eyes fly open and she has the startling realisation that they are in her History classroom and — fuck.
Jacob only holds her tighter when she tenses against him, almost as if he's trying to bring her attention back to the task at hand. He kisses the hollow of her throat, slowly making his way up her neck, past her ear and back to her mouth, and all of her inhibitions that aren't controlled by the imprint fly back out of the window, right along with her brain.
"You," he rasps against her lips, "are — so — fucking — beautiful—"
Kim was right about him not being able to keep his hands off her.
Kim.
Shit.
The fog lifts.
"Jake, wait."
"No waiting," he mumbles, diving in again, and he has the gall to look like somebody has just insulted his entire bloodline when she laughs softly, tipping her head back so she is just out of reach.
"You cannot just — defile me," she huffs, because there is no other word for it, "in my History classroom."
"Can," he insists petulantly, inclining his head and kissing her like a man starved of affection. Of her.
It would be very, very easy to indulge him. She has been working herself to the bone, and this is exactly what she wants, what she needs. For weeks now she has been burying her head in books, if not to pass her Finals then to distract herself from surrendering every piece of her battered but healing heart to the imprint — to Jacob, who has been so very patient with her as she tries to sort her life out. Jacob, who never takes more than she is prepared to give. Jacob, who is fighting for all their lives every day with no absolute guarantee that he will come home to her.
"Okay, no, no," she says, certain of the fact that Mrs Holt is about to start looking for them — that is, if she isn't already. "We can't."
Jacob acquiesces, gently setting her back down on her feet with heartbreaking care. He rests his forehead against hers, his warm breath washing over her like a warm breeze, and — and if he looks at her like that for much longer then she's not going to be going home with a diploma in her hand.
She puts her hand to his cheek, holding his heated gaze. "Later," she promises, sure that he will hold her to it — that she will hold herself to it. And soon. "I didn't put myself through weeks of hell just to miss this part."
He leans into her palm with a forlorn sigh, watching through hooded eyes as she runs the pad of her thumb over his lips and gently wipes away the colour of her lipstick that Kim is surely going to give her hell for losing.
They need to go back. She needs to go back — and perhaps make a stop by the bathroom first, if only to settle her racing heartbeat and regather her thoughts.
"How long is the ceremony again?" he asks, earning another breathless laugh from her that makes him grin with triumph.
"Long enough that they'll miss me if I'm gone. You know, what with being the star of the show and all," she dryly remarks.
"So they won't start without you." His grin turns dangerous, positively wolfish in a way she usually only sees when the curtains are drawn and there's only her iron will preventing them from going any further.
(Whether that is for his benefit or her own, she is not entirely sure.)
"If I don't graduate, I won't be able to get a job and fund your obsession with scrap metal," she reminds him, wisely choosing not to point out that today is more of a formality than anything, a bunch of fanfare that she likely would have skipped altogether if not for the fact that she really is the star of the show — and she wants to enjoy it.
"Fine, fine." His hold on her loosens, his hands dropping to her waist as he unhappily allows an inch of space to come between them. Enough that he can look at her, at her robe and her dress and her shoes. His swallow is audible in the silence of the classroom. "What about after?"
"Jacob."
"Honey."
Her lips quirk despite herself. "You're making this very difficult."
"Sorry," he says, head snapping up. His smile tells her that he's not sorry at all. "You were saying?"
"Graduation. Diploma." She reaches up and straightens his collar, his tie, touched beyond all reason that he has made an effort for her — that they have all made such an effort. "If you piss the Principal off, then she's not going to let you come back to get yours. When you're ready."
"I can get my GED, s'fine."
She pulls her hand away. "You are not—" she starts, cutting off when she sees the mirth in his eyes. "You're real funny."
Jacob kisses her head. "I know."
He stands guard at the bathroom door as she hurries to right herself, half-heartedly cursing his unfair ability to distract her from anything and everything. Mercifully, Kim's artwork is mostly intact, save for the lipstick, and Leah only has to wipe the last remnants of it from her mouth and straighten her robes before she's looking presentable again.
Knees weak, Leah takes one last look at herself. And with a parting nod at her reflection that is equally determined and optimistic, she hurries out of the bathroom.
"That was ten minutes, Miss Clearwater," Mrs Holt says disapprovingly when she returns to her place at the front of the line, stalwartly ignoring both the curious gazes of her classmates and the daggers Alex Dunne is undoubtedly throwing at her back. In the corner of her eye, she spots Jacob, who manages to read the room for perhaps the first time in his life and disappears the way he came with a parting wink, surely off to find their family with an expression of mock innocence.
"Sorry," she mutters, just loud enough to be heard. "Won't happen again."
Someone snickers.
Mrs Holt arches a perfectly shaped brow, regarding her for a long moment. If she notices the missing lipstick, she chooses not to say anything, instead sighing and shaking her head in a way that suggests she won't press the issue; she has far more crucial things to deal with.
Leah lets loose her own sigh, one of relief, and wills herself to focus. She dusts her hair back behind her shoulders, standing tall on her heels as her Principal finally steps forward and opens the doors, just as they've practised.
Squaring her shoulders, Leah marches forward into the hall.
The audience erupts into cheers as soon as the procession enters. It's deafening, and she can no longer hear the music, the lowerclassmen singing over it, but she's got one job to do, and it's to get herself and her classmates up to that stage, without tripping over her own feet and making a complete ass of herself in front of the whole auditorium.
Barely aware of her steps against the music, Leah risks a glance towards the bleachers.
How she keeps her feet moving, she'll never know. Not when she sees Jacob staring right back at her from his place on the bench, standing taller than the rest. He looks awestruck all over again, his proud gaze following her every move, taking in every detail as if he is seeing her for the first time, as if he's not just completely ravished her in a classroom, of all places, and Leah thinks she could burst.
Embry is next to him, yelling excitedly as he jumps up and down, apparently alternating between pointing at her and grabbing hold of Quil — who, by comparison, looks like he would take great pleasure in wringing Embry's neck but still manages to blow her kiss over the sea of heads between them.
That almost breaks her. She loves Embry with her whole heart, but it is Quil who was the first to offer his unfailing friendship, who stood in her kitchen and pledged his loyalty whilst she picked casserole out of his shoes. She loves him, too; both of her boys have been a huge bright spot during these difficult months, filling the Rachel-and-Rebecca shaped holes in her chest so completely that the gap her former best friends left behind is practically overflowing.
She catches sight of Charlie next, on his feet and applauding enthusiastically next to her mother in the front row. On Sue's other side is Billy, and the picture of them together — of her mom between them, openly crying (again) and waving — is enough to completely shatter Leah's resolve. Only one person is missing.
Her dad isn't here, but it seems that the whole Pack has filled the whole second row of the bleachers to make up for any absence she may feel without him: Sam, flanked by Paul and Jared; Collin and Brady; Embry and Quil. Seth. Jacob.
She grins at them, her friends, her smile wide enough that her cheeks are aching all over again.
She looks at Seth last, who seems as hell-bent on embarrassing her as she plans to embarrass him during his graduation. He is the loudest of everyone, red in the face and waving his arms, but not even the usually stalwart Paul seems to be able to begrudge him his joy — or anyone else for that matter, not when they're all making almost as much noise.
Leah steals one last glance at her family before she turns away, her knees finally giving out at the very last moment as she drops into her allocated seat. Upon the stage, Kim and her classmates end their song and accept their applause — shy, reserved Kim, who rather inexplicably, despite all initial reservations (on Leah's part anyway), has somehow managed to become a true friend during their lunches in the library, and who also makes sure to give her a private little grin and tiny thumbs-up when their eyes meet.
(She also points at her mouth, a questioning look in her eyes that most surely has something to do with the lack of colour on Leah's lips, but Leah pretends not to see that part.)
As Kim descends, Mrs Holt steps up. She opens the ceremony, followed by the superintendent who ploughs through his address, probably regurgitating a speech from years past. There's little fanfare about it, and it's over surprisingly quickly — fortuitous, as God knows her mind is focused on other, less godly things.
Leah's name is called to lead the troops and receive their diplomas. She feels her face burning as the superintendent makes a point to lean into the microphone and honour her as the valedictorian, at which point every single member of the Pack positively erupts from the bleachers again.
They are so loud.
(Forget Seth — there will surely be a pool on who can embarrass her the most, and she'd almost certainly place a wager on Embry and Quil privately planning their strategy — though there's no doubt in her mind that Jacob's attentions are what makes her blush scarlet.)
She stands from her rickety chair to the tune of piercing whistles (Paul) and deafening whoops (Embry) and makes her way up to the stage. By the time her Principal hands her the diploma with a teary smile that is reflected on both of their faces, she can no longer distinguish the voices that are screaming out. She barely hears the school photographer, who loudly asks her to turn to the camera and smile for her obligatory photo; she stands between Mrs Holt and the superintendent with a goofy smile on her face that her mother will surely tease her about for the rest of her life, and then it's done.
Just like that. High school is over.
She's made it.
As soon as the last student receives their diploma and poses for their photo, the seniors throw their hats in unison, giving the green light for their families to descend upon them. It's a type of pandemonium which Leah has never witnessed before, and, too overwhelmed to complain, she allows herself to be swept up in the jostling crowd.
It takes only a moment for her eyes to find Jacob's as he pushes through the tumult, steadfast in his determination to reach her first. He sweeps her off her feet with an incomprehensible shout, spinning her around, lifting her high enough for everyone to see, and she is passed from person to person until she's breathless from laughing and crying.
Blinded by the flashing lights of her mom's camera, Leah eventually reaches Embry, her feet barely touching the ground. There is a glint of wickedness in his eyes that suggests the next words out of his mouth are going to make her laugh until she starts crying again.
He does not fail to deliver.
"Nice dress, sweetheart."
"You can borrow it if you like." The smirk she tries to give him feels a little wobbly on her face because, of course, she's laughing — and crying. She never thought to ask if Kim's makeup was waterproof.
Embry's laugh rings in her ears, his arms around her waist tightening. "And the heels too, I hope."
"I don't think they stretch to clown size."
"You cheeky witch. Jake, take your woman back!" he yells, but Jacob is already there; he has kept a hand on her since he found her, and he easily whisks her away from their friend, taking the opportunity to kiss her right there and then in the middle of the auditorium for all to see.
Another whistle rings out (definitely Paul, she thinks), followed by shouts of "Put her down!" and "Get a room!", but she and Jacob ignore them all. She doesn't even voice the retort about History classrooms that fleetingly crosses through her mind, happy as she is.
It's a long minute before he pulls back and sets her back on her feet, beaming from ear to ear, proud and pleased and a little (a lot) smug with himself. He puts an arm around her shoulders and they wordlessly begin to follow their family out of the hall, dumping her robes and stole on the way.
(Who knows where her cap is. Trampled, probably.)
With promises to meet back at her house for the small party her mom has been not-so-secretly planning (though God knows how she's managed it), their group splits off after another round of buoyant cheers that carry across the parking lot: Seth and Sue into one car with Jared and Kim in the backseat; Charlie into his cruiser; Embry into the Rabbit with Quil and Billy, the former who looks overly enthusiastic at the chance of being behind the wheel whilst the Chief threatens untold misery if he dares to speed. Nearby, Leah sees Sam, Collin and Brady clambering into Paul's car, and she allows herself to be led over to Jacob's Harley.
(He did promise style, after all, and she can't refuse. What better way is there than leaving school for the last time for the world to see?)
Figuring out how exactly to sit on the back of the bike's seat without showing her underwear is no mean feat, even with Jacob's help, but somehow they manage it without making her appear entirely hapless.
Jacob gives her his jacket, and once she's seated, with one heeled foot placed precariously on the concrete to help keep her balance, he gives her a boyish grin that reminds her of the last time she'd sat on his bike. She knows he's thinking of the same thing.
"This is not Forks High School."
"No," he agrees, fishing around in his pockets for his keys with a mischievous smirk, "but we can go, if you like. They're graduating at three. We could probably beat Charlie there."
"I think I'll pass."
"Thank God for that," he laughs.
"I suppose we'll have to suffer Mom's party. For a little while, anyway," she says, watching him as he awkwardly pulls at his tie and exhales a long breath the second he unfastens the top button of his shirt. He looks adorably uncomfortable.
"In a minute," he says. "I've got something for you first."
"A get out of jail card?" she asks coyly, thinking of far more entertaining things she'd rather spend the rest of her afternoon doing.
Jacob huffs, seemingly torn between laughter and frustration. "Just let me do this. Please. I was going to do it earlier, but then I kinda, uh — lost my head a bit, and I forgot."
"That's not my fault," she says sweetly.
"It was totally your fault, honey," he huffs again, but she knows he's not annoyed — not really. Not when he'd kissed her like that. Not when he's hardly been able to stop since. She has already committed herself to a few more makeovers because of it.
He takes another huge lungful of air, straightening his shoulders, and gently takes her left hand within his. "Now don't go all — all mental on me, because I know this isn't—" His throat bobs. "Just don't laugh, okay?"
He looks serious enough — and, bewilderingly, shy — that she can't think of doing such a thing. He has suddenly slipped back into being the same boy she has known all her life, the boy she has grown up with — he is not the Jacob controlled by the imprint, of the wolf, or the Pack. He is just . . . Jake. The Jake he would have been if not for all this nonsense surrounding them.
Taking her silence as her answer, Jacob licks his lips and looks down. "Okay. So," he begins heavily, "this is just about the most normal day I've had in — forever, really, and I've been wanting to give this to you for ages, only there's never been a right time, or a right moment—"
He turns her palm over, his fingers fumbling in his nervousness—
When she realises what he's doing, Leah has to work past the emotion in her throat that has been clogging it from the very second she woke up. And . . . damn it, she's crying again. She watches as he fastens the ties of a bracelet over her wrist, and she makes a private vow to herself there and then to never take off the woven cord, knowing exactly what it means and what Jacob is trying to say.
"—and I know this last week has been . . . rough," he continues to babble, scrunching his face up as if he thinks the single word is not enough to explain all they have gone through. (It's not.) "Well, not just this week, but — you know what I mean."
She does.
"Jake . . ."
"No, let me finish, or else I'll never get this out," he pleads with a bubbling laugh that catches in his throat. She doesn't dare to look up at him, focusing instead on the intricate colours of her bracelet. Of his promise to her. "The other day, I — I hurt you, and I'm sorry. I didn't want it — what she did, I didn't want it. I don't want her. I want you. I will always want you, with or without the supernatural bullshit, with or without everything that has happened to us, and — shit, I'm so rubbish at this—"
"You're not," she murmurs, tracing the patterns over her wrist.
He steps closer to the bike, filling any distance between them, and he cradles her face, his hands spanning over her cheeks as he tilts her chin up with such gentleness that he could easily not speak again and she would know what he is telling her. A single look in his eyes, and she knows.
"You asked me once if we'd still be here, doing the same things, doing this, if I hadn't imprinted on you," he says, his words coming easily this time as her wet gaze meets his, "and I said something stupid. Probably made some stupid joke. I can't remember what — I was too busy having a panic attack that you were about to turn me down. But I believe it. Maybe we wouldn't be here right this minute, but one day we would've been. I know it."
"Me, too."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," she echoes, remembering that day. "And we would be even if all the supernatural stuff didn't exist, right?"
"Right." His large fingers curl over her jaw, his eyes softening impossibly further as she runs her palms over his forearms, holding him in place. "Because you're it for me. No do-overs, no returns — you're stuck with me. If that's okay with you."
"Okay," she whispers.
"Okay," he says with a tiny smile, a hint of that unfailing spirit of his shining through. "I'm going to kiss you now. And then we're going to go to your party, and we're going to have fun. Everything else can wait."
"Jake, I . . ." She swallows thickly, unsure how to start. She is beyond speech, certain that anything she says will pale in comparison to the declarations, the promises he's just given her. There's only one thing, one sentence that all parts of her can unanimously agree upon.
"You don't have to say anything." He inclines his head, lips softly coasting over hers, and her eyes flutter shut of their own accord. "I'd rather you didn't, actually," he says, letting her off the hook entirely (how well he knows her), "— not unless you want me to start crying all over you."
Leah slides her arms over his, over his shoulders, clasping her hands behind his neck as she presses a chaste kiss to the underside of his jaw. "You're it for me, too," she says anyway.
Jacob lets out an overly dramatic sigh of relief, brushing his nose against hers. "Thank God," he murmurs, and he kisses her until the parking lot is empty.