fifty-six

(Leah)

By mutual, unspoken agreement, Leah and Jacob don't discuss the significance of the date when they wake early on August thirteenth. Neither does he give any indication that he's planning to wage supernatural war or throw himself off a cliff (or worse, storm the wedding and steal the bride); he isn't moody, isn't withdrawn, doesn't treat her any differently than he would any other day, and yet still an unpleasant feeling lines Leah's gut as he plants a goodbye kiss on her lips.

It isn't, can't be a sense of foreboding—she trusts Jacob implicitly, even if he is a little dense at times and his too-big heart makes her want to (affectionately) wring his neck—but she does begin questioning whether it might be a sense of doubt. Not in Jacob, but in herself. If she had handled things differently . . .

Perhaps it's guilt, not doubt—her own insecurities, simply exaggerated by stress. Everything seems to have crept up on her all at once—the date on the calendar, the end of summer, the realisation that she's not headed back to high school come September—and the quiet panic she's been trying to stave off since graduation, since the newborns, has finally broken free of its cage, manifesting itself into sleepless nights and headaches that she has difficulty thinking around.

Or maybe, just maybe, it's her freaky sixth imprint sense telling her Jacob isn't handling things as well as he appears to be. Maybe neither of them are.

Whatever it is, she can't shake it.

"Embry will be here in a few," Jacob tells her, setting her back down on her feet after a drawn-out and heated kiss. "Don't go anywhere."

Leah thinks of the morning she's about to spend watching her mother and Seth get dressed in their Sunday best (because Seth helping his mortal enemy dismember a vampire or two makes them best friends now, or something, and has earned him an exclusive invitation), and she decides that she's destined to go somewhere today, at least until the traitors she calls family head off to pick up Billy and join the wedding party. Embry will just have to come along with her whether he approves or not.

She waves a hand, dismissive. "Sure, sure."

Her long-suffering wolf sighs by way of reply, no doubt because he knows each movement of her body and all the tones of her voice, enough to recognise when she's lying and when she's planning something that he's not going to like.

"Wait 'til Embry gets here, at least," he says, resigned. He slowly rubs circles along her palm with his thumb, demanding her full attention—as if she's not already keenly aware of him at every given moment. "Hey. Promise me."

"I'll wait until Embry gets here," she repeats, grateful she doesn't have to promise anything more.

Jacob accepts this with another press of his lips against hers and starts running before Sam can accuse him of being late for patrol. As if he hasn't been sacrificing enough in the name of Sam's Orders already.

With a sudden influx of vampires in the area, all due to attend The Event of the Year, Sam has had the whole pack have been rotating between shadowing the imprints and covering every inch of their land for the past week; he point-blank refuses to stand them down, not until he is sure the happy couple have left for their honeymoon and any lingering guests have cleared out. Jacob has been pulling double patrol shifts and double protection duty since, the latter of which is the only reason she's managed to spend any time with him at all.

(Privately, Leah thinks that Jacob may have something to do with encouraging the new security measures—he distrusts the Cullens and any creature associated with them more than all of his brothers put together, regardless of whether their eyes are golden or not—but she knows better than to ask, especially when he'd only deny it.)

Leah shuts the door with a sigh of her own and settles in to wait for Embry.

The coddling of the imprints isn't so much of a problem for Emily, who rarely leaves the safety of her house because she still fears the reservation's judgement, nor is it for Kim, who is enjoying Jared's undivided attention. But for Rachel, who hates nothing more than feeling trapped on the reservation, the last week has been a living nightmare; she spends most of her time giving the pack a run for their money, testing their defences and arguing with Sam until she's blue in the face. She doesn't care that she tends to be caught before she reaches the La Push Welcome! sign, or that Sam always wins the argument—Rachel has a point to prove, and Leah suspects she's not done making it.

She also suspects that Rachel will find her before Embry does, so she decides to get dressed, relieved her mom and Seth's alarms haven't yet woken them, and she stuffs some supplies into her old backpack. Just in case.

Half an hour passes. Another.

Nobody shows.

She showers and eats breakfast, then watches an episode of Seinfeld and seriously considers taking a nap if it will pass the day just that little bit quicker. Then her mom's alarm sounds from upstairs, bringing her back down to reality with a jolt, and she wastes no time in fleeing the house before Seth's alarm can follow—or, more importantly, before he can bound down the stairs like a kid on Christmas morning.

She doesn't get far; she's only halfway down the street when she's almost mowed down by Rachel, who has predictably decided to take advantage of her apparent lack of bodyguard and attempt another escape in her dad's Ford Tempo.

"Who have you gotten into trouble this time?" Leah asks when Rachel rolls down the window.

"Brady. Told him I was going to get something from the garage," Rachel says, patting the steering wheel. "I mean, it wasn't exactly a lie." She grins, positively gleeful. "What about you?"

"Jake said Embry was supposed to be coming by, but he hasn't shown," Leah answers, shrugging. "Bet he's slept in."

They smile at each other, conspirators.

"You wanna see how long it takes them to realise we're gone?"

Leah doesn't think twice before jumping into the passenger seat. "I know the perfect place we can go."

It's not until Rachel leaves the one-ten at breakneck speed and joins the one-oh-one that Leah decides maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all. At this rate, they'll be in Idaho before anyone has said I do.

She bites the side of her thumb, a childhood habit she's mostly trained out of herself but still shows itself when she's nervous. She doesn't feel guilty enough to ask if they can turn back—yet—but she does dig out her cell and fire off a few short texts to Kim, asking her to pass a message on, something that translates to we're fine and we'll be back later without sounding like she's frightened of the consequences that await her return.

Jacob is going to be furious. Sam, too. And Paul—probably.

Not that Rachel seems to care. Her laughter sounds borderline unhinged as she floors it down the highway, scarcely able to believe that they've actually escaped the reservation, and she only slows when Leah starts giving directions.

"You're doing it again."

Leah blinks. "What?"

"You think I don't see you looking out the back window like you're expecting to see Jake tearing after us?" Rachel asks.

"Not Jake," she says. "Sam, maybe. You really pissed him off last time."

Another deranged sound escapes Rachel. "He deserved it."

Leah can't disagree with that.

"Stop worrying, will you? We're not prisoners," Rachel says then. "We're not doing anything wrong."

"I'm not worrying. I'm just—concerned," she replies, biting her thumb again. "Maybe I should drive."

"Hell, no. This is the most fun I've had all week."

"Now that's just sad. Here—take the next left."

Pillar Point is much the same as when she last visited with Jacob, albeit busier and sunnier. Summer has well and truly descended upon Washington, finally, bringing with it a kind of stifling heat they rarely see even during August.

Typical.

Leah has been quietly hoping for a bit of torrential rain all week—a blizzard, perhaps, or a flash flood, or a tornado (she would even settle for an overcast sky and a smattering of light rain, the kind of dreary day that her dad liked to call Good Fishing Weather)—but she supposes it was foolish to hope that something like a dangerous weather event would ruin The Wedding of the Year. She has the Cullens' clairvoyant to thank for that.

Sweat coats the back of her neck as she and Rachel trudge down to the beach, arm-in-arm, muttering their agreement that they should have brought their swimsuits as they skirt around families who have all come out to enjoy the rare sunshine, though Leah has no doubt there will be clouds covering them soon. (Unless the Cullens have invested in a very expensive canopy.)

They don't speak again until they're standing on the end of the breakwater, using one another for balance as they stare out across the Salish Sea, nothing before them except the water and the sky.

Rachel is awestruck, unable to peel her eyes away. "Why have you never shown me this before?"

"I like coming here on my own," Leah replies. Not unkindly—just honest. If she wanted to be unkind, she would have said something like Because you weren't around for me to show you. "If you sit just about—here, in the middle—" she tells Rachel, positioning her into just the right spot with gentle hands on her shoulders "—you can almost pretend the world behind you doesn't exist."

Rachel allows herself to be guided, too busy soaking up the view to even take notice of what her body is doing. She sits and hangs her feet off the edge of the breakwater, just as Leah always loves to do, pressing her hands against the rocks and leaning forward as if she might be able to get closer to the horizon itself.

Leah sits just behind her, crossing her legs and leaning back on her palms, feeling inordinately pleased with herself. Jacob had been too busy having a nervous breakdown to admire the view when she'd tried to share this with him, but at least his sister appreciates it.

"Good, huh?" she asks.

Her friend—sister—looks over her shoulder, her grin brighter than the sun on the sea. "This might just be my new favourite place."

"It's mine, too."

"Just think," Rachel starts, happy and free in a way Leah hasn't seen her in a week—longer, even, "—if we moved to Seattle together, we could do stuff like this all the time. Take trips. See new things. Just us."

"Are we back on this?"

"It'd be great," Rachel continues, sounding a little too dreamy for Leah's liking. Perhaps the sea air has gone to her head already. "We could do what we want, when we want. No boys to answer to, none of this keeping us prisoner shit—"

"They're not that bad."

By now, it's second nature to defend the pack. Her family. Rachel's, too, if she'd only let them be, but her disbelieving scoff indicates that she's still not quite there yet.

"Really," Leah insists. "It's not always like this. They just . . . go a little over the top sometimes." And then, at her friend's sceptical expression, she adds: "Seriously. I imagine it's quite boring being an imprint, most of the time—when there aren't hoards of vampires nearby, anyway. You get used to it."

It's the wrong thing to say, even if it wasn't intended to imply what Rachel thinks. She trains her gaze back on the water, less enamoured by it now as she was ten minutes ago, and immediately descends into a type of silence that only ever promises trouble.

Leah sighs. "Rach."

No answer.

It's been three weeks or so since—well, since Paul. Three weeks of the pack spending whole afternoons, days even, explaining the intricacies of a world that has been hidden from Rachel for nearly twenty-one years. Three weeks of Rachel doing little more than watching Paul out of the corner of her eye, refusing to acknowledge his existence and keeping him at arm's length (even when she does choose to regard him, it's with an air of barely-there interest that gives little away), leaving Paul feeling eager to prove that he's willing to wait as long as she needs and will respect whatever decision she makes.

Suffice to say, the whole thing has become something of a competition between them, a test of wills with no clear winner, one that Paul even appears to be enjoying in his own weird way.

And yet . . .

Leah will readily admit that she didn't believe her cousin had it in him to be so . . . patient, but she also knows what indecision and denial can do to a man. (Or, more specifically, a boy who has imprinted and has no idea what to do with himself until the source of his adoration makes it clear.) Personal experience tells her enough about how messy that can get, and her quiet fear that Paul will be left ruined by Rachel's indecision grows by the day. As if the tension isn't already unbearable enough.

Leah can hardly imagine what would have happened if she'd kept Jacob waiting this long, what trouble she would have found him in by the end of it—she can only hope that whatever happens, whatever the outcome, it happens soon, or else they're all going to lose their minds. She'll probably be the first.

"Let's talk about something else," Rachel says after a long and painfully silent ten minutes, apparently either choosing to play dumb or genuinely unaware she's been so lost in her head that she hasn't spoken for that long.

Leah runs her fingers through her hair, quietly bemoaning its curled ends from the sea breeze. "Like what?"

"Oh, I don't know. What you're planning to do with the rest of your life, maybe. Seattle's still on the table."

Well, shit. She walked herself right into that one.

She mumbles something garbled that's supposed to sound like another excuse, only it comes out as something more like a groan instead.

It feels like a lifetime ago that she was walking across the stage and out of school for the very last time. Just for a minute, it had felt like a different life entirely. Now it's August, the thirteenth, and still, she has no plan, not a single idea, not even an inkling about how she's going to start the rest of her life.

Cue panic.

Of course, Rachel has absolutely no idea that Leah has spent weeks obsessively collecting job applications and leaflets from the community centre, even a community college brochure or two, squirrelling her findings away before anyone (Jacob) can offer his opinion on a potentially life-defining choice—but that's where it all ends. She hasn't actually been acting on any of it.

Maybe she has to start somewhere, even if it's only by telling Rachel.

It takes a while, but eventually, she sucks in a breath and tries to translate her thoughts in a way that doesn't make her sound like a dying animal. She has no idea where to start. She's too frightened. She wants to do something with her life, but she just about has a panic attack whenever she thinks about moving away from the reservation. She needs a job. She regrets not applying for college, because having a degree feels like the be-all and end-all, but she doesn't want to leave Seth or Jacob or Embry or Quil. She wants to make her dad proud. She wants—

"Okay, stop. Stop."

Rachel holds up a hand, her expression softer than usual. That, more than anything else, has Leah's eyes suddenly stinging, and it's not just from the salt in the air. Because if Rachel feels sorry for her then things are truly as bad as they seem.

"Just—breathe for a second."

Leah moans. "What am I going to do?"

"Heck if I know," Rachel says.

Leah almost laughs.

Her friend huffs. "Okay, look. Giving meaningful advice is as much my thing as it is yours. But as it's you, I'm willing to make an exception. Don't tell anyone, or I'll finally pay you back for that black eye you gave me."

She manages a weak smile. "Sorry about that."

"No you're not," Rachel says, but she's finally smiling again, too. "Right, first things first. Do you really regret not applying for college? I didn't think it was something you wanted."

"I did, but then—"

"You did, or Sam did?" Rachel interrupts. "Because if you're about to tell me that you were only going to college because of a boy, I will scream."

Leah pauses.

Unfortunately, most of the decisions she made two, three years ago did involve Sam Uley. They also involved Rachel and Rebecca, too, but the twins skipped a grade and moved away before Leah and Sam even began considering college applications.

She decides that it's probably best not to answer, although she's aware her silence speaks volumes.

Rachel sighs. "Fine. New angle. Do you want to go to college?"

"No," Leah answers honestly.

"Because of Jacob?"

"Yes," she says. "But not just him," she adds before Rachel can roll her eyes and make a critical remark. "I like it here, Rach. I know you don't, and I get that, I do, but I don't want to move away. My whole life is here."

"It's just four years." Rachel, thankfully, seems unoffended. "Less, if you graduate early. And it's not like you won't come back for holidays, or—" She stops when Leah shakes her head. "Okay," she says without judgement. "What about community college classes?"

"Maybe. Mom said I could have my inheritance from Dad early if—if I wanted. It's not much, but I looked at Peninsula College," Leah says slowly, the weight in her chest reappearing, "and I think I could probably do it."

"Do you want to?" Rachel asks again.

"I don't know. I didn't get past the admissions page."

"Okay," she says again. "That's fine. You don't have to go to any kind of college if you don't want. I know plenty of people who didn't, and they're doing just fine." She shrugs. "I mean, I'd like you to go, but only so I can move to wherever you end up. The farther away the better."

The only reason Leah resists flinging her arms around her sister and wailing loudly into her shoulder is knowing that Rachel wouldn't hesitate to push her off and deliver on her promise of a black eye. That, or throw her off the breakwater and into the sea.

She settles for sniffing pitifully. "You're the best friend I ever had."

"Better than Embry?" Rachel asks hopefully.

"Stop. I love you both the same."

Rachel is undeterred, just as she often is when faced with competition. Embry, Paul—it doesn't matter; she lives to win, to be the best. Graduating from college early—and with honors, too—has only enforced her high opinion of herself.

"But you love me the most," she says. "Come on, then. Let's go and sort your life out. I think there's a library in Clallam Bay we can hide in until the I dos are over, at least."

"Or someone realises we're unsupervised and they go berserk," Leah points out. "If they haven't already."

"Think they're looking for us?"

"Oh, without a doubt."

Rachel's grin is borderline evil. "Excellent."

A/N: Spent months repeating the same process: write thousands and thousands of words, scrap the whole thing, have a breakdown, start over. (There are seven versions of this chapter floating about on my Drive.) Listen closely and you can hear the clown horn. Honk honk.

ALSO. An understanding of the US school system is something that I will never have, but if Rumpelstiltskin can speak full sentences at one week old then Rachel Black can graduate early with a computer engineering degree at twenty and I can act as if I know what the hell I'm writing about. (Don't blame me, blame Meyer and the Illustrated Guide. I'd blame Breaking Dawn, too, but it still hurts to acknowledge its existence.) Please continue to ignore any glaring inaccuracies.