A/N: Twilight and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. I don't own anything. Not even Boozeward. He belongs to the fab ladies at WArehab and they can do whatever they want with him (except allow him anywhere near water or feed him after midnight). Thanks so much for all your kind words and encouragement!

Saturday, FFn was being failylicious, so just in case anyone doesn't realize, this is Chapter Four, and Chapter Three is that-a-way ------

I listened to her car disappear as I sighed up at the clouds, rain pelting my shoulders and face.

I should have written her a fucking letter.

By the time I finally reentered the Thriftway, I was already sopping wet. The cashier who I'd just abandoned watched me with scrutinizing eyes as I rattled a cart free and sulked to the deli.

Chief Swan's daughter—Isabella—had every right to be a bitch to me, so even though it completely broke my spirits, I couldn't exactly feel sorry for myself or frustrated or anything else I wanted to feel. I'd had plenty of rough encounters while making amends over the past year. Hell, Ben Cheney had clocked the shit out of my jaw when I'd shown up on his doorstep to apologize for my behavior toward his wife.

Angela Cheney (Redken, breast-length brunette, curled at the ends) had been a bartender at what was once my favorite bar. Apparently, my constant ass-grabbing, lewd comments, and overall asinine conduct toward her in particular had caused her enough distress to quit her job. Her husband hated my guts, even though I'd helped her get a new—and far more acceptable—job at the hospital with Carlisle's assistance. I'd apologized profusely until I'd earned her forgiveness. She'd sent me a Christmas card the previous year. But if it had Ben Cheney on my list instead of his wife, I never would have had the pleasure of crossing him out.

There were handfuls of experiences such as that one, and for the most part, everyone made me earn their absolution. It was rarely easy, and I was used to being turned away once or twice, but… I just knew that Isabella would be the worst of them all.

I wasn't really certain I'd have it any other way.

She exuded obstinacy, that kind of tenacity that was impervious to persistence. Her eyes didn't display the same adorable ferocity as they had in high school. Instead, that adorable ferocity had matured into something hard and fortified, with a trace of cynicism in the slant of her lips. I mean, she'd pulled a fucking shotgun on me.

Wherever the Chief was in spirit, he was wearing a shit-eating grin.

In any case, it was going to take a lot more than words and a Dawn-slash-Tampax purchase to win her forgiveness. I spent most of my time in the grocery store thinking it over, wondering how I should continue.

To let it go and move on without making it right wasn't even an option, although, in all honesty, I shouldn't have even been entertaining the notion. I didn't know Isabella well enough, and I couldn't be totally confident that my efforts wouldn't end in someone getting injured. That was a crucial point to making amends. If doing so was dangerous, we weren't supposed to make the attempt. I knew Carlisle would be disappointed and frustrated if he found out, so I'd decided to conveniently omit my previous encounter with the Chief's daughter whenever we spoke.

As I began crossing things out from another list—Esme's Sunday dinner grocery list—I pondered what Isabella might need. She didn't need a job, that much was for certain. Alice had told us that she'd been hired at the Lodge and had received many more offers. Truthfully, I couldn't deny my aggravation with that. I'd been looking for a job in Forks for eight months.

Must be nice having tits.

Nothing genius struck until I was at the register, three dollars short because I'd helped Isabella pay, and had to dip into my savings reserve.

I didn't have much. I did odd jobs around the town for those who'd let me and had managed to save a little over four thousand dollars toward moving out of my parents' house. I'd planned to make the move as soon as I had a steady job, but… that wasn't looking promising, and the Chief's house was looking worse for wear. I figured Isabella could maybe use some monetary assistance in getting it back to its previous condition. If she refused to sell it, it must have meant something to her.

I found myself conflicted that night as I counted out my money, a little apprehensive about handing it all over—well, most of it. I mean, I'd busted my ass for it and four thousand dollars probably didn't seem like a lot to some people, but to me, it was pretty much the only thing I'd earned. Ever.

But Isabella was new to town and working that shitty waitressing job, and I was sure that, if she had the money, she would have already begun work on the house—which she obviously hadn't. I didn't want her to think I was just trying to buy her off, so I set to work on doing what I probably should have done in the first place.

I wrote a letter.

Not to toot my own horn or anything, but I was pretty good with words—especially written. I pretty much obsessed over my notebook all night, trying to perfect my sentiment and show that I truly wanted to assist her and earn my absolution. It was going to take more than money, I knew that. So I also offered the gift of my manual labor.

Once I was done, I placed it all in an envelope, frowning at the small stack of bills as I slid them inside and taped it closed. I didn't fret over it for long, though. I knew better than anyone that forgiveness was sacred and entirely priceless. It'd be more of a boost than a setback, and that was saying a lot, because honestly, it was a really fucking enormous setback.

---

Jasper looked a little uncomfortable, a little lost, and a whole shitload of awkward as he stood before Esme, accepting her hug with anxious eyes. She smashed his cheeks with her palms and placed a kiss on each one. He looked to me as if to ask, "Is this normal for her?"

I shrugged.

"Look at you! Carlisle, look at him." Esme turned to my dad with her lips all pursed into a scowl. She "subtly" gestured to Jasper's waist. "Doesn't he look wonderful?" she asked, although it sounded a lot like, "Wouldn't he look wonderful if your sorry ass invited him to dinner more?" Without allowing him to answer, she turned back to Jasper, who was frowning down at his shoes—or possibly his waist. "What would you like to drink?" she asked, quickly expounding, "We have ginger ale, sweet tea, juice, milk…"

Jasper ducked his chin. "Sweet tea is fine, thank you." Jasper was always a little timid around Esme. I wasn't certain why, but she did tend to unintentionally make everyone in her presence feel substandard.

"She's starting to make me feel like a fucking bean pole," I told Jasper as we sat at the sofa, waiting for dinner, since, I couldn't have weighed that much more than him. "Does that new girl of yours ever cook for you?" I tried to sneak it in all cavalierly, like I was just curious for the sake of his weight, but the cluck of his tongue made it apparent that I'd failed.

"I was wondering when you were you gonna start jumping my shit about that." He was so tucked into the corner of the couch that his discomfort was evident and infectious. I wondered why he even bothered accepting these invitations if he felt so ill at ease here.

"Who's jumping whose shit? I'm just curious."

His silence made me wonder if he might not say anything, and I was okay with that. It wasn't unlike him to answer questions with silence. To some people, that'd seem rude as hell, but I knew better, because he only did so when actually answering the question would be even ruder. "She's a pretty good cook," he eventually supplied.

Encouraged, I prodded, "What does she look like? What does she do? What's she like? How'd you meet? You know, the usual shit." I couldn't explain my curiosity, but I just couldn't see Jasper in a relationship. He was such an inwardly intense person, so quiet and guarded. He was also in the same point in his recovery as me, which made my head spin.

I couldn't even begin to fathom having a relationship.

"She's… pretty, she works in retail, she's… a happy person, like I said before, and we met through a friend." His answer was curt and rushed, a sharp glance at me from the corners of his eyes signaling his annoyance.

"Wow, don't go ape shit with all of those glowing details or anything." I really wanted to know why she was being such a heinous bitch about keeping Jasper some dirty secret. My instincts told me he was setting himself up for a lot of grief, which was a distraction he really didn't need.

His huff emerged as a hiss through his teeth, fists curled on his bouncing knees. "Just fucking drop it, okay?"

I blinked, taken aback, but ultimately contributed, "Hey, man, sorry." His reaction just pretty much solidified my theory that he was fucking up. I wouldn't be the asshole that told him so, though.

"Dinner hasn't started yet, and you're already apologizing for something? Gotta love dinners with the fam." Our heads turned to find Alice propped against the doorway, ankles crossed, arms folded across her chest, jacket speckled with rain, and a wide smile stretched over her face.

Three minutes later, I had her pinned to the ground, one of her wrists in my hand as I forcibly brought her knuckles to her head. She thrashed, laughing beneath me as I chanted, "Stop hitting yourself, stop hitting yourself, stop hitting yourself…"

She threw her head back, shrieking, "Mom!" Her glare was playful as she swatted at me, dodging her fist by shaking her head.

Jasper stood beside the sofa, looking on with a worried brow and gnawing at his fingernail. I quirked an eyebrow at him, but he simply looked away as I continued antagonizing my little sister, snickering at her futile attempts to retaliate.

We were just making up for lost time.

Esme's head poked out of the kitchen, ordering sternly, "Edward, stop making your sister hit herself, dinner's ready."

"Oh!" With that, I stood, offering Alice my hand before promptly tossing all one-hundred-and-ten pounds of her over my shoulder. She giggled and kicked her legs, smacking at my back, but everyone was smiling as her laughter filled the house. Well, everyone but Jasper. I didn't know what the hell his deal was, but there was nothing as soothing as having laughter fill the large expanse of our home.

It was so much better than the screaming.

I dumped her into her seat and mussed her hair, laughing at the mortified expression she wore as she hastily patted it back into place. She obsessed with it for a good five minutes, using her spoon's reflection to not-so-subtly primp.

Once we were all seated and had begun eating, Alice began with a sigh, "So, Edward, word around town has it that you're harassing the poor Swan chick."

Carlisle's shocked eyes were already on me and I hastily insisted, "I'm not harassing." At his skeptical expression, I repeated, "I'm not. I went to her house once and ran into her at the Thriftway. It's no big deal." I shrugged and shoved some food into my mouth, praying they'd let it be. I really didn't want to discuss my utter failure at making amends with Isabella, and I didn't want Carlisle to shut me down before I'd had a chance to deliver my envelope and give it one more shot.

"Edward—" Carlisle warned, but Esme quickly jumped in.

"I think determination is a very admirable quality. It's commendable that you're willing—"

Alice silenced everyone while cutting into her beef with nonchalance. "I heard she tried to shoot you."

Carlisle's eyes flashed in disappointment, while Esme's jaw dropped.

I groaned. "Dammit, Alice, she didn't try to shoot me. She just…" I paused and finished in a rapid breath, "…answeredthedoorwithashotgun."

Esme's monotone reply was immediate, "Well, that's the end of that."

Before Carlisle could even open his mouth, I shot a glare at my meddling sister and inquired, "What's new with you, Alice?"

She looked like a deer caught in headlights as her fork lingered in the air, eyes darting around the table. "Um, same old, same old?" she ventured with a cautious smile.

I scoffed dramatically, since she was a twenty-four year-old female who had more going on in her life than anyone else at the table. Realizing that it wouldn't suffice, she straightened and cleared her throat as we all looked on intently, especially Jasper, which was odd, seeing as how he hadn't said two words since she'd arrived.

She rambled, "We, uh, got this new machine at the store. It can match anything to a paint color, just put it under this little… thing, and the computer does all the work. It's really neat, mom, you'd love it. You can, like, bring in this placemat and buy the same color to paint the walls with."

Esme's expression could only be described as completely awed. "Really? This placemat?" She fingered the tan fabric and, at Alice's nod, asked in wonderment, "What if it was a plate?"

I didn't miss Jasper's smile as Esme began quizzing Alice about every item under the sun, finding nothing to be too large or too odd to have color-matched. In fact, if I hadn't been looking close enough, I would have missed his breathy and hollow chuckle, the shake of his head, and the way the smile was more bitter than amused.

When I asked him what was up, he only answered with, "Just the same old, same old."

I couldn't explain why, but everything was really uncomfortable after that.

---

This was a little dangerous, a little careless, and a whole shitload of stupid. I could possibly get arrested or assaulted or blown to bits with a really big gun. I'd never done anything this stupid while sober.

The lawnmower came to life with a thunderous roar, vibrating me as I pressed the gas and began riding a long path through the thick overgrowth of Chief Swan's front yard. My eyes flickered to the front door, just waiting for a shotgun to poke out of it and blow my head off.

She'd have to shoot me.

I didn't think she had the balls though. I mean, don't get me wrong, she was every bit as sassy as I remembered her—and then some. But she wasn't a murderer. She was just pissed off and looking to scare me. She wanted to be left alone because she didn't understand that I was a different person and maybe I was kind of a dick for forcing her to see that instead of giving her time, but… whatever.

I was impatient. I wanted her off my list. I wanted to move on and celebrate my first full year of sobriety with a clear conscience. It meant everything to me—more than the four-thousand dollars sitting in that white envelope on her front porch and more than getting my head possibly blown off.

There were fates worse than death and one of them was a life of remorse.

I was on my third path when the door finally opened and, like I'd anticipated, she had the gun. I turned the mower off and sat with my hand on the steering wheel, assessing her wild hair and wrinkled clothes.

"What the fuck are you doing?" she asked, voice thick with sleep and eyes smoldering.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" I replied, smiling. She wiped at her eyes, lips all pinched into a scowl as the gun hung so limply that it was more pointed to the ground than anything. "Were you sleeping?" I asked in amusement.

A glance at my watch confirmed that it was almost noon.

Her eyes flashed as she met my gaze. "I worked until two in the morning, and you're trespassing. I can mow my own lawn, by the way."

I nodded, pursing my lips in thought. "So… why haven't you?" She'd been here for over two weeks.

She raised the gun again, and I knew, I sincerely knew that this was a serious situation, but her hair was tied up into a bun more sloppily than the previous two times I'd seen her. Errant locks escaped the careless knot and displayed its impressive length. Long hair. My Achilles Heel... I found myself assessing it, briefly wondering what it might look like were she to wear it down, letting it tumble over her skin and send wafts of girl scent floating around her.

I shifted in my seat with a horrified swallow.

"That's none of your business. Are you harassing me now? Should I file a restraining order?"

I could practically feel my eyes darken, knowing damn well that she wouldn't shoot me, but she'd definitely call the cops. Shit. "Just let me finish this and I'll leave, okay?" The front yard wasn't that large, and I could finish it in an hour, easily. There was still the letter. "I left you a—"

Her eyes closed and she held up a hand to stop me, the gun dropping. "Time out," she rasped, rubbing her eyes again as she turned around and entered the house, closing the door.

Shrugging, I restarted the mower and continued on my path, idly pondering what kind of hair products Bella might use. She didn't strike me as the boutique shampoo kind of girl. Maybe something from the Thriftway shelves? I grimaced. Nice hair like that deserved something luxurious and decadent, like... Fekkai.

Nodding in absentminded approval, I didn't hear the door open, but a quick glance in its direction revealed her slouched form perched on the steps, a lit cigarette between two fingers. She stared into the distance, running her hand over her face and visibly attempting to wake herself up with haste.

My ride was rushed but thorough over her lawn, little bits of grass flying around me as I strategized the fastest plan of attack on the overgrowth. I didn't want to bother her for long. I certainly hadn't expected to wake her up after a long night working and felt like an ass for assuming she'd be awake.

With a frustrated sigh at myself for fucking up my own plans, I chanced a peek at her, expecting to see the gun pointed at me yet again, but she didn't have the gun. She had the envelope I'd left for her in her hands and was staring at it with her head cocked to the side.

The flame of her cigarette lighter was held beneath it.

"Stop!" I exclaimed, fumbling with the key to turn off the mower. Within seconds I was springing across the yard, watching in horror as the paper smoked, flames licking toward the sky as she smiled in a kind of disturbing amusement.

By the time I reached her, more than half of the envelope had turned an ashen white. I snatched it from her hand, causing her to flinch as I threw it onto the ground and stamped it out with my shoe.

I couldn't even….

I palmed my forehead and turned away from her scowl, clenching my eyes closed and giving myself a moment to deny what she'd just done. With gnashed teeth and deep breaths, I tried to convince myself that it wasn't that bad. It was only four thousand dollars. It was only money—no big deal. It was replaceable. With a lot of time and some brutal determination, I could find a way to make that money back.

But—goddamit—I didn't have tits.

"Do you know what you just did?" I growled. I was trying to control my temper, but I couldn't help it. I couldn't see anything but the sight of my money going up in flames.

I turned to find her shrugging, chin propped in her palm as she sucked on her cigarette. "I don't care what you have to say. You can skip the letters from now on." She blew the smoke directly at me, eyes hard and cold and indifferent.

I probably should have kept it to myself and let her believe that she'd burned nothing but paper, but…

I thrust a finger to the black-edged envelope lying on the ground. "You just burned four thousand dollars." I couldn't even hide my anger, one fist curled into my hair as I struggled to just… not even look at it. I couldn't see it.

I watched as she smiled, chuckling a little, before it slowly dissipated into a tight line. "You aren't serious," she argued.

I kicked it with my boot, sliding it across the space between us to where she sat. With a pale face, she didn't break my gaze as she reached down to retrieve it, pushing her fingers through the charred opening. When her eyes left mine, and she gazed at the contents, it was almost painful—because her wide eyes and gaping mouth made it real.

She'd really burned the money. With a heavy stomach I followed her eyes and found the remnants of the bills, the edges intact, but entire halves of them gone.

"Holy mother…" she breathed, face still aghast—less aghast than I felt as I tugged at my hair and ground my teeth. "How was I supposed to know?" she asked, throwing her hands up in the air.

My jaw dropped. "You're supposed to open it and look before you decide to be a bitch and torch it for no good reason!"

Her teeth clicked as she stood, chin jutted out, just as I remembered her doing so long ago. As if transported back in time, I could see a flood of magenta tinting her cheeks, and the moment was fucked up, and I know I shouldn't have felt it, but on the inside, deep down underneath that extremely pissed off motherfucker that just lost four thousand dollars, I smiled... a little.

Her voice was a growl, "First of all, no one asked you to come over here and… what? Buy me off with mommy and daddy's trust fund? Second, I have ample reason to burn anything you've touched, and finally, you call me a bitch again, and I just might have to expand that logic to your genitalia."

My laughter didn't ring of amusement as I shook my head, pushing my fingers through my hair. "That's great. I come out here to do something nice, trying to apologize and help you out since, not only do I owe you a whole hell of a lot, but your dad was someone I actually respected. And you can't even…" Defeated, I simply shook my head once again as I realized this was all pointless. I turned away from her purple face and headed for the mower.

She just looked on with a blank face as I drove it up the ramp and secured it. Wordlessly, I jumped into the cab of the borrowed truck and sped away from the lawn, five perfect lines carved into the thick brush. I was beyond being pissed off about it.

Mostly, I was a little depressed, a little disenchanted, and a whole shitload of wishing I had a fucking drink.

A/N: PastyP and FrenchyB and RevyR were epic helps! And Angel, duh. Without her holding my hand, I'd be all lost and stuff. Thanks for all the comments and reviews, too! You guys are UHMAZING! MWAH!

Hmonster4 rec'd LetMeSign's Marble and Mahogany(in mah faves list) yesterday on TLYDF[dot]com. It's a pretty fuckawesome (and completed) AU, if you're in the market for some vampy action.

This is my last update before Christmas, so I hope you all have a safe, fun, and happy holiday!

See y'all Boxer Day!