Chapter 3: The Good Left Undone

If I knew now
What I knew then
I'd back up, do it all again
I'd take a bow, take it real slow
Take a ride down that yellow brick road.

Yellow Brick Road – Raine Maida

x.x.x

Bella.

I watched him, trying to read his face. But the fact that he wouldn't look me in the eye made this very difficult. The wad of money in my palm felt heavy… like I was holding a tray of drinks instead of the carefully rolled paper bills. I tightened my hand around the money, willing it to disappear. Wanting to erase the sudden uneasiness that had settled deep in the pit of my stomach. I couldn't think of one fucking reason Jasper would hand me this much money and look so absolutely devastated about it. It just didn't make sense.

Finally, I found my voice.

"Jasper, what's going on?"

He sighed, and ran a hand through his damp hair. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes as he began speaking. "Yesterday after work at the shop, I'd forgotten my smokes in my coveralls. I went back in to get them and…" he stopped, taking a deep breath. He looked up, his distressed grey eyes meeting mine. "He didn't know I was there… he thought it was just the two of them. But then… I - I saw my boss Tim… he hit his daughter."

I gasped, and my hand automatically shot up to cover my horrified expression. "Amanda? But she's only seven!"

He nodded, and made a noise like he was choking. "I just…and I couldn't not do something after I saw that. So I pretended like I hadn't seen anything … and I asked him if he could come take a look at something on the car. When we were alone… I just couldn't stop hitting him, Bells. Something in me just snapped. He was still breathing but… I left him there. I went back inside, grabbed a roll of money from the register and dropped his daughter off at home."

"Oh my God, Jasper!"

"I know." He hung his head. "I'm so sorry."

"I just… I don't know what to say." My mind was spinning as I saw Jasper, poor, abused Jasper of all people seeing what he saw…

"Did you…?" my voice trailed off, the unasked question hung in the air between us.

He shook his head slowly. "He was alive."

I let out a deep breath I hadn't realized I was holding.

"What were you thinking, Jazz? There are other ways to deal with that! You of all people should know." I shook my head and stared at the floor.

"I know." The words sounded strangled, like they'd been caught in his throat. "I feel terrible."

"Beating the man to and inch of his life and stealing from him doesn't justify what he did."

"I know, Bells!" he cried. "You think I don't know that? I should have called the cops or talked to social services or something but all I saw was a forty-year-old man slap his innocent, beautiful little daughter across the face and I snapped! I had to do something." He bowed his head, running his hands through his hair again and tugging on the roots. He reminded me so much of someone else in that moment that for a second it knocked the breath out of me. I looked away, trying to erase the images of long careful fingers and unkempt bronze hair from my mind.

Now was not the fucking time for this.

Jasper let out an exasperated sigh. "No fucking child deserves that," he muttered. "It didn't solve a fucking thing. He probably got home that night and took his ass beating out on his wife or his daughter. I didn't fix a fucking thing."

"Jazz," I said, pulling myself together and grabbing his face. I pulled it so he was looking at me. "You can't save everybody."

He jerked away from me and stared down at the floor.

"Taking that money," he spat the words out like they were diseased, "it was the only way I knew I could really get to him. It's the only thing that fucking monster values in his life."

"How much…?" my voice trailed off as I unclenched my fist and rolled the thick wad around in my hands.

"A little over a thousand," he admitted, his voice sounding tortured. "It's not for us. I didn't take it for us. We have a deal; we earn every cent. But I'm sure someone, somewhere out there needs it more than that fucking scumbag does."

"A thousand dollars?" I repeated, my voice surprisingly indifferent. "What kind of mechanic keeps a thousand dollars in his cash register?"

"He stashes away the money he gets for cash jobs in there."

"Well that's dumb of him."

Jasper let out a strangled laugh. "Yup."

"Do you… do you think he would have called the cops on you?" I asked finally.

He shook his head. "Doubt it. Guys like him; they don't want to get involved with the police. Because cops ask questions. And he doesn't have the right kind of answers."

"All right. Well, I don't know what to tell you, Jazz."

"I know. There's nothing to say," he sighed. "I just needed to tell you."

"Thank you," I said sincerely and he sat up and took my hand in his.

"No secrets," he vowed.

"No secrets," I repeated. Yes, he was stupid for what he did. We both knew better than to try and kid ourselves into believing Jasper was justified in what he did. He lost control – something I could, unfortunately, relate to. Jasper hated fighting; he hated violence in general. He was the last guy I'd expect to ever lay a hand on anybody. So I understood it was for a very good reason. It still didn't make it right.

"Get some rest, Bells," he said, smiling weakly. "You look beat."

At the mention of sleep, I found myself yawning. Travelling always exhausted me.

"See?" he chuckled softly. "Now do I know my girl, or do I know my girl? I'm gonna have a quick shower, I'll be right back."

"Okay," I nodded, and he kissed the top of my head as he stood. "Night, Jazz." I crawled over to my bed, not even bothering to find my pajamas before sliding under the covers and tossing my towel aside.

"Sleep well," was the last thing I heard.

x.x.x

Jasper's dad was a mechanic. And when he wasn't drinking, he enjoyed taking his only son out to the garage and passing on his knowledge of anything automotive. It came in handy for us on the road because the Mustang was an unreliable old piece of crap, but Jasper could usually have the up and running again within a few hours. He was meticulous and thorough; a quality that made him a rare catch. His boss's hated seeing him leave. And although Jasper didn't exactly enjoy the work, every town had a mechanic and they were always looking for help. And the pay was three times better than what I made waitressing.

When I first started working, I had been a terrible waitress. I spilled coffee, dropped trays of food, and I forgot parts of orders. My boss's had been patient because I was young, and eventually I picked it up. When you do something for long enough, eventually you get good at it, whether you want to or not. I didn't love what I did either; the hours were terrible, the customers rude, and I went through a pair of shoes a month. But it was what it was. We had to survive, and a regular paycheck was crucial.

My mom had been a kindergarten teacher; my step-dad Phil was a professional baseball player. I obviously couldn't inherit any of Phil's athleticism, and I wasn't around children enough to know if I would have made a good teacher. I didn't know what my real father did. I didn't even know his first name, to be honest. My mom took me away when I was still a baby; I don't even know if my father ever got to hold me. Renee never said she regretted her marriage to my father, but she told me she was young and naive. But she was careful to never call it a mistake around me. She always said the only good thing that came out of that relationship was me. I wasn't allowed to ask questions about my father. I didn't know if he was a bad person, or if he didn't want me, or if Renee and my father just weren't in love anymore. I didn't know anything about him. The only thing I knew that I shared with my father was my last name: I'd been born Isabella Marie Swan and never changed it.

So for the first seven years of my life, it was just Renee and I; we lived in a modest house together in Phoenix, Arizona. Then when I was seven, she met Phil at a folk festival in the park. She had taken me on a sunny Saturday afternoon and I had wandered off somewhere in the crowd, so absorbed by the music to even realize I'd lost her. Renee was racing around in hysterics searching for me. A helpful stranger named Phil helped her finally find me, swaying back and forth to a lady with long, flowing dreadlocks pick away at a sitar. And after Phil finally calmed my mother down, they got to talking, and a beautiful relationship began to blossom that fateful afternoon in the park.

A year later we all moved to a big house in the outskirts of Jacksonville, Florida, where Phil would be playing baseball. I adored Phil; I was his only child, and he was the only father I'd ever know. And he loved my unpredictable, harebrained mother. We were one of those cheesily happy families that many people have given up hope in. And my parents loved Jasper like their own son. That's why it was so easy, so natural for the decision to be made that he would come live with us after his father was thrown in jail and his mother left him. He fit into our cheesy, perfect family with ease. We were happy; too happy. Sometimes I think that's why everything got so messed up. Because I've discovered a person can only have so much happiness in their life.

All good things must end.

x.x.x

That night, I had a strange dream. If I did ever dream, I normally didn't remember it. So for me to remember a dream, anything at all, is usually strange enough. And that night, although the dream I had wouldn't be classified as a nightmare, it left me feeling very unsettled when I awoke.

It all started out very normal. Jasper and I were driving down some vacant highway, it was a cloudy day, on the brink of dusk, and I fell asleep in the passenger seat. And in the dream, I was awoken by a feeling more than anything else: a feeling of familiarity, of happiness; an unexplainable pull in my chest and a current coursing gently through my body. It was that feeling of comfort that awoke me. And when I looked over at the drivers seat, I saw Jasper had been replaced. But I wasn't startled or frightened. I just looked over and smiled, and He looked back at me with an adorable lopsided grin and winked. Then he took my hand in his, lacing our fingers tightly together and no words were exchanged. It was if it were natural; meant to be. And on we drove, chasing down the most beautiful sunset I'd ever seen.

And I woke up the next morning, still thinking about a pair of mossy green eyes.

And it was unsettling because it wasn't often dreamed about him. But on the rare occasion I did, the dreams were always less than pleasant. I did everything in my power to not think about him. I wouldn't say his name out loud; I couldn't even let myself think his name in my mind. He was nothing but a ghost; a lost memory.

Obviously I was visibly shaken, because when Jasper came and woke me up with breakfast and coffee, he asked me a number of times what was bothering me.

"Jazz, it's nothing, I swear. Just… I must have had a weird dream. I don't even remember it," I lied, staring down at the Styrofoam coffee cup in my hand as I ran my thumb along the edge of the flimsy, plastic lid.

He glanced over at me carefully, picking away at his blueberry muffin. "Swear it's not about what happened last night? I really didn't mean to upset you, Bells." He tossed the piece in his mouth, watching me thoughtfully as he chewed.

"Jazz, I swear," I said, looking up, and trying to sound as convincing as possible.

He raised his eyebrows and smirked. "All right." He took a sip of his coffee. And because Jasper wasn't one to pry, he let it go. "So I was checking out the map this morning, and we're just outside of the Idaho border. I think we could definitely make it to Oregon tonight, and I was talking to some lady downstairs and she was telling me about the sand dunes on the ocean there… I really want to check that out. I mean, we've been to California before, but never up to Oregon. I'd love to see them before we stop again; it's supposed to be beautiful. And then we'll head into the mountains. Washington and British Columbia get most of their rain in the winters, so hopefully we missed the majority of it. I know how you love your sunshine," he grinned at me. "So, what do you think?"

I stared at him, shaking my head and trying to process his words. "Um… I think you're pretty chatty for it being so early in the A.M. But yeah, whatever. You driving?"

He laughed. "Well, we do want to make it to Oregon today… so yeah, I'll drive."

I rolled my eyes, reaching over and slugging him on the shoulder. "Shut up." Maybe I didn't drive like a maniac, but at least I'd never gotten a speeding ticket.

He cradled his coffee against his chest and laughed, his eyes lighting up. I loved the way they crinkled around the corners when he really, truly was smiling. It was beautiful. But it also made me suspicious.

"What the hell are you so happy about?"

He shrugged, the smile still not leaving his lips. "Nothing. I don't know. I just have a good feeling about today."

I stared at him accusingly. "Why? Did you wake-and-bake without me?"

He just grinned in response and tossed a piece of his muffin at me.

I growled and shook my head. "You're wasting good food!" I flicked the crumb back toward him. "Jesus, Whitlock, what the hell am I going to do with you? At least try and send some of those good vibes my way, because I have a feeling I'm going to need them today."

"Oooh… is somebody PMS-ing?" he teased.

"Jasper!" I cried, elbowing him hard and dropping my muffin in the process. "Shut up!"

He got to his feet before I could hit him again and laughed all the way to the bathroom.

I just shook my head as I picked my muffin off the floor and checked it for anything suspicious it might have picked up off the carpet. After blowing on it a few times, I decided it was still safe to eat.

He stuck his head out of the bathroom, a toothbrush in his mouth and a layer of foam around his lips. "Ust we weady un ten untes," he called.

I gave him the finger and took a bite of my muffin.

I could still hear him laughing as he spit into the sink and ran the water.

I shook my head.

Fucking men.

x.x.x

Jasper's good mood lasted all day, and it wore off on me faster that I would have thought. But Jasper was weird like that; it was often difficult to not be affect by his mood. And when we crossed the Oregon border around four o'clock, he was beaming.

"Seriously, Jazz, you're kind of freaking me out," I giggled, sinking down in the seat and glancing sideways at him as he belted out Journeyat the top of his lungs. "Did you pick up an eight ball this morning while I was passed out, or what?"

"Bella," he said, lifting his aviators and narrowing his eyes at me semi-seriously, "Come on. Yeah, I've been secretly doing lines with you sitting right next to me the entire time."

I rolled my eyes, playing along. "Well, you have been stopping to go to the bathroom more than usual this trip."

He dropped his sunglasses so the rested back on his nose. His lips twitched as he fought back a grin. "I've been doing that for you."

"…And why exactly would you be doing that for me?"

"Because you're on your rag."

I reached over and flicked his ear. "Jasper Whitlock! I am not on my fucking rag. My God!"

"Ouch!" he cried, reaching up and rubbing where I hit him. "Did you – did you just flick me?!"

I giggled, leaning against the door and folding my arms over my chest as I watched him. "No."

"You did. What the hell, woman?"

"Well, quit saying I'm on my goddamn rag! I thought the fucking clerk at the gas station was going to have a coronary when you came running up to me with the box of tampons and announced that very false fact to everybody in the store."

He burst out laughing, slapping the steering wheel. When he glanced over at me, he starting laughing harder.

"Jasper! That was not funny. I about asked her if she wanted me to call an ambulance or something. Her face went white when you said that! She had to sit down!"

He rolled his eyes, still chuckling. "That's because it was an old woman, and they like to pretend that doesn't happen to people. And there was only two other people in there!"

"One was like six-years-old!" I cried.

"And she probably had no idea what I was talking about."

"You better hope not," I huffed.

"Or what, Mom?"

"Or…" I fumbled for a response.

"That's what I thought," he smirked arrogantly.

I narrowed my eyes at him. "That's it, Jazz. I'm not talking to you for the rest of the day."

He gaped at me, clutching his chest mockingly. "Oh-no! Well, good luck with that."

I opened my mouth to make a comeback, but clamped it shut. He laughed at me, shoulder checking quickly and pulling into the oncoming lane to pass a semi. "Oh, Bella," he chuckled, pulling back into our lane. "What would I ever do without you?"

Let's find out, I thought to myself. I looked over at him and raised my eyebrows, my mouth still glued shut. Then I fixed my eyes on the highway that stretched out before us to avoid the temptation of talking to the stupid asshat.

He laughed, reaching over to start the Journey song over again and turning it up.

I crossed my arms over my chest and sat there in silence… for at least a good minute and a half.

Then something caught my eye.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hey, Jazz. Slow down." I reached over blindly to turn down the music and he looked over at me like a little kid who'd just had his candy taken away.

"Hey! What are you doing?"

"Slow down!" I demanded, turning and glancing over my shoulder. "There's a hitchhiker back there."

"So?" he shrugged, but took his foot off the gas.

"Remember the time when he had to hitchhike through Tennessee? And how like a thousand cars drove by before anybody even looked at us? You said that if you ever passed a hitchhiker, you'd pick 'em up. Well, here's your chance. We can't just drive by. It's getting late, and this highway is practically deserted!"

He pressed on the brake. "There's a semi just back there," he pointed out.

I rolled my eyes as the semi went flying past us, blaring his horn. Jasper reached out the window and gave him the finger, yelling obscenities out the window.

"Yeah, because that's not going to make this guy think we're crazy," I muttered under my breath, remembering how terrified I'd been to get picked up by the wrong kind of people.

"Huh?" Jasper turned to me, with his arm still stuck out the window, waving the hitchhiker towards us.

I shook my head, watching the guy in my side mirror as he jogged toward us along the dirt shoulder. "Nothing."

"Oh." He nudged me with his free arm. "I see you're talking to me again."

"Only out of necessity," I retorted.

"Uh-huh… Hey if this guy takes us hostage, remember it was your idea."

"Jasper, shut up!"

He laughed and I shoved him half-heartedly. I glanced back nervously in the side mirror. Stupid Jasper and putting his stupid ideas in my head… This was so not the way I wanted to die - on the side of some off the map, deserted highway in who-the-hell-know-where, Oregon. Nobody in the world knew we were out here. Shit, I should of told Denyse the truth, but she thought we were probably half-way back to Jacksonville by now to be with my dying, cancer-riddled mother. I wasn`t even going to get to live long enough to get my very own bedroom like Jasper had promised. Or go on an honest-to-god grocery shopping trip! We would certainty never see Gerry the bartender again. Oh god, this was so not the way I wanted to die.

But suddenly a giant appeared at my window, casting a shadow so large it was as if he`d swallowed up the sun. I started in surprise and drew a sharp breath as I surveyed him, trying not to show the fear on my face although I was surely failing miserably. He was tall, bulky, and had brown curly hair, cropped short. He was looking down at me through clear, baby-blue eyes. His features were boyish, almost, and I was surprised to find myself thinking that he was extremely handsome. His eyes sparkled with light. He ducked down to the car's level, his face breaking into a grin that took over his entire face. I smiled back instantly, and although I was looking into the face of my possible could-be killer, I felt shockingly at ease.

I mean he didn't look like a hijacking murderer… then again, he might have been the friendly kind.

Jasper leaned forward in his seat. "Where you going, brother?" he asked.

The man shrugged, hitching his bag up on his shoulder. "Wherever, man. Where you headed?"

Jasper laughed. "About the same place. Want a ride?"

"Love one." He stepped back so I could open the car door, and I climbed slowly out of my seat to let him in. He stuck out his hand grinned at me.

"I'm Emmett," he said, his large hand swallowing mine.

I took a deep breath, remembering my manners. "Nice to meet you, Emmett. I'm Bella, and this is my friend Jasper."

"Hey, man," Emmett nodded toward Jasper as he climbed in the car. I tried to hold back my laughter as I watched this beast of a man fold into the sorry excuse for a backseat. Somehow, he made it, and he dragged his one bag, which looked like a burlap potato sack, in with him.

"You all right back there?" I asked, putting the seat back and watching as he stretched out sideways, moving my guitar case so he fit better. I felt like maybe I should have at least offered him the front seat, but if he really was going to hold us hostage, I at least wanted the option of a tuck-and-roll. I pulled my seat forward a bit to give the guy some more legroom, feeling slightly better about myself.

"Oh, I'll manage," he grinned cheerfully, relaxing back in the seat. I hopped in and closed the car door, glancing over at Jasper. He winked at me before putting the car back into drive.

"Thank fucking God you guys stopped," Emmett sighed, rubbing his forehead as if slightly distressed. "I thought I was gonna have to spend the night curled up in the ditch. And my x-box was not made to use as a pillow."

"Your x-box?" I raised my eyebrow, looking back at him.

He pointed toward his sack of belongings. "I couldn't leave home without my baby."

Jasper and I glanced at each other. "I see…"

If Emmett could detect the sarcasm in my voice, he didn't show it.

"Come on, everybody has that one thing they just can't leave home without."

Instantly, my mind flashed to my guitar, but an x-box just seemed a little… impractical. But hey, no way I was going to judge our future hijacker.

"So where you guys from?"

"Kind of all over the place," I replied, glancing sideways at Jasper. "I'm from Phoenix originally, Jasper's from Houston, but we both grew up together in Florida."

"Whoa, all over the map. You kids are a long way from home. Well, I'm from Idaho. And yes, I grew up on a potato farm."

"That's… not surprising. Your bag kind of gave it away, man. Plus, you look like you've been tossing heavy potato bags around for years." Jasper chuckled, glancing at Emmett in the rear-view mirror.

"Yeah, you could say that."

"Now, Idaho," Jasper said, turning to me. "Is that where we ate that shit excuse for pizza? Couldn't even hardly get through a slice before we chucked the whole pie. It was devastating," he says, glancing at Emmett in the mirror.

Emmett nodded, his expression utterly miserable. It was like they were discussing something like war or genocide or the end of the world, and not a topic so trivial as pizza. "It's almost impossible to find a good shop 'round my parts. But you should try our onion rings. Killer, bro."

It was close to three and a half years ago now that we did our infamous "West Coast Tour," when basically the only part of the coast we actually saw was in Southern California. But around the same time, we'd spent a couple weeks in Idaho. Jasper could never call a place home if it couldn't make a pizza to meet his high standards. I liked to bug him that this was the reason we moved around so much.

"So what are you doing out on this deserted highway, Emmett from Idaho?" I asked.

Emmett leaned back in the seat and stretched. "Have a craving for some real pizza."

"Well, you've come to the right place. Or at least, a step in the right direction. What's Oregon known for?"

"Trees," Jasper replied.

"And sand," Emmett chuckled. "Lots of sand."

"So… like California?"

"More or less. Just more hippies and less Mexicans," Emmett laughed, shaking his head. "So Oregon, huh?"

"Well, probably just for a few days. We've never been there. And from there we'll head north."

"North to… Canada?" Emmett asked, and I could hear the hope rising in his voice.

I glanced at Jasper, unsure as to how much we really wanted to give away to this stranger. But Jasper seemed unfazed.

"Yeah, eventually."

Emmett was quiet for a moment. A short, short moment. But I was beginning to get the feeling silence was something Emmett was unfamiliar with. "Well… I know it's a lot to ask, seeing as I'm just some random hitchhiker you picked up like five minutes ago, but for as long as you guys will take me, I'll help pay the way. I've got cash, I'm an awesome driver, I've never been arrested, I don't do drugs – well, I smoke weed from time to time but I don't think that shit counts anyway. Besides," he grinned, "I'm sure you guys are cool with that anyway."

"And why would you say that?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, for one, your car kind of reeks of it."

"Our car does not reek of pot," I snapped. Jasper burst out laughing from beside me.

"Oh, please, Bella. Like he gives a shit."

"I don't," Emmett chimed in.

"Yeah, but we haven't even-"

Jasper interrupted me by leaning over and popping open the glove box. A zip-lock bag of weed practically fell into my lap, and I could smell it instantly. I rolled my eyes and shoved it back in there, slamming the compartment shut.

"What, don't smoke the herb, Bella?"

"Bella's a flower child, of course she does. She just gets offended if you call her a stoner."

"I am not a stoner."

"Bella."

"Jasper."

"Whatever, Bells."

"No, stoners fucking eat Cheezies and play video games all day."

Emmett laughed and I turned to see him pulling a giant bag of Cheezies out of his bag. Jasper glanced back and joined in on the laughter.

"See, Bella, stoners aren't bad people."

"I'm not saying they are. I'm just not one of them."

"You can't deny your roots, Bells."

"Whatever, stoner."

Jasper laughed. "See, and I'm not offended."

"You know, Bella," Emmett said, leaning forward in his seat, "Brad Pitt's a proud stoner. And I'd like to meet one person who doesn't love him. It's nothing to be ashamed of. Stoner's just got a bad rap, that's all. Just 'cause it's not legalized, well fuck that. Don't even get me started on that shit. I'm going to Canada where I can smoke my weed in peace."

"Amen, brother." Jasper reached back and the guys high-fived.

"That's why you want to go to Canada?" I cried. "I'm pretty sure it's not actually legal there, guys."

"Yes, but it is decriminalized. Anyway, that's just a technicality." Emmett waved his hand in front of his face, brushing it off. "And well, that's not the only reason I'd fucking live it up in Canada. Let's see…" Emmett's face got serious as he thought. "Well if you win the lottery, you don't have to give half of it back. Beer's stronger. They talk funny and it fucking kills me. I mean, how can you not be a happy person, walking around listening to everybody said "aboot this chesterfield, eh" with their toques and mullets and hockey jerseys. And their fucking money is the sweetest shit. You ever seen it? That shit's blue, purple, green, red… It's like a living and breathing monopoly game! And they still answer to the fucking Queen, man! That bitch is hot."

I snorted, shaking my head. "The Queen's just a figurehead. Doesn't mean anything."

"You think the Queen is hot?!" Jasper gaped, completely missing the point.

"Royalty is hot," Emmett shrugged. "So what if she's a hundred-year-old Brit, I'd fucking bone her. Plus, our spawn could be like knights and princesses and shit."

Jasper laughed so hard I was beginning to think he wasn't paying any attention to the road. His body shook with laughter, and I just sat there kind of in shock. "That's fucking hilarious."

I rolled my eyes, but couldn't keep the smile off my face. It was always kind of a relief when Jasper liked someone – he could be a pretty hard guy to impress. He normally didn't meet people or make to many friends wherever we went. I think that's one of the things he really liked about our life: he didn't have to make new friends. Obviously it was usually easier not to, but his attitude towards it got to be frustrating sometimes.

"So anyone mind if I crack open a road pop?"

I glanced over at Jasper and he shrugged. I grinned, "Only if you share." Emmett reached deep into his bag, pulling out two warm Budweiser's and tossing me one.

Jazz chuckled as he watched us. "X-box, beer…. What else do you have in that magic bag?"

Emmett shrugged. "Only the necessities. Couple pairs of underwear, condoms, smokes… you know."

"Condoms?" Jasper chuckled. "That's a little audacious, don't you think?"

"Hey, you can never be too safe. Besides, the ladies love me. Isn't that right, Bella?" He nudged the back of my seat with his shoulder.

I rolled my eyes as I lit a cigarette. "Totally. You know, we've been in the car together for ten minutes and already I don't know how I've managed to keep myself from jumping your bones."

"It's a curse, really."

"I bet."

Emmett chuckled and stretched, then leaned forward in the seat, glancing between Jasper and I. "So… are you two like a couple or what?"

"No!" we both replied quickly in unison. The looked at each other and laughed.

"All righty, then," Emmett laughed. "Brother and sister?"

"Nope," Jasper replied. "Bella and I have just been very good friends for a long, long time."

"Really?" Emmett seemed surprised.

"Yeah, he's basically my big bro," I said, grinning at Jasper.

"So you've never…"

"No," we both answered quickly.

"…Never?"

"Never," I said, twisting in my seat to see Emmett's baffled expression. "Like I said, he's like my brother. So that's… just wrong. Don't even think it."

"Hm. So that means-"

"No," I said quickly, cutting him off.

Emmett grinned. "You don't even know what I was going to say."

"I think I have a pretty good idea."

"Okay, okay," Emmett laughed, holding up his hands defensively. "Sorry. It's just in a man's nature… when there's a beautiful chick around…" He stopped and shook his head, still laughing at himself. Jasper was glaring at him in the rearview mirror. "Please don't kick me out," he chuckled. "I'm sorry. I'll behave, I promise."

I couldn't help but smile. Somehow, I knew he was harmless. He was just a regular, goofy guy we'd picked up on the side of the highway. Which got me thinking…

I twisted around in my seat, facing Emmett as he took a gulp of his beer. "Hey, so what were you doing hitchhiking along a fucking vacant highway, anyways?"

"It wasn't vacant. You guys came along."

"You know what I mean."

Emmett shrugged. "Long story."

"And long story short…?"

He grinned. "Someone's quite the interrogator." He glanced over at Jasper. "Is she always like this?"

"It gets worse."

"Stop talking about me like I'm not here, guys. Fuck. So I want to get to know the stranger in my backseat. What's the big deal?"

"She's kind of whiney, too, huh?"

"You have no idea."

I reached out and punched them both on the shoulder. "Shut up."

Emmett raised his eyebrows, still ignoring me. "Hm. You feel something, man?"

"Yeah, it's like I just got swatted by a kitten. Hm. Weird."

I twisted back around and sank down in my seat and crossed my arms over my chest, glaring at the road stretching out before us. "You guys aren't funny," I muttered.

Jasper chuckled, grabbing arm and squeezing it. "Aw, come on Bells, lighten up."

"Hmph."

Emmett laughed. "This is a pretty pimp ride you got here man," Emmett observed, changing the topic very unsubtly. "What year is this thing? It must be, what, a '68, '69?" He looked around the Mustang in awe.

I choked back my laughter. I never hid my dislike for the Mustang from Jasper. But he always insisted it was a beautiful car, rust spots and all.

"It's a '69. And yes, Bella, you'd be saying the same thing if you knew anything at all about cars."

"What?" Emmett leaned forward, looking at me. "You don't like it?"

I shuddered. "…Not exactly."

"Have you ever driven it?" Emmett asked.

"Yeah, tons of times."

"Over sixty?"

"Uh…" I glanced at Jasper. "Maybe."

"Not," he scoffed.

I looked back at Emmett and shrugged.

"The engine's been almost completely redone," Jasper explained. "It's a beautiful machine. The body needs some work, but I haven't exactly had the time or the spare cash to do much about it."

"Man, I used to work at a body shop. Having cars like this roll in was every man's wet dream!" I looked at Emmett and raised my eyebrows. "Bella, just imagine it, cherry red, chrome trim, new rims, the little horse thing rearing up on the hood. It could be pretty fine."

"It'd be all right," I admitted. "Still doesn't change the fact it'd gotten us stranded out in the middle of freaking nowhere before. I swear to God we walked thirty miles that one day before we even saw another person so we could use their phone. Not to mention it was the middle of summer. It was terrible! I'll always hate this car for that."

Emmett laughed, loud and booming. "Well, I can't change a grudge. But I'd walk a hundred miles for a car like this. And I bet you paid next to nothing for it."

"Pretty much," Jasper smirked.

"Fucking bitch," Emmett chuckled, then I heard him rap his knuckles lightly on my guitar case. "You play?"

Jasper nodded his head in my direction. "It's Bella's."

"Really?" Emmett leaned forward in the seat, turning to face me. I watched as he looked me up and down quickly, and my lips twitched as I tried to hold back a grin. "What do you have in there?"

I knew he was testing me. For whatever reason, it was something guys felt they had to do whenever they discovered a member of the opposite sex played guitar. Or probably any instrument for that matter. I was used to it so I really didn't mind.

"It's a Gibson. Hummingbird."

His eyebrows shot up so high I thought they might hit the roof. "Shut up."

"What?" I grinned.

"What year is it?"

"1960."

Emmett opened and closed his mouth a few times, like the words were getting caught in his throat. Then he shook his head and cleared his throat.

"So… you're trying to tell me that a Gibson Hummingbird is just chillin' in the backseat here beside me? A 1960 Gibson Hummingbird?"

"Yes." I tried not to giggle too hard at his reaction.

"You do know what was the first year they ever made the Hummingbirds, don't you?" Emmett looked at me like I'd absolutely lost it.

"Yep."

I watched as Emmett processed this information, his brows pulled together as he glanced back and forth between me and the guitar case wedged in the seat beside him.

"How did you – where did you – don't you…" He finally just shrugged and looked up at me and grinned. "Where the fuck did you get a guitar like that?"

"My mom got it as a gift from my grandfather when she first got married. He was real sick… he couldn't play anymore." It was my grandfather, my mom's father, who had been the real musician. Renee had been his only child, so it was without question that she'd learn to play guitar. She used to laugh when she'd tell me how terrible of a student she'd been. Even as an adult, Renee had the attention span of a puppy. But she'd been good enough to deserve my grandfather's priceless guitar as a wedding gift. And she'd been good enough to catch the eye of my father.

My mom told me once that she and my biological father fell in love over a campfire and that guitar. She played and he was mesmerized. I even found songs that she'd written for him, scribbled on scraps of paper hidden away in the case. I could only imagine how beautiful she must have been; all smiles and laughing. She was always laughing. It wasn't hard to see how easy it was for men to fall in love with her. I also didn't think it was a coincidence that it was music that had brought my mom together with both her husbands. Maybe that's why music had always had such a huge impact on my life, too.

The sad thing is that after her and my dad split up, Renee stopped playing. She said the music didn't make her happy anymore. The only time I ever saw her play as a child was when I'd drag the tattered guitar case out of the closet and force her to teach me.

But when she sat me down on her knee and tried to teach me, I could always tell, even through her smiles and patience, that something was bothering her. Something was missing. I knew it brought back too many memories of my father, the memories she wanted to forget.

And that I could understand far too well.

After Jasper and I left, it had taken me a long time to be able to pick up that guitar. But one day I started playing and felt closer to them, somehow. Like I held a part of each of them with me when I held that guitar.

Considering the fact that it was fifty-years old, the guitar was in quite good shape. My grandfather had obviously played it a lot so it was well worn, but the mahogany back and sides were still in quite good condition, no cracks but the odd scratches and peeling wood that to me proved it had been well loved. The only real wear was around the decorative hummingbird design pick guard, but I'd seen brand new guitars with more damage than my Hummingbird. And the range of sounds that came from that guitar was truly incredible; it was soft and sweet and gutsy and loud all at the same time. And it played like a dream.

"That doesn't explain what it's doing here," Emmett pressed.

I shrugged. "Luck." My mom never formally passed the guitar down to me. It was utter and complete luck that I'd decided to tuck it behind my seat that fateful day, five years ago. I'd taken to spending my lunches with Jasper at the shop he worked at down the road from the school, trying to spend the least amount of time possible at that dreaded place. Being at school had become impossible, the classes and the halls and the people were a blur to me. I'd become a zombie, each day my own personal hell. But every day at noon Jasper would drag me out of the fog, back into the light.

At least for a little while.

He'd make us sandwiches – tuna for me, ham and cheese for him – and we'd sit on the tailgate of my truck and I'd strum away on the Hummingbird as we ate and talked.

While he distracted me with the talking.

While I distracted him with my playing.

Because I hoped he wouldn't notice the way I had to force the food in my mouth, or the face I made every time I swallowed.

Eating, talking, breathing… they'd all become difficult; unnatural. All food tasted the same, and made me feel sick to the stomach. Every conversation became tired, forced. And breathing… well, breathing just hurt.

We had been two weeks into our ritual when it came to an abrupt end, forces out of our control decided to intervene, twist out lives into pieces and burn the remains.

It all ended faster than it began.

And I'll never forget that last day, sitting in the sunlight with my pant legs rolled up, strumming random cords as I watched Jasper's grease stained hands pick away at his sandwich.

"You still want to go see that movie after work?" he'd asked.

I nodded slowly, not wanting to break my rhythm as I picked softly on the guitar. Movie. Right. Jazz wanted to take me out to do something, anything, to try and get my mind of things…

But we both knew it was useless.

"Play me something you wrote," he'd said as he watched me, brushing a blonde curl out of his face.

I looked down at my calloused, bitten-down fingernails as they danced over the strings, almost on their own accord. "Jazz, you know I can't write."

"Bella, I know you do. What's the point in lying to me?"

I sighed, pressing my hand to the strings at the body so the music froze, hanging in the air between us. I looked up. "I – I… I just can't, Jazz."

He watched me intently, his face so serious. "We're gonna have to talk about it eventually."

"Why? So you can tell me how right you were?" I shook my head angrily, then muttered, "There's nothing to talk about."

"Bells, you know how badly I didn't want to be right about him -"

"Bullshit, Jasper. You hated him – I know that, you know that, he knows that, everybody knows it, Jazz! It's not some big fucking secret." I looked down, running my thumb over the imperfections in the body of the old guitar.

"I'm surprised you weren't in on the bet with the rest of them," I muttered.

"What bet?"

I shook my head. "Never mind."

"Bella." He stepped towards me, grabbing my face in his hand so I was looking at him. "What. Bet." he growled.

"Jasper, just leave me the fuck alone, all right!" I cried, jerking away from him and jumping to my feet. I grabbed the guitar and slammed the tailgate shut, my sandwich falling forgotten to the ground.

"I'm here so I don't have to think about it, not so you can bring it up every two seconds!"

"Bella, come on!" He grabbed my free arm but I ripped it from his grasp.

"Jasper," I gasped, stumbling backwards, clutching the guitar tightly. I backed away from him, toward the driver's door of my truck. Tears streamed down my face and Jasper stood, rooted in spot, watching me helplessly.

"You can't protect me from everything."

And I'll never forget the look on his face. He was so powerless, hurt. Shocked. Because up until that point, he had been able to protect me. From everything. Because of him, I didn't know what pain was. And maybe that's why it hurt so goddamn fucking much.

Because I was seventeen, and my best friend had never allowed me to get hurt.

And now here I was, broken, betrayed, angry. And in more pain than I ever thought possible.

I placed the guitar back in its case and jumped in the seat of my truck. I slammed the door hard behind me.

"We'll talk about this later, Bella," Jasper said softly. I only heard him because I had my window down. But I stared straight ahead as I put the truck in drive and left him standing in the parking lot.

And we never talked about that conversation again, because when we got home that night, our lives were forever changed.

Because that day, I lost everything, everything except four things that would eventually determine my fate. The first was Jasper, the second that guitar. The third, my truck and the last was my backpack stuffed full of books and notes from school. And stuffed away in a binder in that bag was a drawing; a drawing I still kept with me today. But that was it. That was everything.

I began to realize that there was one way for me to look at that guitar: if He hadn't broken up with me, I wouldn't have been spending my lunches with Jazz down at the shop. I wouldn't have felt the need to distract myself by playing it while he tried to distract me by keeping me talking. If I hadn't needed the guitar with me, it would have been in its case, propped up in the corner of my room I had reserved for it. And it would have been there, in the house, when it burned to the ground.

x.x.x

A/N: …And then there were three ;)

Just want to say thank you all so much for reading. I put some links up in profile - the car and the guitar are in there, along with the story banner, and a little manip I made. Check it out if you wish