. . . . .
He'd come through the window an hour or so before. Soft, hot and smelling of the forest. I'd pulled back the corner of my blankets and he'd crawled in next to me without a word, his bare chest burning through my sheer camisole. His hands on me, my mouth on his. Our bodies pushing and touching and moving silently in the dark.
Completely oblivious to everything except the feeling of skin on skin, we reveled in each other.
We didn't hear Charlie open my door.
"Bella!"
His angry voice shattered our world of two.
I sat up abruptly, yanking the blanket up and over my almost-bare body, my hair and eyes wild. Jacob scrambled out of bed and to his feet, his head bowed before Charlie and the bedspread awkwardly gathered around him for modesty's sake.
No one spoke for too long, and I couldn't bear to raise my eyes from the bed.
Finally, Charlie broke the silence.
"Both of you get some clothes on and meet me in the kitchen. Now."
His words were cold and bitter. He left the door open and I heard him stomp down the stairs.
Jacob looked at me, his eyes wide and filled with terror. "Oh, god Bella. I'm so sorry. This is all my fault."
"No, it's not. I let you in, I let you stay. I wanted you here."
"Now!" Charlie's voice thundered upstairs, as loud as if he were in the room with us, and I jumped out of bed. I grabbed a sweatshirt and pulled a pair of pajama pants over my sleep shorts. Jacob had dropped the blanket and was tugging his jean shorts on over his boxer briefs. I dug in my bottom drawer and pulled out one of his tee-shirts that I'd worn home and kept. He gratefully pulled it over his head and stepped out the door in front of me, ready to shield me from Charlie's anger.
Anger was too sweet a word.
Charlie was beyond anger.
I'd never seen him so livid. His eyes were red and hard, his voice like a stone and shaking at random times, divulging his struggle to control his emotions.
"Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on here?" He looked first at me, then at Jacob. I stuttered something unintelligible and then stopped, unsure.
Jacob took a deep breath and answered, "Chief Swan, I have no excuse…"
"You're right you have no excuse, young man. There is no excuse for anyone to be in my daughter's room—in my daughter's bed—at two in the morning. Ever." His eyes blazed and he dug his fingers into the kitchen chair in front of him until his knuckles were white.
Tears stung my eyes, but I didn't dare cry. "Dad, it's my fault. I asked Jacob to come over."
Jake cut me off with a warm hand to my shoulder. He stepped toward Charlie. "That's not true, sir. I came over on my own. This was all me."
Charlie looked between us. "How did you get into Bella's room?"
"The window." Jacob's voice was low but steady. "I came in through the window."
"The window?" Charlie was incredulous.
"Yes, sir."
"And does this happen often?"
Neither of us spoke. Finally, Jacob answered.
"No sir, just a few times before."
Charlie set his jaw and shook his head, then he turned his wrath on me. "Young lady, this is completely inappropriate. You aren't supposed to have boys in your room with the door closed, to say nothing of having a boy in your room, in your bed, with the door closed in the middle of the night. Do you know what your mother would do right about now? She'd kill me, and then she'd kill you. I don't even know what she'd do to him." He jabbed his thumb toward Jacob, who flinched.
"I don't know what's going on here, Bella. I thought you had a boyfriend—one I don't much care for, to be honest—and the next thing I know, you're sneaking around with a boy I thought was just your friend. A friend I could trust to keep you out of trouble." He stared pointedly at Jacob, then turned back to me. "It's as though you're going out of your way to defy me in every way possible. I—I just don't know what to do with you anymore. You run off with no explanation, scare me half to death with a months-long bout of depression, then suddenly you're back to the Bella I know, except it's like you're trying to lose my trust. I think I have to chaperone you with Edward and I ground you from spending every waking moment with him, and then I find you with Jacob doing god-knows-what under my own roof while I'm sleeping. What am I supposed to do here, Bella?"
I was struggling with an answer that made sense when I heard Jacob take a deep breath.
"Chief Swan, may I speak?" He sounded formal, confident, in-charge. I gulped.
"Chief Swan, sir, I'm sorry for all of this. I don't have an explanation that makes sense. But it made sense to me, to us, at the time. I love Bella. I'm in love with her, and I always have been. And I think she loves me, too. I'd never do anything to hurt her, I'm only—"
Charlie smashed his fist down on the table. "'Never do anything to hurt her'? Yet somehow you think it's appropriate to climb into her window at night, get her half-naked and roll around in bed with her under her father's roof? You're right; your explanation doesn't make sense. It's ridiculous. If you really loved her, you'd do right by her. You'd respect her and you'd respect me and my rules. And son, I don't want to doubt my daughter or say anything negative about her, but if she loved you, would she be running around with you in secret while she's still someone else's girlfriend? How does that make sense?"
I was speechless. Embarrassed. Horrified. Guilty-as-charged.
Jacob stared hard at Charlie, then he turned for the door without looking at me. Charlie's words stopped him, but he didn't turn around. I watched his profile as Charlie doled out his punishment.
"Jacob, you can guarantee I'll be calling Billy about this in the morning. I'll let him decide what to do with you. But as for myself, you're not welcome in my home until I tell you you are. And frankly, I haven't come to a decision on what to do with Bella yet. But until I decide differently, I don't want you to have any contact with her. Any. Ever. Not on the phone, not in person, not by text message or email or through friends or any of the other ways you kids talk. None. Is that clear?"
Jacob shut his eyes and nodded once. Then he was gone.
. . . . .