Recovery was nothing of what Paul had been expecting.

Probably because — perhaps for the very first time in his life — people weren't acting as though he was a masochist who went out looking for trouble and, thus, deserved every bad thing that happened to him. Instead, in the weirdest possible turn of fate, everyone kept giving him pity looks and food and a whole bunch of comforting words, treating Paul like a fucking child who had a stranger beat the crap out of him.

None of which Paul appreciated, to be perfectly honest. Not that anyone asked him, of course. Still, Paul insisted on repeating the same words over and over again to whoever came to his room, hoping one of them would get their heads out of their asses and accept that Paul wasn't some damsel in distress who had been fooled by her beloved knight.

Jared had been the one to start the fight, yes, but that didn't mean he somehow forced Paul to participate, nor did it mean that Paul hadn't taken advantage of the situation for his own personal, twisted goals.

It seemed wrong, almost, to hear people insist on blaming Jared for the whole ordeal when Paul was the one who felt like a piece of shit brother for not having handled the situation better. Which was what the others failed to understand — Paul had known what he was doing, and he had chosen to keep egging Jared on despite the obvious fact that he had been out of control from the get-go.

Whatever had happened to them, Paul blamed only himself for it.

Even because, if for no other reason than that one, Paul was deeply aware of the fact that Jared hadn't been a particularly aggressive kid before meeting him. They had been young, and impressionable, and malleable, and Paul had been the one to show Jared how to punch stuff for fun or how to properly respond to an adult trying to sound authoritative.

So it seemed a bit underhanded to try to shift the blame to Jared this late into the game when he had only followed Paul down into his dark path of speaking through acts of violence.

No one wanted to hear that, though. Maybe because it felt easier to blame Jared for a once-in-a-lifetime accident than it did blaming Paul for having a hand at changing Jared's whole life outlook.

It didn't matter, in the end. It was what it was, and Paul allowed people to carry on with their personal delusions as long as they didn't try to force them down his own throat. What they thought had never mattered to Paul, he reminded himself. Paul had Jared, and that's what mattered — the others could imagine what they wished.

Which was why Paul couldn't help but smile when his brother finally came to visit him the next day, indeed looking way better than Paul did as the others had told him.

"Man, about time. I thought you were too busy taking a damn nap to come and visit me, you sucker," Paul said, happy to notice he hadn't left any lasting damage behind as far as he could tell. Jared looked as good as new.

What he didn't, though, was look happy at seeing Paul. In sharp contrast to his smile and enthusiasm, Jared's expression was a blank canvas with no story to tell. No smile, no excitement, no reluctant amusement.

Nothing.

Jared gave him nothing, and Paul forgot how to act.

"C'mon, don't tell me you're listening to their crap," he added when the silence became too much to bear. "You know it's bullshit. I don't care about..."

Their eyes met as Paul spoke, and just like that, the words died in his lips, getting stuck in the back of his throat and the roof of his mouth and everywhere else possible. He nearly choked on his own words, mentally flinching at the coldness he saw reflected in his brother's eyes.

"You think it's bullshit?" Jared repeated. He sounded precisely as dry as Paul's mouth felt. "That's what you think?"

Paul swallowed before answering. "Sure," he said, weakly. "Bullshit seems about right."

"Me almost killing you is bullshit?"

"You didn't! Christ, what's with people and this fixation on me dying?"

Jared sounded almost angry when he responded, "are you doing this to spare my feelings?"

"Spare your feelings? Why, Jared, I didn't know you needed codling so much or I would've said something."

"Don't make this about me. I know you," Jared insisted. "You always want to take the blame for everything. This is the same. You want people to think it was a fight because then it's your fault and not mine."

"It was a fucking fight," Paul repeated for the hundredth time, crossing his arms in front of his chest while ignoring the slight discomfort on his shoulder. This wasn't the time to be a little bitch about some pain. Something was very wrong here.

His brother shook his head, shoving both his hands into his pockets. "It wasn't," he corrected in a low voice. "You know it wasn't. We fooled around too many times to pretend this was anything similar to that."

"Oh, yeah? And what would you call it, then? Enlighten me."

"I was surprised, confused, upset. I can hardly recall walking back home, Paul," Jared said, looking uncomfortable. "I remember seeing you and losing it. That's all. I can't remember anything else. It was like something overtook me, and when I came to my senses, Sam was dragging me away while Bella ran to you."

Paul rolled his eyes. "Well, I'll tell you what happened. You came, waited until Bella was safe upstairs, and until I was ready, to swing at me. Nothing out of the ordinary for us, for Christ's sake." He paused, losing some of his steam. He needed to come clean. "I could tell you were upset, that this was different somehow… I should've kept you down... This wasn't—"

"Are you for real, right now?" Jared cut him off, speaking over him without problem, which was frankly a little insulting.

"I'm trying to tell you that it was my—"

"I know damn well what you were trying to say! And it's fucking stupid, so stuff it! Only someone dumb as a rock would think you were to blame for what happened!"

Paul couldn't understand. "Why are you insisting on acting like you abused me?"

"Because I did!" Jared screamed, and his hands seemed to turn into fists inside his pockets. Paul wondered if his brother was about to shift inside his room, and then wondered if that was wise given his recent recovery. Maybe he should try to talk him down. "I hurt you, Paul, and you won't even let me apologize!"

"Is that what this is about? Well, do it then. Apologize and get this over with." Paul shrugged. "I'll even say thank you."

Jared said nothing, though. He stared, and stared, opening and closing his mouth several times, clearly dismissing the words before he got the chance to utter them. It went on for a couple of minutes while Paul patiently waited, but when it became obvious that his brother would sooner choke to death than come up with the appropriate thing to say, he took the chance to ask something he had been dying to know.

"Are we gonna talk about the fact that your girlfriend is up the duff?" Paul questioned, raising a brow. Hadn't that been the whole reason they had ended up in a fight in the first place?

Jared didn't seem amused by his flippancy. "You mean, my imprint? Who's pregnant with my child?"

"Well, I do hope it is your kid. Would be quite embarrassing if it turned out to be someone else's."

"Fuck off, Paul."

"God, I wish I could. Ana is such a slave driver," Paul whined, uncrossing his arms. "She barely lets me go take a piss."

"She worries." Jared shrugged. "Mom has always been a worrier. It's her thing."

Paul rolled his eyes. "Oh, shut up," he said, waving Jared's words away. "Like it's not your thing too. I've never seen a teenage boy as worried as you were — it's a wonder you never had a heart condition."

"Of course I worried, you piece of shit. Anyone who had you as a brother would've worried just as much. Remember that day you got into a fight with that fucking kid from eighth grade? You did not have the skills to be pulling shit like that. I worried for your life."

"Whatever. I wasn't afraid of that sucker, and you weren't either, don't try to pull that shit on me. One good kick and he begged for momma."

"Sure, sure. I forgot that you were born a samurai."

"You know what? This is bullshit. What about the fights you got yourself in?"

Jared stared, incredulous. "Me? Tell me one single fight I got into that wasn't because of your sorry ass," he dared, a look of satisfaction on his face. After a second, he raised his hand in warning. "And before you start, don't say—"

Too late, Paul was already singing the name. "Leonard Hill."

"Ugh, Leonard Hill wasn't my fault. He wanted to kill me all on his own. I barely had anything to do with that."

"That's what they all say."

"Not you, though. You never claimed someone else started the fight, even when they clearly did. With you, it was always about what you did."

"Never liked being painted as the victim," Paul admitted, giving Jared a pointed look. "I always knew what I was getting into when shit went down. Gotta be responsible for what you do — that's what I always thought."

The words seemed to remind his brother of what their initial conversation had been about, and just like that, all the amusement vanished from his expression and his previous look of concern and shame came back with full force.

"Not everything that happens to you is something that you agreed on, Paul," Jared said, going back to his annoying bullshit. "Sometimes you don't know what you're agreeing to."

"People who fight with me these days don't know that they are fighting against a wolf who could kill them with one single punch. Should I quit my job, then?"

"You don't go to work upset. You don't storm inside the place and use your students or whoever as your punching bag. I'm sure if you did that people would have shit to say. Don't you have rules? Things that if you did would cost you the fight?"

"You know there are rules. We never had any, though."

"We had many unspoken rules, Paul. Don't give me that. It was always implied that we weren't going for the kill, that we would pull back our punches, that we would stop when the other had vented enough."

Paul looked at him, wishing his brother would realize the irony of his own argument. He allowed the words to linger for a moment. "And did you not stop?"

Only Jared didn't react the way Paul had been expecting him to. Instead of agreeing with Paul, his brother shook his head, so fucking slowly, a downwards tug pulling his mouth into weird angles. "No, Paul. I didn't. That's what I've been trying to tell you since the beginning. You think I'm overstating things, but I'm not. I did go for your throat — I didn't stop."

And for the first time, Paul believed him. "You didn't stop?"

"No," Jared confirmed, bitterness all over his voice. "I did not."

"You didn't stop," Paul repeated. Only this time it was less of a question and more of a statement, a curtain being lifted right in front of his eyes when Paul hadn't even noticed he had been kept in the dark.

"I'm sorry. You have no idea how sorry I am," Jared begged, but he sounded defeated — as though he knew better than to expect any sort of forgiveness whatsoever.

And for the first time, Paul had none to give.

He had nothing.

He could hardly even accept that he had been wrong about the fight, about his brother, about his deep-seated belief that no matter what happened between the two of them it wouldn't come to this. Not when Paul's entire life had been built around that certainty and all the things that came with it.

Paul had survived his father, hundreds of fights with men twice his size, becoming a werewolf, fighting vampires… and he had almost died inside his own house, at the hand of the person he trusted the most in the world.

What did he do with that revelation?

What could he do?


Paul knew better than to expect Bella to be the first to reach out after the way things ended when they last saw each other. Instead, he carefully planned his lines and prepared to make an unsavory phone call to his imprint.

It wasn't the way he preferred to deal with their disagreements, and Christ knew that his phone skills were next to inexistent; however, Paul also didn't feel comfortable leaving things open. He and Bella had been on such a good period before all this fucking mess and Paul refused to allow everything to change for worse.

To his great shock though, in a surprising turn of fate, Bella made her move first.

The very next day after Paul had woken up, she came back to his house without needing to be asked. Bella arrived almost six in the afternoon, her car making enough noise to wake up even the heaviest of sleepers.

Paul wondered if that meant she had finally gone back to school, then wondered how badly Charlie must be wanting to take a shot at him for putting his daughter in such a situation so close after the Cullens had left.

Bella never bothered to knock on the door — someone must have told her that it was quite pointless when there were werewolves inside and the door was never locked — walking right in before going to the stairs.

Paul breathed in and out one last time, trying to remember what the hell he had been about to say to her on the phone while pondering if he wouldn't be better just staying quiet and allowing her to do all the talking.

There's no time to decide, though, before Bella twisted the doorknob and walked inside Paul's bedroom without a single ounce of warning whatsoever. His imprint walked inside as if she owned the place, and although she was far from wrong, Paul still wondered where all that confidence had come from.

"Oh, you're awake," she noted, blinking several times in succession. "That's good; I brought you these."

She shoved a Tupperware into his surprised hands, making Paul wonder how come he hadn't smelled the cookies before. Now that the still lukewarm container was in his hands, the scent was unmistakable and overall quite overwhelming.

"I didn't know if you liked vanilla and chocolate chips, but I always end up making too many when I'm anxious and I figured that you could always give them away if they weren't to your taste," Bella carried on speaking, the words spilling out without a pause between them. It was pretty impressive, to be honest. "I mean, who doesn't like chocolate, right? And I have yet to find something you guys won't eat, so... "

"No, that's good. I mean, the cookies are awesome," Paul rushed to say when she stopped to breathe. "I love chocolate — you're right, who doesn't? I—Thank you."

Bella shrugged. "It's fine."

Opening the Tupperware, Paul grabbed the first cookie he saw and took a bite, nearly moaning at the flavor of the melting chocolate hitting his tongue straight away. It was so good.

"This is amazing," he said in between bites, hoping he wasn't disgusting enough to send her running. "You made this? 'Cause, you should sell them, kid. You'd make a fortune."

And there it was.

Bella's signature blush wasn't something Paul had thought he would particularly miss about his mate, and yet, the sight of it was enough to take some of the weight from his shoulders. That was also the moment Paul realized he had been so nervous, he had been sitting straight enough to hurt his neck and shoulders.

God, this woman. She would be the death of him, no doubts.

"I don't think so, but thanks, I guess." She stumbled over the words a bit. It was endearing, and also made Paul itch with the need to reach out and touch her. How long had it been since they had last touched? "How are you feeling?"

"Me?" Paul pointed to his own chest. "How are you, Bella? I'm sorry about the other day, I mean, I should've thought—"

Bella waved his concern away, sitting down on the very same chair he had found her when he had opened his eyes for the first time. "Relax. It took me by surprise — you waking up and talking, and the whole thing. I realized I overreacted the minute I got into my car."

"Bella, that's not—You don't have to— It's not an overreaction if that's how you're feeling. I shouldn't have told you how to feel."

"You didn't." She shook her head, raising her legs and wrapping her arms around them. "Everyone knows that's a figure of speech, and you were trying to protect me. It's alright. I'm just glad you're up and feeling well, you know? It sucked to see you in this bed."

Was that possible?

Could it really be that Paul was getting off the hook just like that, without needing to apologize or say a bunch of shit? How was that possible?

It went against everything Paul knew about women and relationships, although he would be the first to admit that his standards were probably not the best in that area. Still, this felt somehow close to a trick and it made him suspicious.

"You're not mad?" He insisted, watching for any signs of deceit.

"I'm not mad, Paul. Trust me, alright? If I was mad, I would tell you," Bella confirmed, a small smile crossing her lips. "Why? Are you worried?"

"Damn right I'm worried. We were doing so fucking good before this whole shitshow, and I don't want things to change because I'm an asshole who should think more before opening his fat mouth."

For some reason, his words made Bella's smile turn from amused to genuinely pleased. "Nothing's changed. Stop acting like I'm a time bomb, you jackass. We're fine."

Paul grabbed another cookie.

"This feels weird," he admitted as he munched on it.

"Maybe 'cause you keep forgetting I want you as much as you want me," she said, sharp and to the point, and Paul nearly choked on the crumbs in his throat.

"Shit," he gasped as he coughed, hitting his chest in an attempt to keep the dough from going into his lungs. It took a couple of tries, but after a while, Paul was able to respond. "What's with all this straightforwardness?"

When he looked up, Bella's eyes looked a touch sad.

"You almost died. That puts things into perspective," she explained, but the words seemed to mean something else that was left unsaid. "How are you feeling?"

"Honestly? Tired of people asking me that. Staying in this bed also sucks, to be honest."

She nodded. "You're still healing, though."

"Yeah. My shoulder is bothering me from time to time, and also my nose itches something fierce out of nowhere. It's strange. I never took this time to go back to normal, you know?"

"I don't doubt it. From what Sam told me, this is very far from what you guys usually do."

Paul didn't really want to think about Jared, at the moment.

"I don't know if it's that much different, Bella. I think they want to spin the story this way 'cause it's convenient. No one likes how far Jared and I take things." He shrugged. "They say this one is crazy, but I've been on some crazy shit. This one maybe messed me up a touch more."

"I hope you're wrong," Bella admitted. "I'm not sure I can do this every time. You scared the hell out of me."

Paul winced. Of course they had scared her — he was such an idiot. "I'm sorry."

"Not your fault. In a weird way, I was relieved. Edward always went so far to make sure I never saw any part of his family that wasn't human. He would run, or maybe stand in the sun, but that was pretty much it. I never got to see them as supernatural beings." She stopped. "Oh my God, is that making you feel like a lab experiment? I didn't mean to—"

"Shut up. I'm not that sensitive. I get what you're saying, and it doesn't offend me. We're different — I had time to make my peace with that."

"That's good. I'm glad for you. I can't tell you how strange it was to visit their house and be forced to watch them pretend to be humans for hours on end. It used to drive me crazy. I wanted to beg them to drop the act and behave normally — well, for them, you know?"

"I can imagine," Paul said. "I didn't spend much of my free time with bloodsuckers; I don't know how they pretend to be alive."

Bella rolled her eyes. "I'll never get over how you guys act so high and mighty about vampires. Honestly. You all shouldn't be so quick to judge — you're all part of the supernatural."

"We're alive. We don't kill anyone."

"They don't, as well. And what does that matter, being alive? It's not the gift people keep pretending it to be," Bella muttered darkly.

"Would you rather be a bloodsucker?" Paul demanded.

"I wouldn't care," Bela responded evenly. "I never understood Edward's reasons for keeping me human. Well, it makes sense now that I know he never planned to be with me for a long time. But back then? I would've said yes in a heartbeat." She lifted her sleeve and showed him her scar. "I almost did."

It wasn't the first time Paul was seeing the teeth marks on her wrist, and yet he couldn't keep himself from extending his arm and laying his hand over it, covering the scar with his palm.

"I'm glad you didn't."

"It wasn't my choice," Bella pointed out, allowing the touch but not budging on the argument. "Edward decided for me, and then acted as though I should be forever grateful that he saved me from getting turned into the devil himself. At the time, I was furious. Also a bit sad. That wasn't the choice I would've made for my mate if the roles had been reversed."

"The leech was never your mate," Paul growled, far more on the feral side than he would've preferred.

Bella nodded. "As I said — I know that now. And I'm glad that he stopped the turn because now I get to be with you. It doesn't change the fact that I don't view vampires as bad creatures, and I also don't see werewolves as inherently good creatures. People make choices, that's all."

Paul exhaled, pushing the aggression away. "This goes against my nature. I don't know how to explain it — you'll just have to believe me. Everything about them turns me off, everything in me tells me that they are wrong. That they are dangerous."

"They are dangerous. I think your senses are trying to keep you alive, and I don't blame them. I do think that the tales from the tribe help to create this folklore about the cold ones and the protectors, and how they are never supposed to be on the same side. Even though your ancestors agreed to the treaty with the Cullens many years ago and they lived side by side in harmony."

"Since when are you an expert in Quileute culture?" Paul questioned, surprised by her strong opinions about his people.

"I watched you for days," She explained, unrepentant. "There was nothing to do, and I heard Jake and Sam talking about the tribe. I asked Billy for some books, and turns out he's got quite the library in his bedroom."

"He let you read those?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Bella asked, affronted.

"Means outsiders aren't allowed to touch those. The tales are considered to be sacred, and the elders take their jobs quite seriously when it comes to keeping the culture alive and also a secret. Even as my imprint, I'm surprised he lent you those simply because you asked."

Bella bit her bottom lip. "Will he get in trouble for that?" She asked, and she sounded actually concerned about him which was very cute.

"He's an elder, Bella. Billy is the elder. He can't get in trouble — other than Sam, Bill pretty much runs this tribe."

"Now I feel a bit stupid," she admitted, twisting her hands in a nervous gesture Paul hadn't seen her do in a while. "I've known Billy since I was born, and I never took the time to ask him about any of this. God, it never even occurred to me that nobody around here celebrates Thanksgiving until I was like, twelve."

Bella's mind was never quite as charitable towards herself as one would hope.

"You were a kid," Paul pointed out. "Kids don't give a shit about anyone else. It's the best fucking thing about being a kid. Not giving a rat's ass about people and no one giving you grief about that."

Bella paused.

"Sometimes I feel like you are very jaded," she said, giving him a look that was impossible to decipher. It wasn't exactly pity, but it was close enough to it to make Paul uncomfortable.

"I'm old. You'll get there."

"You're not that much older than me."

"When you're a wolf, the years feel a lot more... heavy, I don't know," he admitted.

She stared for a long while. "I've missed you," she admitted, shifting in place. "Five days is a lot longer than I thought."

Five days watching over Bella's unconscious body would've been enough to drive Paul to the brink of insanity. Not that he would tell her that, obviously.

Instead, Paul patted the empty space on the bed next to him. "Come here." It wasn't an order, but it also wasn't a suggestion.

"You're still injured," Bella protested, eyes searching his body for obvious signs of hurt, and not for the first time, Paul felt grateful for his high threshold for pain. It would be impossible to tell his exact condition by simply staring at his body.

"Aren't we all?" He joked while he patted the mattress again. "C'mon, Swan. Don't be so uptight."

Bella rolled her gorgeous eyes.

"I could probably do with being more uptight," she said, but got up from the chair and made her way to the bed. "Charlie would sleep better, for sure."

Once she was close enough, Paul grabbed her hand and pulled her down, shifting her balance and sending her crashing into his chest.

Did it hurt? Yes.

Was it worth it? Also yes.

"Paul!" Bella called. She tried to lean back, switching to worried mode straight away. "Why did you do that? Are you okay?"

"Will you relax, dammit?" Paul waved a hand down his body. Bella's eyes followed his hands. "See? I'm not gonna break. Settle down."

Her cheeks flushed into a deep red color, and her two top teeth dug into her bottom lip hard enough to draw a familiar scent of blood into the small space separating them. It was all beyond tempting… tantalizing in a way that Paul was beginning to associate with his imprint, and her alone.

"You can press harder," Paul suggested, tilting his head in the direction of her hand which was pressing down on his stomach. She had used him as support without even noticing.

"I shouldn't," she mumbled, and yet her hand never moved away. Instead, she did press down a tiny bit harder, then instantly looked up at him to check if it was hurting him.

Which was ridiculous.

Paul smirked at her, letting her see he was perfectly fine. "C'mon, Bella. Don't be such a prude."

She sucked in a mouthful of air, her lips parting. "I'm not," she said, explained, and her hands started to travel south. "I'm really not."

"Good."

"I've missed this. I think you have me addicted to touching you, Paul. I mean it. I want to reach out and touch you all the damn time. It's not normal."

In response, Paul curled his arm around her back and pulled her flush against him until there's almost no space between them, until they were breathing into each other's faces and every inch of her touched his body.

"Good," he repeated, and even he can't ignore how deep his voice went or how there's a purr building up inside his chest.

Up this close, he can smell so much of Bella it was almost criminal. He could nearly taste her on his tongue if he concentrated for a split second.

Getting her aroused should be his number-one priority every single day of his life, Paul decided. He had no business wasting time doing anything else — not when he could have her squirming on his lap, begging him with her eyes to give her more.

"How badly would it screw up your recovery if I sucked your dick?" Bella asked, without any sort of preamble, licking her lips in a certain way that instantly had all his attention.

He swallowed down a groan. "Baby, I couldn't give a fuck. For you to go down on me? I'll risk it."

"Alright," she agreed. Her smile shifted into something less wanton and more into a satisfied grin, as though she had been the one to convince him to allow her to suck his dick and now he had no way left to run.

Paul wasn't going to lie — the whole look suited her so fucking well. Bella looked about ready to swallow him whole, leaving not a single crumb left behind, and Paul could feel his shorts getting impossibly tight as a result.

Shit.

If Bella wanted to have her way with him — if she wanted to use him as nothing more than an experiment for her fantasies — well, Paul was only too happy to lie back and give her free rein over his body. He was hers to do as she pleased.

"Whatever you want, Bella," Paul said, vowed to her as he began to lean back down into his pillow, bringing her alongside him until she hovered completely over him, their bodies melted together. "Whatever you want."

It was probably the last coherent sentence he uttered for the rest of the night.


It wasn't too late when Paul decided to venture outside his bedroom for the first time since he woke up and stumbled down the stairs all the way to the kitchen for a midnight snack.

It was only when he had prepared and eaten his sandwich in peace that his stupid phone began to ring inside his pocket.

As he washed his dirty plate, Paul wondered how stupid he must be to not have seen this coming. In hindsight, it was obvious that his little incident wouldn't go unnoticed and that the consequences would land on his sorry head sooner rather than later.

His cell phone was ringing and shaking as Paul held it in his hands, Charlie Swan's name flashing on the screen, informing just who he would have to answer to for all the pain this incident caused Bella.

There's no option here.

Paul answered before it went to the voicemail.

"Sheriff," he greeted, going for the man's title instead of his name on purpose. For all Paul knew, his right to use the man's first name had been rescinded when he made her lose several days of class.

"Lahote." Charlie's voice was one part quiet, two parts warning, and just a touch concerned. "How are you feeling, son?"

"I'm feeling much better, sir. Still recovering, but I'm sure I'll be fine in a couple of days."

Charlie made a noise of disbelief. "A couple of days my ass. I've seen enough of these bike accidents to know how much damage they can cause. That's why I always tell Bells to stay the hell away from them. Two wheels and a helmet is not enough to protect a person."

A motorcycle accident, that's what they had gone with? Paul didn't know whether to be amused or insulted by the choice. Although it was easier to explain than the truth, it still irked him to be put in such a position. He wanted Charlie to trust him with Bella, not for him to think she wouldn't be safe with him.

Paul couldn't even spin the story in his favor — not without knowing what the others had already told him.

"I have tough skin," he said instead. "I'll be fine soon enough. Pretty sure I won't have a single scar, even."

He wouldn't have a scar, obviously. Not a single fucking one.

"That's good," Charlie said. There's a long pause, and Paul allowed the moment to stretch as much as needed. Far it be from him to rush the man. "Listen, Paul. I'm sure you know why I'm calling. It's about Bella."

"I figured as much."

"Great. Listen — I'm worried about her. Bella's been doing better lately, and I know you've been helping her and all that, but this week got me thinking… I don't want her to get too involved again, okay? She needs to finish school, to take care of herself."

He said all that very matter-factly, as though there was nothing to argue about it, and his words carried a note of decision to them — as if he was merely informing Paul that he should keep his fucking distance from Bella for now on.

Which, yeah, wasn't happening.

Paul wished this was anyone else. Literally, anyone else would be better than his imprint's father, who he could hardly afford to make an enemy from. His harsh words and hot head wouldn't do here, and Paul didn't have much else.

"You have to understand," Paul began, speaking with a whole lot of care. "I would've never asked Bella to stay here. If I had been awake, I would've told her to leave on the very first day. Her wellbeing is my number one priority, Sheriff." He stopped, breathed, and carried on before the other man could get too excited. "That being said, Bella is her own person. I cannot and will not tell her what's best for her, despite what I wish she would choose, and so, I can only stand behind her choices."

"Don't lecture me, Lahote." Charlie huffed. "I know Bella is an adult. She's my kid, though, and I have reasons to worry, alright? I need to know if you understand that."

Paul understood many things — even the ones that were not being directly spoken.

"I understand." Then, giving up on the whole sentence he had been about to say and going for the brutal honesty that so often landed him in trouble. "If I may ask, sir, what is it that worries you exactly? Bella missing school to stay in the Rez or the fact that she's got a new boyfriend after Cullen?"

"That smug-faced punk kid," Charlie cursed with quite more spite than Paul had expected, surprisingly enough. Who knew the Sheriff still resented the leech so much? "Some days I wish he would show his face around, just so I could have the pleasure of giving him a piece of my mind."

And just like that, it stopped being funny.

Thinking about the differences between the leech and Bella's father made Paul's blood boil. It was just another one of life's injustices that the man couldn't even take a swing at the guy who broke his daughter's heart without breaking his hand or worse.

Not that Paul would have that problem. "Oh, me too, sir. Just five minutes with that asshole — that's all I wanted."

Five damn minutes and no one else to interfere, was that too much to ask? It would be Paul's pleasure to rip that bloodsucker to shreds so small not even his cursed family would be able to piece him back together.

The Sheriff snorted a small, surprised laugh. "I'll pretend I didn't hear that. And to answer your question: I'm concerned about Bella's mental state, that's all. I want her happy and balanced, nothing else, you hear me? I don't give a damn if she wants to date or even if she misses a few days of school. Her grades have always been perfect, and she works hard. I just don't want this to become another romance that will leave her a mess."

"With all due respect, Sheriff, Bella is already quite a big mess all on her own. I don't need to do anything to add to that. I'm trying to help her in the only way I know how: by being there for her and supporting her decisions. If she chooses to get over that fucking Cullen and be healthy again, that will be all one her own."

This time, the pause is longer and heavier.

"No father wants to hear that."

"I'm sure it sucks, yeah. It's the truth, though. Bella is old enough to live her own life, and there's nothing we can do about that. She either gets over it or she doesn't."

"And if she doesn't?" Charlie asked, demanded.

"Then we stand by her side the very same way," Paul responded, giving the only answer he had to give. The only one he could come up with after so many sleepless nights thinking about that very same question, worrying and wondering about his immense hopelessness in the whole situation.

In the end, though, Bella was and would always be his imprint. Paul could do nothing else but stand by her side and hope for the best.

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that."

Paul shrugged, even though the man could see nothing. "Hoping will change nothing," he pointed out, not without a touch of cynicism. Then he remembered the way she had looked, sleeping in his bed when he left the room. "She's doing better now… I think. I look at her sometimes and I think she'll be alright."

"Bella has always been good at pretending to be alright. That's what worries me."

"If she could've pretended as well as you claim, she would've done so since the beginning. No, this was a hard blow for her." There's a certainty in Paul's voice that surprises him — a deep-rooted feeling of rightness that settled in his bones as he uttered the words. "If this sweeps her off her feet again, we'll know."

"You sound very knowledgeable of my daughter for someone who has only known her for a couple of months," The Sheriff pointed out, and it's the sort of accusation Paul can hardly defend himself from, but then, before he can try to scramble some half-assed excuse, Charlie added: "Very well, I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt here, Lahote. You watch out for my daughter, and you keep your ass away from that bike. I'm sure we'll speak again soon enough."

Feeling as if he had passed some kind of unspoken test, Paul breathed out in relief. "Thank you, Sheriff. I'll take care of Bella."

"See that you do. And quit this Sheriff nonsense — you know my name, use it," Charlie said. "Send my regards to Ana. Tell her to pass by the station some of these days. Good night, Paul."

And with those parting words, Charlie disconnected the call before Paul could say anything else, leaving him with a sweaty cell phone stuck to his ear and a goodbye dying at the tip of his tongue.

Christ, Paul remembered when he didn't have to deal with emotional problems, or sleeping girls, or concerned fathers, or any of the crap that came as baggage when you decided to see someone more often than a couple of times in a dirty motel. In a way, that wasn't too far back in Paul's past at all — he could still remember the encounters as if they had happened yesterday afternoon.

Paul wished he could be bothered to miss any of it, instead of being left staring at an empty plate wondering if he should make another sandwich now that he heard his imprint waking up on the upstairs floor.


Author's Note: And that's a wrap on this chapter. I hope you guys like it.

Please leave a comment below if you feel like it — it always brightens my days, and I'm happy to hear opinions about the story. I read and cherish every single one.

Love, xoxo.