Paul stood still, waiting for the bike to come into view. It was so goddamn good to be outside, stretching his legs, feeling the wind blowing against his skin. After endless days stuck in his bed, Paul could hardly believe that he was finally standing outside the house.
Seeing Bella riding his bike was just the cherry on the very top of his delicious sundae.
"Good to see you've been practicing," he said, once the bike got near enough for her to hear his words. Paul couldn't help the smile that found its way into his face, it was always just so good to see her. "Although I'm not sure right now is the best time for this — surely it would give the poor Sheriff a heart attack."
Bella only slowed down and hit the brakes when she was right beside him, tilting the bike a bit sideways until she could kick the support down. She took her helmet off and smiled back at him. "I'm sure you can keep a secret."
Paul crossed his arms. Her words served to remind him of something he had been meaning to address. "Absolutely. What I can't do, apparently, is ride a fucking motorcycle without crashing like an idiot."
"Don't be that way," Bella said, and her smile only got wider. "We had to tell him something."
"Why couldn't you have picked something a little more dignified? I have never — not once in my life — had an accident while I was riddin'. And now your father will think I'm an idiot who can't steer in a straight line."
"Oh, don't worry. He hates all bikes the same. It's not the driver; it's the way God intended for man to drive four-wheeled vehicles," she mocked, hands still resting on the handles, and Paul couldn't remember a time when she had been more beautiful than she was right at that moment.
The wind was hitting her hair, carrying with it the absolutely amazing scent that belonged to her and no other, spreading it everywhere around Paul. The scent of peace, comfort, and belonging.
Bella smelled of home.
"You've gotten good at this," Paul pointed out.
"Thank you, Paul. I have, yes." She winked at him. "I had a good teacher."
Paul's hand went to his chest, and he forced a dramatic wince. "Ouch. So you no longer need me? That's it?"
Bella grinned. "Well, if I get to rub my hands all over you, I could pretend to know nothing. I wouldn't mind being driven around a little bit."
"Naughty."
"You know it," she agreed, but her smile dimmed a bit as her eyes traveled across his body. "How are you feeling?"
Paul rolled his eyes. "Not this again. I'm fine."
"Great," she said, getting off the bike. "So you're ready to tell me?"
He groaned. "Bella!"
"You said you'd tell me today! C'mon! Why are you being so difficult?"
"I'm not difficult. You're annoying, it's different."
"Oh." Bella frowned, biting her bottom lip in a way that made Paul realize he had upset her. "I didn't mean to annoy you."
Paul sighed, rubbing his forehead.
Bella didn't understand. It wasn't that Paul had a problem with talking about it, really, it's just that he had no idea where to start or how to explain. He wasn't like the others.
Of course he remembered the feeling of shifting for the first time. The anger, the fever, the muscles trembling, the way his skin stretched and pulled until he started to feel too big for his own body.
Pain, fear, confusion... Paul felt all those emotions strong enough to drown him in the span of sixteen minutes — which had been the exact time it took him to completely shift into his wolf form. The longest sixteen minutes of his damn life, to be sure.
After, though?
Paul had been thrilled. Beyond excited at the endless possibilities he had at his disposal, despite the steep price he had had to pay for them. In his mind, it hadn't mattered. He would've given up everything to have the freedom and power to do whatever the hell he wanted.
He had been young — so fucking unaware of the true meaning of being a shifter — and at the time, desperate for a way to run free from all the shit constantly running through his sick mind. Being a werewolf had seemed like the answer to all his problems, and perhaps that was why he adapted quicker than any other member of the pack.
Quicker than Sam, than Embry, than Jacob.
None of them wanted to be a wolf. None of them knew how to tap into the necessary feelings to shift on command in quite the same way Paul did, so goddamn effortlessly. None of them embraced the waves of aggression and fury that came with the shift.
Still so very human, the lot of them.
Unlike Paul, of course, who had been all too happy to spiral down and become the monster the rest of the world thought they were. In his mind, the whole protectors shit hadn't been a relief, or a calling, or whatever shit the others described it… no.
To be honest, Paul actually hated it.
Despised the rules and the hierarchy — both of which served only to restrain him, keep him caged, when all he wanted was to enjoy his first-ever opportunity to run free. He was powerful, fast, invincible, even, and he had to stay around to protect the Rez from a bunch of vampires? Fuck that.
What were the odds of vampires even being interested in a place like the Rez, anyway? A tiny piece of land in the middle of nowhere, where any murder would be immediately visible.
No, there wouldn't be any vampires around, and Paul wasn't about to waste his precious time running close to the borders in order to pretend he was patrolling or some ridiculous shit. He refused.
At the time, Sam had been furious.
So much more than the others, Sam took their job seriously. Most likely because being a shifter had completely ruined his human life, and that had been his way to give meaning to it all. So yeah, he had all those stiff notions on honor, and protection, and duty, and a whole list of words Paul tended to avoid on principle alone.
Seeing Paul being happy with the curse that had destroyed his entire being had been a blow to Sam's spirit, which probably explained why they fought so much at the beginning. Sam refused to give in, and Paul refused to give a fuck.
Thankfully, before they could kill each other, Jared had gone through the change. Unfortunately for Paul, he had also shared Sam's selfless views of being a wolf.
But Paul wasn't thinking about Jared.
No.
"Paul!" Bella said, her voice bringing him back from his daydreams. She sounded quite impatient — as if that hadn't been the first time she had called him. "I can't hear your thoughts, you know? You need to use your big boy words."
Paul frowned, not amused. "It's not like it's a good story, Bella. What do you wanna know? I shifted, for fuck's sake, the same as the others."
"Stop being shady. It doesn't suit you. Just tell me how it was."
"I mean, what should I say? I shifted a whole year after Sam," he informed, shrugging. It wasn't the most interesting story. "He hated being a wolf, to be honest, and he resented me for enjoying it. Sam had imagined a whole sad life for himself, you know? Being alone, blaming himself for all problems in the world, crying about his terrible fate and what it said about this soul. All that crap."
Bella frowned. "That's horrible," she said, sounding less excited and more thoughtful. It said a lot about how new she still was to the pack; how much she still had to learn about them.
"That's Sam," Paul corrected. "He hasn't changed all that much. He hides it better, these days. And he tends to shield most of the dark shit."
"It must have been horrible to be alone for so long," Bella protested, giving him a reproaching look.
Paul rolled his eyes. "It sucked, sure, but only because Sam refused to accept the good that came with the bad. He always worries more than he needs to."
"Is that why he's the Alpha?"
"Sure. He's the elder, and it makes sense. It should be Jake, though, you know?"
"Jake?" Bella repeated, eyes widened. By the look on her face, baby Jake hadn't told her about his legacy.
"Hm. He's a pup now — he wouldn't last a day — but yeah, it's his birthright. His great-grandfather was the last Alpha of the tribe, and his blood runs through Jacob's veins. That's why he's so big, so fast. One day he might decide to fight Sam for the title."
Bella seemed skeptical. "You think he'll do that?"
"Not now," Paul conceded. "He doesn't want it — the responsibilities, the others looking at him for answers. I think it would take something big to change his mind, and I don't see that happening now, but I also don't think it's impossible. He's still young — and an even younger wolf, at that — but he won't stay that way forever. Maybe answering to others will stop being funny."
"Would you like to be the Alpha?"
"No," Paul answered straight away. He didn't have to think about it to answer, he knew himself enough to have one already. "I would be a terrible Alpha. Probably the worst one out of all the others."
Bella paused.
"Why?" She asked, her eyes searching for something in his face.
"I worry about the present, the fight, the person standing right in front of me, and nothing else. It makes me a great fighter, and that's about it. No one would want a leader like that."
"Aren't you being a touch hard on yourself?"
"No. People dislike honesty because it feels too similar to self-depreciation, and I understand that, but I don't see it that way. I know my limitations better than anyone else, and it's stupid to pretend to be better than I am. I'm a great wolf, and I would make an awful Alpha. That's it."
"You think Jake would be better than you?" she asked, a touch skeptical.
"Sure, why not? He's new, and a bit too cocky sometimes, but he's strong. Level-headed. He knows that the most important thing is to protect the pack and the people who live here and that it sometimes means backing down. That's already miles ahead of me, right there."
"How can you say that when you're the one making all these analyses? I don't get it."
"I'm calm. In here, I'm not a wolf and I'm not running after anyone, Bella. Be reasonable. It's different out there. When Sam allowed the red-headed bitch to escape the last time, I was furious. Out of my mind angry. If I had been there, if there had been no one to stop me, I would've followed her all the way to Forks. I would've crossed the lines, and I would've killed her. That's me."
She raised a brow. "Even knowing it would mean the treaty would be void?"
"I don't give a shit about the Cullens. In my book, they hurt a human when they left you in the middle of the woods, alone and with no way of making your way back to your house. If they came back… They'll pay for what they did."
"Paul…"
He shrugged. "You asked. That's what I think."
"You would hurt the others, even though it was Edward who left me?" Bella asked, closing her eyes and shaking her head. She knew the answer.
"Don't do that," Paul asked. Pleaded. "Don't ask me to be reasonable when it is about you. You're my imprint. My soulmate. My other half, for Christ's sake. No, I don't care which one of them you think is responsible. Sure, I would make sure Ed boy suffered the most, but the others are far from innocent."
His words made her pause. Instead of defending the leeches, as he half expected her to do, Bella stepped closer. She studied him for a minute, her deep, brown eyes piecing him in place with their intensity.
"How are you, really?" Bella asked, and instantly the mood shifted. The air changed and all the previous lightness from their banter vanished into thin air.
Paul looked away. The question burned so goddamn much — for Christ's sake. The last thing he wanted was to keep eye contact because then it would be crystal clear how badly he had been running from that conversation.
"I'm alright," he said, hoping she would buy a clue and let the matter drop. "Kinda hungry, to be honest. I could go for a burger right now."
His words fell flat, and silence was his only response. She didn't walk away, or changed the subject, or any of the thousand more palatable choices Paul silently begged her to choose from. Instead, she stayed where she was — perfectly still, her eyes boring holes at the back of his head.
Bella allowed the quiet to last, to stretch, to linger impossibly until Paul could think of nothing else but her awful question and the lengthy answer he had been swallowing down over and over again for the past days. Ignoring the matter and hoping it would somehow disappear in a moment of distraction.
Too bad Isabella Swan didn't know when to let things go.
When to stop prodding.
When to quit.
"What do you wanna know?" Paul murmured when he could no longer stand the oppressiveness between them.
Her hand landed softly on his bicep and she gave him a quick squeeze. "Whatever you want to tell me, Paul."
He squeezed his own eyes shut in response, hoping that maybe that would shield him from… well, everything. That conversation. His imprint. The whole day, week, month.
"I haven't seen Jared." The words slipped from his mouth, unbidden. Against his will, almost. It made for an awkward start, really, because it wasn't what she had asked. And yet… "It's been what? A week?"
Nine days.
Not that he's counting.
He just knew, that's all.
"He's staying with Kim," Bella supplied, even though they both knew Paul was aware of his brother's whereabouts.
"Yeah, sure. Good. They probably have a lot to talk about — with the baby and all."
This time, she squeezed harder. Too bad Paul could barely feel it. "And you? Do you have a lot to say to him?"
He didn't.
Paul had nothing to say to Jared, and that's what was eating at his insides. What was he supposed to say, anyway? Why did he have to be the one saying shit? Wasn't Jared the one insisting he was responsible for this fucking mess?
The whole situation hurt too much.
It hurt in deep, unexpected ways that were still new to Paul.
Jared was his brother, his packmate, his… friend. Jared was the one friend Paul had always counted on, regardless of the shit life threw at him. That was the single fact Paul counted on to remain true above all else.
And now Jared was telling him to be cautious.
Now Paul was supposed to be scared of the person who he had learned to trust without limitations in all aspects of his fucked-up life. How fucking unfair was that? What was the justice in this whole mess?
Paul had lost his father, his mother, his childhood, his home, his innocence, his virtue, his humanity, his entire concept of self, for fuck's sake, and he dealt with it. In his own messed up way, Paul had accepted the hand he had been dealt with and tried to make the best he could with what could only be described as a shitty situation.
Because if nothing else, he had Jared.
The spirits took all the other pieces of who he was, which was their right, okay, but how could they turn around and have the one person Paul loved since he was a fucking kid try to kill him inside the house he had come to see as his home?
How come after all the conversations, and scoldings, and yellings, and shouts, and fights people had with Paul, warning him that one day he would cross the line and hurt Jared, he was the one who came near death?
Worse, how could he begin to explain that to his confused imprint when he was still nowhere near understanding anything himself?
Bella deserved to understand.
She deserved explanations and reassurances from him after sitting for five days at the edge of his bed waiting for him to recover, and yet Paul was at loss for words.
"I don't know," he finally said under his breath. It was the truth, he didn't know. As it turned out, Paul knew absolutely nothing at all.
"I'm so sorry this happened, Paul," Bella said. "I wish there was something I could say but…"
Paul shrugged. "But there's nothing to say," he completed. "Yeah, I get it."
"Have you seen Emily yet?" Bella asked out of the blue.
"Emily?" Paul repeated, confused. "No, why would I?"
Bella raised a brow. "She's been worried sick about you. She came a few times while you were out — brought everyone food and clothes. I talked to her on the phone every day, you know? I still do. I thought she would've, like, visited or something."
Paul wished the words didn't hurt as badly as they did. He wished he didn't miss Emily.
"I—I mean, I don't know, Bella. I haven't shifted, so I don't know if she's busy or what. Sam must have told her I was fine."
"Are you?" Bella asked, pressed. "Are you fine? Because you don't seem fine to me."
And, well, that was a bit insulting.
"I am healing from a near-death, experience, Bella. Excuse me if I don't seem perfect enough for you," he answered, and it was all wrong. Too sharp and provocative with none of the care he usually had when speaking to her.
She seemed pleased, though. Weirdly enough. "That's the first time you've admitted that."
Paul rolled his eyes, a touch annoyed. "What's this? Five minutes of crappy therapy?" He said. "I know what happened, Bella. What's there for me to say? I almost died. I survived. Shit happens — there's nothing I can do about it."
"Yeah, that's true. Shit does happen. Doesn't mean you have to shut up and take it, though. In my experience, not dealing with the pain is the worst thing you can do."
Shit, now they were talking about her and the bloodsucker? Paul wasn't in the headspace to deal with that crap at the moment. Shit, did it have to be about her all the fucking time?
"I'm not you, Bella," he gritted through his teeth, holding onto his temper by the skin of his teeth. "I won't wander into the deep, dark woods and cry over my shitty life and how some handsome, strong man won't sweep off my feet and save me."
"Why, I didn't know you thought he was handsome, Paul," Bella mocked in response, a small twitch at the corner of her mouth. She didn't sound insulted — if anything she seemed amused.
Almost as if she was mocking him.
"Fuck you," Paul spat. He wouldn't allow anyone to humiliate him. Not even her.
This time, she took a step back.
Good.
She was starting to notice how much of an idiot she was being.
"That's rude," she pointed out evenly, watching him more closely for a response than she had been before. Cautious. Bella was being cautious with him, now.
It was enough to make him feel hot all over from the anger burning in the pit of his stomach. Up and up the fire went, flames coating the insides of his throat until his mouth filled with the taste of ashes.
Bella was his fucking imprint. This was bullshit. Paul was allowed to be as angry as he wanted and she didn't have the right to treat him as a nut case just because his anger wasn't as palatable as she wanted it to be.
Gods, it was always the same with people. They couldn't help but see him as some out-of-control animal who walked around one step away from going into full attack mode.
He was so pathetic to have believed her to be different from the others.
Of course he would support her all along only to have her run away the second he had one small inconvenience.
What a bitch.
"You're the one being fucking rude here," Paul spat, taking a step forward. Let her be intimidated. Let her be scared. Paul didn't fucking care. "Do you have any idea the amount of pain I've been in these past days? How much it fucking hurts to have a person shatter your jaw? How badly it hurts to sit when someone just broke your ribs? I bet you cry when you stub a fucking toe."
"I'm actually pretty good with physical pain," she corrected, acting all smug about it too. As if she even knew what pain was, the little whore.
"You have never been in pain one single day of your pathetic little life," he hissed, watching in disgust as she took more steps aways. She knew nothing of the generational pain Paul carried in his blood. "You'll spend your entire life waiting for others to save you. You're weak. Pitiful. You disgust me. You have no idea what's like to truly hurt."
"What? Like you have?" She pressed, as though she had any right to demand answers from him even as she slowly walked away from him in fear. She had to be kidding him. There's no way she actually—
"You're starting to piss me off," Paul warned. He wasn't lying, either. He felt it — deep within himself, the fire was expanding and starting to consume him in that far too familiar way that could only end in one way.
"How scary," Bella mocked, crossing her arms over her chest. Her eyes met his, and there was a challenge in them he could hardly refuse.
"You're running, for fuck's sake!" Paul exploded. There had never been another option for him. "Are you being for real? I could kill you with one hand and not even break a sweat. You think that just because you run with big, bad monsters you're somehow tougher than other humans? Well, guess what, little Bella? You're still weak. So fucking frail it's ridiculous. So shut the fuck up before you make me mad."
Instead of giving him a response, or having the decency to run away with her tail between her legs, as she fucking should, Bella shrugged. She held his stare and shrugged, dismissing his threats as though he was nothing more than an unruly child misbehaving.
Paul snapped.
He was a volcano about to erupt in an explosion of fire and lava, and small Bella had no idea the sort of beast she had just unleashed upon herself. By the time he was done with her, there would be nothing behind even closely resembling a body to incriminate him.
Paul would crush her and enjoy every moment of it.
Fuck.
It would be glorious.
Just what he needed.
"Oh, you imbecile," Paul growled, adrenaline pumping all through his body. He took a bunch of steps forward. "I'm gonna enjoy doing this. Oh, I'm gonna snap every single fucking bone in your—"
The shift took him completely by surprise. It shouldn't have, of course, because Paul wasn't a pup and no matter how hot-headed he may be, he had never shifted without realizing it was happening since the first time. Since he became a wolf — since the man died and the werewolf emerged.
Still, this time, it took him by surprise. Again. As if he was a brand new wolf who couldn't control the shift, Paul felt the fur erupting from where tan skin had been and paws hitting the soft ground where his feet had been stepping.
It happened so fast.
He hadn't even realized he had been trembling, shaking like a goddamn tree in his fury.
One second he was standing, and the next second he wasn't anymore. In a flash, he lost control and shifted — so goddamn close to another person, in the exact same way he has promised himself to never do after seeing Emily in person.
Worse still, it was Bella.
He could see that clearly now. Paul had been yelling at Bella, screaming at her for things she wasn't responsible for, calling her names, and being a complete asshole for absolutely no fucking reason.
She must have been so scared. So goddamn mad, and scared, and shocked that he would threaten her like that when they were supposed to be soulmates.
Fuck, Paul was going to be sick.
He couldn't stand to stay there and face his imprint. One look at her face and Paul would lose whatever scrap of self-respect he had managed to build for himself.
So he did the one thing he thought he had stopped doing after all those years: he ran away.
Paul turned and fled to the woods. With no destination in mind, he disappeared among the trees, leaving Bella behind without even a parting glance. He knew, even in his state, how badly that must remind her of another situation very similar to that one, where another freak of nature abandoned her behind after being a dick.
Paul wished beyond anything that life hadn't given him a reason to be in the same category as the bloodsucker.
At some point, the familiar rain started to fall from the sky, hitting every single leaf and branch in its path before pelting against Paul's skin. Each cold drop like a punishing whip on his burning skin, and yet he couldn't muster the energy to notice it beyond a vague awareness of his surroundings.
Paul was leaning against a random tree, once again a human after hours of running aimlessly as a wolf. He had only found the strength to shift back when he felt Sam's voice join his own inside his frayed mind. Like snapping back into reality, Paul had realized that the last thing he needed was company, and so, he had done his best to shift back to his human form.
Not being able to muster the energy to do much else, Paul crawled to the trunk of the nearest tree and leaned heavily against it, hoping that Taha Aki wouldn't decide to punish him by having it fall down on his head.
Not that it would kill him.
Not that Paul didn't deserve it.
After what he did to Bella, after all the shit he did throughout his life, Paul could hardly argue against whichever punishment the spirits decided to throw his way, to be honest. And he was tired.
Far too exhausted to care.
He doubted even the red-headed leech could give him enough purpose to get up and fight, at this point. And perhaps that was for the best, considering all the shit that his fighting had caused to every one he gave a fuck about. Perhaps it was time to admit that his recklessness and his inability to change had already done enough damage for a lifetime, and it would be better for all involved if he simply…. stopped.
It was about time that Paul pushed his selfish needs aside and put the people who loved him first. They deserved that, at the very least.
Paul's fights almost killed him.
Worst, almost made him hurt Bella.
His imprint.
His whole reason for living. His present from the spirits. His chosen one. His soulmate. His Bella.
The person he was in love with.
The person he had unconsciously chosen to be his wife. His partner. His mate. His.
Paul could've hurt her, and that wasn't something he could forgive.
Shit.
Paul exhaled. Inhaled. Exhaled. Inhaled.
He sighed.
When had he lost control over his life? He wondered if there had been a specific moment in time where things had gone wrong or if nothing had ever been right from the fucking start.
Maybe it had all been doomed from the moment his mother decided to have an innocent baby with his monster of a father, who deserved not one single once of happiness in his miserable life and certainly not the blessing of a child.
Maybe that meant his entire life had been cursed from the beginning.
Paul's eyes snapped shut.
Ana, Bella, Jared, his mother… too many faces flashed behind his lids even as he did his best to push them away, to make them go away and leave him alone. It was too much. Paul couldn't handle the overwhelming waves of frustration, and anger, and fear, and regret that crashed against his chest second after second, crushing his already bruised ribs more with each round.
It didn't matter whether he deserved to feel that way or not, Paul couldn't bear it. Where it counted, when it truly mattered, he had always been weak.
Even in his state, even as he contemplated his weakness, his heightened senses wouldn't shut down, and that's why he heard the second one of his packmates came close, the sound of their strong paws crushing dead leaves on the ground.
Paul didn't know who it was, and he couldn't be bothered to make an effort to find out, so he remained where he was, hoping the person would come to their senses and leave him alone. If Paul wanted company, he wouldn't have shifted back. They all knew that.
The message was clear: leave him the fuck alone.
The person must have bought a clue because the sound stopped, and the wolf didn't try to get any closer. For several seconds, Paul prayed his packmate would turn around and head back to the Rez, but just when he started to believe his prayers would be answered, he heard another sound — an even worse sound.
Sounds.
Human breathing.
A wolf leaving.
Then, steps. Shoes hitting the ground over and over again as the person began to make their way to where Paul sat, and this time he knew exactly who it was.
There was only one person brave and stupid enough to ride a werewolf deep into the woods to meet another werewolf. An out-of-control werewolf.
Emily.
Paul wasn't ready.
Emotions that he had once decided to put behind him were catching up far too quickly, jumping at his back, grabbing his torso, wrapping themselves around his middle and his insides, and squeezing.
The pressure was unbearable.
Paul was drowning and sinking and caving under the weight of all the shit he promised himself was beneath him.
And Emily.
Goddamn Emily was suddenly there, running to him, sinking to her knees, ignoring his lack of clothes, wrapping her arms around him, and hugging him, and refusing to let go even though he had to be hurting her with the way he was clinging to her small frame.
"It hurts so bad, Em," he whispered against her neck when he found his voice, hoping she would understand that he wasn't talking about the punches or the broken bones. They hurt as well, but Paul would still choose a million punches to the face if only he never had to think about Jared quite like that again.
If only he never had to feel afraid.
Paul was so tired of feeling afraid. Gods, he had survived so much already, for fuck's sake, so why couldn't his mind stop getting surprised over and over again when shit when south on him?
"I know," she whispered back to him, somehow finding a way to press herself closer, burrowing into his chest until Paul could feel her heartbeat inside his body. "I know, Paul. I know. I know. I know. I know—"
And she went on.
Emily repeated the words. A chant, a prayer, a mind-numbing repetition that carried a whole speech behind them. An apology, if Paul ever heard one.
The tears pooled in his eyes, burning so goddamn much against his skin as they ran down his face and into Emily's hair. They were both soaked at that point, the rain joining the tears and mixing into the river cascading down their bodies.
There was no relief, no catharsis, no explosion of emotions that allowed him a moment of comfort, of respite. No. It was the opposite, somehow. The tears kept running down his face, and Paul could feel his heart shattering into a million pieces as he hugged Emily and prayed it would be enough.
That she would be enough to hold him together and see him through all of this, no matter how unfair it was to put such an expectation on her back. At the moment, it was all Paul could do.
He leaned on her and hoped he wasn't making another mistake. Substituting a brother for a sister, changing the shoulder he cried on for another who would only swerve to hit him as well.
It was stupid.
Paul loved Jared. Loved him before he loved anything thing, anyone else, and that hadn't changed. Couldn't change. And yet, despite the love he felt for his brother he couldn't help the fear that also took a hold of his soul.
Jared could've killed him, and for fuck's sake, Paul was far too young to die. He hadn't even done a handful of the things he had planned to do with Bella, hadn't seen Sam take his head out of his arse and propose, hadn't moved out and built his own place, hadn't held Kim's baby in his arms.
Jared's baby.
His nephew.
Paul would be an uncle, and he hadn't even figured out how to live without breaking into pieces.
"I won't let him hurt you." Emily's voice brought him back to the present. She was speaking louder now, more forcefully. "I won't ever let him hurt you again, Paul. I promise you. He'll have to go through me first. No one will hurt you again. Not while I'm around."
And she sounded so fierce, so sure of her own power, that Paul almost believed that she would, indeed, put herself in harm's way to protect him from his own brother, and yet, beneath all that fire there was also an endless pit of fear.
Emily was afraid for him. Scared for him. She was hurting for what he had gone through, and suddenly, Paul forgot how to act. It was so surprising, so mighty, that it robbed him of words and all he could do was pull back a few inches, looking down enough to see her face.
Her scared, precious face. Her red, tear-soaked face. Her loving, sacred face.
Their eyes met, and the pressure around his middle coiled even tighter because she was hurting so much, feeling so deeply, and sharing compassion for him indiscriminately, and for that, she had his eternal gratitude. Even if he would never say the words out loud and admit the depth of his dept, he hoped she saw a fraction of it swimming in the ocean of his eyes.
"I went looked for every bruise I ever received, Em," he said, and it's the truth. "Don't hurt yourself because of me."
It's clear, looking at her expression, that she strongly disagrees with his assessment, but then Emily had always been biased when it came to them. To the pack. To her family. It shouldn't surprise him that she would choose to view him in a favorable light, however undeserving he may be.
One of her hands found its way to his face, and her fingers trace his cheek, his nose, his jaw. Paul can imagine her picturing the way his face had been before, all broken and out of place, remembering how different he looked when his insides were no longer contained by his skin.
"Someone has to," it's all she said, another single tear running down her cheek. And that's worse than anything she could've said. Emily said it matter factly, as though there's no other possible answer.
As if it's obvious that he needed saving.
"I can take care of myself," Paul argued weakly. He wanted to protest more, to argue against the idea that he's powerless, but that's exactly how he felt at the moment, with gentle fingers mapping his face.
He expects her to deny, to use their current position as proof that he cannot. He waited for her to tell him in no uncertain terms that he was full of bullshit.
Instead, she nodded.
"Yeah, Paul, you can," she said. "You shouldn't have to, though. You deserve someone who will take care of you every now and again. You deserve so much more than pain, Paul. I hope you know that."
Author's Note: Hi?
