fifty-seven

(Leah)

Without counting how many times they stop to ask for directions, Leah and Rachel arrive at the library incident-free and immediately claim an empty table with the sole intention of hiding out for the rest of the afternoon.

Leah, in particular, is in absolutely no hurry to go home. There are still four whole hours to go until the ill-fated nuptials take place, and just the thought of being forced to listen to Seth as he regales every detail of the ceremony is enough to keep her away for the rest of the day. The evening, too, if she can get away with it.

She knows she won't.

Even if she was willing to try, she wouldn't be successful— the library is bound to close at some point; it's just a matter of whether Jacob will find her before it does.

Still, it's nice to dream, and there's no harm in getting comfortable in the meantime, so she puts her feet up and begins lazily flicking through a travel guide that she swiped from the magazine rack on her way in. The pages offer zero advice about her future, however, and she wonders how socially acceptable it would be if she had a nap on the table to get over how unreasonably disappointed she feels by this.

(She should have proposed visiting the nearest bar over the library. Just for purely experimental reasons, of course, to see if they would get carded or not. Who knows, a beer might have offered her more insight.)

Rachel is too occupied to notice Leah's latest dilemma. She is floating along the stacks, running her fingers over the spines of countless titles with a kind of reverence that is reminiscent of the way Billy cares for his fishing rods. Occasionally she brings odd volumes back to the table like a magpie collecting treasure, sharing all her findings with a mix of pride and excitement before taking off in search of the next best thing. She even takes it upon herself to start re-shelving lonely books, seemingly offended that they have been discarded by other people.

When she starts reorganising the Applied Sciences section to her liking, however, muttering to herself all the while, Leah decides it's time to intervene. Before the librarian notices and the library's whole category system can be thrown into complete ruin.

"But I'm bored," Rachel protests as Leah forces her into a chair, "and it would just make more sense if they used the Library of—"

"It's a public library, Rach, not Seattle Central. Nobody cares."

"I care," Rachel fires back hotly. Thankfully there's nobody around to be offended by the volume of her voice except the librarian, who hasn't yet noticed the disarray his books about computer engineering have been left in. "If you're not going to let me have a bit of fun whilst you just sit there and do nothing to fix your problems, then we might as well go home."

"I was rather hoping you'd fix them for me," Leah says, leaning back and opening the travel guide again. "You seem to have found your way around already. Why don't you go and find some self-help books or something."

"You need more than a self-help book," Rachel mutters.

"What was that?"

"Nothing." And then, after a beat: "Are you sure you don't want to go to college?" Rachel whines, pouting like a child who's asking for ice cream before dinner. "We could just skip this and drive straight to WSU. I can set us up in my old apartment. I swear, we'd have so much fun."

Despite knowing the plea is not a serious one (not entirely, anyway; Leah has little doubt that Rachel could have admission committees and landlords eating out the palm of her hand by the end of the day), Leah still earns a glare from the librarian when she groans. Loudly.

"Fine, fine," Rachel says then, "I get it, no college. I'll stop."

Leah rests her chin on her forearm, pointedly ignoring her watch that is ticking down the minutes until five o'clock. "Will you, though?"

Rachel mimes zipping her lips and throwing the key over her shoulder, and she folds her arms.

Alas, she only manages to hold her tongue for a full five minutes before renewing her efforts.

"But just think about it. Please. I could get my masters; you could—"

It's with great effort that Leah suppresses an overwhelming urge to scream. "What happened to 'I know people who didn't go to college and they're doing just fine'?"

"That was me being supportive. This is me trying to tell you that there's more to life on the Rez, Lee. You can't sit around for the rest of your life missing out on opportunities because you're too worried about leaving my stupid brother to his own devices—"

"It's not just that—"

"— or because you've got some kind of weird Stockholm syndrome thing going on with the pack and you think you can't live without them, or—"

"There's more to it than that, Rach!"

"Tell me, then!"

Rachel's shout echoes throughout the library, but Leah allows it to fade, unanswered, even as Rachel glares daggers at her across the table. Her cheeks are flushed pink, her lips pressed together in a thin, hard line, and Leah imagines she looks much the same; she feels her eyes pricking with angry tears, emotion a tight ball in her throat because she can't tell Rachel, not without upsetting her further.

A minute passes.

Two.

It goes against her nature, but Leah is the first to relent, in part because she knows Rachel won't, but also because she doesn't want to be turfed out of the library and forced to find somewhere else to take refuge until five o'clock strikes. (That, and she's not quite ready to face Jacob yet.)

"It's not—" Leah starts. Stops. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Fine," Rachel grumbles, stomping away.

It's easier to let her go than tell her the truth.

There are a whole host of reasons why Leah doesn't want to leave the reservation, not even for something as simple as a campus tour around Rachel's beloved WSU, and there are a dozen more that could explain why she hasn't been truthful about all of them.

Mostly, though, it all comes down to the one thing: she doesn't have the heart to tell Rachel that, although everything she said a few hours ago on the beach remains true (because she is terrified, and she does want to do something with her life that would make her dad proud, but she can't leave Jacob, won't leave Seth), the biggest reason she doesn't want to go to college is because she's more frightened she'll like it too much and won't want to come back. She doesn't want to tell Rachel that her second biggest fear is becoming— well, Rachel.

It's stupid, she knows. She would laugh at herself, if she had in her, and she has a feeling that Rachel would probably do the same. Only, once she was done laughing, Rachel would then likely do absolutely everything in her power to move them both off the reservation, imprint bonds be damned. Leah would even go as far as to say that she wouldn't put it past her sister to spirit them both out of state without so much as a change of underwear packed, all before the pack could catch wind of her plans.

Rachel would probably take her to Hawaii first, she thinks, if only so they could grab Rebecca before fleeing to a country thousands of miles away. A country far, far away, where not even Jacob or Paul could find them, somewhere sunny and warm, somewhere hazardous to all supernatural life, vampires and wolves included. A country that conveniently doesn't have an extradition treaty with the United States— they'd need the safety blanket once Rachel starts committing murder to get them wherever they need to be.

Honestly, going to the moon sounds more plausible.

Leah sighs and goes to find her sister.

The search doesn't take long. She quickly finds Rachel perusing the self-help section at last, plucking books off the shelves and depositing them on the nearest table. There's a stack of titles, from Feel The Fear And Do It Anyway to The Power of Thinking Without Thinking— or, Leah's personal favourite pick of the bunch, The Highly Sensitive Person: How to Thrive When the World Overwhelms You.

Interesting choices.

"Start reading," Rachel orders, a stubborn edge to her voice— one that says no, she doesn't want to talk about it, and no she's not going to apologise.

Leah decides to play along, more than willing to pretend everything is fine between them if it means getting back into Rachel's good books. Rachel's the one with the keys to the car in her pocket, after all, and Leah's only just realised she's forgotten her cell phone. If Rachel decides to leave her, then she's walking.

Add it to the list of reasons that Jacob's going to be mad, a lack of cell phone in her possession being one of them.

On second thoughts, perhaps she should ask Rachel to leave her here anyway. It'll probably be safer.

Leah gingerly reaches for Get Out of Your Own Way and settles in for the long haul, although she only manages to get through a few minutes of disinterested reading until she's interrupted by an absolutely humongous book being dropped onto the table with a noisy thud.

An aggravated huff that is almost as loud immediately follows as Rachel takes a seat at the table. "Do you have a library card?" she asks.

"Funnily enough, I didn't think to pick up my purse before you kidnapped me," Leah replies. Or my cellphone.

"Kidnap," Rachel scoffs. "You gave me directions to get here."

"Jacob won't believe that."

"Oh, I'm so scared of my baby brother. Please."

Rachel reaches for the nearest book on top of the pile she's stacked up and practically wrenches it open, cracking its spine, ignoring Leah's gasp of sheer horror that she has swung from reverence to blasphemy in a matter of minutes.

"No way are we going to get through all of these. I'm going to have to see if I can apply for a card," she complains, as if this is all a terrible inconvenience and entirely Leah's fault. "I've only got my WSU membership with me."

The thought of going home with all these books under their arms and facing the pack, facing Jacob— who is going to be furious enough that she disappeared without an escort for the best part of the day, let alone when he spots the books and (wrongly) assumes she is planning to jump ship and go to college— is enough to make Leah reconsider the whole idea. She's never going to confide in Rachel ever again. Ever.

Damage control is her only option now.

"I haven't decided what I want to do," she says quickly, battling a rising sense of panic. "I'll consider community college, okay? I will. But it won't be like I'm trying to get a scholarship or anything. I haven't even looked at what classes they offer."

"What?" Rachel blinks. "Did you think I was picking all these books out for you?"

"Uh . . . yes?"

"Please. I don't need books— I could write your college application with my eyes closed. Just tell me when you've decided, and I'll do it."

"Oh. Right. So why . . . ?"

The withering look that Rachel serves her with is frightening. Truly. "You're not the only one with problems, Lee."

Fair enough.

Leah scans the titles of the newer books that have been unceremoniously dumped onto their table. "And the answers to your, uh . . . problems are going to be found in Clallam Bay's library, are they?"

Rachel doesn't answer.

"Women Who Run With The Wolves," Leah reads from one book, struggling to contain a laugh. And its subtitle: "Contacting the Power of the Wild Woman." A beat. "Really?"

"Don't even . . ." Rachel waves her hand, a feeble gesture. "Just— don't."

Up against that tone of voice, Leah doesn't even dare raise her eyebrows. Only her hand, which she uses to reach for the next book— Choice and Control in Everyday Life— and eyes with a heavy level of scepticism. "Can I at least ask why?"

The answer is staring her in the face, she knows, but she still wants to hear Rachel say it. They've been avoiding this for three weeks— or, at least, Rachel has been avoiding it. Talking about everything and nothing except the real reason she's stuck around as long as she has, because they all know that she would have left the reservation by now if Paul hadn't imprinted on her. Leah knows it. Jacob knows it. And, more importantly, Rachel knows it.

"Rach, come on."

"What time is the wedding again?" Rachel asks instead, evidently suffering from a bout of selective listening.

"Five o'clock. Why?"

"Go find out what time the library closes," she says then, but not before she yanks Leah's book right out of her hands and threatens to swat her with it. "We're going to be here for a while."

As Leah traipses off to the front desk, grumbling under her breath, she thinks that if women were able to join the pack— properly, with fur and all, not only as imprints— then Rachel would have fought Sam to be the Alpha.

She would have won, too.

Three hours later, Leah's feet are finally back on reservation soil.

Or, more specifically, the concrete of First Beach's parking lot, where she and Rachel have been . . . escorted by one stone-faced Sam and one overly amused Quil.

Sam immediately tasks Quil with keeping both Leah and Rachel within his sights under pain of death. It's either that, a severe beating, or double patrol duty, all of which are extremely possible and should be regarded as seriously as the other.

Says Quil, anyway, who is known for complaining whenever he's tasked with something more strenuous than video gaming. "Don't worry," he tells them once Sam has left to resume patrol with Collin and Brady. "He'll get over it."

"I don't think so," Rachel says doubtfully, locking the Ford Tempo and all her borrowed library books within. (She is now a proud owner of a North Olympic library card.) If she's still a little shaken by almost running down the black horse-sized wolf that had leapt out in front of them on Highway 110, she hides it well.

Leah, however, is still fuming. Raging. It had taken all her self-control to not swing her leg over and stamp her foot on Rachel's so the car would collide with Sam anyway.

(Yes, okay, the Tempo would have taken some serious damage, but it's not as if Sam would have died from his injuries or anything. He'd have been minorly inconvenienced by them, maybe. Incapacitated for a few days at worst. The only reason Leah had stopped herself is because she knew she and Rachel would have taken an even bigger hit, maybe even died, and Jacob would have been more than a little upset.)

"You're really not making this easy for us, you know," Quil tells them as they walk down to the beach, still far too cheerful and far too amused by their antics.

"That's kind of the point," Rachel answers snippily. "We're being treated like prisoners."

Leah nods. "False imprisonment."

"Yeah!" Rachel cries emphatically. "And you're all accomplices!"

Quil only laughs at her. "I mean, if you wanna get eaten by vampires, Rach, then you're free to go. I'm not stopping you. Only Leah and Paul will probably die trying to avenge you—"

"That's what you think," Leah mutters. Honestly. As if a vampire would walk away victorious.

"— and then Jake and Sam will die trying to avenge them," Quil continues, aided by the wild hand gestures he has a habit of making whenever he's being particularly dramatic. "That leaves me and Embry to avenge Jake, because nobody's avenging Sam. But rumour has it that Embry and I share a single brain cell or something— that's what Paul likes to tell everyone, anyway— so we'd just die too—"

(Leah makes a mental note to hit Paul. Hard. She tolerates her cousin's stupid remarks because he's family, and because sometimes he makes her laugh, but she won't stand for cheap insults thrown at her best friends.)

"— and then, before you know it, Jared will be Alpha," Quil says, apparently unable to stomach this idea, "and— well, you get the idea. Do you really want all that blood on your hands?" He stares at Rachel like he's waiting for a Very Serious answer to a Very Serious problem. "The pups would be scarred for the rest of their unnatural life."

"You are . . ." Rachel shakes her head, stunned. "Ridiculous. Is he always this ridiculous?" she asks Leah, who sincerely regrets not giving her sister a more well-rounded education of just how ridiculous certain members of the pack can be.

Her anger momentarily forgotten, she feels nothing but overwhelmingly fond as she reaches up to pat her friend's arm. "Yes, but we like him."

Quil walks a little taller with the compliment, a wide smile on his face.

Ridiculous indeed.

They reach the dunes, then. Leah sobers quickly, any amusement replaced with instantaneous dread at the thought of facing what— or rather, who— is waiting for her on the other side. Jacob is so pissed; she can't even see him and she can already feel his disapproval, has been able to feel it ever since she crossed back over the boundary lines.

Rachel, on the other hand, puffs her chest out and squares her shoulders, exhibiting the air of a dying warrior prepared to meet her maker, and she marches forward, leaving them behind and disappearing over the sandy banks without a backward glance.

A sarcastic remark hovers on the tip of Leah's tongue, something about friendship, but she swallows it. No point antagonising poor Rachel any more than she already has today. No point at all when she's about to face her own maker and might not live to tell the tale.

(Safe to say that she has learned a thing or two from Quil about being dramatic.)

Beside her, Quil loops one of his brawny arms through her elbow. "Ready to face the music, kid?"

"No," she answers.

"Attagirl," he says, and he drags her forward.

First Beach is busy. It's the end of August, and not quite yet five o'clock, which means the sun is still out and that the tourists who only descend upon their home when the weather's nice are making the most of every moment of the summer afternoon.

The pack have picked the least rocky stretch of sand on their beloved beach, a healthy distance away from everyone else, and look as if they have been there for most of the day already— the bonfire is already built, bigger than their last (it's become something of a challenge, a source of pride amongst them), and there are odd items strewn about all over the place: a soccer ball, bundled-up sweatshirts acting as goalposts; water bottles and food containers; blankets and camping chairs, some of which Leah recognises from Jacob's garage. She even spots Billy's beer cooler, clearly borrowed without his permission in his absence and already looking like it's running on empty.

"Party?" she asks mildly.

"Will be at five o'clock," Quil tells her. "Paul has an alarm set on his cell and everything."

That's what she thinks he says, anyway. She wouldn't be able to repeat it, because she's found the person she's been searching for. Everything else can wait.

Unbridled emotion sings across the imprint, all the way from Jacob's end to hers, the intensity of it so forceful that Quil's arm is the only thing holding her up. She is feeling far too much, far too quickly, and for a moment she is struck stupid by it all.

Poor Jacob. She's really put him through the wringer. Today of all days.

She watches as his eyes rove over her, undoubtedly checking that she is in one piece, alive and whole. Distantly, she feels Quil's arm slip away and hears him say— something. She doesn't really know what; she is too focused, too busy feeling along the invisible thread that leads to Jacob and trying to discern all his emotions. It's near impossible for her to pick one feeling that might be more intense than the rest: elation, exasperation, adoration— it's all the same, overwhelming enough that she fleetingly wonders what this would feel like at the source. What it feels like, for him.

Hopefully, in between it all, he is able to sense her guilt, as deep and genuine as it is. She hopes. It's the only thing that might save her from suffering his disappointment after promising that she would stay and wait for Embry.

After long minutes of straining her patience, Jacob finally allows their gazes to meet. They have drifted close enough that she sees his expression flicker, just for a second, something akin to relief crossing his features before suddenly he's locking it all down.

In an instant, he becomes unreadable. Unreadable even to her.

She hates it.

Jacob has always been good at compartmentalising his feelings. He knows how to pack away his hurt, how to keep a lid on his temper so that he can focus— he's had plenty of experience, she knows— and this time it seems he's done such a good job of it that there's just . . . nothing. For the first time in a long time Leah can't tell what he's thinking, the bond between them mute, and that is more worrying than anything else.

She closes the remaining distance between them, leaving only an arm's length. Jacob takes advantage of it almost immediately; his hand reaches out like he wants to touch her, no doubt an automatic reaction to their proximity, but it falls away empty.

That stings a little.

"So, uh," she starts slowly after a steadying breath. "I'm guessing you're either so angry that you've completely short-circuited, or you didn't notice I was gone." A beat. "I'm really hoping it's the latter."

"I noticed," he says. The words come out clipped through clenched teeth.

Shit.

"Oh. Well, no need to worry." She grins, rueful. It is a paltry apology, she knows, but it's worked well for her in the past. "I'm here, I'm perfectly safe."

Jacob nods, though she doesn't get the sense he's doing so because he agrees. "That's what Rachel said to Brady," he tells her, "then quicker than the poor kid could blink, she was speeding off in Dad's car. Took some time to calm him down."

Double shit.

"Your dad or Brady?" she jokes weakly.

Jacob's level stare is no less than she expects.

"And you?" she asks then, more carefully this time.

Leah holds his gaze, refusing to break eye contact first, if only because she knows Rachel would rip her a new one in public if she crumbles now; she'll never live it down if Jacob has her begging for his forgiveness— which, embarrassingly enough, is all she wants to do now that they're reunited.

Jacob shrugs after a moment, all casual, seemingly careless. "I've decided to try this new thing where I don't lose my shit every time you leave the Rez without me."

A fraction of her stress evaporates with his words, the suggestion that this is just an act giving her hope. And though he gives his best attempt to smother his sound of distress towards the end, Leah sees right through him; she hears the poorly hidden note of stress, sees the way his fingers continue to twitch in search of her hand.

A small voice tells her it's unwise to call his bluff. It doesn't take an idiot to recognise the effort he is making to not be That Guy (or rather, That Wolf— the one who needs to keep his imprint within sight at all times, if only for the good of the pack's collective sanity). He's really trying.

She loves him for it.

Still, wisdom is not something Leah has ever claimed to possess in droves, and because she is often running her mouth quicker than the small voice can convince her to think twice, the question flies straight out of her.

"How's that working out for you?" she asks.

Jacob's mouth tightens, almost as if she is amusing but he doesn't want to reward her with a smile. "See for yourself," he says.

He pointedly looks towards the bonfire; Leah follows his gaze to where Embry is sitting cross-legged next to Jared and Kim, sporting a swollen eye whilst cheerfully tucking into a ginormous bag of salted chips. He gives her a cheery wave and mimes blowing her a kiss or four.

She barely notices. All she can see is his blood-stained t-shirt.

Oh, for God's sake.

Leah hopes he had enough sense to push his broken nose back into shape faster than it could heal. He seems okay, but she's not close enough to assess him to her satisfaction.

(She is still haunted by the scene of when Embry last broke his nose. He had spent hours looking as if he'd danced twelve rounds with Mike Tyson— or rather, Paul— and all the bones in his face had been rearranged until Quil procured a mallet from Jacob's garage and offered a solution to the problem.

Thankfully, she had managed to catch her two idiots in the act and pitch a cataclysmic fit before any lasting brain damage could be inflicted, an outburst she privately suspects was triggered by the memory of being forced to listen as Jacob's bones were reset by Doctor Fang. But at least Quil had dropped the mallet and wisely started running for his life.)

"Was that really necessary?" she asks Jacob, a little resigned.

He shrugs again. "It was either that or go pick a fight with a bloodsucker."

A sigh escapes her. "Am I supposed to be grateful for small mercies? A broken nose over a broken treaty?"

"Treaty's already dead," he says, more cavalier about this than usual. He reaches for her, finally, his fingers shackling her wrist as he gently lifts it to check her watch. "Will be in about fifteen minutes, anyway."

"I don't think Edward is going to turn her at the altar, Jake."

"Wouldn't put it past him."

"Jake," she says again.

Her admonishment goes answered. Instead, Jacob lifts her hand higher, up to his shoulder, and it feels as if the dam holding back his emotions crumbles the second her palm curves over his warm skin: he pulls her close, close enough she can feel his rapid heartbeat, the comforting press of his fingers against her back letting her know that he has no intention of letting her go for a while.

Nearby, someone loudly interrupts with a noise of disgust.

A female voice pipes up in agreement with the sentiment. Rachel. "Oh, please, not in public."

"Don't look, then," Jacob calls back before dipping down to steal a kiss. It is extremely easy for Leah to push up on her toes and meet him, the familiarity of the action a balm to the stress she's been carrying all day.

"Does this mean I'm forgiven?" she asks, unable to contain her smile against his lips. Excluding vampires, and maybe his Alpha, Jacob has never been able to hold a grudge for long.

"Thinking about it," he answers, one more kiss bleeding into another, and another. The next breath that escapes him is half a moan, half a sigh, contentment in its purest form, and Leah feels something warm unfurl in her chest. It's all she needs to tell her that she is forgiven.

(If she knows him as well as he thinks she does then Jacob forgave her the moment she walked onto the beach, but she's wise enough to keep that thought to herself.)

"Do you have to do this in front of people?" Rachel cries. They pull apart just in time to see her throw her head back to the sky and give it her most beseeching look. "My best friend, and my little brother. Why? I can barely stand it when they make eyes at each other behind closed doors, let alone— this. All day I've had to put up with her and her moping and her—"

"Shut up, Rachel!" Quil and Embry yell, one a little more good-naturedly than the other. Leah doesn't have to ask who; the rivalry that Embry and Rachel have developed since her return will go down in their histories, as notable as their battle with the redhead's newborn army.

Rachel sticks up her middle finger. Point proven.

Leah laughs into Jacob's chest. He groans into her hair.

"Moping?" he questions after a moment.

"I have no idea what she's talking about."

A jaunty cell phone tune rings out, demanding their attention and preventing anything more to be said.

"Five minutes!" Paul calls out, clapping his hands. "Places, people!"

They all groan, then— except for Leah and Rachel, it seems, who have absolutely no idea what he's talking about. Leah can guess, of course, and thinks she likely wouldn't be far off the mark if she checked her watch again to see that five o'clock is fast approaching, but she's not about to blindly follow any instruction that Paul Lahote gives. She's smarter than that.

"What are we doing?" she asks Jacob.

"Celebrating. Come on," he says, tugging her hand. "He's been waiting for this."

Leah remains firm, too sceptical to move. "For what?"

"You'll like it," he promises. "And he's kind of doing it for you, to cheer you up, so you have to come whether you like it or not."

"Not," she says decisively. Paul's idea of cheering people up is wildly different to anyone else's in the pack and often leaves somebody crying and damn near traumatised— Kim, usually, though it no longer entertains Leah as much as it used to since they have become good friends.

Jacob only laughs, grinning as he tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "You haven't really got a choice, honey. He's been planning his speech all day."

"Speech," she dully repeats.

She wishes Rachel had left her at the library.

At five o'clock on the dot, Paul Lahote lifts his soda can and toasts the end of Bella Swan's humanity.

"Leech lover," he begins sombrely. "May your days be sunny and your nights haunted by wolves. May—"

Leah doesn't hear the rest. She laughs until she almost falls off Jacob's lap and has to beg Paul to start again. Twice she ends up asking him to repeat his performance, and twice she laughs until there are tears running down her face.

"No, no, wait, you gotta get a drink," Paul insists excitedly, inordinately pleased that his hard work has paid off.

He directs a silent demand around the crackling fire to each of his brothers to surrender their drinks. Quil shakes his head and pointedly drains his soda in one gulp, an only child who has never had to share a damn thing in his life. Comparatively, Embry, who is also an only child, is more than happy to hand over his lemonade to Leah, though it's probably got something to do with trying to get back in Jacob's good graces for sleeping through bodyguard duty this morning.

Paul beams. "There you go, Lee. You have to toast, too."

"Pass," she says, wiping her eyes.

"You have to toast!" he insists again, looking for all the world as if she's crushing his dreams by refusing— and that she has the audacity to do it in front of his imprint, too (who Leah suspects is the real reason Paul is going to such lengths to mark this event).

"Raise a drink," he says. "You can give it back to Embry after, if it's the lemonade that's the problem. Oh, ew. Diet lemonade." He wrinkles his nose. "Okay, I can see your issue."

Problem is, the cooler is empty and there's nobody else willing to surrender their sodas or beers. But it doesn't matter, because there is nothing Leah wishes to raise in salute to Bella Swan, not even a hand to wave her goodbye. It's only because Jacob is within earshot that she doesn't utter something uncharitable like The girl ain't dead yet; she has antagonised her boyfriend more than enough over these last six months, almost to breaking point at times, and she's not willing to spoil his good mood.

Paul pouts. "Come on, guys. This is the end of an era! I thought you'd all be happy!"

Leah laughs, because she is happy. Disgustingly so. She leans back against Jacob's chest, able to feel his amusement without even having to check his expression. It's all too easy to picture the smile he's trying to keep hidden, calming to feel his chin resting on top of her head and his arms around her shoulders. It's a warm evening, and warmer with him behind her.

"I'll think we'll be happier when it's all over for good," she says.

"Amen to that," Jared agrees, as tightly wrapped around Kim as Jacob is around Leah.

"Hear, hear," Embry says. Even Rachel nods.

"I'm half-expecting Bella to turn up, personally," Quil chimes in. He sits up with sudden eagerness, scanning the faces around him. "Anyone game for a little—"

"Woah— no. No, no, no. We are not betting on that," Leah says quickly.

"Bet on what?" Rachel asks, interest piqued.

"Whether Bella Swan jilts Cullen at the altar and comes running here in her wedding dress, crying sanctuary." Not even Jacob's warmth is enough to fight off Leah's shudder at the thought. "We're not even going to— to speak that into existence."

Quil grins. "You just did."

Leah jabs a finger in his direction. "No bets," she says with the kind of finality that suggests she's not willing to entertain any arguments about it.

And Jacob, bless him, who is always one step ahead of what she needs, silences any wolves who might be preparing to protest with a single look. Very rarely does he abuse his position as Sam's second-in-command— commendable, really when he can brush off an Alpha's Order as easily as he could take control of the pack— but it seems he'll make an exception this evening.

She squeezes his hand in quiet thanks.

"What about—" Quil starts.

It is no surprise that several voices shout "No!" at the same time, and even less of a surprise that he spends the remainder of the evening sulking about a lost opportunity to make some cash.

(And thankfully, despite any inadvertent manifestation Leah may have participated in, they manage to get through the evening without seeing the white flash of either a bloodsucker or wedding dress.)

(Thank God.)

By the end of it, Leah is eager for August thirteenth to end. For hours she has been impatiently waiting for the news that her family have returned from Forks in one piece, her eyes frequently scanning the beach for the silhouette of her little brother. Seth's appearance will bring confirmation that the day is finally over— that the wedding is finally over— and, with it, a sense of peace they have been anxiously awaiting for months now.

It may strike some people as unhealthy, how she is sort of betting her entire mental wellbeing on the chance that the Cullens will leave Washington as soon as the festivities are over. But Leah has never claimed to be particularly reasonable when it comes to the bloodsuckers and her family's happiness. Jacob's happiness.

If she's entirely truthful, she wants Bella Swan (hopefully Bella Cullen, now) to leave for her honeymoon and then conveniently die in some freak accident. She wants the Cullens to hold a funeral for Bella and then leave Washington forever. She wants her life to begin, to happen the way it always should have. Their life, hers and Jacob's, free of the supernatural bullshit that has dogged their every step for months, without the kind of bullshit that has prevented even the smallest, most normalest of teenager milestones happening.

Really, it's not as if she's asking for much.

If she gets her wish, and the Cullens leave, then Jacob gets his wish, too. He can leave the pack, finish high school, waste his weekends in his garage with their friends; he can do anything he wants— and this time, Sam won't be able to stop him. This time, there won't be any golden-eyed bloodsuckers to hold him back.

Leah can't wait for the day.