*Thought you'd seen the last of me, aye? Well I'm back months later :) I told y'all I'm not giving up on this fic. I have ADHD so I may not be on a schedule...but I'm finishing this thing. Anywho, the reason I haven't updated like I said in my prev chap notes was bc I moved across the country, but I've also been working on a new novel! Btw.. I may or may not be planning to make Golden Hour into a real published series. I totally don't have the previous book planned or anything. Or notes app dedicated to obscure lore. No way, not me.
I'm curious what you guys would think of that tho! Would you wanna read it if it was turned into an actual book w all the Twilight aspect taken out obv.
Ohhhhh, so this chapter was originally like 8k words long but I split it up and I'll torment you some more later. You're prob gonna read this and be pissed this is the chap I dropped after so long but remember, I'm here to make you scream in frustration! #slowburn
pspsps... all your comments have made me so happy. I read them all and cherish them all and they inspire me to keep writing. THANK YOU!
I wanted real human food. Guess you could call me weak. But raw elk meat could never beat a piping hot meal, and I'm not ashamed to admit that. Did that make me less of a wolf and more man, precisely the type of thing I was trying to undo? Maybe.
Oh well.
I haven't been sleeping much, but when I managed to get a few hours, I dreamt of burgers. Specifically, those damn salmon burgers that I've had right over the Canadian border once before. In my dream, they serenaded me to eat them; with little faces and instruments and all. What was I supposed to do? Not listen to them?
Of course not.
And that's how I ended up back in my human form, walking down the side of a highway past the border. This is a prime example of how pathetic human desire is and the lengths one will go to fulfill it.
I got honked at a few times, probably by people thinking I was BigFoot or maybe cause I looked straight-up ridiculous. I wore ill-fitted clothes and shoes that I stole off a clothesline from a farmhouse in Custer. Not a super nice thing to do, but I figured it would've been less nice (and, ya know, illegal) to walk around butt ass naked. It was the lesser of two evils.
The rush hour traffic was hectic; everyone was cutting each other off, desperate to get home. The commotion snapped me back into real life, something I'd forgotten about for the week. I didn't want to keep track of the days of time, but I felt like that was all I had when I was living in solitude under the starry onyx skies. I wasn't used to solely having to listen to my own thoughts. Usually, I had one of the guys distract me or pull me out of my overthinking stints. Maybe Jared would've done something stupid or Sam would've said something to piss me off.
But at night in the forest, I had nothing. Nothing but memories on repeat.
I could've probably found another way besides the highway to get to where I was headed, but my brain wanted to be filled with sound. A Mack truck passed alongside me, holding its horn down, and I welcomed the ringing in my ears.
I still flipped him off, though.
The noise kept my brain busy while I played a gross game of hopscotch, leaping over glass, car parts, and roadkill. It wasn't pleasant, but at least I wasn't sitting on my ass anymore.
I walked off at the next familiar-ish exit, hoping to God it was in the same area where I had the precious salmon burgers. Though I would've settled for anything at that point, as my stomach felt like it was collapsing. One of the more annoying parts of being a wolf was the constant hunger.
I took a shortcut through a patch of unruly forest to have the sights and sounds of White Rock, Canada, welcome me at last.
Quaint, pastel-colored homes with well-kept lawns lined the sidewalks. The collective hum of lawnmowers and the faint smell of superiority lingered in the air.
I strolled down the streets, half expecting to be annoyed by white people with pitch-perfect smiles offering slices of organic, gluten-free apple pie they baked just because "isn't such a lovely day?"
But instead of being annoyed, I appreciated the little suburban beach town.
It was…wholesome.
One of the homes across the street jumped out at me. It was a mint-colored corner house adorned with string lights and beachy decorations. Radio pop music emanated from its open windows. But the two screeching black-haired children hopping around in the lawn's sprinkler stopped me in my tracks. They were carefree and blissful; they didn't have a care in the world.
I couldn't help but smile.
A man and a woman came through the wooden backyard gate in bathing suits to join the kids. Without hesitation, they spun their children around in the chaotic water streams, full-belly laughing with them. When the mother slipped on the sodden lawn, the kids promptly attempted to help her with their tiny fingers. But it was her husband who pulled her up swiftly and asked, "Are you okay, honey?"
I averted my eyes and continued to walk along the pavement.
Yeah, maybe a picket fence house in the burbs was basic and cliche, but that part didn't matter so much. It could've been a box on a beach. I just wanted what they had.
But screw the simple things in life, I guess. Shit's old news. These days it's more about being a billionaire vampire fucker. Now, that was all the rage.
The waves crashing on the shore in the distance reminded me of home, and I felt a pang of guilt thinking of everyone back at La Push. I hoped my Dad was alright; he was tough and could hold his own, but I still felt like a coward. I hoped the guys weren't worried; they would eventually understand.
I speed-walked across the intersection, following the scent of food, which strengthened as I turned the corner. It was definitely familiar, the exact location where I had the salmon burgs, but the restaurant looked entirely different.
The old place I'd been to was a no-thrills shoddy shack; that's how I knew the food would be bomb. In its place now stood a large yellow Victorian-esque beach house with white vertical columns at the entrance. The word 'WAG' was written on the black awning. Nothing about it looked like a place to eat anymore, but the wafting scent of steak didn't lie.
I hesitated at the entrance after two couples in cocktail attire exited. In the reflection of the closing glass door, I examined my laughable outfit. The white t-shirt, streaked with dirt, swelled around my biceps and exposed a bit of my midriff. The grass-stained jeans were a better fit, but they still looked stupid paired with the insanely tight Nike high tops I had to cut open to fit my feet.
Worst they could do was kick me out, right?
I shrugged and made my way inside.
Upon entering, the scent of meat had me close to salivating. It took a lot of restraint not to take the tray of food out of the passing waitress's hand, but I figured I'd done enough stealing for the day.
The walls were plastered with all sorts of beach decor, making it look like a local yard sale had thrown up on them.
Behind her podium, the hostess eyed me up and down, but she smiled instead of saying anything rude.
"Hi, sir. Do you have a reservation?"
"I do not, no."
"Alright, are you here to sit at the bar?"
"Uh, yeah, that works. Can I get food at the bar?"
Her smile then met her eyes. "Yes, here." She handed me a laminated menu. "There's the indoor bar behind me or the one outside, through the back door to the left."
"Sweet."
"Enjoy."
The inside felt cramped since it was packed with other well-dressed groups of people, so I went outside, where it was less occupied. Heat lamps and stone fireplaces were scattered about the patio, which made it warmer than I wanted. A few families with kids sat at the white-clothed tables while women sat on the couches, sipping cocktails, making the atmosphere much more relaxed.
I plopped on a backless leather stool at the far left end of the bar. Men who were dressed down drank beer, picked on chicken wings, and conversed loudly next to me, paying me no mind.
I threw my hair up in a bun while scanning the menu titled WASHINGTON AVENUE GRILL.
Couldn't escape the goddamn state of Washington if I tried.
Also, to my disappointment, they didn't have salmon burgers on their menu.
"Can I get you something?" the bartender asked, stretching across the wooden top to hear me over the men's banter.
What better time to try alcohol?
I peered at the bottles behind him, and the first one that jumped out at me was a label that read Johnny Walker Black.
"Yeah, I'll get an old fashioned," I answered as if I'd ordered it a million times, hoping he wouldn't ask for an ID.
He nodded, immediately fetching a glass and filling it with ice and whiskey and whatever else went into one of those.
I sighed in relief.
Shortly after the bartender placed my drink in front of me, a waitress came by and took my order of two Wagyu burgers with a couple of sides.
Curiously, I stirred the drink with my finger and took a small sip. I was pleasantly surprised by the sweet taste that lingered on my tongue. It wasn't at all how I expected alcohol to taste.
"Hi there," called a voice from behind me.
I turned around to see a young woman in a knee-length white sundress standing a few steps back. Her long brown hair, flowing wild in the salty breeze, cascaded down to her waist. Though she wore sunglasses, I could tell she was staring intently at me.
"Is anyone sitting there?" she asked, pointing to the seat beside me. Her lavender fingernails looked sharp and glued on.
"No, go for it."
She awkwardly climbed onto the stool, adjusting her dress underneath her.
"Thanks."
I focused on the melting ice in my glass.
When she ordered her drink, the bartender didn't request her ID, which was odd since she looked to be about 18 or 19.
I slugged down the rest of the contents from my glass, ice and all. The whiskey gave me a buzz for a few seconds, but it probably wasn't possible to get drunk. I'd likely need 20 of them to feel anything longer than 30 minutes. Didn't think my liver would like that very much though.
"I like your style," the girl said. But I had no idea she was talking to me until I saw her facing me in my peripheral.
I snorted. "What?"
"Your style, I like it. Not abiding by a dress code and all."
"Can't tell if that's a backhanded compliment, but thanks."
She giggled. "No, I mean it. Do you know how tired I am of seeing men in boat shoes and khakis?"
I couldn't hold back my laugh. "Alright, makes sense."
The bartender slid a bizarre purple drink to her. It looked like a witch's potion with its leafy sprigs and fruits hanging over the rim.
"The hell is that?" I asked.
"It's called a Purple People Eater. I had it once at a Halloween party, and now I'm addicted."
"Interesting choice."
"With a fun name," she chirped.
"It kinda matches those talons you got on," I pointed out.
She sucked on the straw and playfully clinked her nails on the glass.
"That's the point. You have an eye for details."
"Guess so."
"Wanna try it? It's super sweet." She held the glass up in my direction.
"Uh, no thanks," I said, slightly leaning away.
"Hm. I take it you're into more manly drinks anyway."
"Manly drinks…"
"Whiskey, beer, you know. You're all rugged and stuff."
"I see."
Canadians were fucking weird.
"And you look pretty tough, like you must work out a ton. Do you?" Her gaze trailed up and down my arms.
"Not really," I muttered.
I fiddled with a straw wrapper, focusing on turning it into a mini bow.
Was this girl seriously hitting on me? My paranoid ass couldn't help but feel like someone was setting me up. Possibly the leech paid her to come talk to me or some shit. I wouldn't put it past him to do something like that.
Once the waitress dropped off my food, I scooted my seat further away from her and dug in instantly. Everything around me faded away, and I only cared about the fatty sustenance soon to be in my stomach.
I ate like a pig, but she kept going.
"Are you new in town?" she asked.
"Nah, I'm just passing through," I replied, licking the burger juices off my fingers.
"Figured. That's a shame."
"Oh?"
"Where are you from then?"
"Vancouver," I lied.
"Oh! Not too far, then. I thought for sure you'd be from America."
I ordered another drink and tapped my foot impatiently.
The crowd of men at the bar got rowdier, which I was thankful for.
"So you came down to enjoy the beach?" She asked.
"It's summer, after all," I said with a mouth full of food.
"A beautiful one at that." She turned around to gaze at the ocean in the distance. "That's the one plus of living here, I'd say. But Vancouver has some nice beaches, too. Maybe I'll visit soon."
I focused on my potato wedges.
"When are you headed back?" she asked.
I shrugged and shoveled the potatoes slathered in ketchup in my mouth. It was easier to tune her out when the food was so good.
Until she scooted closer next to me.
I looked at her then, swallowing.
She rested her sunglasses atop her head and stared deeply into my eyes, not blinking.
"You have nice eyes," she murmured.
"They're just brown," I said, pulling away again.
"Well, so are mine. You don't think mine are nice?" she gasped sarcastically, putting her hand over her chest.
I wanted to look away, but I caught myself.
Why?
Why was I so afraid of other women when, really, I should be moving on anyway? I'd never be ready for someone new. Better to get it over with and rip it off like a bandaid. Gotta start somewhere, right?
But then I remembered that there was something that could take it all away, all the pain.
If I found my imprint.
Would it be fair to be with another woman unless it was my imprint? No. I knew that. But if it was my imprint, Bella would never cross my mind again.
My guard dropped, and I stared harder into the strange girl's eyes, waiting.
Waiting for all the strings to snip away, for all the agony to diminish. Thinking that only one look could make it all go away was electrifying, something I could get addicted to.
I could start a whole other life, fresh and far away from the horrors I'd left in the goddamn state of Washington.
I could be free.
But defeat crept in the longer I stared into her eyes.
Cause I felt fucking nothing.
Was this what I had to do? Go around to random towns all around the world and stare into a woman's eyes to sever this pain? If that's what I had to do, I'd do it.
I wasn't desperate to be with someone, but I was desperate not to feel like this anymore.
"Y-you're intense, huh?" she said, her cheeks turning a shade of pink, and I hated it. I hated what it reminded me of.
I looked down at my near-empty mess of a plate.
"Sorry," I said.
I sprung out of the stool, shoving the rest of the food in my mouth, and threw the only 100 I had to the bartender.
"Keep the change." I didn't want any excuse to need to be in my human form again. Elk meat would have to suffice.
"Hey, what-" the girl started to say, but I stormed away before she could finish.
I felt all the patron's eyes on me as I pushed through the door back into the restaurant.
Upon locating the bathroom upstairs, I stayed in the stall long enough to calm the hell down.
—
After making 28 toilet paper bows in the bathroom stall, I figured it was clear to leave. I barreled out of the restaurant feeling refreshed and digested. Cautiously, I peered around the packed lot and was relieved when I saw no one. I slunk past the cars, occupied with the changing violet and pink sky. An airplane twisted through the thick, orange clouds, leaving a trail of white behind. The temperature was slightly dropping while the sun did.
The peace was disturbed by a loud car engine failing to start in the corner of the lot.
A couple of inches from the sidewalk, I heard a muffled female yell. I looked and saw the girl hitting her steering wheel in frustration.
I should've kept walking, but I idled a couple seconds too late, and she already saw me. She waved me down frantically, climbing out of the driver's door.
"Hey!" she called out.
Someone else would eventually show up to help her, right? Did it have to be me? I could tell her I had to head back to Vancouver ASAP.
"Please, please, can you help me out here? This stupid thing won't start!" she cried.
It made a little more sense now if the bloodsucker paid the chick. He could've told her I was good with cars. But if so, she sure was committing to the bit since the car sounded shot. Maybe he promised to buy her a new one.
She deserved the money because she looked like she would cry, standing behind the burgundy Jeep Grand Cherokee.
I was being paranoid and I really almost walked away. But I didn't because I'd seen too many Dateline shows to know that criminals often took advantage of situations like these.
"I just need to get home," she said.
I sighed and crossed the lot. It'd probably be a quick fix.
"Hey, hey. Relax," I called out to her as she pouted.
She wiped her defeated face and came around to the car's hood.
"It won't start," she stated.
"I can see that."
Flakes of rust shed everywhere as I propped up the hood. The thing had to be old. The engine bay was a wreck, infested with oil-soaked leaves and twigs.
I checked to see if any spark plug wires were loose, but everything seemed okay. Since I knew the engine was at least getting some spark, I searched for anything wrong with the fuel delivery system. Everything looked good on the fuel rails, but I noticed the fuse box cover was loose. I took it off and saw a couple of relays that must've worked their way out of place, so I pushed them back in.
"Do you want me to try to start it again?" she asked.
"No."
I went around her and ducked into the driver's seat, where a much worse issue was discovered. I put my foot on the pedal and got the car to start, but the pedal went all the way to the floor. The car was a death trap.
She clapped excitedly once she heard the revving engine.
"When was the last time you got anything fixed on this thing?" I asked out the open window.
"I-I don't know. A while. I was told it'd be too much in repairs to be worth it," she called over the roaring engine.
"This thing shouldn't be driven. It's running now, but you need to bring it to a shop before you drive it again."
"I need to drive it, though, especially now! I have a sort of long drive this week."
"Well, take it in, or you'll need another ride."
"But what's wrong with it?" she asked.
"A lot. It wasn't running cause something was loose. But two main things need to be addressed. Your brake pedal goes all the way to the floor, making the car a death trap. And I think I saw a squirrel nest behind your alternator, which is no bueno. Those fuckers will chew on all the wires they can get their teeth on. Get that all fixed, and you'll be good for now."
"Are you a mechanic?" She inched closer to the window.
"Something like that."
"Do you think you could help me? I really need to do the drive this week, "she pleaded.
"I gotta get back. Find a shop around here and tell them what I said."
"Please, I can't afford that right now. Could you do the main fixes? The main thingy, whatever you said, and the squirrel nest?"
I rubbed my temple. The girl was obviously careless if she'd been driving the piece of shit for so long. I couldn't have that guilt on me if she was the victim of a car wreck.
"I'd need some tools."
"I have! My dad left a ton in the garage."
"And he can't fix this for you?"
She looked away. "No, he's not around."
I sighed. "Alright, l'll drive.
She got in the passenger seat and directed me a couple of blocks away. The thing drove like shit. It rattled and felt like it would lose control if I even slightly accelerated–it was a relief to park it.
"I really appreciate you doing this," she said as I pulled in front of her dark blue house.
"No prob." I slid out of the car and with no time to waste, I popped up the hood. She retrieved a red toolbox from the garage and set it by my feet.
"Your shoes…"
"Yeah, don't ask," I snorted.
There was indeed an old, disgusting squirrel nest behind the accelerator that I pulled out bit by bit. There was a pungent scent of rot coming from it, but I luckily didn't see any dead animals. I plucked out all the oily leaves, adding them to the nasty pile on the floor.
The girl dragged two white lawn chairs from her backyard, placing them against the side of her house, parallel to where I stood. With a blanket wrapped around her, she sat crisscrossed in one of the chairs.
"Where'd you learn to do all this?" she asked.
"Just messing around with cars, bikes, whatever my whole life."
"So it's your job?"
"No."
"You should start your own shop or something!"
"Maybe."
I scoured the toolbox for a wrench to tighten a couple of things.
"Why not? A lot of people are clueless when it comes to this stuff, you'd never go out of business."
"Yeah, but sometimes money ruins it."
"What do you mean?"
"Like if you have a hobby you enjoy, making money off it can suck the fun out of it."
"Hm. True. But you wouldn't need a boss or anything. You could make all your own hours and everything."
"Shit," I muttered to myself when a jutted edge sliced my finger right open. Blood spurted out onto the rusty old engine bay, soaking in with some remaining leaves.
Instinctively, I covered it with my other hand, hoping she didn't see it miraculously heal in seconds.
"You okay? Did you hurt yourself?" she asked, half rising from her seat, trying to get a look.
"No, no, sit, I'm fine."
"Are you sure?" She got up and stepped over to me.
"I said I'm fine, goddamnit!" I shooed her away, and she sat back down. The cut completely healed over–it looked as if nothing happened.
"Sorry," she whispered, her eyeswide with fear.
I clicked my tongue.
"Sorry. I didn't mean to yell at you. I'm just trying to focus."
"I can leave…"
"No, it's fine. I'm sorry. Stay."
—-
When everything was said and done, I closed the hood and ran some tests. The engine bay was nice and cleaned out and the brake pedal was fixed.
"It'll be good for a couple months, but you oughta get something else soon," I said, breaking the silence.
She stayed in the lawn chair, fidgeting with her fingers.
"Thanks again. Can I pay you a little something?"
I almost said yes, cause goddamn I wanted more real food, but I refused it when she pulled out three crumpled up 20's from her back pocket.
"Could I get you a beer then? Are you in a rush to leave?" she asked.
"I mean, sort of…"
"Come on, that was a lot of work. Please?"
I felt bad for the way I yelled at her so I sunk down into the plastic chair next to her; it felt like it could've snapped from my weight.
She beamed, jumping out of her seat.
"I'll be right back."
I tried to mirror her smile, but I wasn't sure it looked genuine.
The watercolor sky grew dark and the chirping crickets became too loud to ignore.
She returned to the side of the house with two beers in her hand.
"Thanks," I said as she tossed one to me.
She grinned as she struggled with the cap.
"Cheers," she clinked her bottle to mine.
"Cheers," I said as my stomach sank at lurking memories.
"What's your name, by the way? I'm sorry I didn't ask earlier, I was going to, but you left," she asked, taking a swig.
"Jacob."
"I'm Elizabeth."
"Cool."
"Mhm."
An automatic light flickered on above her head, distorting her features to look softer.
"How old are you? I notice you didn't get ID'd back at that place."
"Oh, yeah, they don't care. You'd think a nicer place would, but nope! Never got ID'd there. I'm 19, you?"
"21," I lied, taking a swig of the hoppy bitter drink.
Lightning bugs fluttered around the concrete driveway, dipping in and out of the small patches of grass.
"Can I say something?" she asked.
I nodded slowly.
"You're very, very good looking," she hid behind her beer bottle, bashfully. "And really good at what you do."
"Ah. Thanks."
I started to panic a little. And it was stupid. Why couldn't I accept the damn compliment and not feel afraid? Not feel like I was betraying someone?
"Do you have a girlfriend or something?"
The question felt like a knife to the heart.
"I don't, no."
"So you're just.. reserved?"
"With strangers."
"Sorry, that's true. I guess I'm used to guys immediately coming onto me first and what not."
"I don't really do that."
"I can tell. I think that's why I was drawn to you. Can I say something else?"
I nodded.
"I'm sort of happy my car broke down again."
"That shouldn't make you happy. The thing's dangerous."
She laughed. "I know, I know. I mean, I'm happy it broke down because, well, when you ran out of the bar, I thought I said something wrong. But I didn't, right? Otherwise, I don't think you'd help me."
I chugged the beer.
"I'm sorry if I said anything weird. I just think you're really cool," she said shyly.
"No, you didn't say anything wrong. Don't worry about it."
"So why did you leave like that?"
I bit my lip, trying to not say the wrong thing.
"I guess I have a lot going on right now, you know?" I admitted.
"Oh. Well, yes, I think I do know." She eyed her home up and down, pursing her lips. "I do too. Things haven't been too easy around here."
It was strange that no one else was at her house by this time. Was it just her dad and her?
"But, so, do you want to talk about it?" She asked, peering up at me like a lost puppy.
"Not really," I answered, rising out of the chair. "Look, I'd better get going now."
"Wait a sec, is your car back in the lot of Washingtons?"
"Um, no." I slipped my empty beer bottle in the recycle bin against the house.
"Where is it? Do you want me to take you to it?"
"No, no, it's not here, it's at the shop."
"Why? Couldn't you have fixed it yourself? How'd you even get here then?" she asked, perplexed.
I could have said anything else and it would've been more believable.
"A friend dropped me," I answered.
"Oh, wait a sec before you go." She held up her pointer finger. "Wait." She darted into the house again. And again, I should've walked away, but it was a little late for that.
She came back out with her hands behind her back, blushing.
"Here," she handed me a post-it note. "It's my phone number. I'd really, really like to see you again."
"I uh-"
"Or I don't know, maybe I could help you get some customers in the area. I know a lot of the people in town. I know you don't do it for money, but it's the least I could do for you helping me today."
I almost told her to not waste her time, to go bother some other dude but I decided to keep my mouth shut.
"Okay. Have a good night." I backed away, hands in pocket.
"Goodnight, Jacob!"
I turned around on one foot and started down the street.
Who was this girl, and why the hell was she so into me?
When I was a couple blocks over, I approached a pink house that had its garbage pail at the end of the driveway. I pulled out the post-it note and read the number a few times. I dangled the purple piece of paper over the rim.
My heart instructed me to tear it up into pieces and throw it out. It also told me to run back home, to let everyone know I was alive. To hug my dad. To join my brothers again. To go to Bella's and see if she changed her mind.
My head told me to quit dreaming and phase. To go back to the woods and stick to my plan. To suck it up and let time heal the wounds. To live as a wolf and be free.
But I didn't listen to either my head or my heart.
I slipped the post-it note back into my pocket, jogging out of Elizabeth's neighborhood, past the mint house with the children, past the restaurant that used to be a shack. I kept jogging. All on two legs.