Disclaimer: I do not own anything from the collective works of Stephenie Meyer's Twilight Saga

Chapter 35: Secrets, Secrets Are No Fun

Whatever thought had been plaguing Petya's mind the night before, Louisa never found out. By morning, his command of the English language had been restored and he had returned to his regular happy-go-lucky self if only a touch more subdued. Torn between wanting to respect her friend's privacy and her desire to know everyone's business, the majority of the car ride from Forks to Tacoma was an uncharacteristically awkward one. Sure, they sang show tunes and filled each other in on what the other had missed, but there was a nervous undercurrent to their conversation as they danced around the topic they both knew Louisa wanted to discuss.

This was an odd occurrence for the two friends. When Louisa first met Petya, he spoke basic English and she knew nothing of the Russian language. They learned early on in their friendship that it was best to speak plainly with each other instead of using colloquialisms or idioms that wouldn't translate well. As such, they had developed a blunt conversation style which rendered uncomfortable topics neutral and left little that could not be discussed. Massive secrets such as her psychometric abilities and the Cullen's vampirism aside, Louisa didn't know how to keep anything from her oldest friend, and she had assumed the same was for him. So what secret was so big that he felt he couldn't tell her about?

It couldn't be something at home— despite Andrey Yakovlev's gruff and stoic personality, he was nothing if not a loving and devoted father, and Petya thought the world of him. Besides, whatever had disturbed Petya was directly related to what had happened with Tommy Garner the previous night. Was it the fact that Tommy was assaulting of his brother? Or was there something more to it than that? She drummed her fingers against the steering wheel, listening with half an ear as Petya prattled on about a girl he wanted to ask to prom.

"I'm going with Jasper," Louisa replied when Petya asked her about Forks High's (Home of the Spartans!) own end of year dance.

"Must be nice," Petya said, slouching down in his seat. "Having a guaranteed date."

"Yes, well, Emmett got crazy jealous when I asked Rosalie, so I had to settle for my boyfriend instead."

Petya chuckled. "What are you wearing? Do you have a dress yet?"

Louisa opened her mouth to confirm, only to pause. She had picked up (picked up, not tried on, or even looked at) a dress in Portland when she visited Ms Morales with Rosalie. And when she got home, she had forgotten all about the dress when she realised someone had broken into her house. She didn't even know what colour it was. "I guess?"

"Prom is in May and you don't know if you have a dress?" Petya asked dubiously.

"I've had a lot on my mind."

"I can relate to that," he sighed. He launched into his next tale, which involved his father, astrology, and his father's residency at the local A&E, though Louisa wasn't entirely sure how they were connected. She began to tune out her friend's rambling once more, listening more to his voice than his words. She let him continue on for a while, her mind returning to what could be causing her friend so much distress.

Was it the violence he had witnessed? The thought was discarded as quickly as it occurred to her. Petya was a paramedic in a large city. He was no stranger to violence. Was it Tommy's actions against his own brother that had rattled him? But that didn't make any sense either. Petya had frozen the moment they were close enough to see what was happening. Plus, Petya didn't even know Spencer and Tommy were related when they first came across the scene. So it was something that was enough to upset Petya that only required a visual stimulus. (Louisa was tempted to shut her eyes and pull up the memory in her mental library, but considering she was driving a car, it didn't seem appropriate.)

The answer came to her suddenly, and she felt stupid for not having realised it. The baseball bat. Tommy wasn't the only person Petya had seen wield a bat as a weapon. Jason Lambe had done it to them less than a year ago. Petya had claimed he had seen a therapist after the incident, but talking about a traumatic event could only go so far. It wasn't easy to have to relive such a memory. Louisa knew this from experience. She debated the wisdom of making Petya talk about the subject when he clearly was trying to avoid it, but in the end, she found the words tumbling out of her mouth anyway.

"Back in January," she began when there was a lull in the conversation. She made sure to keep her eyes focused on the road, instead of glancing at Petya, as if the confession was easier when you didn't have to look someone in the eyes. "The suspect in the case I was working on sent me a warning."

"The dead bird," Petya interjected. "Dottie told me about it."

"Did she tell you how I reacted?"

"You called the police."

"No," she replied with a shake of her head. "Dot went and got them. I was too busy panicking."

"Over a dead bird?"

"Over the smell," she corrected. "I don't really remember what happened, but Jasper said I had some sort of dissociated episode. I thought I was back—"

"At the warehouse," Petya finished in a small voice. His hands were folded in his lap and Louisa watched out of the corner of her eye as he began to wring them.

She nodded. "I can barely stomach the scent of meat anymore. It's just too similar." He didn't respond and the car fell quiet, with only the heat blasting out of vents to break the silence. "I talk about what happened with Jasper sometimes," she continued. "It helps a little. But he's my boyfriend, not my therapist."

"I'm sure it helps," he said. "I am glad he is able to support you."

"It helps more that I don't remember what happened," she pointed out. "I was unconscious for a lot of the time, I think."

"You were," he agreed. "But you were Lambe's target. Not me. You got the worse treatment."

"I don't think it's really a contest, Petya," Louisa said. "What happened to me doesn't invalidate what happened to you."

"We aren't supposed to talk about what happened," he pointed out. "We can get in trouble and what if Lambe gets off and he does not go to jail and he comes and kills us—"

"Nobody is going to get in trouble, Pyotr," Louisa interjected before he could work himself into hysteria.

"But your father—"

"Doesn't want our testimonies to influence each other. But there is no law that says we can't discuss what happened."

"I don't think I want to talk about it," he said, not unkindly. "Especially not with you."

Louisa tried to not let his words sting. "You're entitled to your privacy," she conceded. "But if you change your mind, I'm willing to listen."

Pyotr was quiet for so long Louisa thought he wasn't going to respond, and she was worried she had pushed him too far. "If you knew what really happened that day," he began with a shuddering breath. "You wouldn't love me anymore."

It was fortunate that the roads were so empty, or else she would have crashed the car at the speed with which she pulled over to the shoulder of the road. She shut off the engine and twisted in her seat to better face her friend. He was hunched over, his face turned to look out the window, wringing his hands so tightly his fingers had turned white. "How can you say that?" she asked, reaching over to pry apart his hands. "What makes you even think that?"

Petya furrowed his brow in frustration and sucked his lips into his mouth, looking furious with himself. He tried to pull away from her, only to sigh heavily when he didn't succeed. "He wanted me… I didn't want to…" Tears began to fill his eyes and Louisa pulled him to her, cradling his head against her shoulder and stroking his dark curls. "I am happy you were unconscious," he whispered, slipping into his native tongue. "To see me as such a coward…"

"You did what you had to do in order to survive," she replied, her voice even and steady, though very much at a loss for what else to say. When she had decided to broach the subject, she hadn't expected her friend to react so violently. What the hell had happened in Seattle?

"Nyet! Nyet!" He said emphatically, shaking his head and pulling away. He squeezed his eyes tight, though it did little to stem the flow of tears. "I was weak. I was so scared. I almost—" he broke off, a sob forcing its way out from deep within his chest, and he pressed his fingers to his lips as if he hoped it would stifle the sound.

She reached forward and pulled his head towards her, pressing their foreheads together. His breath was hot against her face as she forced him to look at her, his dark eyes clouded and full of pain. She felt a familiar stab of pain behind her left ear that always preceded a psychometric vision. It would be so easy to slip into Petya's mind and find caused him so much distress. Not only would she be out of the loop, but she could fix his problems, heal her friend.

The memories were right on the surface, ready for her to sift through. She could taste blood in her mouth from a split lip, the heavy smoke burning her eyes, her nose, his lungs. Panic, dread, terror, raced through his body, his hands shaking, his bones rattling from his sobs. Jason Lambe's smooth tenor vibrating against his back, arms wrapped tightly around him, imprisoning. Words starting as whispers, growing more defined, distinct.

"Pyotr."

No.

Louisa wrenched herself away from her friend, her elbow whacking the steering wheel, setting off the car's horn. She kept her eyes screwed shut and bit down on her lip hard enough to taste blood, willing the echo of Lambe's laughter to recede. She could hear Petya's ragged, hitching breaths despite his attempts to regain his composure.

Guilt flooded through her veins. No matter how good her intentions, she had no right to the information. Using her gift to find her kidnapped sister or solve a decades-old murder was one thing. Stealing information that he didn't want to discuss, just to satisfy her own curiosity was another matter altogether. It wasn't just wrong; stripping away his agency and free will was immoral and cruel. Petya would never force her into revealing her secrets. The fact that she was attempting to do so to him, especially in such a vulnerable state, was disgusting. Predatory. She would not violate her oldest friend's privacy, though she easily could.

Not like this.

It wasn't up for Louisa to decide when Petya should talk about his trauma. He would tell her when he was ready. What he needed, more than anything, though, was a shoulder to cry on. Petya's father was many things, but an affectionate man he was not. Louisa wondered idly when the last time Petya had even been hugged.

Taking a deep breath, Louisa pulled Petya back toward her, tucking his head into the crook of her neck, and wrapped her arms around his shuddering shoulders. She could still feel the memories at the edge of her consciousness, tugging, itching, waiting. It demanded her attention like an angry toddler and battered against her brain like waves against a ship. She bit down on her lip again, fighting the urge to slip back into her friend's mind, and glanced over her his shoulder, towards the dense green forest outside.

Petya let out a heaving gasp, trying to control his body wracking sobs but unable to do so. He kept his arms wrapped around his body as if doing so would help keep himself from coming completely undone. His tears were warm against her skin, soaking into her sweater. He wilted the longer he cried, and Louisa did her best to support his body weight as it which grew heavier as time went on. Louisa continued carding her hand through Petya's hair and whispering comforting words to him. A heavy, almost oppressive calmness settled over the interior of the car, which would have been alarming if it wasn't familiar.

She scanned the treeline, looking for anything out of place. The rain had more or less stopped, though the wind continued to howl, leaving trees swaying and creaking. For a moment, she caught a glimpse of something purple, but it disappeared before she could get a good look at it. Despite her lack of visual evidence, she knew the lessening of Petya's sobs could only be attributed to one thing. Jasper. What he was doing there, or how he even found her was anyone's guess (though Louisa had a sneaking suspicion that Alice had something to do with it), but Louisa wasn't about to complain.

Pulling away from her friend, she wiped his tears away with the pad of her thumb before pressing a kiss to his forehead. "I would never, ever stop loving you," she promised.

"You don't know what happened," he replied through halting breaths.

She shook her head and held him tighter in her arms. "I don't care what you've done, or what you almost did, or what you didn't do," she said. "Who you are in life-threatening situations isn't a reflection of who you are. And even if it was, you are so much more than your worst moments."

"But I—"

"Are a victim. Just like me and all the women he killed." She pulled away so she could look down at his tear-stained face, his dark eyes bloodshot and puffy. "You have no blame in this Petya."

Pyotr look like he wanted to disagree with her but didn't have the energy. He settled for nodding and sinking back down into the front passenger seat, silent for the remainder of the journey. When they finally made it to the block of flats where Petya lived with his father, Louisa walked him to the door, pausing briefly to greet an exhausted-looking Mr Yakolev, who had just returned from a twenty-four-hour shift at the local A&E. After settling Petya back into his home, the two friends parted ways with hugs and promises to text more, now that Mr Collins' communication ban had been lifted.

"It's okay to not be okay, Pyotr," she murmured in his ear before pulling away. "I'll see you soon."

He let out a shaky breath and gave her a weak smile. "Do svedanya."

Walking away from her friend was harder than she thought it would be. Leaving didn't have the uncertainty and heaviness as it did when she moved from Tacoma the previous August, it somehow carried a finality. The mood was sort of sombre and sort of peaceful, like the end of a chapter that didn't end quite the way you expected it to— whilst she felt comforted by the knowledge that there was more to the book, she knew that what would come next would have the potential to change the rest of the story. What would happen and who would be in it, Louisa couldn't even begin to guess. She just hoped that Petya would remain a part of it.

Her car was already running by the time she returned. She slid into the passenger seat, and leaned her head back against the headrest, letting out a heavy sigh. "Thank you, for earlier," she said after several minutes of silence.

Jasper responded by threading their fingers together and raising their conjoined hands to place a kiss to her wrist. With one hand on the steering wheel, Jasper manoeuvred the Prius out of the car park, with a practised ease, and merged into the midday city traffic. The sleeves of his purple shirt were rolled up, exposing his sculpted and scarred forearms, and Louisa watched with fascination when they glimmered in a patch of pale sunlight.

"How long were you following us?"

If Jasper was embarrassed at being caught, he didn't show it. He merely lifted her hand once more and placed another kiss on the inside of her wrist, which Louisa supposed was an answer in and of itself. He drove on in silence (much faster than her original speed), allowing her ample time to gather her thoughts and examine her feelings.

"Am I a bad person?"

"Not particularly," Jasper drawled, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. "Why do you ask?"

If it had been anyone else, Louisa would have been reluctant to share her lapse in judgement earlier when questioning Pyotr. But Jasper, not only had he himself done many morally questionable things, was her boyfriend (but-also-something-more) and therefore was stuck with her and her own morally questionable decisions. As such, she felt comfortable sharing the silent details that Jasper hadn't been privy to during her psychometric jaunt into her best (human) friend's mind. She shared her fears that her powers were growing out of control and she expressed her worry that one day she wouldn't be able to discern how to use it appropriately— if she hadn't already reached that point. She went on to describe the previous night, where she had exposed Theodore's horrible home life, without even knowing his last name. She told him how she had outed Casey Lewis's carefully guarded sexuality for the express purpose of hurting him. And clearly she had no qualms on using it to invade Petya's privacy. Who was next on her metaphorical hit list? Rose? Dottie? Jasper?

"I just worry," she said finally. "I feel like that I have this thing crawling under my skin, and I can't control it. I used my power against Petya so easily, and part of me wanted to use it. It felt almost… good."

Jasper had remained his normal stoic self during all her concerned rantings. "So… you want to practice more?"

"What? Jasper, have you been listening?"

"Of course I was. You said you feel like your power is out of your control."

"No, I didn't!"

"Perhaps not directly," he acquiesced. "But you implied it. You are afraid of your gift. Don't deny it. I can feel it, even now," he stated when she opened her mouth to protest.

Louisa ground her teeth and glared out of her window, trying not to cry. Despite the blunt way he had delivered it, Jasper's assessment of her feelings was correct, and for some reason, that upset her even more. She didn't want to be afraid of what she could do, but she was. She felt like she was a ticking time bomb, waiting for the most inopportune time to slip into someone's or somethings past, completely by chance. But did that mean she wanted to learn how to use her psychometry at will? What if she did learn to control it, and it changed her? What if she started to use it deliberately? What if she hurt people?

"I use my gift on people all the time," Jasper pointed out. "Does that make me a bad person?"

"That's different," she protested, stubbornly refusing to turn her face towards him. "I have the ability to steal people's secrets and—"

"And I don't?" Jasper responded with a chuckle.

"Not like I do. I can crack open someone's brain and read their memories like a book."

Jasper gave her a funny look before he pulled off to the side of the road and turned off the car. He leaned over the centre console, gently turning her to face him. He cradled her face in his hands, his thumbs stroking her prominent cheekbones before pressing a firm kiss to her lips. When he pulled away, he watched her for a moment with an amused, and quite frankly, charming smile. "Tell me an embarrassing story."

"One summer at drama camp, I was cast as the Nurse in our production of Romeo and Juliet, and I completely forgot my lines. For some reason, my brain thought it would be appropriate to start quoting this sketch Catherine Tate did with David Tennant." On some level, Louisa knew she should have been embarrassed by the story spilling out of her mouth, but she truly couldn't find it in her to care. She just wanted to impress Jasper so much, to please him. So words tumbled out of her mouth faster than a professional gymnast, hoping that this story would be enough, but if it wasn't she had more! Whatever he wanted to hear. "So then, not only did I not know my lines, but nobody else knew what to say either, and I was just shouting in this dreadful Cockney accent. And the audience was—"

She was cut off by Jasper's finger, which he pressed to her lips. He raised an eyebrow as if to say, 'See what I mean?', and watched her with a blank, impassive look.

All at once, the overwhelming urge to babble evaporated, leaving her lightheaded. And pissed. "What the actual hell, Jasper?"

"Are you afraid of me?—"

"—was that for?—"

"—do you hate me?—"

"—why would you even—"

"Do you think I'm a bad person now?" he drawled, sounding bored and amused at the same time.

"That wasn't funny," she snapped, pulling away as far as the limited room in the car would allow. He let her go, his yellow eyes almost glowing as he watched her. "You didn't have to do that."

He nodded his head to concede her point, though he didn't look nearly as repentant as she thought he should. "Perhaps not," he said, leaning back in his seat. "But my point still stands: we all have the ability to ruin someone's life. Edward could do it, you could do it, and I could do it. Even Esme has the ability if she were to feel so inclined. Don't think you are so special to be alone with that power. You merely have a different set of tools at your disposal."

Furious because she knew he was correct, Louisa snapped her head away and resumed glaring out the window. She wanted to be angry at him for using his gift against her, though she knew it wouldn't be fair of her to do so when she used hers on him. True, she couldn't control her power as he could, but he was always patient with her, and never made her feel bad when she did invade his privacy. And it wasn't like Jasper was constantly messing with her emotions: when she was upset, he didn't calm her down, even though it was within his power to do so (and probably would've been more comfortable for himself). He always allowed her to feel her own emotions and work through them on her own.

But it still didn't make what he had done any less wrong. Just because he wanted to prove a point didn't mean he had the right to abuse his power against her.

Jasper resumed driving, though the silence that filled the car was much less comfortable than the previous one, and the two sat in stony silence for the rest of the drive. His fingers drummed against the steering wheel in a rare outer sign of agitation, and she wondered if he was fighting the urge to take her hand again. Louisa was glad he didn't. If he had, she might have felt compelled to forgive him, and she really didn't want to let go of her anger just yet. And whilst she couldn't say she relished in fighting with Jasper, the anger was easier to deal with than having to confront her own emotions.

As if he could also read her thoughts and not just her emotions, Jasper finally spoke, his voice gentle yet still infused with that hard, logical edge. "Refusing to practice your gift out of fear of losing control, or what you might do with it, won't make you any less afraid of it."

Perhaps it was bratty of her to turn her head and stare out the window, watching as the scenery melted into her neighbourhood. But the risk of looking petulant didn't stop her from doing it.

Jasper pulled into the driveway of her house and killed the engine. The silence was deafening.

He reached over and placed a hand on top of hers, stilling her from picking at her raw fingers. Part of her wanted to pull away, but another part couldn't help but savour his touch and how it made her skin feel as if was prickling with electricity. Made her feel so alive.

"You are your harshest critic," he said. When his fingers sought out hers, she allowed it, letting him gather up her hand in both of his large ones. She watched out of the corner of her eye and watched as he brought her hand to his lips, shivering when he placed a kiss on her ragged, bleeding cuticles. "And you're not a coward."

When she turned her head towards him, he leaned forward and pressed a firm kiss to her lips. She could taste her blood on his lips. She felt her eyelids flutter closed.

When she opened them, he was gone.

No Stone Left Unturned

Mr Collins knew immediately something was off when he came home and found Louisa playing the little upright piano in the corner. He never could get Louisa to practice when she was younger, so to see her pounding out an aggressive rendition of ABBA's Waterloo on her own volition set off alarm bells in his head. But what really tipped him off that something was wrong was after dinner, when Louisa started washing the dishes without needing to be asked. Even Dorothy recognised something was wrong and made herself scarce the moment she finished eating.

It wasn't Pyotr that had upset her, he assumed. The boy was far too docile and submissive to pick a fight with Louisa. And because of the original language barriers they had encountered, they were used to keeping a cool head, especially given the likely event that one of them would inadvertently insult the other. So he was out. It couldn't have been Dot, either. When those two fought, it had a nasty habit of becoming physical and neither of them appeared to be sporting any injuries. Which meant that it was one of the Cullen kids. Or more specifically, one of the Hale twins. Louisa had been similarly sulky when she and Rosalie had fought back in February, but unless the two had a major falling out, he couldn't imagine Louisa looking so desolate.

Which left Jasper.

Stephen liked his daughter's boyfriend. He was quiet and polite, the fact that he snuck into her room most nights notwithstanding (and yes, he knew all about that, despite Louisa's best efforts at hiding it. The drawer full of his clothes was a dead giveaway). He had a commanding intensity about him, and whilst Stephen found it alarming that Jasper was so devoted to Louisa despite dating for less than six months, he could tell that the young man wanted nothing but the best for her. Did he wish that she was a little older when they met? Sure. But, it wasn't like he had much room to talk. He and Clara had gotten married within a year of meeting, and Louisa had been born not long after that.

Okay, so maybe that wasn't the best example.

He watched the tense set to his daughter's shoulders, and wishing, not for the first time, that Clara was still with him. She was always able to get through Louisa's surly moods and make her open up. He would know, she had done it to him countless times. But Clara wasn't with him anymore, and it was solely on him to help his daughter through this. But how were you supposed to approach the topic of your firstborn's first fight with her first boyfriend?

"You know, your mother had a terrible temper— she had no problem shouting at someone who upset her. Even if it was a simple mistake," Mr Collins said, joining Louisa at the sink. He plucked the plate she had been scrubbing for several minutes out of her hand, pretending he didn't notice how Louisa stilled. "She was a terrible cook. The number of toasters she managed to set on fire was truly astounding."

Louisa still didn't respond, the hot water still spitting out of the tap, though she made no move to turn it off. Stephen reached over and turned it off before resuming drying the plate. "She could hold a grudge until judgement day. She was blunt, audacious, and more than a little melodramatic. Just like someone else I know," he said, bumping his shoulder against Louisa's (when had she gotten so tall?) and tossing her a cheeky smile. "But she was also patient. She was willing to do anything for a friend. She'd give the shirt off her back to a total stranger if they asked. And you could tell her anything, and she wouldn't judge you for it."

The silence that followed was less because he wanted to give her time to contemplate his words and more to do with the fact that he wasn't sure where he was going with his lecture. Whilst he would wager that he was more comfortable with the emotional talk than the average American father (having two daughters had that effect), Clara had always been the true master at talking about feelings. He was better at just fixing their problems. But he couldn't really do that now. Not only did he have no clue what prompted the argument, but Louisa was growing up and she needed to learn how to solve her own problems, as much as it pained him to admit it. All he could do was give his advice and hope she took it into account.

Parenting really sucked sometimes.

"When the person you think you love is perfect, you don't love them. You love the idea of them," he continued at last. "Being in love means see your partner completely and accept who they are: not just the good parts, but their weird, quirky, and bad parts too. Ignoring your partner's flaws sets everyone up for disappointment. One day they will fall off the pedestal you put them on. Nobody is perfect."

Silence reigned once more, and Stephen waited on bated breath, hoping she would talk. What if pushed her too far? Or what if he was off the mark, and she was now confused as well as angry?

"We had an argument," Louisa said at last, confirming his suspicions. "Jasper wants me to do something that I don't feel comfortable with."

"Sex?"

She shook her head, before reaching for the next dirty dish. "There's a… test… that Dr Cullen wants to try. For my… headaches. Jasper thinks I should do it."

Mr Collins tried not to be annoyed that this was the first time he was hearing about any medical tests his daughter may or may not be undergoing and focused on the more immediate problem of said daughter's obvious distress. "Will it help you?"

She shrugged, handing him a pot to dry. "It's experimental. There's really no way of knowing without trying."

Experimental. He was not a fan of the idea of his child being used as a guinea pig for a scientific test. "Is it dangerous?"

"Maybe. I don't know."

"A test that may or may not work, and may or may not be dangerous," he repeated, raising an eyebrow, peering down at his daughter.

She gave him a sheepish look. "It sounds even worse when you say it like that."

"I'm not sure how you can think it doesn't sound bad," Mr Collins pointed out. "Jasper and Dr Cullen want you to do this test?"

"I don't think Dr Cullen has an opinion, either way," Louisa replied. "But Jasper does."

"His heart is in the right place," he said. "I'm sure he worries about you. He loves you very much."

Louisa fiddled with the fork she was holding. "Yeah."

Mr Collins smiled softly and took the utensil from her hands. "Go," he said, jerking his head in the direction of the stairs. "You've had a long day. Just don't go to bed angry."

Louisa gave him a faint smile and kissed him on the cheek before retreating in the direction of her bedroom. He watched her go, a sad sort of longing knotting in his chest, wishing that she was still tiny and was more interested in talking about ladybugs than boyfriends. It was a lot easier to wrap her up in his arms then, back when kisses could fix anything from bruises to hurt feelings. It felt like only yesterday, they were bringing her home from the hospital, as cliched as that sounded. She was so tall now and looked less like a child by the day.

He wished he had had more time with his little Lulu, but he could never regret seeing the strong young woman he and Clara had created.

Later that night, he heard Louisa's husky voice whispering to whom he assumed was Jasper. The theory was quickly affirmed when he caught a snippet of his low drawl. Stephen rolled his eyes. Maturing or not, teens could still be dumbasses. He just hoped she didn't get pregnant. He really wasn't ready to be a grandfather yet.

Love is giving someone the ability to destroy you, but trusting them not to. —Unknown

A/N: Yikes. Jasper and Lou's first real fight. Papa Collins to save the day though. Also, what do you think happened in Seattle? Let me know what you thought, and leave me a comment! -CheckAlexa