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thomaswarren · 6 years

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Manhattan , NYC .

There’s nothing like summer in the city Someone under stress meets someone looking pretty // @tessamontiero

September . 2014 .

The living room was in a state of complete disorder — appropriately, though unintentionally, in keeping with the general theme descended over the house. Crafting paraphernalia was strewn over almost every inch of the coffee table’s blank surface area ( — blank by no means implying unoccupied, which was to say Tom hadn’t removed any of his three two roommate’s belongings from the table before unloading his own project atop them ). Scissors, sharpies, tape dispensers, multiple bottles of glue and applicators, matte stickers inscribed with Velocity’s glossy logo, and a cardboard box of brown tinted glassware. All of it, supposedly, conducive to achieving one goal: what method of relabelling beer bottles worked best. He’d been absorbed with the task since late morning — an unplanned trajectory, set in motion after a vague attempt at reorganizing the inventory stored on the dangerously teetering Ikea shelving unit in the garage — when he uncovered a jarring reminder, a frozen moment in time neatly tucked away awaiting his unfortunate re-discovery: a box of unused bottles of varying sizes still in their prototype phase. Indicators the collection had once been handled by two amateur pairs of overly eager hands was strikingly evident; first edition versions of labels stuck on at peculiar angles, colors too saturated from being stored away, the occasional rosette of smudged ink from rogue splashes of spilled beer, handwriting that wasn’t his. He knew the options for proceeding were to remove and replace the old remnants, or leave it all untouched. There was little appeal to be scoured from either. A lose-lose. Yet, equipped with a refreshed interest to actively reprieve himself from any expanse of free time, under the guise of productivity, any qualms he had with managing such a hefty dose of tediousness went forcibly overlooked.

His craving for occupation, and the lengths he was willing to go to find one, went hand in hand with the uncharacteristically meticulous manner he’d begun to exhibit in fulfilling even the plainest of duties. Anything to over-complicate and create more to do — the precise opposite of what was the priority had been just a couple months prior. There was a time ( six years, but who was counting? ) he would have lazily avoided touching anything, in any situation, not deemed red alert necessary. No longer could Tom protest offering input on the brewery’s aesthetics department, suddenly given no choice but to fill the abandoned shoes left behind. It was all his department now, pressing him with new sense of responsibility that surpassed the easygoing freedom of the business’ pleasant beginnings. A time where she was good at this, he was good at that — when they’d simply do what suited them best, avoided the rest, and meet in the middle later. Tom had figured it safe to assume there would be a month’s worth of e-mails to deal with upon his return to the house. Alas, Jay had responsibly kept anything from getting too out of hand, leaving there no backorders for Tom to fulfil. The break it provided was an unwelcome one. It was impossible to ignore the fact that the peak of summer had come and gone, knocking the demand for purchase from high to average.

August left him to his own devices in a place separated from home. Calendar dates had trickled by with little differentiation to identify one day significantly from the next. The diminishing color and swelling of souvenir cuts and bruises had been the only reliable passage of time he’d paid attention to. Having officially heaved his body out of it’s necessitated hiatus and healed from the majority of the surface level abrasions foolishly acquired ( save for two: a faint lingering scarlet colored line of an inch long at his left temple and a thumbnail sized crescent moon by the bridge of his nose ) Tom intended to resume his distraction-seeking quest as soon as possible. Hauling the box of miscellaneous empty vessels out of the garage and into the communal living room wasn’t a practical decision, by any means. The garage ought to have sufficed, with its large workbenches already dedicated to all things brewery related. That was the whole reason they’d he’d set up everything in the garage — to keep the business separate from the home. Never mix business and pleasure, they’d said. Shut the fuck up, he’d said. Regardless of how he had or hadn’t obliged, in the end, it made no difference. Considering what the outer building signified ( moreover, what it no longer did ), Tom’s visits to garage dramatically subsided in frequency. His regular span of invested hours spent there ceasing to sporadic minutes, divided unequally throughout the week. Alternatively, the privacy of his room might have worked for setting up in — but where the garage was suffocating, his room comprised of too much space. Both locations remained inappropriately, maddeningly, evocative. Off limits unless the predetermined reasons for venturing into either outweighed the stupidly sentimental tug at the back of his brain; of wandering into either familiar room with expectations attached to who he’d find there. So, logically — inconveniently — the living room it was.

Tom sat on the floor leaned against the armchair behind him, a growler currently in the middle of label dismantlement braced between his knees. He had his phone beside him, aimlessly cycling between a variety of playlists; the white wire of plugged-in headphones running up to one of his ears, the second earbud hanging down loosely over his exposed shoulder. Though his hands were sufficiently busied, he knew without something to drown out the surrounding quiet his thoughts would be susceptible to wandering in the wrong direction. Jay had left early that morning. Tom had been awake ( correction: hadn’t gone to sleep at all — a restless cycle yet to be stunted ) to hear him shuffling around the kitchen before heading off to who-knows-where to do who-knows-what all day. Tom had briefly considered intercepting, to make an effort to prove he wasn’t on the unsteady ground his recent behaviors contrarily illustrated, but in knowing it would take action over words to do the convincing, and in no mood to employ any acting skills of an even mediocre quality, it was a lost cause. Next week will be better. As if that hadn’t been the running mantra for several weeks already. Where Tessa could be found he hadn’t the slightest idea either, but that wasn’t exactly a new development.

Head bowed slightly, brow furrowed with concentration, he patiently worked away at prying off what remained stuck to the glass surface in front of him, only succeeding at stripping off thin ribbons of lettering at a time, disarming T’s and turning V’s into punctuating forward slashes. After successfully removing at least ¾ of what had been and steadily attaching an updated label overtop with a variant of adhesive, the slow process was repeated. All, of the half dozen bottles so far adjusted, had left behind traces of a tacky film that would need soap and water and steel wool to fully remove. In theory. Proving that much was true by going all out deep-clean perfectionist was pushing it. He wasn’t that desperate to have something to do. Yet. He’d test his luck with the dishwasher first.

Among the mess, far less to do with creativity and more to do with an unbreakable habit, two bottles sat within his reach at the edge of the table; one drained, the other a half full. A chocolate stout from a local company he wasn’t familiar with. Bought on a somewhat sacrilegious whim just a week earlier, paired with his reappearance. The opposite of a house-warming gift. Light glinted off of the duo of containers, the window behind him pushed open to allow sun rays an unobstructed angle to filter in through. A few hours ago, opening the window wide had merely been a means of circulating the stagnant air of the room. Then, without closure, correlating with the afternoon sun, the borderline uncomfortable stuffy feeling had returned. Still, he’d neglected to stand up to close it. Forgotten. Uncaring toward the occasional warm breeze carried across the room, disturbing the semi-neat piles of discarded materials he’d so far balled up and tossed onto the table. Only watching, through fleeting impassive glances, as more and more lightweight scraps were blown onto the ground over time. He’d fix it later ( he wouldn’t ).

#hamilton's Say No To This made me do it.#tessa

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gaysparklepires · 7 years

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16. Closure

At that moment, my head broke the surface.

I was completely disoriented. I’d been sure I was sinking.

The current wouldn’t let up. It was slamming me against more rocks; they beat against the center of my back sharply, rhythmically, pushing the water from my lungs. It gushed out in amazing volume, absolute torrents pouring from my mouth and nose. The salt burned and my lungs burned and my throat was too full of water to catch a breath and the rocks were hurting my back. Somehow I stayed in one place, though the waves still heaved around me. I couldn’t see anything but water everywhere, reaching for my face.

“Breath!” a voice, wild with anxiety, ordered, and I felt a sudden rush of relief—because it wasn’t Edward’s.

I could not obey, though. The waterfall pouring from my mouth didn’t stop long enough for me to catch a breath. The black, icy water filled my chest, burning.

The rock smacked into my back again, right between my shoulder blades, and another volley of water choked its way out of my lungs.

“Breath, Beau! C’mon!” Jacob begged.

Black spots bloomed across my vision, getting wider and wider, blocking out the light.

The rock struck me again.

The rock wasn’t cold like the water; it was hot on my skin. I realized it was Jacob’s hand, trying to beat the water from my lungs. The iron bar that had dragged me from the sea was also… warm… My head whirled, the black spots covered everything….

I wasn’t dying. I had survived. Somehow, idiot Beau Swan had jumped off a cliff and survived. Ha, take that, Edward. If I wasn’t still so disoriented I would have chuckled. The sound of the crashing waves faded into the black and became a quiet, even whoosh that sounded like it was coming from the inside of my ears….

“Beau?” Jacob asked, his voice still tense but not as wild as before. “Beau, babe, can you hear me?”

The contents of my head swished and rolled sickeningly, like they’d joined the rough water….

“How long has he been unconscious?” someone else asked.

The voice that was not Jacob’s startled me, jarred me into a more focused awareness.

I realized that I was still. There was no tug of the current on me—the heaving was inside my head. The surface under me was flat and motionless. It felt grainy against my bare arms.

“I don’t know,” Jacob reported, still frantic. His voice was very close. Hands—so warm they had to be his—ran through my wet hair, and along my cheeks. “A few minutes? It didn’t take long to tow him to the beach.”

The quiet whooshing inside my ears was not the waves—it was the air moving in and out of my lungs again. Each breath burned—the passageways were as raw as if I’d scrubbed them out with steel wool. But I was breathing.

And I was freezing. A thousand sharp, icy beads were striking my face and arms, making the cold worse.

“He’s breathing. He’ll come around. We should get him out of the cold, though. I don’t like the color he’s turning…” I recognized Sam’s voice this time.

“You think it’s okay to move him?”

“He didn’t hurt his back or anything when he fell?”

“I don’t know.”

They hesitated.

I tried to open my eyes. It took me a minute, but then I could see the dark, purple clouds, flinging the freezing rain down at me. “Jake?” I croaked.

Jacob’s face blocked out the sky. “Oh!” he gasped, relief washing over his features. His eyes were wet, I hoped, from the rain and not from tears over me.

“Oh, Beau! Are you okay? Can you hear me? Do you hurt anywhere?”

“J-just m-my throat,” I stuttered, my lips quivering from the cold.

“Let’s get you out of here, then,” Jacob said. He slid his arms under me and lifted me without effort, like picking up an empty box. His chest was bare and warm; he hunched his shoulders to keep the rain of me. I curled up into him, nestling my head against his chest.

“You got him?” I heard Sam ask.

“Yeah, I’ll take it from here. Get back to the hospital. I’ll join you later. Thanks, Sam.”

My head was still rolling. None of his words sunk in at first. Sam didn’t answer. There was no sound, and I wondered if he was already gone. I strained to lift my head and look back over Jacob’s shoulder.

The water licked and writhed up the sand after us as Jacob carried me away, like it was angry that I’d escaped. As I stared wearily, a spark of color caught my unfocused eyes—a small flash of fire was dancing on the black water, far out in the bay. The image made no sense, and I wondered how conscious I really was. My head swirled with the memory of the black, churning water—of being so lost that I couldn’t find up or down. So lost… but somehow Jacob…

“How did you find me?” I rasped.

“I was searching for you,” he told me. He was half-jogging through the rain, up the beach toward the road. “I followed the tire tracks to your truck, and then saw the door open, and your phone just sitting on the seat. Then I heard you shout…” He shuddered. “Why would you jump, Beau? Didn’t you noticed that it’s turning into a hurricane out here? Couldn’t you have waited for me?” Frustration filled his tone as his relief faded.

“I’m sorry, Jake,” I muttered. “It was stupid.”

“Yeah, it was really stupid,” he agreed, drops of ran shaking free of his hair as he nodded. “Look, do you mind saving the really stupid stuff for when I’m around? I won’t be able to concentrate if I think you’re jumping off cliffs behind my back.”

“Sure,” I agreed. “No problem.” I sounded like a chain-smoker. I tried to clear my throat—and then winced; the throat-clearing felt like stabbing a knife down there. “What happened today? Did you… find Victor?” It was my turn to shudder, though I wasn’t so cold here, wrapped in his warm arms.

Jacob shook his head. He was still more running than walking as he headed up the road to his house. “No. He took off into the water—the bloodsuckers have the advantage there. That’s why I raced home—I was afraid he was going to double back swimming. You spend so much time on the beach….” He trailed off, a catch in his throat.

“Sam came back with you… is everyone else home, too?” I hoped they weren’t still out searching for Victor.

“Yeah. Sort of.”

I tried to read his expression, squinting into the hammering rain. His eyes were tight with worry or pain.

The words that hadn’t made sense before suddenly did. “You said… hospital. Before, to Sam. Is someone hurt? Did Victor fight you?” My voice jumped up an octave, sounding strange with the hoarseness.

“No, no. When we got back, Em was waiting with the news. It’s Harry Clearwater. Harry had a heart attack this morning.”

“Harry?” I shook my head trying to absorb what he was saying. “Oh, no! Does Charlie know?”

“Yeah. He’s over there, too, with my dad.”

“Is Harry going to be okay?”

Jacob’s eyes tightened again. “It doesn’t look so great right now.”

Abruptly, I felt really sick with guilt—felt truly horrible about the stupid cliff dive. Nobody needed to be worrying about me right now. What a selfish time to try to go and prove something to myself.

“What can I do?” I asked.

At that moment the rain stopped. I hadn’t realized we were already back to Jacob’s house until he walked through the door. The storm pounded against the roof.

“You can stay here,” Jacob said as he set me on the short couch. “I mean it—right here. I’ll get you some dry clothes.”

I let my eyes adjust to the dark room while Jacob banged around in his bedroom. The cramped front room seemed so empty without Billy, almost desolate. It was strangely ominous—probably because I knew where he was.

Jacob was back in seconds. He threw a pile of gray cotton at me. “These will be huge on you, but it’s the best I’ve got. I’ll, er, step outside so you can change.”

“Don’t go anywhere. Please, Jake. I’m too tired to move yet. Just stay with me.”

Jacob sat on the floor next to me, his back against the couch. I wondered when he’d slept last. He looked as exhausted as I felt.

He leaned his head on the cushion next to mine and yawned. “Guess I could rest for a minute….”

His eyes closed. I let mine slide shut, too.

Poor Harry. Poor Sue. I knew Charlie was going to be beside himself. Harry was one of his best friends. Despite Jake’s negative take on things, I hoped fervently that Harry would pull through. For Charlie’s sake. For Sue’s and Liam’s and Seth’s.

Billy’s sofa was right next to the radiator, and I was warm now, despite my soaked clothes. My lungs ached in a way that pushed me toward unconsciousness rather than keeping me awake. I wondered vaguely if it was wrong to sleep… or was I getting drowning mixed up with concussions…? Jacob began softly snoring, and the sound of it soothed like a lullaby. I fell asleep quickly.

For the first time in a very long time, my dream was just a normal dream. Just a blurred wandering through old memories—blinding bright visions of the Phoenix sun, my mother’s face, a ramshackle tree house, a faded quilt, a wall of mirrors, a flame on the black water… I forgot each of them as soon as the picture changed.

The last picture was the only one that stuck in my head. It was meaningless—just a set on a stage. A balcony at night, a painted moon hanging in the sky. I watched the girl in her nightdress lean on the railing and talk to herself.

Meaningless… but when I slowly struggled back to consciousness, Juliet was on my mind.

Jacob was still asleep; he’d slumped down on the floor and his breathing was deep and even. The house was darker now than before, it was black outside the window. I was stiff, but warm and almost dry. The inside of my throat burned with every breath I took.

I was going to have to get up—at least to get a drink. But I didn’t want to risk waking Jacob. I reached my hand down to touch his head.

As I gently ran my fingers through his hair, I thought about Juliet some more.

I wondered what she would have done if Romeo had left her, not because he was banished, but because he lost interest? What if Rosalind had given him the time of day, and he’d changed his mind? What if, instead of marrying Juliet, he’d just disappeared?

I thought I knew how Juliet would feel.

She’d struggle to go back to her old life. She would have struggled to move on, I was sure of that. I wondered if she would have been able to, eventually. Or, would she one day find herself, old and gray, still seeing Romeo’s face every time she closed her eyes? Would she have accepted that half-life?

I wondered if she would have married Paris in the end, just to please her parents, to keep the peace. Who could say, I thought. The story didn’t say much about Paris. He was just a stick figure—a placeholder, a threat, a deadline to force her hand.

What if there were more to Paris?

What if Paris had been Juliet’s friend? Her very best friend? What if he was the only one she could confide in every detail about the whole heartbreaking ordeal with Romeo? The one person who understood her better than anyone else? What if he was patient and kind? What if they made each other happy? What if he really loved her, and wanted her to be happy?

And… what if she loved Paris? What if she moved on from Romeo, and truly loved Paris?

Jacob’s slow, deep breathing was the only sound in the room—like a lullaby hummed to a child, like the whisper of a rocking chair, like the ticking of an old clock when you had nowhere you needed to go…. It was the sound of comfort.

If Romeo was gone, never coming back, would it have mattered whether or not Juliet had taken Paris up on his offer? Maybe she could carve out a new life—a better life—out of the pieces Romeo had left behind when he left so selfishly.

I sighed, and then groaned when the sigh scraped my throat. I was thinking too much about this. Romeo and Juliet was really a tragedy, not a romance, after all. Certainly not something to use to help yourself find closure.

I closed my eyes and drifted again, letting my mind wander away from the stupid play. I thought about reality instead—about jumping off the cliff and what a brainless act that had been. And not just the cliff, but the motorcycles and the whole notion of breaking my promise. What if something bad had happened to me? What would that do to Charlie? Harry’s heart attack and pushed everything suddenly into perspective for me. Perspective that hurt me to see. Why hadn’t I realized sooner how selfish it had all been and how making a point in breaking a promise was the complete opposite of finding any sort of closure.

But I had discovered something on that cliff. Something I hadn’t expected. I was stronger than I gave myself credit for. I had been faced with my memories, my hallucinations, my fear, and I met them head on—no, I defied them. Maybe I could do this. Maybe I could carve out a new life for myself with the pieces left behind. I didn’t know if the cracks would ever really heal, but I had to be brave and really try.

I looked down at Jacob. So grateful for him and for everything he had done for me. So grateful for his patience. I thought about what I had said to Jessica about Jacob keeping me above water—today in the literal sense—and wondered what I had done to deserve him in my life.

I wasn’t sure if I was ready to make any concrete decisions at that moment. But it was undeniable that a decision would have to be made sooner rather than later if things kept moving forward on the path they were on. I decided to focus on something else, give my tired mind a break from all the heavy emotions.

Images from my ill-considered afternoon stunt rolled through my head while I tried to come up with something pleasant and easy to think about… the feel of the air as I fell, the blackness of the water, the thrashing of the current… Edward’s face… I lingered there for just a moment. Jacob’s warm hands trying to beat life back into me… the stinging rain flung down by the purple clouds… the strange fire on the waves…

There was something familiar about that flash of color on top of the water. Of course it couldn’t really be fire—

My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a car squelching through the mud on the road outside. I heard it stop in front of the house, and doors started opening and closing. I thought about sitting up, and then decided against that idea.

Billy’s voice was easily identifiable, but he kept it uncharacteristically low, so that it was only a gravely grumble.

The door opened, and the light flicked on. I blinked momentarily blind. Jake startled awake, gasping and jumping to his feet.

“Sorry,” Billy grunted. “Did we wake you?”

My eyes slowly slowly focused on his face, and then, as I could read his expression, they filled with tears.

“Oh, no, Billy!” I moaned.

He nodded slowly, his expression hard with grief. Jake hurried to his father and took one of his hands. The pain made his face suddenly childlike—it looked odd on top of the man’s body.

Sam was right behind Billy, pushing his chair through the door. His normal composure was absent from his agonized face.

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered.

Billy nodded. “It’s gonna be hard all around.”

“Where’s Charlie?”

“Your dad is still at the hospital with Sue. There are a lot of… arrangements to be made.”

I swallowed hard.

“I’d better get back there,” Sam mumbled, and he ducked hastily out the door.

Billy pulled his hand away from Jacob, and then he rolled himself through the kitchen toward his room.

Jake stared after him for a minute, then came to sit on the floor beside me again. He put his face in his hands. I rubbed his shoulder, wishing I could think of something to say.

After a long moment, Jacob caught my hand and held it to his face.

“How are you feeling? Are you okay? I probably should have taken you to a doctor or something.” He sighed.

“Don’t worry about me,” I croaked, rubbing his cheek.

He twisted his head to look at me. His eyes were rimmed in red. “You don’t look so good.”

“I don’t feel so good, either, I guess.”

“I’ll go get your truck and then take you home.”

“Thanks, Jake,” I sighed, “I should be there when Charlie gets home.”

“Right.”

I lay listlessly on the sofa while I waited for him. Billy was silent in the other room. I felt like a peeping tom, peering through the cracks at a private sorrow.

It didn’t take Jake long. The roar of my truck’s engine broke the silence before I expected it. He helped me up from the couch without speaking, keeping his arm around my shoulder when the cold air outside made me shiver. He took the driver’s seat without asking, and then pulled me next to his side to keep his arm tight around me. I leaned my head against his chest.

“How will you get home?” I asked.

“I’m not going home. We still haven’t caught the bloodsucker, remember?”

My next shudder had nothing to do with cold.

It was a quiet ride after that. The cold air had woken me up. My mind was alert, and it was working very hard and very fast.

What if? What if could make a decision? Take the step down this path and carve out my new life.

I couldn’t imagine my life without Jacob now—I cringed away from that idea of even trying to imagine that. Somehow, he’d become an integral part of my life. But to leave things the way they were… was that cruel, as Mike had accused?

I think it was. It was wrong to string Jacob along if I was never going to make a decision. Could I make one? What was holding me back? I realized how right it felt when he held me like this. It felt so nice—warm and comforting and familiar. Safe. Jacob was a safe harbor.

I could make a decision. I could make him mine.

He already knew what I had been through. He knew there were parts of me that were still broken. But I would need to tell him everything—I’d explain why it hurt me so deeply, tell him how deep the cracks in my heart ran, I’d admit to the delusions of hearing Edward. He’d need to know everything before he made a decision.

But, even as I recognized that necessity, I kew he would take me in spite of it all. He wouldn’t even pause to think it through. Jacob had made his decision.

I would have to commit to this—commit my whole heart to Jacob, breaks and all. Would I? Could I? Would it be so wrong to try to make Jacob happy? Make myself happy? I couldn’t spend my entire life grieving after some fickle Romeo.

Jacob stopped the truck in front of my dark house, cutting the engine so it was suddenly silent. Like so many other times, he seemed to be in tune with my thoughts now.

He threw his other arm around me, crushing me against his chest, binding me to him. Again, this felt nice. My heart felt like it could safely heal here.

I thought he would be thinking of Harry, but then he spoke, and his tone was apologetic. “Sorry. I know you don’t feel exactly the way I do, Beau. I swear I don’t mind. I’m just so glad you’re okay that I could sing—and that’s something no one wants to hear.” He laughed his throaty laugh in my ear.

My breathing kicked up a notch, sanding the walls of my throat.

Wouldn’t Edward, indifferent as he might be, want me to be as happy as was possible? Wouldn’t enough friendly emotion linger for him to want that much for me? I thought he would. He wouldn’t begrudge me this: moving on, finding my closure, and giving the love he didn’t want to Jacob.

Jake pressed his warm cheek against the top of my hair.

If I turned my face to the side—if I pressed my lips against his bare shoulder… I knew without any doubt exactly what would follow. It would be as easy as breathing.

But could I do it? Could I let go of my baggage and close that chapter of my life?

Butterflies filled my stomach as I thought about turning my head.

And then, as clearly as it was up on the cliff, Edward’s voice whispered in my ear.

“Be happy,” he told me.

I froze.

Jacob felt me stiffen and released me automatically, reaching for the door.

Wait, I wanted to say to him. Just a minute. But I was still locked in place from the shock from hearing Edward’s voice.

Storm-cooled air blew through the cab of the truck.

“OH!” The breath whooshed out of Jacob like someone had punched him in the gut. “Holy crap!”

He slammed the door and twisted the keys in the ignition in the same moment. His hands were shaking so hard I didn’t know how he managed it.

“What’s wrong, Jake?”

He revved the engine too fast; it spluttered and faltered.

“Vampire,” he spit out.

The blood rushed from my head and left me dizzy. “How do you know?”

“Because I can smell it! Dammit!”

Jacob’s eyes were wild, raking the dark street. He barely seemed aware of the tremors that were rolling through his body. “Phase or get him out of here?” he hissed at himself.

He looked down at me for a split second, taking in my horror-struck eyes and white face, and then he was scanning the street again. “Right. Get you out.”

The engine caught with a roar. The tires squealed as he spun the truck around, turning toward our only escape. The headlights washed across the pavement, lit the front line of the black forest, and finally glinted off a car parked across the street from my house.

“Wait!” I gasped.

It was a black car—a car I knew. I might not know much about cars, but I could tell you everything about that particular car. It was a Mercedes S55 AMG. I knew the horsepower and the color of the interior. I knew the feel of the powerful engine purring through the frame. I knew the rick smell of the leather seats and the way the extra-dark tint made noon look like dusk through those windows.

It was Carlisle Cullen’s car.

“Wait, stop!” I cried, louder this time, because Jacob was gunning the truck down the street.

“What?!”

“It’s not Victor, Jake. Just—Just stop the car. Go back!”

He stomped on the brake so hard I had to catch myself against the dashboard.

“What?” he asked again, aghast. He stared at me with horror in his eyes.

“That’s Carlisle’s car. Carlisle Cullen’s car, I’m sure of it.”

He saw the dawning realization in my face, and a violent tremor rocked his frame.

“Jake, please breath. Calm down, it’s okay. No danger, see? Relax.”

“Yeah, calm,” he panted, putting his head down and closing his eyes. While he concentrated on not exploding into a wolf, I gently rubbed his arm trying to calm him. I furtively glanced back at the black car.

Why would they come back? It was just Carlisle, I told myself. Don’t hope for anything more. Maybe Esme… stop right there, I told myself. Why was I hoping for any of them to come back? The glimmer of excitement I felt in the pit of my stomach wasn’t healthy. I shouldn’t be excited. I was past this. At least, I thought I was.

“There’s a vampire in your house,” Jacob hissed. “And you want to go back?”

I looked deep into his dark eyes, I understood his concern. I couldn’t fault him for it.

“I… Yes, Jake.” I said, my voice was shaky. I did want to go back. But why?

Jacob’s face hardened while I stared at him, congealing into the bitter mask that I’d thought was gone for good. Just before he had the mask in place, I caught the spasm of betrayal that flashed in his eyes. My heart sank seeing that mask come back. His hands were still shaking. He looked ten years older than me.

He took a deep breath. “You sure it’s not a trick?” he asked in a slow, heavy voice.

“It’s not a trick. It’s Carlisle.” I realized why I wanted to go back—a chance at true closure. “Take me back, Jake.”

A shudder rippled through his wide shoulders, but his eyes were flat and emotionless. “No.”

“Jake, listen—“

“No. Take yourself back, Beau.” His voice was a slap—I flinched as the sound of it struck me. His jaw clenched and unclenched.

“Look, Beau,” he said in the same hard voice. “I can’t go back. Treaty or no treaty, that’s my enemy in there.”

“It’s not like that—“

“I have to tell Sam right away. This changes things. We can’t be caught on their territory.”

“Jake, it’s not war!”

He didn’t listen. He put the truck in neutral and jumped out the door, leaving it running.

“Bye, Beau,” he called back over his shoulder. “I really hope you don’t die.” He sprinted into the darkness, shaking so hard that his shape seemed blurred; he disappeared before I could open my mouth to call him back. I desperately wanted to explain to him why I needed to go back, what I was really after.

Remorse pinned me against the seat for one long second. What had I just done to Jacob?

I reluctantly slid across the seat and put the truck back in drive. My hands were shaking almost as hard as Jake’s had been, and this took a minute of concentration. Then I carefully turned the truck and drove it back to my house.

It was very dark when I turned off the headlights. Charlie had left in such a hurry that he’d forgotten to leave the porch lamp on. I felt a pang of doubt, staring at the house, deep in shadow. What if it was a trick? Worse yet, what if it didn’t help me? What if it just made things worse?

I looked back at the black car, almost invisible in the night. No. I knew that car.

Still, my hands were shaking even worse than before as I reached for the key above the door. When I grabbed the doorknob to unlock it, it twisted easily under my hand. I let the door fall open. The hallway was black.

I wanted to call out a greeting, but my throat was too dry. I couldn’t quite seem to catch my breath.

I took a step inside and fumbled for the light switch. It was so black—like the black water… Where was that switch?

Just like the black water, with the orange flame flickering impossibly on top of it. Flame that couldn’t be a fire, but what then…? My fingers traced the wall, still searching, still shaking—

Suddenly, something Jacob had told me this afternoon echoed in my head, finally sinking in….He took off into the water, he’d said. The bloodsuckers have the advantage there. That’s why I raced home—I was afraid He was going to double back swimming.

My hand froze in its searching, my whole body froze into place, as I realized why I recognized the strange orange color on the water.

Victor’s hair, blowing wild in the wind, the color of fire…

He’d been right there. Right there in the harbor with me and Jacob. If Sam hadn’t been there, if it had been just the two of us…? I couldn’t breathe or move.

The light flicked on, though my frozen hand had still not found the switch.

I blinked into the sudden light, and saw that someone was there, waiting for me.

#New Moon Revamped #Twilight Revamped #Twilight Reimagined #New Moon Reimagined #gay sparklepires #Gay Twilight Saga #The Twilight Saga #Gay New Moon #Beau Swan #Edward Cullen #Jacob Black #BeauXEdward #BeauXJacob #2.16

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