Jacob waited in the shadows, something that he got good at doing through the years.
Patience was something that he had in abundance now, not that he lacked any earlier on, but when you go hairy every time you get angry, you learn to demand more from yourself.
Funny how it's his werewolf side that taught him how to be a better human.
But sometimes, that’s just what we need – a pressure point to push us over the edge, stretch our sanity, our reason, test us over and over again so we can finally find out who we are, what we are capable of.
Jacob was tested more than most.
Young blood eased over the years, thickened, slowed so that it usually took more than a random problem to anger him, but Jacob found himself unable to quench the boil in his blood as he waited in the gathering dark. For this was no random problem. What he was dealing with now was far from random; it was The Problem, one that haunted his dreams and waking days for years.
He clenched his hands into fists when the person he was watching took a cursory look at where he was standing and—seeing nothing but shadows—turned away.
He couldn’t quite differentiate the twist in his stomach as relief or bitterness. Relief that she didn't see him, skulking around like a stalker; bitter because she—once again—turned away from him like she did all those years ago.
Bella Swan.
Childhood love, best friend.
The only girl who stayed with him in the roughest days of his life, the girl who kept breaking his heart and always, always leaves him wanting more.
He remembered their parting words, their whispered promises.
They kept none of them.
She didn't call like she promised, and after the first few months worrying himself sick, seeing ghosts and listening to Charlie's short explanations of how his daughter was doing, he didn't wait any longer like he promised to.
Or at least it seemed like that to the outside world.
He lived his life, did his duty, enjoyed everything new that passed his life, appreciated everything old and constant as he moved on.
When he lied in bed, drifting on the edges of sleep, a small part of him stayed awake, waiting.
And it was that part that crowed, smug with triumph, choked with joyous tears, that she was alive, that she was here, that she was unmarried.
That doesn't have anything to do with this, he chastised himself, snapping at the little piece inside him that was still so pathetically hopeful, still throbbed at the sight of her face no matter how much he bled for her still.
“What the hell am I doing here?” He muttered to himself, his voice so hard, so angry that a couple walking by took one glance at him and scurried away.
His eyes followed her movement, watched how she smiled at a co-worker and he tried not to seethe with fury.
What is she doing? Alone with a guy in the middle of the night? Have years of being chased down by vampires taught her nothing?
He supposed that normal guys didn't really feel like a threat anymore, considering what she's gone through.
He fumed in silence, glaring at the guy who passed her a cup of coffee after dimming the lights, laughing at what she said.
Heat flared along his spine when she laughed back.
“What the hell am I doing here?” He repeated his question, but gentler this time, with the flimsiest hint of pain trembling along the ridges.
Unconsciously, the fierce scowl on his face softened when he saw her stretch, rubbing her back before she sat on a chair. There were dark circles under her eyes from lack of sleep, but they glowed with pleasure.
She looked happy.
He stared at the store she owned. Bells, he read the signboard, simple, friendly, filled with memories.
Foods and books, it suits her, he thought again.
Why the hell hadn't she called? The ugly anger snapped at the domestic, cozy scene that played before his eyes.
The guy joined her at the table as they chatted easily, comfortably, like she used to do with you, a little voice whispers inside his head.
Why did she tell Embry not to tell me? He aimed a look at the stranger across from Bella, surprised that he didn’t drop dead from the malice that he put in it. Is it because of him? She had found his replacement, then?
Is she robbing him of his best friend status as well?
There was something off-putting about the guy; young by the way he sprawled on the chair, careless and unassuming.
Jacob didn't like him, didn't like him at all.
He is way too blond for his liking, way too pale in the warm soothing light.
When they laughed again, his hand shuddered with hurt rather than anger, though it didn't take long for him to veer in that direction.
The guy stood and left to the back room as she started to lift chairs onto tables and reached for the mop that was close by.
She looked so peaceful, so at ease, so relaxed, that vicious irritation pricked his brain with merciless jabs and twists.
He remembered all the sleepless nights, the agonizing worry that gnawed at his insides at the thought of her change, if somehow something goes wrong and she ends up dead. Months, months of bleeding and aching over nothing!
The anger boiled over and spewed in a constant stream of poison. It didn't matter that she was alive and well, it didn't matter that she looked so happy in her little book cafe, it doesn't matter that she’s still human.
What did matter was his anger, his hurt, the sense of betrayal that went so deep it stabbed him every time he took a breath. A selfish moment, for sure, but maybe it was about time.
She was in dire need of a talking to, and she damn well had a lot of explaining to do. Maybe she didn’t need to explain to her parents – what the hell could she tell them, anyway? She definitely would not feel obligated to explain her reasons to the pack or to anyone around her, but she had an obligation to him.
In the short time it took for him to cross the road and onto the sidewalk, he was working on a volcanic mass of red burning anger. His eyes focus solely on her as he wrenches the door open.
Surprise shot through his anger when the door opened easily, she didn’t even lock the door! A small part of his mind gnashed its teeth in exasperation, adding to his anger.
Well, at the very least, Jacob thought, the most dangerous thing in these parts is me.
He saw her freeze. He knew it wasn’t because she heard his steps, but because of the cool gush of wind at her back from the open door.
She twisted, but before he can see her face, see her expression, and before he can deliver the most scalding setdown he had ever given to anyone, it was his werewolf reflexes that saved him from having his face bashed in by a mop of all things.
His dark eyes snapped at her. “What the hell, Bella?”
In the dim lighting, she froze, her arms still holding up the mop like it was a baseball bat, drenching her hands with water.
She blinked at him before relaxing her tense muscles, the mop sliding out of her suddenly jelly-like fingers. “Jacob?” She gasped out. “Is that you?”
“If there is any wailing to be done, it should be me doing it.” He caught the mop seconds before it touched the floor in a move too quick for her eyes to see.
“I’m sorry.” She squeaked, the fire and adrenalin rushing out of her in one quick whoosh. With an exasperated breath, he pulled a chair down and shoved her on it. “Sit down before you pass out.”
She blinked at him. “Okay.”
A scuffling sounded from the back, but Jacob’s glare didn’t waver from Bella’s pale face. “Bella?” The boy that was with her before appeared at the kitchen door. “Is everything okay—”
“It’s fine, Brian.” Bella—her head between her legs—waved airily at him.
Jacob leaned his hips against a table, crossing his muscular arms across his broad chest when Brian stared at him with wide eyes. The boy gulped, but bravely stood his ground. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. Yes.” She piped in, finally lifting her head, offering the boy a smile. “I’m sure. This is Jacob Black, an... old friend of mine.”
When Brian’s eyes came back to him, Jacob merely stared with a steely look in his eyes.
Brian shuffled his feet, physically shrinking into his shadow. “Okay.”
Bella twisted on her seat. “Why don’t you go on home? I’ll close up.”
The teen’s blue eyes flicked back from Bella to him, and Jacob knew he was fighting off the urge to flee. “I can stay.”
“It’s okay, Brian. Really.”
He nodded reluctantly. “The espresso machine’s a no-go, by the way.”
Bella sighed. “You tried.”
Jacob watched them go through the motions, waiting for the kid to go away.
Bella waved at the kid and closed the door. She stayed with her back to him, probably trying to figure out what to say, and then she turned and looked at him with anxious eyes. For a moment, she looked like her a seventeen-year-old self again.
He was torn between feeling nostalgic, pleased and irritated. Oh, not to mention there was that silent ripping sensation in his chest at the sight of her in the muted light, her hair longer than it ever was, held up in a ponytail.
He kept his earlier stance, not giving her anything—a smile, a look, a word—for her to work with. He merely stared at her with impassive but steady eyes.
She stared quietly back.
He was adamant on not being the one to talk first. For one thing, the words he wanted to say to her were choking him, and she looked far too tired and far too delicate to stand under the weight of his anger.
It didn’t help that she looked like she was expecting a lashing.
Guilt was smeared all over her face so that although he refused to be sidetracked, he felt himself soften.
And wasn’t that always the problem?
But he wasn’t willing to give his anger and bitterness away so quickly.
No, it felt too comfortable, too right, that he wanted to feel like this just a moment longer, to ride on the wave of self-righteousness at least until she looked strong enough for him to let it out and give her a piece of his mind.
Jacob watched her watch him and concluded nothing would come out of their staring competition but eye strain so, practical as he was, Jacob decided they needed something to distract them and pass the time with.
“What’s wrong with the espresso machine?”
Bella stared, obviously unsure of his intention, but was glad for anything he was willing to give her. “I don’t know exactly. It just… stopped working.”
“Where is it?” He kept his voice low and clipped, and it carried across the room, across the creeping shadows.
“Behind the counter.”
He straightened and walked to where she pointed. He could almost feel her confusion pulsing in the air, but ignored her, focusing on the espresso machine. Jacob felt her confusion hover in the air, but being Bella—she was also practical in some ways—she reached for the mop and continued cleaning the floors.
He tinkered with the machine longer than necessary—sneering inwardly at the kid who attempted to fix it but failed—listening to her easy breathing, the sounds she made while she moved across the floor, humming to herself.
He didn’t notice he was smiling until he caught his reflection on the shiny surface of the machine and scowled back at it.
For the sake of ruining the moment and just to take the edge off his restlessness, he dropped the tool he was holding so it clattered loudly against the other tools in the toolbox and felt a petty kind of satisfaction when she jumped a foot in the air.
He wiped his hands on a rag, a nonchalant look on his face.
“Don’t let anyone touch it, I’ll be back tomorrow after work.”
He saw the hopeful look in her eyes—the embers of his own flickering back to life at the sight of them—and put the cool and calm look back in his eyes, smoothing out his face and he watched her eyes darken with disappointment, sadness and hurt.
He turned his back on her and pulled the door open, but couldn’t help but ask her, “Do you need a ride home? Wherever that is now?”
A small, whimsical smile curved her lips. “I am home.”
He cocked a dark eyebrow.
A slim finger pointed up. “I live upstairs.”
“Oh.” He didn’t know why he found that piece of information intriguing, but tucked it back inside his mind. “Fine.” His dark eyes shifted outside. “Lock the door behind me.”
He opened the door wider and stepped through it.
“Jacob.”
He merely turned his body a little bit, showing her the angle of cheekbone.
“I’ll…I’ll see you tomorrow.”
His eyes shifted to hers, saw her soft face, hope surfacing again in her eyes, but her fingertips were white around the handle of the mop. He turned without answering her, but as he gunned his motorcycle, his eyes searched the store’s window and saw that she was watching him.
When he streaked through the lonely street, he ignored the telling easiness in how he gathered breath.
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