Chapter Text
Quil and Embry came over the next day while I was in the garage, the Chevy up on jack stands, hood open, the radio crackling out something that was half static, half classic rock. The kind of noise that filled space without asking questions.
I had both arms buried in the engine bay, hands black with grease, sweat running down my back because summer had officially decided to show up and be rude about it.
Keeping my hands busy helped.
Kept my head quiet.
Or at least quieter.
My thoughts still wandered to Eve every chance they got.
Get it together, Jake.
I heard footsteps on gravel before I saw them.
Quil came in first, slow and exaggerated, like he was approaching a wild animal. He took one look at the garage—tools scattered, parts laid out, me elbow-deep in the Chevy—and winced.
“Uh,” he said carefully, “it looks like an auto shop in here with… suppressed feelings.”
“Hi, Quil,” I said, not looking up. I grabbed a rag, wiped my hands, then reached back in. “You gonna help, or just narrate my emotional state?”
Embry followed him in. Both of them were quieter than usual.
That alone set off alarms.
Quil didn’t do quiet unless something was wrong.
They hovered. Actually hovered. Like if they stood still long enough, I might forget they were there.
I glanced over my shoulder. “Okay,” I said. “Why do you both look like you just ran over my dog?”
Quil clasped his hands together like he was about to pray. “Jakeeee—”
“Nope,” I cut in immediately. “Don’t ‘Jake’ me. You don’t get to ‘Jake’ me unless someone’s bleeding or you broke something expensive.”
Embry scratched the back of his neck. “We might’ve… done a thing.”
I straightened slowly, set the wrench down, and turned to face them. “You’re gonna have to narrow that down. You two do a lot of things.”
Quil took a deep breath. “Okay. So. Hypothetically. If someone—”
“Quil.”
“—accidentally let it slip,” he rushed on, “that you had a crush on Bella—”
My chest did something weird.
Not a punch. Not panic.
Just… cold.
Like my brain and my body couldn’t agree on how to react.
I didn’t move. Didn’t say anything. Just looked at him.
“—PLEASE DON’T KILL ME WITH A SOCKET WRENCH,” Quil finished, ducking behind Embry like that would save him.
Embry held up his hands. “It wasn’t malicious. It just… came up.”
I swallowed. The garage felt louder all of a sudden. The radio fizzed. A bird shrieked outside. Somewhere down the road, a truck backfired.
“In front of who?” I asked.
My jaw tightened, bracing for something I couldn’t quite name.
They both hesitated.
Quil peeked out. “…Eve.”
There it was.
That was the punch.
Not sharp. Not dramatic. Just this heavy drop in my stomach, like I’d missed a step I didn’t know was there.
In front of Eve.
Right after I’d finally admitted—at least to myself—that I liked her more than I was pretending.
I turned back to the Chevy, grabbed the rag again, and wiped my hands too hard. “Cool,” I said. “Great. Fantastic.”
My voice sounded calmer than I felt.
She knows. About Bella.
Does that mean I should tell her more? Reassure her?
Am I even over Bella?
“Hey,” Embry said. “You okay, Jake?”
“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered. “I’m just—” I waved a hand. “How did she react?”
Embry shifted. “Uh… she didn’t freak out. If that’s what you’re asking. She went quiet, though. Not, like, mad quiet. Just… in her head.” He paused. “It got to her, man.”
Damn.
“You guys shouldn’t have told her,” I said, sharper than I meant to.
It went quiet.
“Yeah… sorry, Jake,” Quil muttered, staring at the ground. Then, a little more carefully, “But—we did tell her it’s not like that between you and Bella anymore. It isn’t, right?”
Embry chimed in, “You’ve been talking about the Swan girl a lot less since Evelyn came around.”
They weren’t wrong.
It was different now.
But was this really the moment to admit I liked Eve—really liked her?
No. That felt like lighting a match in a room full of gas.
So I went with the safe option.
“I mean, yeah,” I said, trying for casual. “Bella’s dating the Cullen guy now, so…”
Quil cut in immediately. “So you would try to get close to Bella if it wasn’t for Cullen?”
“That’s not what I—idiot.” I hooked him into a headlock, letting him go when he smacked my bicep. “It just means… I don’t know. Maybe it was a dumb crush. We were kids. Childhood friends and all that.”
Embry nodded slowly. “Yeah. That makes sense.”
I shrugged, turning back to the engine. “Something like that.”
The rest of the day slipped back into normal—banter, grease, and the steady distraction of fixing something that actually made sense.
Toronto didn’t feel far on a map.
It felt far in my chest.
Eve texted when she landed—short, practical, like she didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.
landed and ready for some maple syrup
I stared at the screen longer than I should have, thumb hovering.
Wanted to say something real.
Something that didn’t sound like come back already.
Didn’t trust myself not to mean it too much.
So I went with easy.
don’t let them scam you, tourists pay extra for the fake maple stuff
I hit send before I could rethink it.
Three dots. Gone. Back again.
She sent a laughing emoji, something about me being dramatic—and then nothing.
Just… quiet.
That became the pattern.
Snippets.
A picture of the skyline through a car window, blurred like she couldn’t sit still long enough to focus it.
A complaint about jet lag.
A miss you sent at 3 a.m. my time that I read standing in the kitchen, staring at my phone like I hadn’t been half-waiting for it all night.
I didn’t answer that one right away.
Didn’t trust that, either.
Didn’t trust how fast my chest tightened, or how something in me just latched onto those two words like they meant more than they probably did.
I told myself it was fine.
She was busy. She was living. She didn’t owe me anything.
Didn’t owe me constant updates. Didn’t owe me… whatever this was.
Didn’t owe me her.
Still—
My body didn’t like the quiet.
It felt wrong.
Like pacing without moving. Like there was too much energy under my skin and nowhere to put it. I’d start something—fixing the truck, chopping wood, running the trails—and it wouldn’t stick. Nothing stuck.
Everything just circled back to her.
To checking my phone.
To wondering what she was doing, who she was with, if she was smiling like she did when she forgot to hold it back.
It was stupid.
I knew it was stupid.
She was just in another city, not gone.
But it felt like something had been stretched too far, pulled thin between us, and I didn’t know what would happen if it snapped.
Embry noticed first.
“You’re wound tight,” he said one afternoon, tossing a wrench back onto the workbench. “Like a spring somebody sat on.”
Quil snorted. “Dude’s pent up. That’s all. Man needs a distraction.”
“I’m fine,” I shot back automatically.
They exchanged a look.
The kind that said yeah, okay without saying anything at all.
Quil clapped his hands once, too loud, too cheerful. “Port Angeles tonight. House party. No Forks drama. Just music and bad decisions.”
Embry didn’t laugh. He just watched me. “Might actually help.”
It wouldn’t.
I knew that.
Still—
“Yeah,” I said. “Sure.”
Port Angeles smelled like alcohol and wet pavement.
Like the street had soaked up years of spilled beer and cheap liquor and never bothered to wash it away.
The house was already vibrating when we got there—music bleeding through the walls, bass thumping in your chest before you even stepped inside. The porch sagged under too many people, cigarette smoke curling into the damp air, someone laughing too loud, someone else arguing like it mattered.
The windows were fogged. The front door barely closed.
Inside felt worse.
Hot. Crowded. Air thick with sweat and perfume and something sour underneath it all. People pressed shoulder to shoulder, moving like one big, restless thing. Red cups everywhere. Sticky floors.
No space to think.
Which was kind of the point.
I spotted a few people from the rez, more from Port Angeles—faces I half-recognized, names I didn’t bother remembering.
Then Amanda appeared like she’d been waiting for me.
“Hi, Jake.”
She looked… put together. Too put together for this place. Hair perfect, smile easy, like she existed slightly above the mess instead of inside it.
“Rare to see you here,” she said, handing me a beer, her nails neat and careful against the glass. “How’s your summer going?”
“It’s going,” I said, popping the cap off with my lighter. The metal clink felt louder than it should’ve. “How about you?”
Her eyes tracked the movement of my hands—quick, focused. Not subtle.
“Got broken up with,” she said, taking a sip like it was nothing.
“Sorry to hear that.” I meant it. She didn’t look wrecked, though. Not even close.
“It’s fine. We wanted different things.” That same smile again. Controlled. “He wanted New York. I want… here.” She twirled a piece of her hair. “Forks is home.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I get that.”
I did. More than I wanted to admit.
Something in me wanted to say something better—something that actually meant something.
Instead, I shrugged. “Well… don’t take this the wrong way, but he sounds like an idiot.”
She laughed, bright and quick. “Oh, Jake. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were flirting.”
I huffed out a laugh, more because the situation felt off than because it was funny.
“I know you aren’t,” she added smoothly. “Pretty sure you’ve got a thing for the pale prom girl you heroically rescued.”
I choked on my beer.
Actually choked.
She blinked, then leaned in, delighted. “Oh my god—no way. I was right?”
“Amanda,” I coughed, wiping my mouth. “It’s… complicated.”
That felt like the safest word.
“She’s just—” I hesitated. The word stuck. “—special. To me.”
Amanda’s eyes lit up like I’d handed her something valuable. “You should ask her out.”
I shook my head too fast. “It’s not like that.”
It was like that.
That was the problem.
“Well,” she said, undeterred, “if you don’t want to… I know a girl who’s been looking at you for a while. Melissa. Friend of a cousin or something. She’s here tonight.”
“Amanda, it’s okay.” I put a hand on her shoulder, half to stop her, half to steady myself. “I’m good.”
She smiled like she didn’t believe that for a second.
“Sure you are.” She leaned in for a quick hug. “I’ll send her your way anyway.”
Then she disappeared into the crowd, turning once to wink. “Don’t waste it, Jake!”
Quil slid up beside me. “What was that about?”
“Nothing,” I muttered. Then, louder, “C’mon. Let’s get something stronger. Embry’s driving.”
I hooked an arm around him and let the crowd swallow us.
I drank more than I should have.
Not to forget Eve.
I told myself that, at least.
But the truth was—
There was this constant buzzing under my skin. Like I couldn’t sit still in my own body. Like something in me was stretched too tight and wouldn’t snap or settle.
The alcohol dulled it. Not much.
Just enough to breathe.
A red cup showed up in my hand. Then another. Someone shoved past me, laughing. Quil said something I didn’t catch, and I laughed anyway, too loud, a beat too late.
Everything got softer around the edges.
Blurred.
Music turned into vibration more than sound. Lights smeared when I moved my head. Faces slipped in and out of focus.
Better.
Worse.
I didn’t know.
At some point I needed air.
Or an excuse.
“Smoke,” I muttered, even though I didn’t really.
The porch was crowded, but less suffocating. Cooler air hit my face, damp and sharp.
She was already out there.
Dark red hair. Brown eyes. Leaning against the railing like she belonged anywhere she stood.
Pretty in an easy way. No effort. No questions.
“Hey,” she said, stepping closer, like she’d already decided how this was going to go. “You got another one?”
I should’ve stepped back.
Instead, I nodded.
“Yeah.”
Melissa.
Right.
Amanda’s girl.
She smelled like citrus and beer and something sweet underneath it. Close enough that it stuck.
We talked.
I don’t remember about what.
Something easy. Something that didn’t matter. She laughed, touched my arm like it was natural, like we’d done this before.
It felt…
Fine.
That was the problem.
Fine was easy.
Fine didn’t twist in your chest or keep you up at night or make you check your phone like an idiot.
Fine didn’t feel like missing something.
We ended up inside again without really deciding to. The hallway was dim, walls scuffed, people brushing past us like we were just part of the furniture.
Bathroom door. Half closed.
Music pounding through the walls, bass rattling something loose in my head.
She kissed me first.
Confident. No hesitation.
I kissed her back.
It was warm. Soft. Real.
And something in me just—
Didn’t settle.
Didn’t lock into place the way it should’ve.
My hands found her waist, slid lower. Her fingers tangled in my hair, pulling me closer.
I tasted her lip gloss.
Sweet.
And for some reason—
All I could think about was salt air.
Cold water.
Eve laughing, shoulders hunched, breath fogging in the air.
Focus.
Melissa smiled against my mouth. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I said, too fast.
We kissed again.
Deeper this time. Closer. Her body pressed against mine, grounding, real, right there.
And my head—
My head wasn’t here.
It slipped.
Like my brain filled in the wrong shape.
Dark green silk. Leather. The way Eve leaned into me without thinking.
And before I could stop it—
“Eve—”
It wasn’t loud.
Barely more than a breath.
But it hit like something breaking.
Everything stopped.
I felt it happen before I even fully registered what I’d said.
Oh—shit.
Melissa pulled back immediately.
“What?” Her face shifted—confusion first, then sharp, cutting. “Who’s Eve?”
My mouth opened.
Nothing came out that didn’t make it worse.
She stepped back like I’d burned her. “Wow. Okay. No. I like you, but—no.”
“I didn’t—” I tried.
Didn’t what? Didn’t mean it? Didn’t know?
She shook her head. “Figure your stuff out first.”
Then she was gone.
Door open. Music louder. Gone.
I stood there, hands braced on the sink, staring at my reflection.
Didn’t look like me.
Just some guy who couldn’t even keep it together long enough to pretend.
Even drunk, my chest hurt.
Worse, maybe.
Because I couldn’t blame it on thinking too much.
This was instinct.
Automatic.
I turned on the water, gripping the edge of the sink.
Get it together.
I looked down.
Yeah.
That didn’t help.
“Fuck,” I muttered, splashing cold water over my face.
Didn’t fix anything.
My hands were still shaking a little when I pulled my phone out.
Didn’t think.
Didn’t stop.
Just opened the chat.
I miss u so much
Sent.
The second it went through, my stomach dropped.
“Idiot,” I muttered.
Embry found me twenty minutes later, sitting on the staircase, elbows on my knees, head in my hands.
“Alright,” he said, voice low. “Time to go.”
Quil crouched in front of me, no jokes left in his face. “You good to stand?”
“Yeah,” I said.
The world tilted when I did.
Close enough.
They didn’t ask.
Didn’t joke.
Didn’t need to.
Billy was awake when we got home.
Of course he was.
One look at me and something in his expression just… settled. Heavy. Quiet.
Worse than yelling.
“Bathroom,” he said. “Water. Bed.”
“Yes, sir.”
Embry clapped my shoulder on the way out. “Call if you spiral.”
I didn’t answer.
Later, lying in bed, the room still spinning slow and lazy, I stared at my phone.
No new messages.
Toronto was still asleep.
I pressed my palm to my chest, like I could hold something in place, like I could stop whatever this was from pulling tighter.
“I tried,” I muttered into the dark.
It sounded stupid out loud.
Didn’t make it less true.
Because even drunk.
Even with someone else.
Even trying to prove—what? That I was normal? That I wasn’t stuck?
Didn’t matter.
My body didn’t lie.
It still knew her name.
Morning felt like punishment.
Not just the headache—though that was brutal. Not just the dry mouth, the sour twist in my stomach, the way my tongue felt like sandpaper.
It was the memory.
Flashes of it, out of order.
Bathroom light too bright.
Music pounding through walls.
Her hands.
My voice—
Eve.
I groaned and dragged an arm over my face like I could block it out.
Didn’t help.
I lay there staring at the ceiling, the fan spinning slow and uneven, like it was judging me.
Trying to figure out which part of last night sat worst in my gut.
Going.
Drinking.
Or the fact that even drunk—even drunk—I couldn’t outrun her.
A knock hit my door.
Soft. Once.
“Up.”
Billy.
Calm. Flat.
Not angry.
Worse.
I dragged myself out of bed, every movement heavy, like gravity had doubled overnight. Pulled on a hoodie, didn’t bother fixing my hair, and shuffled out into the kitchen.
The house felt… normal.
Too normal.
Coffee brewing. Morning light cutting through the window. The quiet hum of everything being exactly where it should be.
Billy sat at the table, steady as always.
He didn’t offer coffee.
Just slid a glass of water across to me.
I took it and sat down, drinking like I hadn’t had water in days.
He let me.
Didn’t rush it.
Didn’t speak.
The silence stretched, thick and heavy, settling into my bones worse than any yelling would’ve.
Finally—
“You know why I’m disappointed?”
I stared at the table. “Because I got drunk.”
Billy nodded once. “That’s part of it.”
I waited, jaw tightening.
“Because you went all the way to Port Angeles,” he continued, voice low and even, “to try to outrun something.”
My grip tightened on the glass.
“And you picked the dumbest way to do it.”
Heat crawled up my neck. Shame. Irritation. Both.
“I didn’t do anything,” I muttered.
Billy’s eyebrows lifted, just slightly. “That’s not the bar, Jacob.”
That stung more than if he’d snapped at me.
I swallowed hard. “It was just a party.”
Billy leaned back in his chair, studying me like he was trying to decide something.
“Parties,” he said slowly, “are where you make mistakes that follow you home.”
My stomach twisted.
Bathroom. Her face. The look when she pulled back.
I looked away.
Billy didn’t push right away. Let it sit. Let me feel it.
Then—
“You’re eighteen,” he said. “So I’m going to talk to you like an adult.”
Great.
Exactly what I needed.
“If you’re going to drink,” he went on, “you don’t drive. That’s rule one.”
“I didn’t,” I said quickly. “Embry drove.”
“I know.” His voice didn’t change. “That’s the only reason I didn’t wake you up at sunrise and make you split wood until you passed out.”
That image alone made my stomach lurch.
He took a sip of coffee, then set it down.
“And if you’re going to hook up with someone—”
I groaned under my breath. “Dad—”
“Jacob.”
That stopped me.
He didn’t raise his voice.
Didn’t need to.
“You use protection,” he finished, steady and blunt. “Every time.”
I stared at the table so hard my vision blurred.
“Yeah,” I muttered. “Got it.”
“You hear me?” he pressed.
I forced myself to nod. “Yeah. I hear you.”
“Good.”
Silence again.
But this one felt different.
Heavier.
Then Billy said, quieter—
“You looked lost last night.”
That hit worse than anything else.
Because he was right.
“I’m fine,” I said automatically.
Billy didn’t even react. “You’re not.”
Simple. Certain.
“And that’s okay,” he added. “But you don’t get to deal with it by pouring alcohol on it and hoping it goes away.”
My throat tightened.
“You can’t throw your feelings away, Jacob,” he said. “They don’t disappear. They come back sideways.”
Bathroom.
Eve.
I clenched my jaw.
Billy watched me for a second, then reached beside him and slid something across the table.
A folded paper.
I frowned. “What’s that?”
“Work,” he said.
I blinked. “Work?”
“Harry Clearwater’s cousin runs a garage,” Billy went on. “He needs help. Cleaning, parts, basic stuff. You start there. Afternoons.”
I stared at him. “You’re serious.”
“Very.”
“I already help here,” I argued weakly.
Billy shook his head. “Not like this.”
Something in his tone made me sit up a little straighter.
“This isn’t about keeping you busy,” he said. “It’s about making you useful.”
That stung.
“If you’ve got time to drive to Port Angeles and make bad decisions,” he added, calm but sharp, “you’ve got time to learn something that actually matters.”
I looked down at the paper again.
Hours. Address. A name I vaguely recognized.
Grease under my nails again. Engines. Something solid.
Something that made sense.
Still—
“This is punishment,” I muttered.
Billy’s expression didn’t change. “This is direction.”
That landed.
Harder than I wanted it to.
Before I could respond, he added, almost casually—
“And you’ll be helping out at the community center a couple nights a week. Kids’ programs. Clean-up. Whatever’s needed.”
I let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “You’re kidding.”
“I’m not.”
“Dad, I’m not exactly—” I gestured at myself “—role model material right now.”
“That’s exactly why,” he said, cutting in clean. “You know what happens when nobody expects anything from you.”
My throat tightened.
Yeah.
I did.
Billy leaned forward slightly, voice lower now. “You’re not in trouble because you drank. You’re in trouble because you’re starting to drift.”
Drift.
That word stuck.
Because that’s what it felt like.
Like I wasn’t steering anymore. Just… reacting.
“And I’m not letting that happen,” he finished.
Silence settled again.