Long before Collins had been born, Cara Walker was the light of her parents' lives. Born on August 8, 1978, the first 9 years of her life were as sunny as her arrival on Earth. What more could a girl want than a mom and a dad that adored her? How she turned out so well mannered when she wanted for nothing was a mystery, but her well spoken and polite demeanor had gotten her quite the reputation before she was out of elementary school. Smart and beautiful, too. Perhaps a little reserved for most children her age, but surely she'd grow out of it. In her younger years, she had begged her parents for a sibling, preferably a baby brother, to play with and dress up and maybe boss around, but in a well meaning big sisterly way. Leanne and Jeffery placated this request with a pet once it became a regular thing. And that worked for a while. Eventually, however, Cara once again longed for a sibling.
So when the Walkers announced that they'd be expanding the family — this time, with a human child, not a cat — Cara had been thrilled. She'd stopped strangers in the grocery store to tell them that she was going to be a big sister, punctuated by a pat on Leanne's swollen belly. Unfortunately, it was not a baby brother, but that didn't matter. "Beggars can't be choosers," Cara's mom had said plenty of times, and right now, she was a beggar.
It started when her baby sister was born. Collins Walker was a surprise, but a welcome one, and Leanne and Jeffery found that after eight years, they were out of practice in the baby department. Juggling a child that was quickly approaching her tween years every day and a newborn at the same time proved to be more than they could say grace over. Cara, ever the perceptive child, noticed that the time which had been all for her to occupy was now delegated to the small bald human screaming in her bassinet. She still loved her, despite the negative effect she had had on the family's sleep schedule. Collins was a baby after all, and Cara was reaping some of the benefits of her granted wish. She got to help change the baby, feed the baby, hold the baby, soothe the baby. Everything was about the precious baby. Cara didn't mind; she was being responsible by helping. That was one of her favorite words to be called by the adults in her life. It wasn't until a few years later that the relationship started to sour.
First, it was Cara's free time. By then, Collins was about three and was forming her own personality. She wasn't completely helpless like a fresh baby, but she still couldn't be left to her own devices for too long. Cara was tasked with watching her sister whenever her parents were busy, which wasn't often, but did foil some of her plans at one point or another. A sleepover? Not this weekend, Collins has a checkup on Friday and neither of their parents would have the energy or time to look after a third child. A school dance? No, there wouldn't be anyone to pick her up once it was over and they didn't want to disrupt Collins's bedtime because she was finally getting over her fear of the dark. Beta convention? Money was tight, having two kids participating in sports — Jeffery Walker not only signed his daughters up for tee-ball at the earliest age, he volunteered to coach the team. Eventually, it was better to not ask and forgo the disappointment entirely.
Cara realized early on that she and Collins had very different personalities, despite any shared interests. Collins marched to the beat of her own drum, while Cara had learned how to follow the same rhythm as everyone else. And when Cara tried to get her younger sister to follow that rhythm, it usually resulted in an argument. If Collins would just listen, then things would work out much smoother, but the girl insisted on doing things her own way, making her own mistakes rather than learning from the mistakes of others. Over the years, their arguments got fewer and farther between, but grew in intensity, from petty fights about clothes to whether or not one or the other was making the right decision about their lives. Cara didn't like Collins's boyfriend or Collins didn't like Cara's major. Or maybe they both thought their parents were treating the other unfairly. Collins more often than not found it easier to let it go and ignore Cara's criticisms, and Cara did try to not let Collins's personality bother her unless it was detrimental in the long run. But eventually, one of them would lose their temper and say something they regretted. The situation would resolve itself like it did between most siblings, but until then, it would be like walking on eggshells around them.
☽●☾
As Cara sat in the old recliner, a now empty cup of coffee in one hand and her cellphone in the other, she tried to keep her mind from imagining the worst case scenario of where her sister was and what she was doing.
I'm going to kill her when she gets home. And then I'm going to ground her.
She'd been waiting up since midnight, the time at which Collins had said she would be home by. Cara had made the decision to stay up and wait to make sure she got in safely. And, okay, maybe she wanted to make sure that her sister didn't pull some idiotic plan to sneak her date into the house and then have him gone by morning. But either way, she was trying to be the responsible older sister that her parents had wanted. That was the only reason she hadn't called them in the middle of their day and told them that Collins was missing; it would prove that she'd failed at the task she'd promised she could handle.
It's just like Collins to stay out all night with no regard for anyone else that might be concerned. She doesn't care that I could get called into work on a miniscule amount of sleep. She doesn't care that I've been up for hours. She won't even answer her phone for God's sake!
It was easier to allow her worry to manifest as anger, easier to imagine that Collins was being lackadaisical rather than hurt. It took everything for Cara to not think about the murders in Seattle that had been all over the news recently. What if the perpetrators had moved to the Forks area?
She couldn't just sit here in the dark for another five hours, waiting on pins and needles; she had to at least try and do something. First, she'd drive around to the places that Collins might be, like Reverend Weber's house or the Stanleys'. The Cullen residence was also a possibility, but she didn't know where they lived. If anything, she could call Dr. Cullen in the event that her search turned up fruitless. She didn't know where Matthew Reese's family lived either. How had she managed to not inquire about that? It wasn't very responsible of her.
She could check the venue of the dance, too, in case Collins had become incapacitated at some point and was waiting there to drive home. And the police station, though surely Charlie would have called if anything had happened, right?
Charlie...I could check in with him as my next to last resort. He wouldn't call my parents if I asked him not to, since Collins is eighteen.
Cara took the time to change clothes and throw her hair up into an old ball cap before brewing a to-go cup of coffee and grabbing her keys. The clock on the microwave read 5:55 am.
I'll give her until ten 'o' clock. If I can't find her by then, I'll panic.
☽●☾
The first thought that crossed my mind in the gray area between being asleep and being awake was that this was the warmest I'd been since leaving Alabama. It was bliss to be away from the cold, wet weather of Forks for just a moment, even if it was just a dream. The bedding wasn't mine, but that thought hadn't fully formed in my mind. All that mattered was how soft and cozy it felt against my skin. The pillow was the perfect level of firmness under my head; I rolled over and smothered my face in the blanket and sheets, remembering that my foot was in a boot and propped up on a stack of pillows. The scent of linen was overshadowed by something else much better. Something that would have smelled familiar if my brain hadn't been halfway asleep. Something sweet and oaky, with a hint of leather and ash, just like...
I quickly jerked my head back out of the blankets and instantly regretted it. Pain flashed through my temples, the light coming in through the windows like a strobe light against my eyes. The image in front of me swirled as a wave of nausea washed through my stomach. I plopped back down and tried not to throw up at the same time.
That was the scent of Jasper Hale.
I closed my eyes and took deep breaths in through my nose, and out through my mouth. Yep, that was Jasper alright, but the more important thing right then was to not throw up, though the nausea and headache weren't helping in the slightest. Neither were all the questions popping into my mind, such as: Where was I and why did I feel like I'd been hit by a Mack truck?
"Collins?" That was Alice, I could recognize her voice anywhere. Even though she hadn't spoken above a whisper, it sounded unusually loud to my pounding head. I slowly turned and opened my eyes. She sat in a chair, looking effortlessly beautiful in chic loungewear. Looking way better than I felt. Seeing her stirred a thought in my mind, but it flitted away before becoming clear.
"Alice?" My throat was dry and my voice barely sounded above a whisper. "Where am I?"
My eyes drifted around the room as the vertigo eased up. One wall was entirely covered by a bookshelf, or rather, it was a bookshelf. There were probably hundreds of books, some newer, others looking antique. The walls were a dark green, accented by rich wood furniture. The wall to my left was one large window spanning from floor to ceiling. Thankfully, the curtains had been mostly drawn closed, letting in only a small amount of sunlight. I had the distinct impression that this was a guy's room. Did that mean-?
Out of nowhere, vomit rose up my throat and into my mouth. Alice was there in time to pull my body to the side and place a small trash can under my chin. I wretched three times, emptying the contents of my stomach, which included last night's dinner. Grilled chicken breast was much less impressive the second time around. The bile burned my throat and tasted bitter, but the sour feeling in my belly subsided. A thin sheen of sweat broke out over my skin. I would be forever grateful for Alice's intuition. She stood and walked through a door at the opposite end of the room, then returned with a damp washcloth and a glass of water. I swished a mouthful, then spit it back into the trash with the foul smelling puke. After wiping my face clean, I propped myself back on the pillow and slowly sipped the remaining water.
"You're at my family's house. Specifically, you're in Jasper's room, and have been all night. Please don't freak out."
She must have noticed the startled look on my face and the way my eyes flickered around, as if Jasper would suddenly appear from the shadows. How on Earth had I ended up here, and better yet, why? I looked over to the other side of the bed, suddenly terrified that I hadn't been the only one sleeping in here last night, but the covers looked undisturbed.
"Collins, what do you remember from last night?"
My hands gripped the sheets as the thudding in my head intensified. Last night...last night was a blur.
"I remember the dance," I mumbled. "I remember dancing with Matthew and then dancing with Jasper. But I don't remember leaving. Does Matthew know I'm here?"
Matthew. The thought of him didn't do anything particularly nice to my unstable stomach. Alice took a deep breath, then wrinkled her nose at the stench of the vomit. I watched as she pulled her lips into her mouth, hesitating to answer my question.
"A few things happened last night that may be difficult to hear, especially if you're not feeling well," she began. "Perhaps it'd be best if you ate something first."
My stomach punctuated her sentence with a gurgle.
"I feel like shit," I sighed, resting my face in my hands. But I was hungry, it would just be a miracle if anything I ate stayed down.
"How about a shower? Then we can see if you're up for something, and I'll explain everything."
I let her lead me to the adjacent bathroom and set out a fresh washcloth and towel. This felt all wrong, being in Jasper's room, in his bathroom for goodness sakes. He'd yet to make an appearance, but I wasn't lucky enough to escape without seeing him, that I was sure of.
I stood under the hot spray of the shower head for what felt like hours. The Cullens are rich, they can afford the water, I thought, then immediately chastised myself for being greedy. The quicker my shower was over, the quicker Alice could fill in the blanks from the previous evening. The idea brought on a new wave of uneasiness. I doused the wet rag with soap from the nearest bottle. I expected it to smell like Jasper, but instead, it had a light lavender fragrance, exactly like the brand I used at home. I glanced at the bottle again. It was the same.
Alice had prepared anything I'd need as if I were staying in a hotel rather than her house. A new toothbrush and a travel tube of toothpaste. A hairbrush and a pack of ponytail holders. A hairdryer, though I was sure that was hers. I had noticed while showering and brushing my teeth that everything looked new and especially clean, not in a "I clean up after myself" way, but a "this room has never been previously occupied" way. There were no water spots or dust or hell, even fingerprints. I was careful to put everything back where it had been and tried not to leave toothpaste or water anywhere. I was too messy for a house like this.
Alice so generously left out a neat stack of clothes, that at first glance, could have come off of the rack at Walmart. But upon closer inspection, I noticed the tags were designer, despite the fact that it was a plain white t-shirt, a pair of black sweatpants, and a matching sports bra. I pulled on the clothes and stuffed my undergarments in my purse sitting near the door. The shirt and pants were softer than anything I'd ever worn previously, and made Victoria Secret pajamas feel like burlap.
I dried my hair until it wasn't dripping water, then pulled it into a tight ponytail. With clean skin and hair and fresh clothes, I felt marginally better, even with a lingering headache. Good enough to look around at the bedroom. The books were my main interest; there could have easily been a thousand stacked on the shelves all the way up to what must have been a twelve foot ceiling. My hand reached out to touch their spines until I realized how old they were. Some of the titles were familiar classics, with names like Mark Twain, Ralph Waldo Emerson, and Walt Whitman. Most of the authors were American, though a volume of Alfred Lord Tennyson's poetry appeared well loved. I plucked it off the shelf and opened to a poem that looked to be frequently visited, "The Charge of the Light Brigade," and read the line that had been underlined what looked like years ago:
"Forward, the Light Brigade!"Was there a man dismayed?Not though the soldier knewSomeone had blundered.Theirs not to make reply,Theirs not to reason why,Theirs but to do and die.
I replaced the book and continued to survey the shelves. Some of them would have impressed my dad, like the hefty copy of Lonesome Dove. He'd loved that book, along with any other Westerns he could get his hands on. Some were older, like Washington Irving's work, others more recent, like True Grit. Everything that hadn't been recently published could have been first editions, they looked so old. Then, there was a collection of soft hand-bound leather journals. I was just about to place a finger on the nearest one with the date '1890' etched into the spine when someone knocked on the door, making me jump.
"One second!" I called as I limped to my crutches and opened the door, trying to act as if I hadn't just been snooping through all of the books. I had expected it to be Alice, here to retrieve me, but Jasper was the person on the other side. The memory of us dancing last night, of him picking me up and spinning me around, flashed in my mind. It made my stomach flip, but not in the same way as earlier. It was more like...being on a rollercoaster right as you go over the largest hill at the very beginning. I didn't mind it.
"How're you feeling?" he asked. His voice was a soothing sound despite the still lingering headache. His face was guarded, as if he didn't want to give anything away. I couldn't tell what he was thinking or feeling, and whether it was anything like what I had thought or felt about last night and this morning. The tension between us crackled like static electricity; every interaction between Jasper and myself never went as planned.
"Better. Um," I gestured behind myself towards the room, "tried to leave everything like I found it."
His eyes flicked over my shoulder, directly at the bookshelf where I'd been standing just a minute ago. It was like he knew I'd been perusing his books and journals. Like he knew I'd picked one up and opened it.
"Thanks for letting me stay in your room," I smiled slightly, hoping it would lighten the mood, even just a little. "You've got a nice collection of books."
His expression didn't change, just remained a mask of ambiguity. The rollercoaster feeling quickly turned into a familiar twinge of unease.
"My pleasure," he murmured lowly, though his demeanor didn't match the words. "Alice is waiting for you in the kitchen with everyone else. I'll show you where that is, if you're ready."
If Jasper were a normal person, I could find a covert way to touch his hand or his arm and figure out exactly what emotions were hiding in his head. But Jasper wasn't a normal person, and for whatever reason, my gift didn't work on him. Or it worked too well on him, it was still a little unclear. He kept his cards close to his chest, that much was obvious. I nodded my head and went to pick up my bag, but he had moved behind me and picked it up before I could. How chivalrous.
He led me down a hallway to the stairwell, where I gave him a crutch and tried not to fall down the steps as we took them one at a time. The parts of the house that I could see were modern, designed with sharp angles, clean shades of white and beige, and a beautiful oak floor that my mom would fawn over. On the wall, a collage of graduation caps, I assumed which had been thrifted, hung above the stairs. Out of Jasper's room, the air smelled more herbal, but still sweet. Maybe the Cullens were just one of those families that always smelled nice. Someone was baking, made evident by the smell of cinnamon and butter and yeast. This time, the idea of food didn't make my stomach roil. My mouth watered. At the base of the stairs, I could see into the den, where a couple of people were reclining on a tan leather couch. I figured it was Emmett and Rosalie, as they were the two I hadn't met but had heard a lot about, and they were cuddled together watching TV. It was hard to imagine anyone more beautiful than Alice, but Rosalie could have stopped ten lanes of traffic at five in the afternoon on a Friday. Her long blonde hair was lighter than Jasper's, probably the byproduct of a master hairstylist. Her skin, like all of the Cullens and Hales, was flawlessly smooth like alabaster. Did Dr. Carlisle have a dermatologist in his back pocket or were they all just ridiculously blessed? She had the sought after hourglass figure; it was no wonder Jessica didn't like bringing her up when Mike was around. The man beside her was burly, with dark curly hair and dimples that gave his face a younger appearance. Both of them stopped talking and looked my way as Jasper and I approached. Rosalie's mouth turned down in a frown, but Emmett smiled warmly and waved his hand in greeting before resting it back on his wife's shoulder.
"Collins! There you are. How's your stomach?" I hadn't noticed Alice pop up on my left until she was right beside me.
"It's alright. I think I could keep something down if I tried," I was grateful for a familiar and friendly face. The warning bells in my head were sounding three times as loud as usual while my heart thudded against my ribcage. Maybe one day, I'd know what it was about the Cullen family that sent my nervous system into a spiral.
"Esme's got some food ready in the kitchen," Alice beckoned for me to follow her in that direction. Jasper took a seat in the den instead of accompanying me. I sighed in relief or disappointment; it was hard to tell the difference lately.
The kitchen matched what I'd seen of the house so far. All appliances were new, stainless steel, and immaculately clean. Good God, if my mom ever saw this place, she wouldn't rest until her house looked identical. In front of the huge stove, Esme spread cream cheese frosting over a tray of steaming cinnamon rolls. My mouth watered even more. She turned as Alice guided me onto one of the chairs at the dining table.
"Hello dear. How's your head and stomach?"
Her words were like rich honey, smooth and sweet. Her aura shone brightly despite the overcast sky hanging out of the window behind her. I noticed that her eyes were the same golden color as Alice's, Jasper's, and Edward's. And Rosalie's and Emmett's. Come to think of it, Dr. Carlisle's too. Strange.
"They're getting better," I answered the same question for the third time, but didn't feel irritated at all. "Are those homemade cinnamon rolls?"
"Oh, yes! I tried this new recipe from a cookbook the kids got me for Christmas. Would you like to try one? Perhaps with some coffee?"
Man, if I hadn't thrown up just an hour prior, I would've asked for the whole tray. They smelled heavenly to my empty stomach.
"Yes ma'am. I'd like that very much."
I watched as she removed a gooey cinnamon roll from the pan and served it on a Marie Daage dessert plate. One piece of the dinnerware cost the same as my monthly car payment. The elegant fork looked and felt like real silver, but I hadn't had enough exposure to be sure whether it was or not. My granny only brought out the silver for Christmas and Easter.
"Cream or sugar?" Alice held up a dainty mug of steaming coffee that matched the plate.
"Black is fine, thank you. I don't wanna risk it."
The cinnamon roll had to be the most delicious thing I'd ever tasted. Each bite practically melted in my mouth as I worked my way to the center of the pastry. Esme and Alice joined me at the table, each with a cup of coffee for themselves. I wiped the back of my hand across my mouth to remove any crumbs, then felt especially foolish doing so in front of the most refined family I'd ever met.
"What was it that you wanted to talk to me about?"
Esme reached out and grasped my hand in a comforting gesture. Warm bursts of light exploded behind my eyes as the sheer affection spread through my fingers. This had to be the most caring woman I'd ever met, though I hadn't even been introduced to her within the past five minutes.
"Collins...last night at the dance, we believe your drink may have been contaminated. With vodka." Alice's eyes roamed over my face, waiting for some reaction.
"That would explain the holes in my memory and the hangover I've had all morning," I nodded along. "I haven't had much alcohol before, especially at a school function. How'd my drink even get spiked? Did someone pour a fifth into the punch bowl?"
Alice pursed her lips together and shook her head.
"No, it seems that you're the only one who ended up drunk. We think, rather, we're sure that it was Matthew who did it."
I let out a harsh laugh. Matthew? Matthew Reese? The same guy that had followed me from class to class so I wouldn't have to carry my books, and got his feelings hurt when he wasn't the first person to hear about my math test results? The same Matthew that insisted on opening my doors for me, whether it be a building or a car?
"What? No, Matthew wouldn't do that. He'd never hurt me." I removed my hand from between Esme's, feeling offended at the implication of what had been said.
"Collins, you were pretty drunk when Jasper and I found him walking you to the car. You were upset because he wouldn't let you go back for your purse. Does any of that ring a bell?"
I tried to mentally retrace every detail of last night, starting from arriving at dinner to waking up the next morning. Matthew and I had gotten to the venue and almost immediately started dancing, along with Eric, Angela, Jess, and Mike. We attempted to dance for a couple of songs, and at one point, I had to shoot down Matt copping a feel on the dance floor. We took a break, Matt went to fetch punch and hors d'oeuvres, and that had been when Jasper came over and asked to dance. My cheeks warmed at the recollection of the twirl at the end. I could almost perfectly remember how it had felt. Matthew wasn't happy about it, but he'd dropped the subject as we drank punch and ate hors d'oeuvres.
The punch.
It had tasted off, I did remember that, but had chalked it up to me not being a fan of the flavor the school had provided. It had burned my throat slightly, though it was hard to notice as fast as we had been drinking it. The first time Matt had grabbed my drink, I'd lost sight of him while dancing with Jasper. The second time, I'd been talking to Angela at our table, facing away from the punch bowl. It wasn't long after that I had started feeling clumsy and uncoordinated. Suddenly, my memory came clearly into focus, like a windshield fully defrosted on a chilly morning. I could barely keep myself upright on the way too and from the bathroom. And Matt had insisted on leading me to the car, but wouldn't let me go back inside to grab my purse. He had gotten angry. He had hit me.
"Holy shit," I whispered and let my hands cover my face. "He did spike my drink. He slapped me."
The sound of shattering ceramic reverberated throughout the kitchen. I jerked my head up in that direction and saw pieces of a mug sitting on the counter in a puddle of steaming coffee. Jasper stood there, his jaw clenched as he began picking up the mess.
"You fell asleep in the car on the way here. I didn't feel comfortable changing your clothing for you while you were asleep, so it's good that you didn't throw up until you woke up," Alice brought my attention back to her. "I wanted to monitor you in case you became sick."
Bethany and I had been to parties, some at houses and some in hayfields, but all of them with alcohol. We were both careful to not leave our drinks unattended and to never have more than one to avoid getting too tipsy for the other person to manage on their own. A little fun could easily turn into a disaster, and it seemed like last night could have been one of those disasters if it hadn't been for Alice and Jasper. My stomach lurched at the idea of being carted off in a drunken stupor by someone who didn't have my best interest at heart. The cinnamon roll I'd just eaten threatened to make a second appearance. I leaned back in my chair, closed my eyes, and took a few deep breaths until the feeling eased.
"Honey, are you alright?" Esme's calm voice soothed the part of my brain that was freaking out about all the horrible ways last night could have ended. I opened my eyes and looked at her face. It was the most unimportant thing to notice at the time, but it bothered — or maybe, intrigued — me that all of the Cullen family looked so much alike and not alike at the same time. Only Jasper, Rosalie, and Esme were related by blood, and they did all favor each other. But everyone shared features, like their golden eyes, pale skin, and ridiculously good looks. They also had dazzlingly white, straight teeth, but a good dentist and orthodontist could be responsible for that. How did seven mostly unrelated people happen to share so many characteristics?
"Yeah, I'll be fine. Thank you for breakfast and letting me stay here. Alice, thanks for not letting me choke on my own puke."
"Anytime," she smiled. "I almost forgot; I plugged your phone in last night. Let me grab it for you."
Alice hopped up from her seat and nearly floated to the counter at the far end of the kitchen where my phone was plugged into the wall, then nearly floated back and handed it to me. When I punched the middle button on the keypad, the time read 9:13 a.m. A list of calls and messages appeared as well, telling me that no one had snooped through it, though I didn't think they would. As I scrolled through the messages, my stomach plummeted. There were one or two from Jess and Angela asking if I had made it home safely. A mixture of phone calls and text messages from Matt that I deleted without bothering to read. The rest of the 26 text messages, 15 phone calls, and 5 voicemails were from Cara.
Oh. No.
"Ohmigod," I shot up, nearly losing my balance. Cara had been expecting me back at midnight and had no idea what was going on. It was a miracle the National Guard hadn't been dispatched to Forks for a search and rescue. "My sister is going to absolutely murder me. I have to go."
"Jasper can drive you home," Esme offered as she cleared the table and placed the dishes in the sink, then turned to where Jasper was leaning against the door jamb, his arms crossed over his chest. "You don't mind, do you? Carlisle's keys are hanging by the door. And grab Collins a jacket; it's freezing outside."
Jasper didn't respond, but he did start walking back up the stairs, assumingly for an article of clothing. I turned back to Esme.
"Thank you again, for everything," I said, not knowing how to fully express my gratitude at the hospitality they'd shown me.
"It was our pleasure." She smiled so warmly that I knew she wasn't just saying that to make me feel better. Jasper was back with the same sweatshirt he had lent me the other day at the hospital. I pulled it on over my head and resisted the urge to hold the fabric up to my nose and take a deep breath. On the way to the door, Edward, who I hadn't seen earlier, made a point to follow us with his eyes the entire way. It wasn't lost on Jasper, who seemed to grow more irritated when he noticed.
The garage held a number of shiny vehicles, all expensive cars or motorcycles. I recognized Edward's Volvo and Jasper's bike, but the canary yellow Porsche and fire-engine red Mercedes drew my attention. It was the older black Mercedes that we stopped at. I was too wound up to even appreciate the luxury of the car as we pulled out into the driveway. I had no idea how far the Cullens lived from town or how long it would take to get home. The gravel road leading to the highway seemed to go on forever through the evergreen forest. Neither one of us spoke until he turned onto the main highway.
"I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't come outside when you did last night. Actually, I probably do, but it wouldn't have been anything good. So thank you, really," my throat tightened near the end of the sentence, making it difficult to finish. I surveyed him from the corner of my eye as inconspicuously as possible. His eyes were trained unwaveringly on the road, the muscle in his jaw tensing, and the tendons in his arm twitching. He was a long way from the guy that had politely asked to dance and then twirled me around wistfully.
"Anyone would have done the same thing," he brushed off, as his eyes flicked my way for just a second. I looked back out the window, where the clouds blocked out the sun for what must have been the twentieth consecutive day. A perfect setting for the storm brewing at home. My stomach twisted into several knots. Cara could only do so much now that I was eighteen, but that also meant she could kick me out and ship me to France with a note pinned to my jacket saying "return to sender." It wasn't like I had purposefully spent the night partying or shacking up with a guy, though she didn't know that. She'd probably been worried sick, a thought that made me feel more guilty the closer we got to our destination. I estimated we were five minutes out once we passed the library. All I could do was lean my head back and take deep breaths to try to calm the continuous jiggling of my good leg. Once we pulled onto my street, neither the deep breathing or the leg jiggling helped to ease my anxiety. Her car was in its usual spot, a good sign that she wasn't at the police station reporting a missing person. A bad sign that World War III would commence in mere minutes. As the car came to a stop by the curb, I sat still as a statue, not wanting to get out quite yet. I could feel Jasper watching me the longer we sat.
"She's going to be pissed. There ain't a way around that. But it'll be fine once you explain everything. She wouldn't be a very good sister otherwise," he reassured me. I rolled my head in his direction, my expression likely that of a frightened deer.
"You don't know Cara. She's liable to not let me get a word in edgewise. But I guess there's no use putting it off anymore."
I grabbed my bag and started to remove the sweatshirt, but Jasper told me to hold onto it since it was so cold outside. I was halfway out of the car when his hand touched my arm, the coolness of it seeping through the material and causing goosebumps to spread over my skin. We stayed there for just a few seconds, but it felt longer; the light amber of his eyes had grown darker again. The knots in my stomach slowly began to loosen until they were completely undone; the idea of talking to Cara didn't seem so scary now.
"I'll see you tomorrow," he finally said before releasing my arm and turning back towards the steering wheel. He only began driving away once I'd made it up the steps.
The door was unlocked, and as I swung it open, I prayed that Cara would at least listen before flying off the rails.
A/N: A bit of a filler chapter but things will happen soon. It's a slow burn for a reason <3