The Twilight Saga Collection

by Stephenie Meyer

  Jacob went to sit on the velveteen-upholstered bench against the wall, patting the space beside him.

  “He sounded like he was going to be in there for a while,” he said, stretching his long legs out in front of him as he settled in to wait.

  I joined him with a sigh. He looked like he was thinking about blurring more lines. Sure enough, as soon as I sat down, he shifted over to put his arm around my shoulders.

  “Jake,” I protested, leaning away. He dropped his arm, not looking bothered at all by the minor rejection. He reached out and took my hand firmly, wrapping his other hand around my wrist when I tried to pull away again. Where did he get the confidence from?

  “Now, just hold on a minute, Bella,” he said in a calm voice. “Tell me something.”

  I grimaced. I didn’t want to do this. Not just not now, but not ever. There was nothing left in my life at this point that was more important than Jacob Black. But he seemed determined to ruin everything.

  “What?” I muttered sourly.

  “You like me, right?”

  “You know I do.”

  “Better than that joker puking his guts out in there?” He gestured toward the bathroom door.

  “Yes,” I sighed.

  “Better than any of the other guys you know?” He was calm, serene—as if my answer didn’t matter, or he already knew what it was.

  “Better than the girls, too,” I pointed out.

  “But that’s all,” he said, and it wasn’t a question.

  It was hard to answer, to say the word. Would he get hurt and avoid me? How would I stand that?

  “Yes,” I whispered.

  He grinned down at me. “That’s okay, you know. As long as you like me the best. And you think I’m good-looking—sort of. I’m prepared to be annoyingly persistent.”

  “I’m not going to change,” I said, and though I tried to keep my voice normal, I could hear the sadness in it.

  His face was thoughtful, no longer teasing. “It’s still the other one, isn’t it?”

  I cringed. Funny how he seemed to know not to say the name—just like before in the car with the music. He picked up on so much about me that I never said.

  “You don’t have to talk about it,” he told me.

  I nodded, grateful.

  “But don’t get mad at me for hanging around, okay?” Jacob patted the back of my hand. “Because I’m not giving up. I’ve got loads of time.”

  I sighed. “You shouldn’t waste it on me,” I said, though I wanted him to. Especially if he was willing to accept me the way I was—damaged goods, as is.

  “It’s what I want to do, as long as you still like to be with me.”

  “I can’t imagine how I could not like being with you,” I told him honestly.

  Jacob beamed. “I can live with that.”

  “Just don’t expect more,” I warned him, trying to pull my hand away. He held onto it obstinately.

  “This doesn’t really bother you, does it?” he demanded, squeezing my fingers.

  “No,” I sighed. Truthfully, it felt nice. His hand was so much warmer than mine; I always felt too cold these days.

  “And you don’t care what he thinks.” Jacob jerked his thumb toward the bathroom.

  “I guess not.”

  “So what’s the problem?”

  “The problem,” I said, “is that it means something different to me than it does to you.”

  “Well.” He tightened his hand around mine. “That’s my problem, isn’t it?”

  “Fine,” I grumbled. “Don’t forget it, though.”

  “I won’t. The pin’s out of the grenade for me, now, eh?” He poked me in the ribs.

  I rolled my eyes. I guess if he felt like making a joke out of it, he was entitled.

  He chuckled quietly for a minute while his pinky finger absently traced designs against the side of my hand.

  “That’s a funny scar you’ve got there,” he suddenly said, twisting my hand to examine it. “How did that happen?”

  The index finger of his free hand followed the line of the long silvery crescent that was barely visible against my pale skin.

  I scowled. “Do you honestly expect me to remember where all my scars come from?”

  I waited for the memory to hit—to open the gaping hole. But, as it so often did, Jacob’s presence kept me whole.

  “It’s cold,” he murmured, pressing lightly against the place where James had cut me with his teeth.

  And then Mike stumbled out of the bathroom, his face ashen and covered in sweat. He looked horrible.

  “Oh, Mike,” I gasped.

  “Do you mind leaving early?” he whispered.

  “No, of course not.” I pulled my hand free and went to help Mike walk. He looked unsteady.

  “Movie too much for you?” Jacob asked heartlessly.

  Mike’s glare was malevolent. “I didn’t actually see any of it,” he mumbled. “I was nauseated before the lights went down.”

  “Why didn’t you say something?” I scolded as we staggered toward the exit.

  “I was hoping it would pass,” he said.

  “Just a sec,” Jacob said as we reached the door. He walked quickly back to the concession stand.

  “Could I have an empty popcorn bucket?” he asked the salesgirl. She looked at Mike once, and then thrust a bucket at Jacob.

  “Get him outside, please,” she begged. She was obviously the one who would have to clean the floor.

  I towed Mike out into the cool, wet air. He inhaled deeply. Jacob was right behind us. He helped me get Mike into the back of the car, and handed him the bucket with a serious gaze.

  “Please,” was all Jacob said.

  We rolled down the windows, letting the icy night air blow through the car, hoping it would help Mike. I curled my arms around my legs to keep warm.

  “Cold, again?” Jacob asked, putting his arm around me before I could answer.

  “You’re not?”

  He shook his head.

  “You must have a fever or something,” I grumbled. It was freezing. I touched my fingers to his forehead, and his head was hot.

  “Whoa, Jake—you’re burning up!”

  “I feel fine.” He shrugged. “Fit as a fiddle.”

  I frowned and touched his head again. His skin blazed under my fingers.

  “Your hands are like ice,” he complained.

  “Maybe it’s me,” I allowed.

  Mike groaned in the backseat, and threw up in the bucket. I grimaced, hoping my own stomach could stand the sound and smell. Jacob checked anxiously over his shoulder to make sure his car wasn’t defiled.

  The road felt longer on the way back.

  Jacob was quiet, thoughtful. He left his arm around me, and it was so warm that the cold wind felt good.

  I stared out the windshield, consumed with guilt.

  It was so wrong to encourage Jacob. Pure selfishness. It didn’t matter that I’d tried to make my position clear. If he felt any hope at all that this could turn into something other than friendship, then I hadn’t been clear enough.

  How could I explain so that he would understand? I was an empty shell. Like a vacant house—condemned—for months I’d been utterly uninhabitable. Now I was a little improved. The front room was in better repair. But that was all—just the one small piece. He deserved better than that—better than a one-room, falling-down fixer-upper. No amount of investment on his part could put me back in working order.

  Yet I knew that I wouldn’t send him away, regardless. I needed him too much, and I was selfish. Maybe I could make my side more clear, so that he would know to leave me. The thought made me shudder, and Jacob tightened his arm around me.

  I drove Mike home in his Suburban, while Jacob followed behind us to take me home. Jacob was quiet all the way back to my house, and I wondered if he were thinking the same things that I was. Maybe he was changing his mind.

  “I would invite myself in, since we’re early,” he said as we pulle
d up next to my truck. “But I think you might be right about the fever. I’m starting to feel a little...strange.”

  “Oh no, not you, too! Do you want me to drive you home?”

  “No.” He shook his head, his eyebrows pulling together. “I don’t feel sick yet. Just...wrong. If I have to, I’ll pull over.”

  “Will you call me as soon as you get in?” I asked anxiously.

  “Sure, sure.” He frowned, staring ahead into the darkness and biting his lip.

  I opened my door to get out, but he grabbed my wrist lightly and held me there. I noticed again how hot his skin felt on mine.

  “What is it, Jake?” I asked.

  “There’s something I want to tell you, Bella...but I think it’s going to sound kind of corny.”

  I sighed. This would be more of the same from the theater. “Go ahead.”

  “It’s just that, I know how you’re unhappy a lot. And, maybe it doesn’t help anything, but I wanted you to know that I’m always here. I won’t ever let you down—I promise that you can always count on me. Wow, that does sound corny. But you know that, right? That I would never, ever hurt you?”

  “Yeah, Jake. I know that. And I already do count on you, probably more than you know.”

  The smile broke across his face the way the sunrise set the clouds on fire, and I wanted to cut my tongue out. I hadn’t said one word that was a lie, but I should have lied. The truth was wrong, it would hurt him. I would let him down.

  A strange look crossed his face. “I really think I’d better go home now,” he said.

  I got out quickly.

  “Call me!” I yelled as he pulled away.

  I watched him go, and he seemed to be in control of the car, at least. I stared at the empty street when he was gone, feeling a little sick myself, but not for any physical reason.

  How much I wished that Jacob Black had been born my brother, my flesh-and-blood brother, so that I would have some legitimate claim on him that still left me free of any blame now. Heaven knows I had never wanted to use Jacob, but I couldn’t help but interpret the guilt I felt now to mean that I had.

  Even more, I had never meant to love him. One thing I truly knew—knew it in the pit of my stomach, in the center of my bones, knew it from the crown of my head to the soles of my feet, knew it deep in my empty chest—was how love gave someone the power to break you.

  I’d been broken beyond repair.

  But I needed Jacob now, needed him like a drug. I’d used him as a crutch for too long, and I was in deeper than I’d planned to go with anyone again. Now I couldn’t bear for him to be hurt, and I couldn’t keep from hurting him, either. He thought time and patience would change me, and, though I knew he was dead wrong, I also knew that I would let him try.

  He was my best friend. I would always love him, and it would never, ever be enough.

  I went inside to sit by the phone and bite my nails.

  “Movie over already?” Charlie asked in surprise when I came in. He was on the floor, just a foot from the TV. Must be an exciting game.

  “Mike got sick,” I explained. “Some kind of stomach flu.”

  “You okay?”

  “I feel fine now,” I said doubtfully. Clearly, I’d been exposed.

  I leaned against the kitchen counter, my hand inches from the phone, and tried to wait patiently. I thought of the strange look on Jacob’s face before he drove away, and my fingers started drumming against the counter. I should have insisted on driving him home.

  I watched the clock as the minutes ticked by. Ten. Fifteen. Even when I was driving, it took only fifteen minutes, and Jacob drove faster than I did. Eighteen minutes. I picked up the phone and dialed.

  It rang and rang. Maybe Billy was asleep. Maybe I’d dialed wrong. I tried again.

  On the eighth ring, just as I was about to hang up, Billy answered.

  “Hello?” he asked. His voice was wary, like he was expecting bad news.

  “Billy, it’s me, Bella—did Jake make it home yet? He left here about twenty minutes ago.”

  “He’s here,” Billy said tonelessly.

  “He was supposed to call me.” I was a little irritated. “He was getting sick when he left, and I was worried.”

  “He was...too sick to call. He’s not feeling well right now.” Billy sounded distant. I realized he must want to be with Jacob.

  “Let me know if you need any help,” I offered. “I could come down.” I thought of Billy, stuck in his chair, and Jake fending for himself....

  “No, no,” Billy said quickly. “We’re fine. Stay at your place.”

  The way he said it was almost rude.

  “Okay,” I agreed.

  “Bye, Bella.”

  The line disconnected.

  “Bye,” I muttered.

  Well, at least he’d made it home. Oddly, I didn’t feel less worried. I trudged up the stairs, fretting. Maybe I would go down before work tomorrow to check on him.I could take soup—we had to have a can of Campbell’s around here somewhere.

  I realized all such plans were canceled when I woke up early—my clock said four thirty—and sprinted to the bathroom. Charlie found me there a half hour later, lying on the floor, my cheek pressed against the cold edge of the bathtub.

  He looked at me for a long moment.

  “Stomach flu,” he finally said.

  “Yes,” I moaned.

  “You need something?” he asked.

  “Call the Newtons for me, please,” I instructed hoarsely. “Tell them I have what Mike has, and that I can’t make it in today. Tell them I’m sorry.”

  “Sure, no problem,” Charlie assured me.

  I spent the rest of the day on the bathroom floor, sleeping for a few hours with my head on a crumpled up towel. Charlie claimed that he had to work, but I suspected that he just wanted access to a bathroom. He left a glass of water on the floor beside me to keep me hydrated.

  It woke me up when he came back home. I could see that it was dark in my room—after nightfall. He clumped up the stairs to check on me.

  “Still alive?”

  “Sort of,” I said.

  “Do you want anything?”

  “No, thanks.”

  He hesitated, clearly out of his element. “Okay, then,” he said, and then he went back down to the kitchen.

  I heard the phone ring a few minutes later. Charlie spoke to someone in a low voice for a moment, and then hung up.

  “Mike feels better,” he called up to me.

  Well, that was encouraging. He’d only gotten sick eight hours or so before me. Eight more hours. The thought made my stomach turn, and I pulled myself up to lean over the toilet.

  I fell asleep on the towel again, but when I woke up I was in my bed and it was light outside my window. I didn’t remember moving; Charlie must have carried me to my room—he’d also put the glass of water on my bedside table. I felt parched. I chugged it down, though it tasted funny from sitting stagnant all night.

  I got up slowly, trying not to trigger the nausea again. I was weak, and my mouth tasted horrible, but my stomach felt fine. I looked at my clock.

  My twenty-four hours were up.

  I didn’t push it, eating nothing but saltine crackers for breakfast. Charlie looked relieved to see me recovered.

  As soon as I was sure that I wasn’t going to have to spend the day on the bathroom floor again, I called Jacob.

  Jacob was the one who answered, but when I heard his greeting I knew he wasn’t over it.

  “Hello?” His voice was broken, cracking.

  “Oh, Jake,” I groaned sympathetically. “You sound horrible.”

  “I feel horrible,” he whispered.

  “I’m so sorry I made you go out with me. This sucks.”

  “I’m glad I went.” His voice was still a whisper. “Don’t blame yourself. This isn’t your fault.”

  “You’ll get better soon,” I promised. “I woke up this morning, and I was fine.”

  “You were sick?” h
e asked dully.

  “Yes, I got it, too. But I’m fine now.”

  “That’s good.” His voice was dead.

  “So you’ll probably be better in a few hours,” I encouraged.

  I could barely hear his answer. “I don’t think I have the same thing you did.”

  “Don’t you have the stomach flu?” I asked, confused.

  “No. This is something else.”

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Everything,” he whispered. “Every part of me hurts.”

  The pain in his voice was nearly tangible.

  “What can I do, Jake? What can I bring you?”

  “Nothing. You can’t come here.” He was abrupt. It reminded me of Billy the other night.

  “I’ve already been exposed to whatever you have,” I pointed out.

  He ignored me. “I’ll call you when I can. I’ll let you know when you can come down again.”

  “Jacob—”

  “I’ve got to go,” he said with sudden urgency.

  “Call me when you feel better.”

  “Right,” he agreed, and his voice had a strange, bitter edge.

  He was silent for a moment. I was waiting for him to say goodbye, but he waited too.

  “I’ll see you soon,” I finally said.

  “Wait for me to call,” he said again.

  “Okay....Bye, Jacob.”

  “Bella,” he whispered my name, and then hung up the phone.

  10. THE MEADOW

  JACOB DIDN’T CALL.

  The first time I called, Billy answered and told me that Jacob was still in bed. I got nosy, checking to make sure that Billy had taken him to a doctor. Billy said he had, but, for some reason I couldn’t nail down, I didn’t really believe him. I called again, several times a day, for the next two days, but no one was ever there.

  Saturday, I decided to go see him, invitation be damned. But the little red house was empty. This frightened me—was Jacob so sick that he’d needed to go to the hospital? I stopped by the hospital on the way back home, but the nurse at the front desk told me neither Jacob or Billy had been in.

  I made Charlie call Harry Clearwater as soon as he got home from work. I waited, anxious, while Charlie chatted with his old friend; the conversation seemed to go on forever without Jacob even being mentioned. It seemed that Harry had been in the hospital...some kind of tests for his heart. Charlie’s forehead got all pinched together, but Harry joked with him, blowing it off, until Charlie was laughing again. Only then did Charlie ask about Jacob, and now his side of the conversation didn’t give me much to work with, just a lot of hmms and yeahs. I drummed my fingers against the counter beside him until he put a hand over mine to stop me.