chapter nine, things you don't say

Death is imminent. Most don't get the luxury of reaching the end of their life naturally-peacefully. Most don't die knowing their life was well-lived, well-loved.

You, however, were going to take that luxury away from Jacob Black.

Thirty-five hours, forty-two minutes, eight seconds. That's how long it had been since you last saw him, since that night. You hadn't texted, but neither had he.

To be fair, he knew you needed more space than he did. Jacob always seemed to know that about you-how when your emotions boiled over, you needed quiet. Stillness. Time alone to cool off so you could speak your mind without every word carrying too much heat, especially ones you didn't mean.

And he was right.

Which only pissed you off more.

Because if he understood you that well-understood what you needed, how you worked, how you shut down-then why did he keep you under the dark, like you hadn't spent your entire lives knowing each other inside-out?

He knew you wouldn't reach out first. You weren't the kind of person who broke the silence until you were ready, and he knew that. You knew that he knew that. Which made it all worse because even if he knew you needed space, even if he understood it down to a science, a part of you still wished he'd done the opposite anyway. You wanted him to prove you wrong, to show up at your doorstep soaked and breathless and say, screw space, I care too much to stay away.

But he didn't.

And maybe there was no right move he could've made. Maybe there was no winning. Maybe this whole situation was designed to screw you both up.

When Jacob felt things, he felt them with everything in him. He was stubborn. He loved hard and fast, but he always, always, put others before himself. That's why it felt natural for him to throw his life into danger without blinking-because protecting Forks from real monsters gave him purpose. It distracted him from thinking too hard about stuff that really scared him.

Like feelings.

Like you.

Everything had happened too fast. The shifting, the imprinting, the supernatural chaos. One second he was just a kid worrying about homework, dreaming about a girl who moved away. The next, he had fur, paws, responsibilities, and a cosmic bond telling him the person who kept him grounded was now the axis his entire universe spun around.

You didn't do anything wrong and it wasn't something you said. You just existed, and somehow your existence alone became the thing Jacob needed to survive.

When you left, he told himself the crush would die quietly. And it did-kind of. It fizzled out, but not really. Never really. He buried it, shoved it down with both hands, and then you came back and suddenly it was like he didn't need air, or food, or sleep. Just you.

You being near him rewired everything. The progress he'd made-the person he was trying to become-froze. Halted like his growth hit a red light and never got the green again.

He never wanted to hurt you. Not ever. He wanted to do the opposite, to protect you and preserve your peace by keeping you from the heavy, tangled mess of what he was now. The last thing he wanted was to trap you in something you never asked for.

And the worst part? He knew you'd understand because you always did. You'd listen and nod and hold space for him the way no one else could.

That made it scarier.

Because if you understood, then it'd be real. It would mean accepting what he was, what you were to him, and what that might do to you.

Not seeing you sucked. But knowing you were hurting because of him? That made his skin crawl, his chest ache. He could feel it-literally-because of the damn imprint, the cosmic tie that tethered his every heartbeat to yours.

And lately, with patrols getting more intense, with rogue vampires creeping through the tree line again, Jacob's already limited time had shrunk even more. Which meant pushing you further out. Which meant more guilt. More regret. More thoughts circling like vultures.

And everyone noticed.

"You look like crap," Embry told him one afternoon, smirking around a half-eaten granola bar as Jacob slouched deeper into the worn couch in Emily's living room.

Jacob didn't bother answering. His arms were crossed, hair a mess, dark circles etched under his eyes like bruises.

Quil threw down a reverse card during their lazy Uno game and raised an eyebrow. "Seriously, man. You're gonna implode. Or imprint-sulk yourself into an aneurysm."

"I'm fine," Jacob muttered.

"Liar," Embry replied immediately, not even looking up from his cards.

"You're not sleeping. You're screwing up on patrols. You let a tree root punk you last night. A root, Jake." Quil gestured toward the bandage around Jacob's thumb. "That's embarrassing for all of us."

Jacob sighed through his nose. "Yeah. I know."

There was a pause.

Then Quil leaned back and said, "Look. I'm saying this because I love you, bro. But you're being a total idiot. A certified, capital 'I' idiot. You know it. We know it. Probably even the trees know it at this point."

"Great pep talk," Jacob replied, sarcastic.

"I'm not done," Quil said. "You don't even have to tell her the wolf stuff yet. Honestly, I wouldn't. She's already trying to figure out why you're acting like this moody-loner-slash protector hybrid. You're already giving off major Angel-from-Buffy vibes. Don't make it worse by dumping a werewolf-shaped bomb on her."

Embry snorted. "For real. If you disappear dramatically one more time, she's gonna start journaling about you in cursive."

Jacob cracked a reluctant smile but didn't say anything. Then, without looking up, he tossed his last card onto the pile. "Uno out."

Quil blinked. "Wait-seriously?"

Jacob just leaned back against the couch, looking up at the ceiling, eyes dull. "Doesn't mean I'm winning at life."

Embry let out a low whistle. "Damn. That was darker than expected."

"Talk to her," Quil said again, more serious now. "You don't have to say everything, just something. Something real, honest, because not saying anything? That's what's killing you."

--

Jacob was sad, but so were you.

Not just sad. Confused. Conflicted. Hurt. Stuck somewhere between rage and ache and it all sat heavy in your chest like a weight you couldn't breathe under.

You were drinking a glass of orange juice and staring at the fridge like it had answers. Maybe if you looked hard enough, the swirling storm inside your brain might settle.

"You're looking at the fridge like red laser beams are gonna shoot out of your eyes and evaporate it," your dad said, stepping into the kitchen with that familiar dry tone, breaking the silence like a crack of thunder. He clocked your slumped posture and pinched brows instantly.

You let out a small, humorless laugh. "Yeah. Practicing for my victim."

He walked over and rubbed your shoulders, then kissed the side of your head in that comforting, fatherly way he always did. "Black? Don't do that to my boy."

You rolled your eyes. "I'm just so annoyed. Like why is he acting like a freak and being so secretive? I'm not asking for the government's confidential top-secrets. I just want him to be honest."

"I was just like him," your dad says, smiling as he opened the cabinet and pulled out a mug. "Young. Rebellious. Mysterious. It didn't help when I fell in love."

You raised a brow and perched up a little, staring at him like he'd said something criminal. "With Mom? You? Mysterious?"

He smiles with pride written all over his face.

"Mom said you used to call her five times a day and show up to her work 'accidentally' like, three times a week."

He nodded solemnly. "That was me being mysterious."

You laughed, for real this time.

"I once tried to impress her by dancing backwards down the hallway in rollerblades while holding a boombox in high school. Hit a locker, flipped over, broke my wrist, passed out, hospitalized. She was sitting next to me when I woke up. That's when I knew she was the one."

You blinked. "You never told me that version."

"Because I looked like an idiot," he replied, sipping his coffee. "But an idiot in love."

"So what's that got to do with Jacob acting like an emotionally repressed cryptid?"

He chuckled, deep and loud from his belly. "Everything. You kids think love is clean. It's not. Sometimes it's stupid and messy and makes you act like a weirdo who stares at a fridge. But if you don't deal with it head-on, it eats you alive."

You stared into your juice, feeling heat crawl up the back of your neck.

"Just... don't wait too long," he advises, heading for the hallway. "I'd like a warm thank you in your wedding speech, not a cold one on your deathbed. Go talk to him before your temper rips him apart."

Your dad disappears down the hallway, leaving behind the faint scent of coffee. You take another sip of your orange juice and just sit there, watching the condensation slide down the glass, listening to the silence settle in the house like fog. Your thoughts churn quietly beneath the surface-heavy, sharp, loud, impossible to name. You look down at your hands and they're still, but everything inside you is not.

You don't know how much time passes. Maybe a few minutes. Maybe an hour. But eventually, after thirty-seven hours, twelve minutes, and fifty-six seconds of silence and distance, you throw on (his) hoodie, grab your keys, and drive.

The road is muscle memory. You've taken this route so many times, it's etched into your bones. You pass the place where Jacob taught you how to skate, where he pushed you too fast down a hill and nearly gave you a concussion. Where he laughed so hard he fell over with you.

Eventually, you're on the reservation, the ocean wind shifting in through the cracked window, and the ache in your chest building like pressure before a storm.

You park in front of a small, red wooden house that always looked too much like a barn. A little weathered by time, but standing.

You barely knock before the door opens.

Jacob looks tired, his hair messy like he had just woken up, his chest rising and falling concerningly fast. He looks at you like he wasn't expecting you but was hoping you'd come anyway. But you don't give him a chance to speak.

You step forward and just let it all out.

"Do you know how much it hurt not knowing what the hell was going on with you? I felt like I was screaming into a void and you just stood there watching. Do you know what it feels like to have someone look at you like you're everything one second and then like you're a stranger the next? Like they're holding behind some thick wall and you're not allowed through, no matter how hard you pound on it?"

You don't even notice your hands are shaking until you grab at the sleeves of the hoodie.

"I came here thinking things would be different-or maybe just the same in the ways that mattered. But you're not talking to me, Jacob. Not really. You show up, you bail, you look at me like I'm the answer to a question you won't even ask. And I'm trying. God, I'm trying to be patient and soft and understanding, but I'm not a mind reader. I don't want to be. I want you to trust me enough to say something. Anything."

He's still. Watching you. Breathing heavy.

You keep going, voice cracking just slightly now.

"Because this isn't fair. I know you're going through something, I see it. But it feels like you're grieving something I don't even know about, like there's this shadow over you and you won't let me near it. You shut me out and I feel like I'm just waiting for the version of you I used to know to come back. But maybe that version is gone. And if he is, at least say that. Is that too much to ask for? Too selfish?"

There's a moment of silence. He doesn't move.

Then he steps aside and lets you in.

You follow him into the warmth of the house, your heartbeat still thudding, your throat dry. He runs a hand through his hair and lets out a long breath before finally looking at you again.

"I can't tell you," he says, voice low but steady. "And before you get mad again-just listen. I want to be honest with you, more than anything, but there's this part of me I didn't ask for. Something that's not entirely mine to explain. And I don't even understand it yet."

He swallows, his eyes are shining too, but he blinks quickly.

"It's been eating me alive since before you came back. Every time I look at you, there's this war inside me wanting to protect you and wanting to keep you as far from me as possible, and I don't know how to handle that. I don't even fully know what I am right now, let alone how to share that with someone else."

He finally steps closer. "And I know you're hurt. I hate myself for hurting you, but I'm hurting too, and I don't have the words or the tools to fix this yet. I just need more time. I promise I'll tell you-everything. But right now, if I did, I'd only be handing you a burden that I'm still trying to carry myself and I can't do that to you."

You breathe in slowly, heart thudding against you ribs.

"Nothing about you is a burden to me, Jacob," you whisper. "I love and care about every inch of your soul. You know that, right?"

"I do," he says quietly, "And that's what terrifies me. Why do you seem to love and understand me more than I do myself? Just let me figure this out first. Let me become the person who deserves that kind of love. Then I'll tell you. I swear."

You stare at him for a long moment. Then you nod once, slow.

"Okay, I trust you. Don't go breaking it, Jake."

"I won't," he replies almost immediately. "I swear I won't."

"You're not kicking me out now, are you?" you ask, voice soft.

"No," he says, voice low, like the word had been waiting in his chest this whole time. "Stay. Please. Stay."

There's something raw in the way he says it-not desperate, exactly. Just sincere, like he's finally admitting that he needs something.

You stop, half-turned toward the door, and look at him.

"Okay," you say softly.

You drop your keys on the table, toe off your shoes, and glance around the room like it's unfamiliar, even though you've been here a hundred times before. Everything feels a little warped, like the air's heavier now, slower. Jacob stays quiet, eyes following you with that same unreadable look. Part guilt. Part relief. Mostly something deeper-something wounded and tender.

You shift your weight, then glance down at your phone. "Crap. I forgot my charger."

His voice is steadier now, a little warmer. "Top drawer on my desk. Might still be that old one you left."

You nod, grateful for something simple, and head toward his room.

His room smells like him-that mix of pine and clean laundry and something warm you can't quite name. Possibly familiarity. You flick on the light and go to the desk.

You open the drawer and pause.

The overhead light flickers softly, catching on the edge of something crinkled and colorful nestled between loose batteries and old screws.

Starburst wrappers.

Dozens of them.

Some smoothed flat, others crumpled into little cubes like they'd been stuffed into a pocket in a hurry. Pink, orange, red-every color, every flavor. You pick one up, your fingers still recognizing the texture, the weight of it. A soft breath escapes you before you can help it.

Jacob's voice floats in from the hallway. "You find it?"

You don't answer right away. You're still staring into the drawer, holding a piece of your shared history between your fingers.

He steps into his room. "Hey, you okay?"

You hold up the wrapper without turning around. "You kept these?"

A pause. You can feel him stop in the doorway behind you.

Then, quieter: "What do you mean?"

You look back at him, your expression a mixture of incredulous and something tender. You shift back slightly so he can see inside the drawer. His eyes land on it-on the sea of familiar colors-and something in his face changes. Softens.

He walks forward slowly. "I forgot I still had those."

You raise a brow. "Did you, though?"

Jacob scratches the back of his neck again, half a smile playing at his lips. "Okay. Maybe I knew. But only because I never wanted to throw them out."

You turn toward him, arms folded loosely, a pink wrapper still in your hand. "Why?"

He looks down at the drawer, then back up at you with a sort of quiet vulnerability. "Because they were yours. Ours. I don't know. I guess... I held onto them because they reminded me of a time when things made sense. When getting a kiss from you only cost a few pieces of candy."

You scoff lightly. "You were constantly broke."

"I know." He smiles. "But you still patched me up anyway. Even when I didn't deserve it."

You shake your head, stepping closer. "You're such a sentimental idiot."

"I'm aware."

He meets your eyes, and something heavier settles between you. A beat of silence. A shared knowing. You search his face for something-an answer, maybe. Or a reason why you're still here, why your heart still aches when it comes to him.

"I missed this," you say, your voice quieter now. "Us. Before everything got complicated. But I'm glad we talked."

Jacob nods, almost solemn. "Me too."

You inhale slowly, chest tight with the things you haven't said. Then he reaches out and pulls you in gently, his arms wrapping around your waist like they were made to. You fold into him without resistance. The hug is soft at first, then stronger. He tucks his chin over your shoulder, and you stay that way-for a long, quiet moment. No words. Just breath, warmth, and the ache of being known too well.

He pulls back just enough to look at you. His hands are still resting on your arms. "Let me make everything up to you."

You tilt your head, suspicious. "How?"

"Tomorrow," he says, but certain. "Be free at six."

You blink. "You're giving me a time but not a plan? Again?"

His smile tugs to the side, sheepish. "I swear I won't drag you hiking this time. Not without warning or verbal consent, at least."

"Hmm," you pretend to mull it over. "But I'm expecting, like, a five-course apology."

He raises a brow. "You're getting a pack of Starbursts and my sparkling company. Anyone else would be fighting for that."

You snort, despite yourself. "Modest, aren't we?"

"I've been told it's one of my more annoying qualities."

You roll your eyes, but the smile's already taken over. "Guess I'll allow it."

He leans in a little, playful but tentative. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," you nod, softer now. "I'll be there."

He grins. "I'll take what I can get."

There's a beat. Just the quiet hum of the room and the distance between you shrinking a little more.

You tilt your head. "We're okay?"

Jacob meets your gaze, steady and warm. "We're okay if you're okay."

You nod, voice just above a whisper. "Then we're okay."

And you don't need to say anything else. Because right now, in his hoodie, in his room, in this moment-you are.