𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐒 ⸻ 𝖻𝗅𝖺𝖼𝗄𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗋

→ chapter twenty-two.

"Enough, you two! What have I told you about wrestling in the house? Last week, you two broke the candy dish!" Leah scolded the two boys rough housing.

They broke apart reluctantly, flushed and slightly sweaty.

Brady Fuller grinned crookedly as he ran a hand through his curly hair.

"Yes, Mom," Collin Littlesea said with a snort. 

Leah ignored the pang that always accompanied the boys calling her that, even in a joking manner.

The Pack didn't have anymore new additions now that the vampires that had been staying in Forks in January left, so she was stuck baby sitting the younger kids. Like hell she was some damn nanny. Still she didn't mind. It warmed her through and through.

Brady stuck his tongue out and bolted when she took a mock menacing step towards him. His laughter faded down the hall. 

Collin sat down on the counter, watching her with big, puppy-dog eyes. "You're good at this, you know," he said finally. 

"Good at what?" she asked and leaned against the counter to pull the almost empty pitcher of sweet tea closer. 

"Talking to us." He ducked his head, red staining the tip of his ear that peeked out of his half-wet curls. It took her a moment to realize he was embarrassed. Bashful even. "You're easy to talk to. Like a real mom." Leah knew his relationship with his mother was a turbulent one, much like her own. 

Her heart constricted. "I do have a younger brother, so I know how to deal with you lot," she said half teasing and half meaning the words as she popped the lid of the pitcher off. "I'm just being myself." 

"Maybe you could be a therapist or something," he said offhandedly. 

Her treacherous heart stuttered. The fragile wings of a dream she'd long given up on beat.

"Maybe," she replied just as offhandedly, wondering if Jake would let her pursue something of her passion or if, just like Sam had before him, crush her beneath his heel. 

➽───────────────❥

"Jake?" she softly asked, pushing open the door to his bedroom. After Collin left, she'd texted him and asked if she could come over. Her hands trembled. Maybe she could do this. She'd tucked away that degree for so long, and maybe, just maybe she could breathe life into that battered, dusty dream she'd left so long ago. Her breathing is quick, nervous. Anxiety swelled up like a balloon, and she thought she might float away. 

"Yeah?" He poked his head out of closet and stepped out, pulling on a T-shirt. His muscles stretched and shifted beneath his satin skin. 

"Can we talk?" She couldn't keep the tremor out of her voice if she tried. Nerves made her stomach tighten and clench. Sweat bloomed in a patch across her back. This was it. Now or never. Would she be able to pursue her dream that she'd pushed into the recesses of her mind or be once again let down by the man she loved? 

He kicked the door shut and sat down on the bed, so tall and wide and sprawling, overflowing. His childish bedroom with trinkets from boyhood. While his bed had been upgraded so he didn't dangle off, there so many things that had stayed the same over the years. A Die Hard and a Fast and Furious poster that were worn and ripped. A dream catcher his mother made. A framed photo of him and his big sisters and, behind them, their parents. Weather-beaten books from his elementary years. A pocket knife or two. 

"What's up, Leah?" he said, drawing her eyes back to him. This was Jake. Her alpha. And he was so, so different from Sam—leagues and miles apart. This man who been broken much like her—by family death, by the people they loved, by becoming a monster and fighting monsters—hadn't let her down yet, but she still felt the traitorous slither of fear. Of anxiety drip into her belly. 

"I...I have an idea. It's not like I don't have the qualifications for it or anything," she said breathlessly, rushing through the words, her heart pounding so loud she knew he could hear it, "but I've thought about it. A lot. It was a pipe dream before I met Sam. A dream I'd pushed aside because realistically how could someone like me be a therapist? Especially after my dad died and Sam left me and suddenly—suddenly I was a terrible, horrible bitch who deserved every ounce of hurt and grief and then some." She swallowed hard. 

"You want to be a therapist?" Jake repeatedly slowly. His low and quiet voice gave nothing away. 

She squeezed her hands tight and screwed her eyes shut. "Yes. I-I have my degree, and I'm—"

"Leah."

She braced for rejection, for him to laugh in her face. The springs in his bed creaked and she felt the vibrations of his footfalls as he walked over. She lowered her head, every muscle tight. His smell permeated the air—alpha musk, sweat, and Old Spice deodorant—but most importantly he smelled of man. Hers. And it would break her all over again if he turned out to be just like Sam...

"Leah, sweetheart, look at me. Please."

Her lip trembled, giving her nerves and panic away, but she obeyed even before his hand came around her jaw and tilted her head up. There was stabbing pressure behind her eyes but she opened them anyway. 

His thumbs smoothed away the tears. When had she begun to cry?

"Leah, I believe you can do this. You can do anything you put your mind too. I think you'd make a good therapist. Really connect with people. I support you, wholly, in every decision you make. Even if I don't like it." He grinned slightly. She blinked away the hot film of tears, letting out a warbling relieved sob, before she sagged against him. 

He murmured and crooned sweet little lupine noises into her hair as he dragged them down, his hand brisk and warm across her back where it rubbed circles. "Ssh, I've got you." 

"You think I can do it?" she asked when she could breathe past her crying. 

"No, I know," —he squeezed her tight enough her vertebrae cracked— "you can do it. My Leah can do anything." 

Her voice came out wet and soft. "Your Leah just like you're my Jake." 

His voice was equally soft when he replied emphatically, "Always."