I held up my injured hand.

He sighed. “That wasn’t my fault. You should have known better.”

“Jacob, I can’t be happy without him.”

“You’ve never tried,” he disagreed. “When he left, you spent all your energy holding on to him. You could be happy if you let go. You could be happy with me.”

“I don’t want to be happy with anyone but him,” I insisted.

“You’ll never be able to be as sure of him as you are of me. He left you once, he could do it again.”

“No, he will not,” I said through my teeth. The pain of the memory bit into me like the lash of a whip. It made me want to hurt him back. “You left me once,” I reminded him in a cold voice, thinking of the weeks he’d hidden from me, the words he’d said to me in the woods beside his home. . . .

“I never did,” he argued hotly. “They told me I couldn’t tell you — that it wasn’t safe for you if we were together. But I never left, never! I used to run around your house at night — like I do now. Just making sure you were okay.”

I wasn’t about to let him make me feel bad for him now.

“Take me home. My hand hurts.”

He sighed, and started driving at a normal speed, watching the road.

“Just think about it, Bella.”

“No,” I said stubbornly.

“You will. Tonight. And I’ll be thinking about you while you’re thinking about me.”

“Like I said, a nightmare.”

He grinned over at me. “You kissed me back.”

I gasped, unthinkingly balling my hands up into fists again, hissing when my broken hand reacted.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I did not.”

“I think I can tell the difference.”

“Obviously you can’t — that was not kissing back, that was trying to get you the hell off of me, you idiot.”

He laughed a low, throaty laugh. “Touchy. Almost overly defensive, I would say.”

I took a deep breath. There was no point in arguing with him; he would twist anything I said. I concentrated on my hand, trying to stretch out my fingers, to ascertain where the broken parts were. Sharp pains stabbed along my knuckles. I groaned.

“I’m really sorry about your hand,” Jacob said, sounding almost sincere. “Next time you want to hit me, use a baseball bat or a crowbar, okay?”

“Don’t think I’ll forget that,” I muttered.

I didn’t realize where we were going until we were on my road.

“Why are you taking me here?” I demanded.

He looked at me blankly. “I thought you said you were going home?”

“Ugh. I guess you can’t take me to Edward’s house, can you?” I ground my teeth in frustration.

Pain twisted across his face, and I could see that this affected him more than anything else I’d said.

“This is your home, Bella,” he said quietly.

“Yes, but do any doctors live here?” I asked, holding up my hand again.

“Oh.” He thought about that for a minute. “I’ll take you to the hospital. Or Charlie can.”

“I don’t want to go to the hospital. It’s embarrassing and unnecessary.”

He let the Rabbit idle in front of the house, deliberating with an unsure expression. Charlie’s cruiser was in the driveway.

I sighed. “Go home, Jacob.”

I climbed out of the car awkwardly, heading for the house. The engine cut off behind me, and I was less surprised than annoyed to find Jacob beside me again.

“What are you going to do?” he asked.

“I am going to get some ice on my hand, and then I am going to call Edward and tell him to come and get me and take me to Carlisle so that he can fix my hand. Then, if you’re still here, I am going to go hunt up a crowbar.”

He didn’t answer. He opened the front door and held it for me.

We walked silently past the front room where Charlie was lying on the sofa.

“Hey, kids,” he said, sitting forward. “Nice to see you here, Jake.”

“Hey, Charlie,” Jacob answered casually, pausing. I stalked on to the kitchen.

“What’s wrong with her?” Charlie wondered.

“She thinks she broke her hand,” I heard Jacob tell him. I went to the freezer and pulled out a tray of ice cubes.

“How did she do that?” As my father, I thought Charlie ought to sound a bit less amused and a bit more concerned.

Jacob laughed. “She hit me.”

Charlie laughed, too, and I scowled while I beat the tray against the edge of the sink. The ice scattered inside the basin, and I grabbed a handful with my good hand and wrapped the cubes in the dishcloth on the counter.

“Why did she hit you?”

“Because I kissed her,” Jacob said, unashamed.

“Good for you, kid,” Charlie congratulated him.

I ground my teeth and went for the phone. I dialed Edward’s cell.

“Bella?” he answered on the first ring. He sounded more than relieved — he was delighted. I could hear the Volvo’s engine in the background; he was already in the car — that was good. “You left the phone . . . I’m sorry, did Jacob drive you home?”

“Yes,” I grumbled. “Will you come and get me, please?”

“I’m on my way,” he said at once. “What’s wrong?”

“I want Carlisle to look at my hand. I think it’s broken.”

It had gone quiet in the front room, and I wondered when Jacob would bolt. I smiled a grim smile, imagining his discomfort.

“What happened?” Edward demanded, his voice going flat.

“I punched Jacob,” I admitted.

“Good,” Edward said bleakly. “Though I’m sorry you’re hurt.”

I laughed once, because he sounded as pleased as Charlie had.

“I wish I’d hurt him.” I sighed in frustration. “I didn’t do any damage at all.”

“I can fix that,” he offered.

“I was hoping you would say that.”

There was a slight pause. “That doesn’t sound like you,” he said, wary now. “What did he do?”

“He kissed me,” I growled.

All I heard on the other end of the line was the sound of an engine accelerating.

In the other room, Charlie spoke again. “Maybe you ought to take off, Jake,” he suggested.

“I think I’ll hang out here, if you don’t mind.”

“Your funeral,” Charlie muttered.

“Is the dog still there?” Edward finally spoke again.

“Yes.”

“I’m around the corner,” he said darkly, and the line disconnected.

As I hung up the phone, smiling, I heard the sound of his car racing down the street. The brakes protested loudly as he slammed to a stop out front. I went to get the door.

“How’s your hand?” Charlie asked as I walked by. Charlie looked uncomfortable. Jacob lolled next to him on the sofa, perfectly at ease.

I lifted the ice pack to show it off. “It’s swelling.”

“Maybe you should pick on people your own size,” Charlie suggested.

“Maybe,” I agreed. I walked on to open the door. Edward was waiting.

“Let me see,” he murmured.

He examined my hand gently, so carefully that it caused me no pain at all. His hands were almost as cold as the ice, and they felt good against my skin.

“I think you’re right about the break,” he said. “I’m proud of you. You must have put some force behind this.”

“As much as I have.” I sighed. “Not enough, apparently.”

He kissed my hand softly. “I’ll take care of it,” he promised. And then he called, “Jacob,” his voice still quiet and even.

“Now, now,” Charlie cautioned.