Hopeless Devotion ~ A Jasper Hale Story

Chapter 11 - The Motorbikes

Saturday, January 17th

Bella texted me right after lunch, asking if I could pick her up from Newton's. She'd gotten off early and said she didn't feel like driving the truck today. We'd been switching off between her red Ford and my Kia since we both hated being alone lately. I didn't ask questions—I just grabbed my keys and headed over.

She was already standing under the awning when I pulled up, her arms wrapped around herself, her hair soaked despite the hood of her jacket. I could see the tension in her posture as she slid into the passenger seat.

"You good?" I asked, even though I already knew the answer.

"Can we just... not go home yet?" Her voice was small, fragile.

I didn't say anything, just gave a quiet nod and turned out of the lot, taking us nowhere in particular.

The silence between us stretched for miles. It wasn't awkward. It was heavy. Bella stared out the window like she was watching something that wasn't there—maybe remembering something, or someone.

We passed through the edges of Forks, down the roads where even the trees seemed to lean in, listening. I didn't know what she needed, but I knew it wasn't words.

Eventually, when I couldn't ignore the shaking in her shoulders anymore, I pulled over near Russell Avenue. The Kia idled for a second before I killed the engine.

Bella didn't move. She just sat there, her chin trembling, knuckles white in her lap. And then, like someone flipped a switch, she broke. Sobs poured out of her like she'd been holding her breath for days.

I didn't say anything. I just reached across the console and wrapped my arms around her. She collapsed into me, and I held her while her world crumbled again.

Minutes passed. Maybe hours. Time felt strange lately.

Eventually, she pulled away, wiping at her face with the sleeve of her jacket.

"I didn't mean to..." she started, but I shook my head.

"You don't have to explain," I said softly.

She turned her head then, her eyes narrowing slightly as she looked out the window. Her breath caught.

"...Tiff."

"Yeah?"

"I know where we are."

I followed her gaze and saw an overgrown front yard across the street, a couple of rusted motorcycles propped up by a sagging cardboard sign. FOR SALE, AS IS.

A glimmer of something flickered in Bella's expression. Not happiness. Not even hope. But something.

"I think I need to do something reckless," she whispered. Then, before I could respond, she was already out of the car, crossing the road in the rain.

I watched from the driver's seat, unsure of what was happening—but feeling, somehow, like this was part of it. Part of her breakup recovery plan. Bootcamp Bella, as she jokingly called it once. Break the rules. Break the silence. Break anything but herself.

Maybe this was a start.

We dragged those rusted beasts out of the weeds like they were a treasure. They weren't. One was missing a clutch lever, the other had half a seat. But Bella looked at them like they were keys to something she'd lost.

Her fingers brushed the handlebars like they meant something. I didn't ask why. I knew. I'd seen her face in Port Angeles that night when she walked into the street like she wanted to be hit. She wasn't chasing death—she was chasing him. Whatever delusion she had that made her hear Edward's voice in danger... this was about chasing that ghost.