Hopeless Devotion ~ A Jasper Hale Story

Chapter 25 - Emily's House

Saturday, March 11th

Walking up to Emily's house was like stepping into the smell of heaven—if heaven was run by someone's grandma who cooked like a Michelin-starred line chef with zero chill.

Seriously. You could smell the food before we even got up the porch steps. Not just one thing either—this wasn't "oh someone's making pancakes." No. This was syrup and bacon and muffins and spices and something savory that might've been stew but could also kill you with carbs. It was like standing outside a restaurant during dinner rush.

Embry sniffed and elbowed Jared, coughing into his fist. "You bring your wallet?"

Jared groaned. "Dang. I knew I forgot something."

"Hope you're ready to wash dishes," I muttered, earning a smirk from Embry.

From inside, a voice called, "You hungry?"

Emily.

The screen door creaked open, and there she was—tall, striking, with a warm voice and eyes that saw everything. But it wasn't her beauty that stopped me cold. It was the scars. The right half of her face was clawed to hell—deep, old gashes like a bear had swiped her and time had healed it the best it could. She didn't flinch. Didn't hide. She just looked at us like we were expected.

"Who are your friends?" she asked.

"Bella and Tiffany," Jared answered.

She gave us a look—me in my hoodie and combat boots, Bella with her arms crossed and eyes darting like she was expecting another wolf to explode out of the woods.

"Vampire girls," Emily said, not cruelly. Just... labeling. Like she'd already done the math.

I lifted a brow. "That makes you the wolf girl, then. Guess we're all strays here."

Emily blinked, and then let out a laugh that felt like it could shake the walls. It was rich and unapologetic. "Fair enough."

She turned and disappeared inside with a motion that said, follow or starve. And after a second, we did.

"Sam with Paul?" she asked as she moved through the kitchen, flipping something on the stove like this was any other day and not one where two supernatural factions were practically circling each other like sharks.

"Paul saw the girls," Embry said, helping himself to a slice of something bread-like before Emily smacked his hand with a wooden spoon.

Emily rolled her eyes, but smiled. "Figures."

"He and Jake'll be late," Jared added. "Again."

"Don't worry," Embry said, grinning. "Even if they show up late, no food's going to waste."

Emily gave him a look like she knew exactly how much food he alone could put away. "Damn right it won't."

Then she turned to us, softer now. "You girls want a muffin? They're warm."

Bella looked like she might pass out.

I stepped forward, took one, and offered a wry smile. "Thanks. And uh... if one of the guys tries to flip a table, we'll just duck behind the couch."

Emily laughed again, and this time it didn't feel like there was a war waiting outside.

Just breakfast. Just people.

Even if they were wolves. Even if we were... not.

And for a second, I let myself believe that maybe—maybe—we could all sit down at the same table without tearing each other apart.

Embry was halfway through inhaling what looked like his third plate when Emily smacked his arm with the wooden spoon. "Save some for your brothers," she scolded, and he winced dramatically—zero actual remorse.

"Pig," Jared muttered with a smirk, already reaching for another biscuit.

I leaned back against the counter, muffin in hand, just... watching. The three of them bantered like they'd done this every day of their lives—bickering and teasing like brothers raised under the same roof, bound by something stronger than blood. It was loud, messy, real. And weirdly comforting.

Emily's kitchen felt like a whole different world. White cupboards, pale wooden floorboards, light pouring through the window over the sink. On the little round table, there was this old cracked pitcher full of wildflowers, like something out of a Sunday morning dream. It smelled like food and sugar and something safe.

Which was hilarious, considering I was standing in a house full of actual werewolves.

Emily was elbow-deep in eggs—seriously, she must've cracked two dozen of them—and her lavender shirt sleeves were pushed up. That's when I noticed the scars. They trailed down her arm, all the way to the back of her right hand. Not just the ones on her face. They were everywhere. A silent warning, even if no one spoke it aloud.

Yeah. Hanging out with werewolves definitely had its risks. Embry wasn't wrong.

Then the front door creaked, and Sam walked in.

The room shifted. I don't mean they stood straighter or anything dramatic—it just settled. Like the gravity realigned around him. Alpha vibes, full force.

Emily crossed to him, and what happened next was so soft and sweet it almost hurt. Sam leaned down and pressed kisses across her face—cheek, brow, scar, mouth. Like he had to memorize her. Like she was home.

It hit me harder than I wanted it to. Jasper used to kiss me like that.

Jared groaned, dramatic. "Hey! None of that. I'm eating over here."

Sam, without missing a beat, tossed back, "Then shut up and eat," and kept kissing her.

I laughed into my muffin. I couldn't help it. They were adorable, in a weird, domestic-werewolf-power-couple kind of way.

Then came the ruckus—Jacob and Paul, tumbling into the house like they were still wrestling the way kids did when someone's mom wasn't looking. Laughing, shoving, grinning like maniacs. Bella looked like someone had hit her with a cold bucket of confusion, but me? I was used to it. After years around the Cullen boys, chaos was practically white noise.

Jacob caught Bella's expression and his own softened. "Hey... sorry about earlier." He rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish. "You okay?"

I coughed. Loudly. And gave Bella the look—one eyebrow raised, arms crossed, full sass activated.

Time for that talk. The "sorry for calling you a hypocrite," and "let's clarify this whole friendship thing" talk.

Bella nodded, glancing at me like she knew I wouldn't let her squirm out of it. "Can we talk? Outside?"

Jacob agreed instantly, and the two of them stepped onto the porch, closing the screen door behind them.

Inside, the table talk resumed like nothing had happened. I stayed by the counter, arms folded, trying not to look like I was eavesdropping even though I totally was.

When they came back in, Bella looked a little calmer. Jacob's grin had softened, more real. Whatever they'd said—it helped.

Sam glanced up from his seat at the table. "Jacob," he said, voice low but commanding. "You've got something to share."

And just like that, the casual buzz in the room dimmed.

The real talk was about to begin.