Hopeless Devotion ~ A Jasper Hale Story

Chapter 30 - Funeral

I heard Dad's cruiser before I saw it — the crunch of tires on gravel, the low idle rumble that always sounded louder in places where grief hung in the air like fog.

Charlie stepped out, his shoulders a little more squared than usual, dressed in his best uniform. I knew that posture. That was the one he used for duty, not comfort. He didn't come here as Bella's dad or my dad. He came as Forks' sheriff, and Harry Clearwater had been more than just a friend. He'd been part of the backbone of this community — of the tribe.

He nodded at me but didn't smile. Today wasn't a day for smiling.

"You okay, kid?" he asked low, like he wasn't sure if he was allowed to.

I nodded, but the tightness in my chest didn't budge.

We didn't speak much after that. Just stood near the edge of the gathering, a respectful distance from the family. We weren't Quileute. We weren't blood. We didn't speak their prayers or carry their pain in the same way. But Dad had known Harry most of his life, and I'd known Leah long enough to feel the echo of her grief in my own bones.

The funeral wasn't big. The pack was there — in human form, quiet, solid, watchful. No suits or formal wear, just clean clothes, bare feet in the grass. Emily stood close to Sue Clearwater, who looked like she'd aged twenty years in two days. Seth hovered nearby, eyes too wide, hands jammed into his pockets like he was trying to hold himself together.

Leah was there too, standing straight and silent, her arms crossed tightly. Her eyes didn't leave the ground.

No one spoke loudly. The prayers were quiet, carried on the wind with the smell of cedar and saltwater. The scent of the ocean always felt sacred here. I didn't understand the full weight of what was being said — the language was foreign to me — but the emotion behind it didn't need translating.

I didn't realize how tightly I was gripping the edge of my jacket until Charlie brushed my arm.

He didn't say anything. Just gave a small nod, like he was telling me he was proud of me for showing up — for respecting something I didn't fully understand but still knew mattered.

When it was over, there were no handshakes. No long lines of people giving condolences. Just the pack retreating quietly, Sue and Seth staying close together, and Leah... Leah walked straight into the woods alone, her shoulders rigid, her steps purposeful.

And I knew where she was going.

Not to be comforted.

To run.

To shift.

To lose herself in the only thing that made sense anymore.

The house was too quiet.

Dad and I barely said a word on the drive home. Grief sits differently in silence — heavier, somehow. It wasn't until we stepped through the front door that I felt something... off.

It wasn't just the quiet. It was wrong quiet.

I kicked off my boots and shrugged off my jacket, still half-numb from everything. Dad set his keys on the counter like always, but his brow furrowed immediately. The fridge hadn't been opened, Bella's muddy boots were missing, and the living room light was still on.

"Bells?" he called.

Nothing.

He moved toward the stairs, and I drifted toward the kitchen — not because I thought she'd be hiding behind the pantry, but because something tugged at me. A bad feeling, crawling low in my stomach.

Then I saw it — a folded note, scrawled in Bella's handwriting, sitting on the kitchen table like it had been left in a rush.

I picked it up, already knowing I didn't want to read it.

Dad, 

I'm with Alice. Edward's in trouble. You can ground me when I get back, I know it is a bad time.

So sorry. Love you so much.

Bella.

My hand clenched around the paper before I could stop myself. "Dad—" My voice cracked. "She's gone."

He turned from the stairs like someone had punched him. "What?"

I held up the note.

The look on his face shattered something in me. He didn't even take the note right away. Just stared at it like it was a death certificate.

"She what?"

"She left. With Alice." My throat felt tight. "She said Edward's in trouble. She didn't say where. Just... gone."

He finally took the paper, read it once, then again, slower — like somehow he'd missed the part where it made sense.

"I was just with her," he muttered. "We were—" He stopped short, voice shaking. "Harry just died. What the hell is she thinking?"

"She's thinking with her heart, not her head," I said, too tired to sugarcoat it.

Dad scrubbed a hand over his face, jaw tight. "She could be anywhere."

I didn't say what I was thinking.

That she was in Italy.

That Edward Cullen was probably going to get himself killed doing something suicidal, and Bella — being Bella — ran straight into the flames without thinking twice.

I couldn't tell Charlie that. I couldn't tell him anything.

Not about vampires. Not about werewolves. Not about the war we were all being pulled into like riptide.

All I could do was sit beside him at the table while he held her note in shaking hands, and wondered how long it would take before I got my call — the one that said whether or not Bella would come back.