Hopeless Devotion ~ A Jasper Hale Story

Chapter Six - Decisions

August 26th, 2006

The cottage was quieter than usual. Even the wind sounded tentative, as if it knew not to push.

I stood in front of the mirror, hands on my hips, examining the faint swell of my belly. It had been subtle at first—a tightness I could deny—but now it was undeniable. My reflection looked back at me like a stranger wearing my face, wide-eyed, pale, caught somewhere between fear and awe.

Jasper was in the kitchen, humming lowly, clearing dishes from breakfast. I could hear the soft scrape of his movements over the quiet hum of the heater. Every so often, he glanced my way, cautious, hesitant, as though stepping closer might break some fragile boundary I had erected.

"I can't," I muttered, running a hand over my stomach. "I can't... tell anyone yet. Not the Cullens. Not even you. Not really."

He appeared in the doorway before I could protest further, expression carefully neutral. "Tiff... you don't gotta face this alone, darlin'." His drawl was soft, low, but it carried the weight of every worry he'd tried to keep tucked away.

I shook my head, wrapping my arms around myself. "Alone is safer. I—Jas, this could kill me. Or me and the baby." My voice cracked despite my effort to keep it level.

He moved closer, careful, hands out but not touching. "I know, sugar. I know it's dangerous. But that don't mean you gotta hide it."

"I can't help it," I whispered. "I—I feel it. Not just physically. I feel it in my chest, in my heart. Like it's already part of me. And I don't... I don't even know how to explain it."

He tilted his head, eyes soft and searching. "Try, darlin'. Tell me what it feels like."

I drew a deep breath. "It's not just fear, or excitement, or nausea... it's everything all at once. When it kicks or rolls, I feel it. Like it's... me, and I'm supposed to protect it. And I want to. But I'm scared. I can't even look at the Cullens yet. I'm not ready for their—" I swallowed hard, choking on the lump in my throat. "Their worry. Or their judgment. Or... disappointment. Or—"

"Shh," he murmured, finally letting a hand brush the curve of my hip. Soft, steady. "Ain't nobody here but us. Right now, it's just you and me. You don't gotta be strong for anyone else. You don't gotta be anything for nobody yet."

The words wrapped around me, settling like a weight I hadn't realized I'd been carrying. I let my forehead fall against his chest, feeling the slow, comforting pulse of him.

"You're right," I whispered. "I—I just... I don't want to screw this up. I can't screw this up. And every time I think about what could happen..." My voice faltered. "...I panic."

He held me tighter, his southern drawl thickening with emotion. "I know, sugar. I feel it too. And I can't—won't—let nothin' happen to you. But fear don't mean failure. Fear just... means you care. Means you're fightin' for it."

I laughed softly, bitter and tired, pressing into him. "I care too much. That's the problem."

"I don't see it as a problem," he said quietly, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. "I see it as... hope. Somethin' worth protectin'. Worth fightin' for."

The words hovered in the air between us, fragile and bright. I pressed my palm over my belly, feeling the faint, fluttering stir that had become a rhythm I could no longer ignore.

"I—I think I'm startin' to... connect with it," I admitted, voice small. "Not just... oh god, what if this kills me? But... like it matters that I protect it. That I care."

Jasper smiled, soft and patient. "You're already bondin', sugar. That's natural. That's... powerful."

"I feel... responsible," I said, swallowing hard. "And guilty. And... happy. And terrified. And—" I exhaled sharply, breaking off. "I don't know how to feel it all without collapse."

"You're allowed to feel it all," he said. "All at once, in pieces, however it comes. You don't gotta be perfect. You just... gotta be you. And I'll be here. Always."

I leaned into him, finally letting some of the fear slip, letting the connection—baby, life, Jasper—sink in. My body relaxed a fraction. My hand stayed over my belly, fingers trembling, whispering little circles over what had once been just a swell I could deny. Now, it was a life I could no longer ignore.

"And we'll figure out the Cullens," he added, quiet but certain. "When you're ready."

I nodded, resting my forehead against his chest again. "Not yet. But... soon."

The hours passed slowly. I showed him how my nausea came in waves, how my clothes felt tighter, how sleep had become shallow and restless. Jasper watched me, attentive, his worry hidden beneath that quiet drawl that somehow made it feel warmer, more human.

"Do you... think we're makin' the right call?" he asked finally, voice low, thick with that Southern lilt that always made my stomach twist in both fear and comfort.

I swallowed. "I... I don't know. I know I want it, but I'm scared. What if something goes wrong? What if I can't survive? What if it hurts you?"

"Sugar, we'll face all that together," he said, fingers brushing over mine. "I won't let nothin' happen to you, I swear. But..." He hesitated. "We gotta be honest. We gotta admit we might be scared. That's normal. That's okay. You don't have to... feel strong all the time."

I nodded, heart hammering. "And if we... keep it? If we try?"

He hesitated, then rested his hand lightly on my belly. I felt it—the flutter. Small, almost shy, like it was testing the world. Jasper's eyes widened, lips parting in an almost inaudible gasp.

"Damn," he murmured, low and trembling. "I... I felt it, sugar. I felt it move."

I froze, hand over his, fingers trembling as warmth bloomed across my chest. "You... you felt it?"

"Mm-hmm," he said softly. "Little one... strong already. Wants to be here, wants to fight." His voice cracked with emotion, the Southern lilt thickening as he whispered, "We... we can do this. We can keep it."

Tears pricked my eyes, and I laughed softly, a mix of relief and disbelief. "You're sure?"

He pulled me closer, resting his forehead against mine. "Never been more sure in my life. We'll do it together, sugar. Every step. You, me... our little miracle."

And for the first time in days, I allowed myself to believe it—not carelessly, not blindly, but in a quiet, trembling, utterly hopeful way.

I didn't know the future. I didn't know if complications would come. I didn't know if I would survive.

But in that room, with Jasper, with the faint movement beneath my fingers, I knew we would try. Together. And somehow... somehow, that was enough.