*Warning: References of past character death*

Suggested Listening: "Dorian" by Agnes Obel & "Photograph" by Ed Sheeran

Beta: ShadowPast620 – Thank you so much, lady! It was amazing to work with you!

A/N: Written for Tricky Raven's 2015 Twitterpated in the Springtime anonymous contest, this o/s received three awards!

** First Place Fanfiction **

** Reader's Choice: Most Original Plot **

** Raven's Choice: Best in Editing **

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Collision

"Scotch. Neat."

He started drinking when Dorian left.

When Jake left.

But he didn't take the liquor straight until he left.

Or, more accurately, until he left her. Until he packed his bags and headed to Oregon.

His thumb draws lazy circles over the creased picture of the dark-haired boy sitting on Jake's knee, the edges worn and tattered from years of carrying it in his wallet—from years of ritualistic reverence in his weaker moments.

"Look who's back in town," the familiar baritone croons from behind the bar as the drink slides to a stop in front of him.

Shaking his head, a slight twist to his lips, Embry admires the precision of the delivery. "Damn, Paul, you still got it."

"And I'll never lose it either."

He looks up to see the remnants of a wink flee Paul's eye and a Cheshire cat grin spread across his face.

With a soft chuckle, Embry raises his brow. "You're trouble."

"Always have been," Paul admits, tilting his head.

"Can't argue with ya there." Moving through a memorized pattern, Embry stuffs the picture in his wallet next to the slot that holds a gold band—the worn impression of his ring apparent through the old leather. But he doesn't miss the glimpse Paul steals of the weathered photograph, or the way the mood turns somber despite their best efforts at keeping the reunion light.

This was bound to happen. It's one of the reasons he stayed away for so long.

One of the reasons.

Eyes roaming the expanse of the bar top, Embry takes in the ornate, hand-carved embellishments set under the protective lacquer. "I like what you've done here."

"Well, I was never so great at workin' on the cars. That was more your and Jake's thing, but I've always been good with my hands. When you left, I figured I'd turn this old garage into something I could manage on my own."

Glancing over his shoulder, Embry looks past a few pool tables to the sign hanging outside the glass front door. "Jake's Place. You kept the name. He woulda liked that."

"Yeah. Never any other option."

He feels the intensity of Paul's gaze on the side of his neck, and he jerks back toward the man behind the bar. The way those final, four words were spoken—slow, sure, and full of purpose—tugs at something deep inside Embry.

Just as he's on the verge of comprehending its meaning, Paul turns to grab a wet glass and a dry towel, choosing to break contact for the monotony of housekeeping chores.

"So, Embry, I gotta say I'm surprised to see ya. I mean, aren't you doing logging work down in Oregon? Isn't the season about to start now that winter's over?"

"Guess my mom's not so great at holding her tongue, huh?" Embry chuckles for the second time. If he were to count all his chuckles in the last eight years, he'd come up with exactly two. "Yep, the season's about to start. But I've got some unfinished business here in La Push. There's a storage shed I've been holding onto for a while."

Placing the clean glass in line with the others behind the bar, Paul wraps the drying towel around his hand and raises a skeptical brow. "All this time not being touched, and in this climate? I bet that stuff's damaged."

"Yeah." Embry stares at his thumb, rubbing it down the side of his drink. "It's time to let it go."

"Well, look." And with these two words, Paul does look. His penetrating gaze burrows straight through Embry's defenses and down to the eleven year old kid that once ran the back streets of the rez. "However long you're staying for… I'm just glad you're back. We've all missed the hell outta ya."

Usually invisible to those around him, it takes a few beats of his heart before his stuttering mind catches up.

Paul sees him.

And he's leading Embry down a well paved path with a few strategically placed words.

We've all missed the hell outta ya.

It's not what he says, but rather the way he says it. Coupled with the look in his eye, Embry wonders if this isn't the same treatment Paul subjects unsuspecting females to when he hunts for prey.

"I know. I've been…gone…" Rotating his wrist, the thick-bottomed glass held in his palm, his eyes flit down to watch the amber liquid swirl. "So, how is everyone?"

"A lot's happened in eight years, man, but mostly weddings and…uh, babies." Pausing to question Embry's willingness to hear this news, Paul continues when he's given a subtle nod. "Well, Sam and Emily have a few; Jared and Kim are still trying for their first. Hey! Ya know Leah and Quil just had number two? Now there's an interesting couple. Too bad we lost Quil, Sr. five years ago…but your mom probably already told you…" His words trail off, and he wipes at an imaginary spot on the bar top. "But, umm…have you seen Billy yet?"

Clearing his throat, Embry hitches one leg to rest his foot against the base of the barstool, the other planted on the ground. The crease in his brow deepens as the liquid sloshing in his glass becomes more intriguing.

"Sorry," Paul backpedals. "It's just…after losing Jake. I mean, you were like another son to him. I know he'd like to see you."

"No, I get it. I do." Taking a deep breath, he makes a decision long overdue. "Alright, I've got some things to check on this afternoon, but I'll stop by Billy's in a day or two."

"Good. 'Cause Embry? It wasn't your fault. Nobody around here blames you."

He looks up to catch his old friend's stare, and dammit if it's not back again, that same unspoken message hidden in plain conversation. Maybe Paul's luring him, or maybe it's just the majestic energy flowing through tribal grounds, but he came home for a reason.

A reason that has nothing to do with broken down furniture housed in a decrepit storage shed like he claimed—and he intends to follow these signs.

This time, he will succumb to its guidance.

Hell, maybe if he listened eight years ago, the ring in his wallet would still be on his finger. Maybe she'd still be his.

Maybe there's a chance she still is…

"You order the scotch for looks?"

Embry blinks. "What?"

This time, Paul chuckles. "You haven't even tasted it."

"Oh. I was…thinking…"

With a smirk and a knowing squint, Paul answers unasked questions. "She's still in the same house. Your house. Half a mile away and around the corner." He glances at the clock hanging above the bar. "She should be there now."

"But…"

"There's been no one else, Embry. Eight years of this crap is long enough. Through the loss of Dorian and Jake—it was an accident—don't lose her, too."

Speechless, but trusting in the intuition pulling at his chest and begging him to run that half mile stretch of gravel road, Embry reaches for his wallet to pay for the scotch.

Grabbing the glass with lightning reflexes, Paul shoots the liquor down his throat. "There. You didn't drink it—nothing to pay for. Now go."

With unblinking eyes and stammered words—"I…uh… Thanks."

Embry worries his reaction is inadequate, but Paul greets him with a genuine smile.

"Don't mention it, man. Go on." He nods toward the exit. "Bella needs you."

Walking to the door, Embry stuffs the wallet that holds all his treasures into the pocket of his dark jeans. With one palm against the metal handle, he sucks in a deep breath and pushes. Crossing the threshold, exhaling the bar's musty atmosphere into the crisp, Washington air, he takes the first steps toward his old house, his old life. Small pebbles crunch underfoot, and a few stragglers become trapped in the deep-creviced soles of his work boots.

His breath plumes before his face in short, quick bursts that match time with his racing heart. His feet pounding the earth in a rhythm that carries with it all the weight of the last eight years, the urgency to reach her drives him home.

And Embry runs.

Images flash through his mind in reverse.

The last time they spoke…when he mentioned sending divorce papers so she could move on, find someone worthy. But he never called the lawyer, and she didn't press the subject.

The last time he saw her…when she cradled Dorian's favorite teddy bear to her chest, curled in the corner of their son's room, flinching when he reached for her.

The last time they fought…when she alluded to their own private hell being his fault, alluded to things she dared not speak directly of.

The accident.

Embry stops running.

Working under the Chevy, the emptiness cut into his chest.

He heard the screeching tires and crunching metal from the garage—that's how close they were to safety—but he refused to believe those sounds emanated from anything more than a fender bender until that goddamn emptiness hit his chest.

Pulling himself from beneath the car, he shot off down the road, arriving before the first siren wailed in the distance.

But it was too late.

Before he arrived, it was too late.

That damn, blind curve. Even with helmets, Dorian and Jake didn't stand a chance against the inebriated driver in the truck—distracted by an uncooperative Budweiser can whose tab popped off but left the beer sealed.

Leaning forward, fingers digging into his knees, he takes deep breaths. The cold air fights against the silent retching that threatens to spill the contents of his sour stomach along the roadside.

He thought he could handle this, but being back here…

So close to the scene…

So close to her…

Rising to his full height, he shuts his eyes and is assaulted with a barrage of guilt.

Bella.

Gone when it happened, visiting her mother in Florida…

She always said bikes weren't safe for children.

But Embry needed to finish the Chevy, and Jake offered to bring Dorian to the shop…just two miles away.

He'll never forget that phone call—never forget Bella's scream when he told her why she had to cut her trip short.

Running a hand through his thick, black hair, he pulls the shaggy strands back from his forehead, slicking them flat against his scalp. The desire to return to Jake's Place and drown himself in scotch is great, but Paul's there, and he might ask for answers Embry doesn't have.

Or worse. He'd pity him.

"There's been no one else, Embry. Eight years of this crap is long enough."

Paul's words from earlier haunt him. He paces, wearing a path through the gravel, contemplating all his decisions since the accident…

Justifying his real reason for returning to La Push.

Bella.

It's her.

It's always been her.

He exists in Oregon; he doesn't live there. The last place he lived was here…in La Push…with Bella.

If there's still a chance…

Paul's words. "Bella needs you."

Like he needed her when she rescued him at sixteen—just a boy, but forced to be a man in so many ways. He remembers the hollow eyes that greeted him every morning in the mirror as he dressed for school, the lack of sleep from running his young body ragged trying to work two jobs. He struggled to keep up with adult responsibilities, but his pants still sagged because his mother never kept enough food in the house. The holes in his shoes still allowed stray pebbles to rub his soles raw when he ran around the rez, desperate not to be tardy.

Embry remembers those destitute circumstances, and no matter how hard he tried to overcome that bleak situation, he never could.

Not until she appeared.

Not until that day on the beach, when the rays of sun finally broke through the long-standing winter clouds and Jake ran to him, eager to show off the new girl from Phoenix.

Meeting her gaze—the cutest shade of pink flushed her cheeks—he swore for the first time in his godforsaken life, he found the one thing made for him in this world.

The one thing meant to be his.

And he promised himself—right then and there—he'd never let her go.

At last, he glimpsed a future worth living for…because of her.

She was valuable enough to hold onto.

But he let her go…

When he moved to Oregon, he let her go.

Embry didn't fight for them—not like he should have. The loss of their son and best friend became unbearable. He made a commitment to her on their wedding day. He vowed to stay by her, in sickness and health, good times and bad.

But he lost his strength when she was weak and needed him most.

He left.

He broke those promises, forcing her to pick up the pieces of their shattered world alone while he wallowed in misery.

Not a single day passed where he didn't torture himself with those punishing memories.

And he is tired. So tired of all the pain, so tired of slowly dying inside without her, he's desperate to know if anything lingers between them.

"…no one else, Embry."

If there's still a chance…

Decision made. No more questions. No more second guessing.

He turns the last corner, and the familiar, blue house comes into view. Her car sits in the driveway.

Pulling his phone from a jacket pocket, he scrolls to her name. A number his thumb hovered over on many inconsolable nights, but never made contact with, awaits.

And not once did she call him—he made that choice for her. He left. He gave her no reason to believe he still loved her…

Until now.

One ring… He swallows down the butterflies trying to escape from his belly.

Two rings… Still walking, he's four steps from her front porch.

Three rings… His heart's trapped in his throat while his body waits outside her door.

He doesn't hear the fourth ring.

He only hears her.

"Hello?"

"Beh-" He tries again. "Bella."

A whimper rides her hitching breath before she finds her voice. "Embry?"

"Bella, I'm here. I'm so sorry." He wipes the water from his eyes. He must see her. "Please, open the door."

"You're here?" Her words are quiet, but the latch clicks…and the knob turns…

And she's there.

Standing before him, the phone in her palm forgotten, it clatters to the floor when her arm drops—when she looks into the eyes of her husband.

Never breaking contact, he automatically slips his cell in his jacket. "Oh, God. I've mi-issed…" Embry's voice cracks.

Unable to trust himself to speak, he moves closer to Bella, extending a tentative hand. He needs to touch her, to know this is real.

To know she is real.

It's time to heal, time to mend old wounds.

And she answered the phone…

And she opened the door…

And there's been no one else.

Bella reaches out, her shaky fingers held up to mirror his outstretched hand. With parted lips and shallow breaths, she watches the space where their bodies connect.

And for the first time in eight years, they touch.

Embry's gaze washes over his wife. A few errant streaks of gray reside in her auburn strands, the creases in her skin accentuate the corners of her mouth, and her cheeks are sunken by age. The plump naivety of youth is gone from her body, replaced with the distinguished grace of wisdom.

And the woman standing before him is more beautiful than the girl he left behind.

Oh, how he wishes he witnessed her transformation.

The sun peeks through the clouds and glints off a gold necklace draped along her collarbone.

Eyes following the chain to the pendant lying between her breasts, the locket she wears next to her heart steals his breath.

At seventeen, he saved his money for three months and secretly traveled to a jeweler in Port Angeles just to surprise her with something special. Not much, but it was the first gift he ever gave her, and she understood the significance.

She knew what it represented, the bond and commitment. He took that step and opened up to her. Exposing his vulnerabilities, it symbolized his willingness to try.

Embry glides his finger over the delicate pattern etched in the small case, fully aware of the two photographs she keeps inside. Smiling faces of the two she holds dear, she placed their images in the necklace all those years ago.

The two lights she lost on the same day—the day that forever darkened her life, blackened her world, and turned their love cold in the shadows.

Unclasping the locket, Dorian's bright-eyed innocence—so full of future possibilities—looks up at him, and Embry's knees buckle.

But Bella grabs his arm, her sure strength keeping him upright. Biting her lip, a tear races down her cheek, dripping off her chin.

After all this time—after all he's done—she still offers him support, and that realization causes him to pause.

Even in his weakest moments, she is amazing. She always was, but when he couldn't see past his own guilt, he lost sight of her…of them…of their love.

Pushing the opened locket toward him, she nods, encouraging him to look again.

Inhaling a steady breath, he stands tall, focus shifting to the other side… To Jake's picture.

To the space Jake's picture once occupied…

Lightheaded from the implications, his gaze travels up the column of her neck—Bella's hummingbird pulse beating against her delicate skin—to where her teeth no longer trap her plump lip.

He's so tempted to lean in and kiss her, but not yet…

Higher still he roams, until he stares into his wife's sincere eyes.

His wife.

"There's been no one else, Embry."

Paul's words.

Hooking a finger through the belt loop of her jeans, he steps across the threshold and pulls her into him, his other hand gripping her waist.

"It's me." He's breathless. His words choked and barely audible. "In your locket. My picture."

She wraps her hands around his neck and tugs until their foreheads touch. "I lost you that day, too, Embry, and it was the only way I could keep you close. It was the only way I could keep you with me…until you decided to come home." Her whisper fans across his lips. "I love you so damn much. Please don't leave."

"Never, Bella." He rocks his head against hers. "I swear. Never again."

Nodding, her breath hitches. "Good." Her laugh is watery, but oh, so pure.

Watching the relief wash through his wife, Embry catches another of her tears with his thumb, and he nudges her backward. Kicking the front door closed, he guides them into a new beginning, a time for second chances, and a collision of their love.

* Alright, hit me with your thoughts and "feels" if ya wanna. ;-)