Eclipse (Twilight Saga #3)(96)

Jacob rolled his eyes.

"Who's going back?" I muttered.

Edward continued as if he hadn't heard me. "And if you ever kiss her again, I will break your jaw for her," he promised, his voice still gentle and velvet and deadly.

"What if she wants me to?" Jacob drawled, arrogant.

"Hah!" I snorted.

"If that's what she wants, then I won't object." Edward shrugged, untroubled. "You might want to wait for her to say it, rather than trust your interpretation of body language-but it's your face."

Jacob grinned.

"You wish," I grumbled.

"Yes, he does," Edward murmured.

"Well, if you're done rummaging through my head," Jacob said with a thick edge of annoyance, "why don't you go take care of her hand?"

"One more thing," Edward said slowly. "I'll be fighting for her, too. You should know that. I'm not taking anything for granted, and I'll be fighting twice as hard as you will."

"Good," Jacob growled. "It's no fun beating someone who forfeits."

"She is mine." Edward's low voice was suddenly dark, not as composed as before. "I didn't say I would fight fair."

"Neither did I."

"Best of luck."

Jacob nodded. "Yes, may the best man win."

"That sounds about right . . . pup."

Jacob grimaced briefly, then he composed his face and leaned around Edward to smile at me. I glowered back.

"I hope your hand feels better soon. I'm really sorry you're hurt."

Childishly, I turned my face away from him.

I didn't look up again as Edward walked around the car and climbed into the driver's side, so I didn't know if Jacob went back into the house or continued to stand there, watching me.

"How do you feel?" Edward asked as we drove away.

"Irritated."

He chuckled. "I meant your hand."

I shrugged. "I've had worse." 

"True," he agreed, and frowned.

Edward drove around the house to the garage. Emmett and Rosalie were there, Rosalie's perfect legs, recognizable even sheathed in jeans, were sticking out from under the bottom of Emmett's huge Jeep. Emmett was sitting beside her, one hand reached under the Jeep toward her. It took me a moment to realize that he was acting as the jack.

Emmett watched curiously as Edward helped me carefully out of the car. His eyes zeroed in on the hand I cradled against my chest.

Emmett grinned. "Fall down again, Bella?"

I glared at him fiercely. "No, Emmett. I punched a werewolf in the face."

Emmett blinked, and then burst into a roar of laughter.

As Edward led me past them, Rosalie spoke from under the car.

"Jasper's going to win the bet," she said smugly.

Emmett's laughter stopped at once, and he studied me with appraising eyes.

"What bet?" I demanded, pausing.

"Let's get you to Carlisle," Edward urged. He was staring at Emmett. His head shook infinitesimally.

"What bet?" I insisted as I turned on him.

"Thanks, Rosalie," he muttered as he tightened his arm around my waist and pulled me toward the house.

"Edward . . . ," I grumbled.

"It's infantile," he shrugged. "Emmett and Jasper like to gamble."

"Emmett will tell me." I tried to turn, but his arm was like iron around me.

He sighed. "They're betting on how many times you . . . slip up in the first year."

"Oh." I grimaced, trying to hide my sudden horror as I realized what he meant. "They have a bet about how many people I'll kill?"

"Yes," he admitted unwillingly. "Rosalie thinks your temper will turn the odds in Jasper's favor."

I felt a little high. "Jasper's betting high."

"It will make him feel better if you have a hard time adjusting. He's tired of being the weakest link."

"Sure. Of course it will. I guess I could throw in a few extra homicides, if it makes Jasper happy. Why not?" I was babbling, my voice a blank monotone. In my head, I was seeing newspaper headlines, lists of names . . .

He squeezed me. "You don't need to worry about it now. In fact, you don't have to worry about it ever, if you don't want to."

I groaned, and Edward, thinking it was the pain in my hand that bothered me, pulled me faster toward the house.

My hand was broken, but there wasn't any serious damage, just a tiny fissure in one knuckle. I didn't want a cast, and Carlisle said I'd be fine in a brace if I promised to keep it on. I promised.

Edward could tell I was out of it as Carlisle worked to fit a brace carefully to my hand. He worried aloud a few times that I was in pain, but I assured him that that wasn't it.

As if I needed-or even had room for-one more thing to worry about.