Angela fell into step beside him once they were outside, the night air cool against their skin.
"Sorry about my grandmother," she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "She… can be a little intense."
Aiden shook his head, hands in his pockets. "Don't be. She's just looking out for you." His gaze drifted upward for a moment, watching the faint shimmer of stars through the city lights. "Honestly… I wish I'd had grandparents to hover over me like that."
Angela glanced at him, a flicker of curiosity softening her expression. "You didn't?"
He gave a small shrug, his smirk dimming into something quieter. "No. Never knew them. Sometimes I think it would've been nice, someone stubborn enough to care, even if it drove me crazy."
Her lips curved into a faint smile, the tension between them easing as they kept walking.
Outside, the night air was cool and damp, a hint of rain still clinging to the street.
Aiden tugged at the hem of his hoodie, then pulled it off in one smooth motion. The fabric brushed over the contours of his chest and abs as he stripped it away, a ripple of muscle catching the glow from a nearby streetlamp.
He held it out casually to Angela. She hesitated, cheeks coloring.
"You didn't have to do that. I'm perfectly fine."
"Nah," he replied. "Even though I just met Mrs. Blossom, I know she wouldn't want her little carrriño getting sick on the way home. So, I insist. For both our sakes." He walked ahead, forcing her to follow.
Angela shrugged into the jacket, the warmth still clinging to it, and caught up to him. "So, Aiden… I know you probably already said that, but why did you move to Forks?"
He kept his gaze forward. "Several reasons. Mainly… things happened in my life, and I don't want to go back." He stopped briefly, meeting her eyes before looking away. "What about you?"
"Nothing special. I have lived here all my life. My father's the minister of the church down the road. I've got two brothers. I like photography, and dogs" she said with a small shrug.
"like is said nothing special"
We paused at the end of the street, waiting for a car to pass. A blue Toyota Camry rolled by slowly, windows tinted.
"You got a stalker…That car's been following us since we left," I said quietly, nodding toward it.
Angela scanned the street, shaking her head. "I don't see anyone," she said, clearly denying it.
Darkness had settled by then, streetlights flickering on and casting pools of pale light.
"Well, whatever. Are we almost there?" she asked.
"Yeah, three houses down. You can stop here if you want," she said as we reached her house.
"But like I said, Mrs. Blossom would probably be clocking us. So…" I said, looking at her.
"Thanks. I appreciate it. Have a good night, Aiden," she said, quickly slipping inside with his hoodie still wrapped around her shoulders.
"See you at school tomorrow," she called before shutting the door.
Aiden stared at the closed door for a moment, then turned and walked back toward the police station. The blue Camry was gone, but unease lingered.
The rain-slicked street glistened under the lamps, and Aiden shoved his hands into his pockets. Without the hoodie, the cold bit at him, sharp and sobering. But some part of him didn't mind, Angela had it now, and he didn't mind the cold.
The blue Camry had vanished around the corner, but the unease it left lingered. Aiden's eyes flicked to the darkened street behind him, half-expecting the car to reappear, its tinted windows hiding who might be inside. He shook the thought away and started walking back toward the police station, each step measured and deliberate.
It's just a car. Just someone driving past. Nothing more.
But the weight of his past, the reason he'd left Chicago, sat heavy on his chest, mingling with the cool night air. He didn't want to bring trouble here, not to this quiet town. Yet sometimes, no matter how far you run, the shadows follow.
As he reached the front door of the station, a soft chime echoed behind him, the sound of the door locking, or maybe something else. Aiden glanced back once more before stepping inside, the warm hum of fluorescent lights wrapping around him like a fragile shield.
[Minutes Later]
The police station's fluorescent lights hummed faintly overhead, buzzing in that way that only came when the night stretched too long. The warmth inside was a sharp contrast to the damp chill clinging to the town outside. Rain streaked down the glass of the front doors, blurring the distorted reflections of streetlamps and passing headlights.
Aiden slipped inside and shut the door with a dull thud. For a moment, he lingered there, one hand pressed against the cool glass, glancing back at the wet streets. His breath fogged faintly on the pane before he turned toward the front desk.
The place looked the same as it always did, bland walls painted an uninspired cream, the faint scent of burnt coffee, and filing cabinets pushed up against the far wall like soldiers' information. A corkboard hung nearby, cluttered with community notices, missing pet flyers, and outdated safety reminders no one had bothered to take down.
Steve was back at the counter, leaning casually against it like he owned the place. He had a chipped mug of coffee in one hand and a thin paper file in the other, half-reading, half-bored. The man's dark hair was rumpled, his jaw shadowed with a day's worth of stubble, and yet he somehow looked more alert than he had any right to at this hour.
He looked up when Aiden stepped in. "Hey," Steve said, voice carrying just enough dry amusement to signal trouble. "I thought you were in the back."
"I was walking Angela home," Aiden replied evenly. He pushed his hands into the pockets of his pants, a subtle attempt to keep his posture relaxed.
Steve arched one brow. "Good man. Mrs. Blossom will probably build you a shrine for that."
He wasn't wrong.
The click of hurried footsteps on tile echoed from the hallway behind Steve. Aiden looked up in time to see Mrs. Blossom emerging from the back. She was still wrapped in her signature floral shawl, its edges frayed from years of use but somehow regal on her shoulders. Her black hair, streaked with silver, framed a face that carried equal parts kindness and sharp judgment.
Her eyes lit the second she spotted Aiden. "¡Ay, mijo, gracias, gracias!" she exclaimed, her words spilling over each other, Spanish and English tangling together like twin currents.
She hurried forward, pressing one hand to her chest in dramatic relief. "You walked mi Angela home? Muy responsible, very good boy. I knew I could trust you."
Aiden shifted under the weight of her praise. "It wasn't a big deal," he said, lips quirking in the faintest of smirks.
But Mrs. Blossom wasn't finished. Her gaze swept over him, quick but meticulous, the kind only mothers and grandmothers could manage. It lingered, sharp, and then her expression shifted. Her eyes widened slightly.
"¿Y tu chaqueta?" she asked, her voice lifting with sudden realization. "Where is it?"
Steve, who had been smirking into his mug, looked up again, his gaze narrowing on Aiden's shoulders. "Huh. Didn't peg you for the type to walk in half-dressed." He set the file down, grin already spreading. "Let me guess—Angela's wearing it."
Mrs. Blossom gasped softly, pressing her fingertips to her lips as if the image alone was too much. Then her expression melted into something dangerously close to approval. "Dios mío…" she breathed. Her hands came together with a soft clap. "He gave her his jacket. ¡Qué caballero!"
Steve snorted from behind her, clearly enjoying himself far too much. "Careful, Aiden. If she had a medal on hand, you'd be wearing it right now."
Aiden's jaw tightened, his gaze flicking between them. "It was cold. She was shivering," he said flatly, as though daring either of them to keep going.
The entity stirred at the back of his mind, its voice slinking like smoke through the cracks of his thoughts. Oh, look at you. Playing knight in shining armor. Giving away your hoodie? Adorable. Maybe you should've written her a love ballad too.
Aiden's response was immediate, sharp. Shut the fuck up. The words were calm but edged with lethal intent, a blade hidden beneath his tone. His mental silence afterward was so final that even the entity stilled, retreating back into the dark corners of his mind.
Steve, oblivious, was still chuckling, shaking his head. "Kid, that's not just being polite. Loaning out a hoodie? That's a textbook. You just skipped a few chapters ahead in teenage romance protocol."
Mrs. Blossom smacked Steve's arm lightly without looking at him, her eyes still fixed on Aiden. "Don't tease him. He is a gentleman." Then, softer, her voice thick with pride, "Mi niña will sleep warm tonight. Gracias otra vez, mijo."
Her smile was knowing, pleased, almost smug.
Aiden dipped his head politely, a gesture caught somewhere between respect and the need to escape her gaze. "Anytime."
Mrs. Blossom's tone softened further. "You are good. I sleep better knowing you are watching out."
For a moment, the station was still. The rain outside tapped steadily against the windows, a faint percussion to the scene. Steve sipped his coffee, amused but saying nothing more. Mrs. Blossom's expression held the weight of someone who had already decided Aiden's place in her granddaughter's orbit, whether he liked it or not.
And Aiden… He stood there, hoodie-less, caught between irritation and something else he didn't dare name. The memory of Angela pulling the hoodie close lingered stubbornly, like the ghost of warmth against his skin.