“I’ll be happy when I don’t have this crushing feeling
against my chest,” Jared said as his face relaxed. “Thank you for the food. My
neighbors have been helping me in buying groceries, but my pantry is a bit
barren.”
“When I drive you back, I’ll take you shopping, Jared,”
Carlisle said. “I know what it’s like to be recuperating from an injury. Hell,
I still am.”
“That’s because you refused to go to physical therapy,
Carlisle,” I chided.
“That shit’s for pansies,” he scoffed. “I know what I need
to do, thank you very much.”
“And do you do it?” I pressed.
“No. It hurts too much,” Carlisle shrugged.
“Exactly and that’s why you still have a limp, you idiot,” I
snorted. Carlisle gave me the finger. “He used to work for the Seattle Police
Department but was shot in the line of duty.”
“I had two choices after I was shot,” Carlisle explained.
“Take a desk job in the district or retire. I chose to retire. I’m not cut out
for sitting behind a desk. It’s too fucking boring.”
“Language!” I admonished.
“No worries,” Jared laughed. “Marcus had quite the potty
mouth, in various different languages. His preferred tongue to curse in was
Italian. With his temper, I learned how to berate someone in Italian, German,
French and Mandarin Chinese.”
Aro Volturi
Marcus Volturi
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