Leah is out patrolling. It's just her tonight ‒ everyone else is at Sam and Emily's rehearsal dinner. She wasn't made to go. Tomorrow, however, she will stand at their wedding in a teal dress and play nice because everyone, including Leah's mother, is gaga over Emily, and God forbid she have her feelings hurt.

Emily and Sam are getting married, she thinks. Sam is marrying Emily. It still sounds foreign. Six months ago she was grocery shopping with Sam, excitedly preparing to introduce them. "You're going to love her," she'd told him. What a joke.

Married. Suddenly that word is tugging at her memory.

She and Sam are sitting at the tiny circular table in the corner of her kitchen. They are meant to be studying, but he's sucking on her neck, eliciting moans and goosebumps.

Seth walks in to grab a soda and they stop immediately. Under the table Sam playfully pokes Leah in her side and she squawks and falls from her chair. His eyes widen and he rushes to her aid, panicked, but she's already cackling. Sam cracks a smile, and then he, too, is laughing.

Seth watches the two of them make fools of themselves on the floor, rolls his eyes. "Oh, just get married already."

There it is.

Leah's legs buckle and she collapses to the ground, yelping uncontrollably. As she shrinks her yelps turn into sobs and her whole body shakes. Sam will never be her husband; never love her a fraction as much as he loves Emily. He never did. But she will always love him, and it will hurt every day of her life.

Her eyes are heavy when he finds her. She's completely bare, but she's numb and doesn't feel embarrassed. She looks up, readies herself for his inevitable harsh words, but he just says, "You know, I like to do my wallowing in the comfort of my own bed, but naked on the forest floor is a fine choice, too."

It sounds like a joke, which is strange, because she's sure it's Paul she saw. Is she that out of it? She looks up again. Yes, Paul.

"Huh?" she asks hazily.

"Never mind. Here." Something lands with a soft thud near her head. "I know we don't need them, but I still like to use one."

"You brought me a blanket," she states, reaching to touch the plush. "Um, thanks."

"Yeah." He rubs the back of his neck, beginning to feel uncomfortable. "And here are your clothes."

Leah's backpack, which is stuffed with dollar store tank tops and shorts and kept near the edge of the forest, lands next to the blanket. She says softly, "You didn't have to do that."

"I know." He turns to leave, then hesitates. "I'll make up an excuse tomorrow. I'll say you were all ready for the wedding but I needed your help catching an extra fast vamp. Everyone knows you're the quickest. Your mom will never know and the guys can just go to hell."

He starts to walk off, but she says, "Wait. Why would you do that? You hate me."

He rolls his eyes. "I do not. I'm just bitter and defensive, like you. Bad childhood, emotional trauma, blah blah blah. But I know bullshit when I see it, and you being expected to go to this thing is bullshit, Leah. Totally cruel."

She's at a loss for words. For the last several months she's felt like she's in The Twilight Zone; the victim of a warped universe in which she's a monster if she doesn't attend the wedding of her ex-lover and her cousin. It's maddening.

And freakin' Paul is going to save her.

"Goodnight, Leah."

"Goodnight," she replies, stunned.

She listens until she can't hear him anymore, then grabs the blanket. It's large and soft, much better than dirt and sticks. It kind of smells like Paul, which is weird, but if feels so good against her skin. She falls asleep thinking maybe they just turned a new leaf. Or, in two days, it could be like this never happened.

For now, at least, he is genuinely, without a doubt, her hero.