The Sound and the Silence

by Leola Mae

A girl who longs for quiet and a man who lives for music – how can they find common ground between the sound and the silence to live and love.

Title: The Sound and the Silence

Fandom: Twilight

Pairing: Edward & Bella

Picture #: 76

Rating: M

Disclaimer: All things Twilight belong to Stephanie Meyer. The plot and story line belongs to me.

Summary: A girl who longs for quiet and a man who lives for music – how can they find common ground between the sound and the silence to live and love.

Submitted for the 100 Pictures – An Anon Fanfic Competition

Please check out the other entries here: community/100_Pictures_An_Anon_Fanfic_Competition_Entries/83603

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"SissaBee! SissaBee!" the deep baritone voice screeched at me from somewhere behind the closed door of his bedroom.

"I'm coming, Jazzy. Give me just a minute." I hollered back at him, hoping my volume was loud enough to penetrate the door and the god-awful music blaring from his CD player. I glanced down again at the page I had open on the laptop propped on my knees and chewed on my thumbnail.

It was a registration page for a support group. The meetings were held every Thursday at a church several miles from me. I could reach it on the bus system, a definite must since my own personal mode of transportation died six months ago. God knew I didn't have the money to replace my old, but beloved, truck; so instead, I was now the proud owner of a bus pass.

I checked again that attendance was free - another must. The problem seemed to be I wasn't sure I had the guts to go talk to a bunch of strangers. I wasn't exactly socially suave.

"SIIIIIIIIISSS–AAAAAA-BEEEEEEEEEEEE! HEEYUUUUULLLLLP! I cain't do iiiiiiiiiiiiiit!" Jazzy's accent always deepened when he got frustrated. There were times no one in the whole world could understand him except me.

Tearing my eyes away from the screen, I set the laptop on the crates we used for a coffee table and headed toward his room. I didn't bother knocking. There was no way he'd have heard me anyway over the twanging, whining, rockabilly crap pouring out of his speakers. I turned the headache-inducing music - and I use the term loosely - off and headed directly for the bathroom door, hands on my hips.

"Have you wiped, Jazzy? Cuz I swear to God, if I open this door and you're swinging in the breeze, I'm leaving your nasty ass here! Do you understand me?"

I heard his giggle. "Hehe! You said 'ass'."

"Jazzy!" I warned, drawing out the word.

"I done that part, SissaBee. It's da button I cain't do."

Opening the door timidly, I peeked quickly to determine the truth of his statement. Unfortunately, I was intimately familiar with just what exactly my brother was packing and had no desire to see it . . . again.

"See? Ain't lying, SissaBee." I smiled up at him as I fastened the button on his wranglers and buckled the giant silver belt buckle, too. It shone like a mirror under a noonday Texas sun. Jazzy kept it polished obsessively as it was one of his favorite possessions. Truthfully, I thought the thing was hideous, but there was just no arguing with him about it.

"All done. Get your backpack together. It's a work day." Really I didn't need to tell him. He loved going to his job at the sheltered workshop. He had friends and acquaintances, co-workers and assistants. Jazzy had an entire social network. I, on the other hand, had Jazzy, my brother . . . my mentally challenged brother.

Our parents were dead, killed in a car wreck a month after my nineteenth birthday. My whole life changed on that day. A sophomore in college with hopes and dreams and aspirations, I suddenly became guardian to a five year old in a twenty-year-old's body.

Don't get me wrong, I loved Jazzy. Jasper was his real name, but I didn't call him that any more than he called me Bella. His young mind had long since combined "sister" and "Bella" to form "SissaBee," and he never called me anything else. I had helped my parents take care of Jazzy my whole life. I loved him more than anything in this world. I had given up everything for him-my fancy college for community college, time spent with my friends for time spent taking care of him, my dreams of normalcy for . . . well . . .this.

"SissaBee, ready?" Jazzy dropped his six-foot-plus, lanky frame down beside me on our couch, bouncing me slightly. We lived in a two-bedroom apartment in not-the-greatest-part of town, but it was the cheapest I could find, and it was on the bus route.

"Almost, Bubba. I'm just looking at this website. We still have thirty minutes until the bus comes."

Luckily our cheap apartment was very close to the local Dunkin' Donuts. Not that I could afford to buy donuts, but they offered free Wi-Fi for customers. If I sat on my couch close to the window, I could pick up two bars' worth of internet strength on my outdated laptop. It was like striking oil when I made that discovery.

I chewed my thumb nail down to nothing as I debated completing the registration form on the screen in front of me. A warm hand wrapped around mine and pulled the digit from my mouth.

"Hurts," he said simply. He didn't like that particular nervous habit of mine. He only ever said that one word whenever he stopped me from chewing on my nail, so I didn't know if he meant I would hurt myself or I already had. Future, past, and present were concepts lost on him, so I never asked him to clarify.

Filling out the form with my name, Jazzy's and all our contact information, I let my finger hover over the submit button that would confirm our registration for the Siblings of Special Needs People Support Group.

My finger twitched. I wanted to push it, but I was afraid. I was scared to meet new people, scared of the explanations about Jazzy that were always expected, scared of getting outside of our routine and comfort zone. We were happy here.

I looked over at Jazzy with his headphones on and stupid Texas country CD playing. He had a huge grin on his face.

Well, he's happy, I thought.

I wasn't.

I was . . . overwhelmed. And tired. God, was I tired. I took a full load at the community college, worked part-time at the Whataburger down the road from school, and took care of Jazzy. I never socialized, never talked to anyone for any reason other than school, work, or my brother. I wasn't sure I could fit something like a support group in, too, but I could feel the hot flames of burn-out licking at my heels.

I had to do something, or I was going to crash mentally, emotionally, physically; that was something I could not afford to do, not with Jazzy depending on me. If this group could help keep the looming, fiery doom away, I owed it to Jazzy to go.

Ultimately, he took the decision out of my quaking hand.

"Come ooooonnnnn!" he whined and slapped my hand down on the keyboard, sending our registration. I stared at the screen, somewhat mortified, while he jumped up and clomped to the door in his cowboy boots. "SissaBee, let's go!"

I sighed heavily and hoped Providence had forced my hand, setting up something good to come our way.

"Can't you turn that crap off for once?" I complained as we took our seats on the bus.

"Ain't crap. It's the Cowpokes," he was truly offended. I raised my hands in surrender and tried to ignore the too-loud music blaring from the headphones.

I couldn't possibly imagine a more ridiculous name for a band, but Jazzy loved them. It bordered on worship, and I wondered briefly if his adoration for his favorite band wasn't breaking one of the Ten Commandments.

Unlike most girls my age – twenty-one – I wasn't into music. I never listened to anything on my own. The only music that ever played in our apartment was Jazzy's. It was probably his fault that I cherished silence over music so much. Nearly every student on my campus had buds in their ears, some even when the professors were lecturing. I couldn't fathom how they could become so addicted to music as to need it 24/7.

When the bus dropped Jazzy at his stop, directly in front of the workshop, and I waved to Mrs. Cope as she motioned him inside the building, I relished the absence of his constantly blaring portable CD player. While most twenty-somethings were lusting after the latest iPod gizmo, I desperately wanted to save up for some of those earphones I saw on TV that you wear on an airplane to block out noise. That sounded like something worth paying good money for.

Over a dinner of Ramen noodles and some chicken strips I'd been able to confiscate at work, I broached the subject of the new addition to our routine. Most of the time Jazzy was fine with change, but when I combined it with the possible addition of a lot of people and my lack of direct supervision while we were there, I really needed to warn him.

"We're going to a special meeting tomorrow," I said, watching him for signs of stress. I really didn't need a Jazzy-sized freak out on my hands.

"What fer?" he asked, dripping noodle juice down his chin. I swiped at it with my napkin.

"To meet people. To talk. You might see some people from your work." I supposed it was possible. The meeting information said the special siblings were welcomed and would be occupied apart from the support part of the group if they came.

"Peter?" he asked. Peter was his best friend. They'd gone to school together and had been in the same self-contained special education class for most of their lives.

"Maybe," I offered. "I'm not sure who will be there."

"Can I take my music?" This was always his first concern. I sighed and nodded my head.

"But just because you can take it doesn't mean you'll be able to listen to it. There may be stuff to do, fun stuff." I was reaching, I feared, but I was trying to head off what I knew was coming.

"'S okay. I'mma see'um in concert…" and he was off. I automatically tuned out as Jazzy went on and on for the next hour about his favorite obsession. Requiring only an occasional nod or "uh-huh" from me to make him feel like I was fully involved in his attempt at conversation, I was able to finish my supper and worry about the next day's activity in relative peace.

"Your hair is a big, freaking mess, Jazzy. Why won't you let me cut it? You look like a muppet." I ran a comb through his ridiculously long, but not long-enough-to-do-anything-with, hair as I tried in vain to make it look like something other than a wig.

Sitting in the chair in front of me, he stuck his bottom lip out at me as he looked in the mirror and crossed his long arms over his chest. "Not! It's cool!" he insisted and slicked his hand over the top of his hair. He grinned and then winked at himself in the mirror, and I couldn't help but laugh and hug him around the neck.

"I love you, Jazzy," I whispered then stuck my wet finger in his ear. "Wet Willy!" I screeched and ran off, knowing he would chase me. Wet Willies totally grossed him out.

He caught me as I crossed the threshold into my room and picked me up. I screamed as he flung me on my bed and tickled me until I was able to gasp in enough breath to yell, "Jazzy is cool!"

"I know!" he grinned and bounced on the end of my bed while I attempted to right my clothes and brush out my long brown hair.

"How do I look?" I asked him when I finished with a swipe of lip gloss. It was the best anyone was ever going to get out of me. I wasn't really one for primping, and my simple blue skirt and matching t-shirt were about as dressed up as I ever got. I opted not to look quite as desperate for help and companionship as I felt.

Jazzy shrugged. "Like you."

"I know," I sighed.

I wasn't really feeling any better when we stood outside the door to the church a little while later. Actually, I felt somewhat nauseous. I took a deep breath and looked up into the face of my big brother. He smiled his lopsided, toothy grin at me.

"Time to turn the music off, Jazzy." He nodded solemnly, disassembled the portable player and packed it into his ever-present backpack. Even with his earphones I could hear the pounding rhythms and twanging guitar. I breathed a deep sigh of relief when the silence rang around us.

We entered the building and were almost immediately met by a dark haired girl who was even shorter than I was. She was dressed in a long, frilly shirt that moved about her as if in a breeze as she walked directly up to us with markers and name-tag stickers.

Well within Jazzy's personal space, she craned her neck so that her spiky head was nearly perpendicular to her body and stared up at him. As I completed the "Hello, my name is…" sentence I saw her put her hands on her hips and her lip pout. "You've kept me waiting a long time, Cowboy."

"Sorry, Ma'am," Jazzy replied, taken aback by her accusation. "Got here fast as I could."

I chuckled at his childlike excuse and stuck the name tag to his chest. The girl looked at it and then turned to me. "I'm Alice," she smiled brightly. "I'm the special one." With that she took Jazzy's hand and led him out of the small, foyer-type space.

Left with no other choice, I went through the same doorway splitting off when I followed the direction of Alice's rather emphatic pointing while she led him into a different room in the opposite direction.

"Umm . . . a tiny person named Alice pointed over here, and she seemed like she could be scary if I didn't do what she told me," I told the very first person who greeted me as I walked into the room.

"You're in the right place. I'm Mike." He shook my hand before I had the chance to actually offer it to him, and I wondered briefly if perhaps Alice hadn't gotten me and Jazzy mixed up. Maybe I was where he was supposed to be.

"Don't tear her arm off, Douchebag." I turned to see who the soft, masculine voice belonged to and was suddenly struck dumb. "I'm Edward. Alice belongs to me, though if she's around she'll tell you that I belong to her. She could be right." He stuck his hand out, and I felt my hand drawn to his. I wanted to touch this beautiful man more than anything else I'd ever wanted in my whole life.

"She said she's the special one," I blathered like an idiot.

He chuckled, and I was suddenly racking my brain for other stupid things to say just so I could hear him do it again. "That's what she tells everybody. She's right, too. I'm much too normal."

I looked up at his wild, coppery hair and let my gaze take in as much as I could: eyes green as a forest, full wet lips, chiseled jaw, strong shoulders, tapered waist, long legs. "I don't think normal is a word I would use."

When his head fell back with laughter, I was shaken from my reverie and suddenly realized the last thought I had in my head had come out of my mouth. Instantly I felt my skin flame up from my hair line to my toes. I was sure I had just achieved my very first full body blush.

The hand that wasn't still shaking mine brushed my cheek. "I don't think normal is a word I would use to describe you either," he whispered.

"Well, shit." I heard Mike mutter beside me and realized there was a whole room full of people. I pulled my hand back and made my way toward the circle of chairs. Alice's Edward sat on my left, and Mike would've sat on my right except a girl with unbelievably curly, brown hair grabbed his arm and dragged him across the circle to sit beside her. When they were seated, she gave me the fakest smile I'd ever seen.

A man who introduced himself as Mr. Banner had us take turns around the circle and make introductions. Eventually, it was my turn.

"Hi," I waved. My voice was weak and shaky, and I was so very glad I didn't have to stand up to do this. "My name is Bella. My big brother's name is Jazzy. He works at the sheltered workshop downtown. He really loves music, though I'm not sure if you could call the rockabilly crap he listens to music. His favorite band is some ridiculous group called the Cowpokes, if you can believe that a group of grown men actually voluntarily named themselves 'The Cowpokes.'" I emphasized my slight tangent with air quotes.

I was saved from my ongoing babbling first by Mike when he started to interrupt me with "Hey, that's…," then again when Edward suddenly went into an intense and uncontrolled coughing fit. I grabbed my water bottle from my purse quickly and handed it to him. He sounded like he was choking to death.

"You okay?" I asked when he seemed to be recovering some. I rubbed his back while he drank all my water, just like I did when Jazzy ate too fast and got choked.

He nodded. "Thanks." Handing me back my bottle, he smiled such a sweet smile that I just wanted to grab him and hold him close to my chest forever.

"Good," I mumbled, unable to come up with a better response in the light of his brilliant, green eyes.

With the drama over Mr. Banner said, "Bella, that's really great! Jazzy sounds like a fun brother. We've noticed that siblings of special people tend to define themselves based on details about the other person. We'd really like to know more about you." He emphasized you, and I struggled to find something to tell about me that had nothing to do with Jazzy.

"Well, he kind of does define me, doesn't he? He's my whole world. I've given up everything for him." I considered my words and quickly amended, "He's worth it though, totally."

"Bella brings up an interesting topic for tonight's discussion," Mr. Banner continued. As the conversation progressed, I found myself enjoying the group, even though I gave no more input into the discussion. It was really nice just to listen to other people who were struggling with some of the same issues I felt so alone in facing every day.

When it was over, I went to find Jazzy. He was sitting in a giant bean bag with Alice perched on his lap sharing his headphones. "You ready to go, buddy? We need to hurry if we're going to catch the last bus home."

I heard the door open and shut behind me as someone else came in. Alice rose off of Jazzy's lap, and I made a mental note to discuss appropriate boundaries with strangers . . .again. It was a topic we had revisited often since puberty and its train wreck of hormones. With Dad gone, I'd had to take up the embarrassing mantel of sexual advisor to my mentally challenged brother – not a role I relished. Thank God, we'd finally moved past the "That's something you do in private, preferably in the shower" conversation. There were some things a sister just shouldn't have to say to her brother.

As Jazzy slung the pack onto his back and turned to tell Alice goodbye, his face lit up brighter than I had ever seen it. He bounced on the balls of his feet and jabbed his pointed finger toward Alice and Edward until I was afraid he was going to put someone's eye out. "It's . . . It's . . . . It's . . . It's . . . " His excitement level had debilitated his powers of communication.

Taking his face in my palms and forcing him to face me, I said, "Calm down, Jazzy. Use your words. I'm not a mind reader." His eyes rolled sideways in his head as he tried to catch a glimpse out of his ear, apparently.

"I am," came the soft voice that slid over my skin like butter on a hot griddle.

I turned to find Edward standing next to Alice. She was beaming as she bounced and held onto his arm. He was blushing, and damn if it wasn't the cutest thing since brand new baby kittens.

"Huh?" I asked eloquently.

"I can read his mind. I know exactly what he wants to tell you."

"You do?" I turned to face them both, holding onto Jazzy's hand lest it let loose its dangerous jabbing again.

Rather than answer me, Edward turned to Jazzy and stuck out his hand. "Hi, Jazz. I'm Edward Cullen. I hear you're a big fan of mine."

Confused I looked up to see Jazzy all wide-eyed with a face-splitting grin, nodding so hard I though his muppet hair might fly right off his head.

"Good! It's always a pleasure to meet a fan. Have you ever seen us play?" he asked Jazzy. Normally I considered myself on the upper end of average on the intellectual bell curve, but at that moment I felt decidedly more special than my brother. I had no clue what the hell Edward was talking about.

Jazzy stopped his nodding long enough to shift his head to frantic side-to-side movements instead.

"Tell you what, if you promise to bring your beautiful, little sister, I'll get you tickets for our next show. Is it a deal?"

Jazzy's shoulders sagged deeply as he hung his head. I thought for sure he was going to break out in tears, though the reason for them continued to elude me.

"Cain't. SissaBee says your music is crap." He jerked his thumb in my direction without taking his eyes off the toes of his boots.

Clarity struck my mind like the suddenly unexpected toll of a giant gong. I stared up at Jazzy and pointed my finger at Edward. "That's . . . That's . . . It's . . . He's . . . Ohmigod." Mortified didn't begin to describe what I felt at that moment.

My second full-body blush overtook me as I turned slowly to look at Edward. His face looked like it couldn't decide if he was embarrassed for me or for himself despite the humor that danced in his eyes.

"I am soooo sorry," I began, taking a step toward him. "I didn't realize . . . . of course I don't think you're music is crap. I'm sure it's very lovely crap, I mean music. It's just that he listens to it all the time, day and night, night and day, at top volume, and all I really want is some freakin' silence, you know? I'm sure you're an excellent singer. Are you the singer? I'm sure with that voice you probably are. But then your hands look like you know how to handle an instrument, so maybe . . . guitar?"

I blanched as I realized that I just complimented his voice and his hands in a way that had definite sexual overtones. "I mean, not that I've noticed your hands or you voice . . . I mean they're great, really the whole package is just great. Ohmigod, someone please tell me to shut the hell up."

Several seconds passed as I recalled just exactly what I'd said when I commented about Jazzy's favorite band . . . Edward's band. Surely this degree of embarrassment qualified as one of the levels of hell.

"Bella." The beautiful man's voice seeped into my skin, and causing it to prickle where ever the sound landed.

I peeked at him between my fingers then closed them over my eyes again, childishly hoping that if I couldn't see him then he couldn't see me. "Yeah?"

His grin widened. "Shut the hell up."

"Hehe. You said 'hell,'" Jazzy snickered beside me.

"Seriously, though, Bella. I don't expect everyone to love my music. It's not your thing. That's okay." He reached up and wrapped his long fingers around my wrist and gently pulled my hand from my face. "I'd be honored if you brought my biggest fan to my show next weekend, though. Could I interest you in that? For Jazzy's sake, of course."

Completely distracted by the way his hand still cradled my wrist and the feel of his thumb as it brushed back and forth over the blue veins under my skin, all I could mutter was "'Kay."

Alice jumped up and down beside her brother, sing-songing her happiness to the whole room.

Edward pulled my cell phone from the pocket it stuck up out of in my purse and began pushing buttons. "Here's my number," his phone began ringing from his back pocket, "and now I have yours, too. Don't worry I won't set your ringtone to any of that rockabilly crap." He winked at me as he offered my phone back. "Call me, and I can arrange the tickets."

"Jazzy, you can call me, too." Alice said solemnly.

Jazzy looked at me with wide eyes. "Can I, SissaBee? Can I call Alice?" He said her name reverently. I nodded at him, unable to deny him such a simple request.

He turned back to her and mimicked a gun with his finger, shooting and winking at her as he said, "I'll call ya, baby."

Alice swooned. Seriously, she swooned.

Three days later, Jazzy had talked to Alice on the phone seven times, and I had chickened out of calling Edward about forty-seven times. Finally Jazzy came clomping into my bedroom with my phone one evening and thrust it in my face.

"My friend, Eddie, wants to talk to you." Then he walked out.

"Jazzy, dangit! You're gonna use up all my minutes! You know I don't get paid until next week. Hello!" I practically yelled into the phone.

"Whoa! Rein those horses in! I'll buy you some more minutes if you need some. Alice is the one doing all the talking anyway. What kind of phone do you have?"

Hearing Edward's silken voice caused the wheels in my head to grind to a halt. "Uh . . ."

"Tracfone? Net10? If you're buying minutes it's a prepaid, right?"

"Um . . . yeah . . . I mean, yes, it's a Net10, but you don't have to buy me any minutes."

"Not a problem. The reason I'm calling is because Alice wants Jazzy to come over during the day Saturday before we head to the club. What do you say?"

"Well, that depends on where you live." He gave me his address and told me the area it was in. I knew without looking that we'd have to walk miles from the closest bus stop to get to their house.

"I really don't think we can do that. I'm sorry."

"Nonsense! Alice and I will be by to pick you up around noon Saturday. See you then!"

I stared at the phone and the bright blue screen that indicated the call had been disconnected.

"JAAAAZZZZZYYYYYYY!" I screamed as I headed toward his room, trying to drown out Edward's voice blaring through his speakers. "Why do Edward and Alice know where we live?"

Not only did Edward and Alice drive up in front of the run down apartment where Jazzy and I lived in a shiny, new, silver Volvo, but twenty minutes later we pulled up in front of a truly enormous Victorian house. My mouth hung open at the sight of it until I heard Edward say, "You trying to catch flies, because I think you probably taste sweet enough."

I snapped my mouth shut as the blush crept up my cheeks. "You and Alice live . . . here?" I motioned to the grand house in front of us as he turned off the engine and made his way around to my door. I hadn't opened it myself, because I wasn't entirely sure I wanted to get out.

"Sure, why not? Of course it's not just Alice and I. The rest of my family lives here, too." He took my hand, helping me out of the car and leading me toward the steps to the sprawling porch.

Alice and Jazzy had already run full-bore up the steps and into the house. I could hear his boot-clad feet pounding around inside.

"The rest?" My voice squeaked.

"Yeah, my parents, my older brother, and his wife." He left me behind as my body halted, foot raised to take a step.

"Parents?" I was aghast. I looked down at my outfit. I'd dressed in a pencil skirt, white shirt, and wide belt. It wasn't exactly "clubbing" clothes, but as I never went clubbing, I didn't own anything more suitable. However, now I was feeling very, very inappropriately dressed. "You never said anything about parents. I should've worn something else."

I pulled my hair back into a pony tail and fastened it with the elastic I kept on my wrist. I tugged on my skirt, trying to magically make it lengthen to below my knees, and bloused out the shirt I had attempted to make fit tighter just a half hour before.

A hand came up and cupped my face. "Bella, stop. You look beautiful!" Edward's thumb brushed across my cheek. I stared up into his green, green eyes. Somehow, I felt calmer.

He shocked me into submission by laying a kiss on my forehead. "Come on," he smiled and took me by the hand and pulled me up the steps and into the foyer.

Meeting Carlisle and Esme Cullen was a bittersweet event for me. They were both very different from my own parents, but they gave off such parental vibes that I fought back the first tears I'd cried for Charlie and Renee in a long time.

They instantly adored Jazzy, of course. He was always a bit much for people who weren't used to the mentally challenged, but for those who knew how to love them, Jazzy was a calm in the storm.

I learned all about this family Carlisle and Esme had created. They had adopted Emmett first, then Edward, and, finally, Alice, all under different circumstances. The three couldn't have been any more different, but I couldn't imagine blood siblings being any closer.

Rosalie, Emmett's wife, was intimidating, but she liked Jazzy. That's all that mattered to me.

The family had scattered to various parts of the house, but I stayed in the kitchen helping Esme prepare lunch.

"Alice really likes Jazzy," she said as she tossed the salad.

I chuckled. "I'm pretty sure the feeling is mutual."

"How do you feel about that?" she asked me. I knew what she was implying. It was a common and sometimes heated debate among those who were guardians for people like Jazzy and Alice.

I continued cutting vegetables to distract me from having to look at her. I didn't want to open a can of worms with people I had just met but I wasn't going to lie either. I couldn't risk Jazzy getting hurt.

"Honestly, I believe Jazzy has as much right to love and be loved as I do." I peeked through my peripheral vision to gauge her reaction. She was smiling.

"We don't believe in holding Alice back. We help her and guide her. We're there for her, but we think she, too, has a right to love."

I looked up at her then. "My parents disagreed. They could never see Jazzy as anything but a little boy, no matter how big he got. I know that's how he is mentally, but he's more than that, you know? So much more. I just . . . I don't think it's my place to deny him if he finds someone who makes him happy."

Esme stepped over and hugged me. The feeling was so warm, so comforting, and so maternal that I sniffed loudly, trying to blink back the tears threatening to escape.

"You've been through so much, haven't you?" she asked as she stroked my hair.

I laughed uncomfortably and broke away from her hug. "Psshaw," I blew off her observation, waving the paring knife in the air. Sniffing again, I mumbled, "Stupid onions." I was cutting carrots.

"Well, if anything ever comes of them, you're not alone."

At that moment, Alice ran through the kitchen pulling Jazzy behind her. Both of them wore the biggest smiles I'd ever seen.

"Goin' outside," her voice faded as the front door slammed behind them.

Esme and I looked at each other and burst out laughing. When we wiped away the tears our fit of laughter had caused, she said, "It looks as if we're practically family already."

"I've never seen Jazzy act this way before," I tried to assure her.

"Nor I Alice. Of course she's always full of energy – she's like a pixie on acid sometimes." A giant giggle snort burst from my chest at her description, but she went on nonplussed. "But she's different since she met him. I'm not sure how to describe it. Like she found something she's been looking for, for a long time."

"I know how she feels." A gruff voice spoke from the doorway, and I looked up to see Edward, arms crossed over his chest and feet crossed at the ankles as he leaned against the door jam. His lips cocked up on one side, smirking at me.

My knees felt instantly weak at the sight of him. He jerked his head toward something behind him. "Come on. I'd like to show you something."

I looked to Esme and the last things that needed pulling together before lunch would be ready. She smiled a teary smile and nodded at me. "Go on, dear, he wants you."

I knew she didn't mean everything that small phrase could imply, but if I were honest with myself, I was kind of hoping that it was true nonetheless. One thing was certain, I wanted him, or at least I wanted all the parts of him I'd seen so far.

As I followed him to our destination, I thought about what I knew about the beautiful man in front of me. He was kind and thoughtful. He was responsible and caring. He took care of Alice and liked Jazzy. I wanted to discover everything there was to know about him, too.

He finally came to a stop beside a shiny, black piano, walking around it to take a seat on the bench. He patted the area beside him, and I dropped gingerly down. The position felt intimate, and I felt my pulse rate rise.

"I'd like to show you what I'm capable of when I'm not being a 'no-talent rockabilly.'" His green eyes were sparkling when mine flew up to meet his.

"Oooooo! I am so going to get Jazzy!" I couldn't believe he'd told them what I'd said about Edward's band. "In my defense, I didn't know you when I said that, and I've never really listened to your music. I'm sorry for saying that, really."

"Bella." Thank God, he interrupted my babbling. "Shut the hell up." He was grinning widely again.

"Right," I acquiesced and sat mutely beside him while I watched his long fingers caress the black and white keys noiselessly, the way I imagined he would greet a lover.

Suddenly I felt like I was intruding on this private moment. At the same time, I wondered if he loved a woman the way he loved his piano. A part of me wanted desperately to find out.

The first notes he coaxed from the instrument were so soft and built so slowly they seemed to come from the silence itself. I listened and watched, held captive by what he was doing to and with the piano.

The speed and intensity of the music increased slowly, but as it built and built and built some more, I felt myself panting and leaning forward into the keys the way he did, pushing him, willing him to take the notes and spill them over the edge of the dam against which they were slamming. The tempo and tension climbed higher and higher until I couldn't take it one more second.

When not a single note more could have been played without me losing my mind, his hand and his music crashed in a giant wave over the spillway and onto the rocks below, willingly pouring the notes out in glorious crescendo. The muscles in my fingers and back clenched suddenly with him and released their tension all at once as the notes beat down, washing over me in climactic fervor until I feared I would fall off my precarious perch on the bench beside him.

When finally, after coaxing the instrument back down with him, the last notes faded back into the silence from whence they came, I let loose all the breath held in my lungs in one long whoosh.

"Wow. I think I need a cigarette," I muttered under my breath.

Looking up at him, I saw the sheen of sweat across his brow and the ever present smirk drawing up one side of his full, rosy lips. "Not bad for a no-talent hack, huh?"

"Show off," I shoved at him playfully.

Lunch in the Cullen household was an interesting experience. Alice made googly eyes at Jazzy the whole time. Jazzy looked as if he'd been a part of their family for years. Emmett was a hoot with the both of them. Rosalie just rolled her eyes at her husband, but I could tell she adored him – goofiness and all. Carlisle was, unexpectedly, as young and carefree as the rest of them. Esme was the quintessential mother. June Cleaver had nothing on her. She watched over her family's antics with loving indulgence, chastising them occasionally for a crude word or joke, but always with the soft crinkles of laughter in her eyes.

And then there was Edward. He laughed and joked as much as any of them. Perhaps it was my imagination, but he seemed to watch me a lot. The smirks and sidelong glances he threw my way unnerved and embarrassed me until I thought I would go mad. Every time I peeked at him across the table he caught me.

"It's about time for me to go," Edward said, rising from the couch in the living room where we had all found ourselves after the lunch dishes were done. "Bella, would you like to ride with me? Jazzy can ride with Alice and my parents when they come later." Jazzy nodded at me like a spastic bobble-head on the dashboard of a car on a pot-holed road.

"Um, sure," I said and followed him to his car. "Why are you going so early?" It was only six.

"We have to set up and do light and sound checks, run through our sets, that kind of stuff."

When we got to the club, he introduced me to Ben, Tyler, and Eric, the other members of his band. Edward was the lead singer with Ben on drums, Tyler on guitar, and Eric on bass guitar. While they set up, I sat at one of the tables in the nearly empty club and talked with Ben's wife, Angela. I was surprised to find she was very much like me: quiet, shy, reserved. I liked her very much and almost didn't notice that the club was filling up around us.

When Edward's family and Jazzy joined us at the group of tables near the stage that were reserved for the band's guests, I was surprised that time had passed so quickly. I looked around at all the people or, more specifically, women who crowded the stage, vying for positions closest to where the band would soon be.

"Jeez! Look at all the groupies!" I muttered.

Angela laughed beside me. "You haven't seen anything yet."

Unfortunately she was right. The screaming that ensued when the guys walked out onto the stage was deafening. I swore I saw panties being thrown at one point and the music hadn't even started yet.

"Howdy y'all," Edward's silky voice slowly breathed into the microphone, and I felt like the sound slid sensual kisses all over my skin.

"Ohmigod," I exhaled. Angela's snicker barely registered in my foggy brain. That was what the man did to me with just two words.

"It's good to be back playing for y'all here again. Before we begin, I'd like to say a special hello to the beautiful woman who agreed to accompany me tonight." Edward looked over in our direction and, even though I knew he couldn't see me with the spotlight in his eyes, smirked the sexiest smirk I'd ever seen. "Even if she does hate my music." He winked then, and I blushed ten shades of red as the crowd of lusty women all around us booed in my general direction.

Without any more fanfare, Ben began pounding a fierce beat on his bass drum. The energy on stage was mesmerizing. As they went through each song, I couldn't keep my eyes off Edward. He wailed into the microphone at times with his head thrown back, guitars flying around him, drums pounding behind him. The violet and blue lights framed him and shone on his sweat-moistened skin until he shimmered in the spotlights.

Other times he made love to the crowd with his voice, pouring out emotion like wine: sadness, anguish, love lost. Tears flowed down my cheeks as I watched him sing for a lady love he gave up to make her happy, failing in his mission and driving himself to desperation.

During the break before his last set, he ventured out of the green room to our tables. "Will you stay with me after we're through on stage until we've wrapped everything up?" he asked me, chugging the water bottle in his hand.

"I'd love to, but Jazzy doesn't need to be at the apartment by himself," I explained.

"We'll take him with us. He's more than welcome to stay in the guest room for the night," Esme volunteered.

I looked over and saw Jazzy's eyes light up. "Like a sleep over? Please, SissaBee! Can I? Can I?"

Shifting my gaze to Edward, I said, "Looks like I'm staying."

He grinned widely and pecked my cheek with his lips. He winked again before he left for the final set.

"So tell me honestly what you thought," he asked as he drove me home. It was two a.m., but we were both still wide awake with adrenaline from the performance.

"Honestly?" I questioned him, raising one eyebrow in challenge.

"It would be nice to get an honest critique." He shrugged nonchalantly, showing me he wasn't intimidated by what people thought of his music.

I picked at the stitching of the leather seats. "What? You mean all the screaming women don't give you a clear idea of your talent?"

He threw his head back and laughed heartily. I found myself laughing along with him, my jealousy placated for the moment.

"Uh . . . no," he said, his laughter receding to a chuckle.

"There certainly are a lot of them, though I can hardly blame them." I blushed slightly at my admission.

"Oh?" He glanced at me then back at the road. "Don't worry. I only saw one woman in my audience tonight."

"The blonde one who threw her panties at you, right?" I tried to deflect my embarrassment elsewhere.

"No. The one I saw had long, chestnut hair and deep, brown eyes that enraptured me from the moment I saw her."

Not able to meet his glancing gazes, I watched the car slide into a parking place in front of the apartment. "I think I saw her. She was next to the blonde. I'm pretty sure she was responsible for the red thong, but I could be mistaken."

I felt Edward's finger barely graze my cheek, and I turned to look at him again. The teasing smirk was gone from his face, replaced by passionate observation. "Bella, I don't want there to be any misunderstanding between us. I like you-a lot. I'd also really like it if you'd let me escort you to your door." A more bashful manifestation of his smile teased his lips. "Perhaps steal a kiss on your doorstep?"

He didn't wait for my answer, but was quickly around the car and opening the door. He held my hand as we climbed the stairs, letting it go again as I fumbled for my keys. Taking my shaking hand in his again, he helped me fit the key into the lock, sliding it in slowly and steadily, turning it gently.

"Bella." I looked up into his deep, green eyes. "I would like to be here for the long haul, if you'd let me."

I couldn't do anything but nod at him. However, his simple but wonderful statement made me feel light and free where seconds before I was mired in indecision.

"I would like to steal that kiss now . . . with your permission, of course." His confident smirk was in full effect, and I couldn't help myself.

I shook my head at him. "No, Edward, I'm afraid not."

He suddenly looked stricken and started to step away from me. I grabbed his hand and pulled myself closer to him.

"You see, you cannot steal what I freely give." My whispered words seemed to breathe life back into his face, and his shoulders fell loose from their sudden previous tension. Tip-toeing up to him, our lips met in sweet relief.

We fit together as surely as I knew we would. He fit me perfectly as if he was the cast and I the mold, two pieces made from and for each other.

The concert had not changed my opinion. I still didn't like the music he played for his fans. I probably never would. But in the silence of this moment I heard it. The song he sang to me was made of the deep notes of his sigh and the steady beat of his heart. I realized that this music he made for me and me alone. I also knew that here is where we could exist together, both the sound and the silence in perfect harmony.