Welcome back! For anyone following me from HOD, thank you for being willing to go on another journey. I hope you enjoy the ride.
A huge thank you to everyone who helped me to get my head wrapped around the best way to start this. LostIn PA is amazing and helped to re-work long and awkward sentences. Beautifulnightmarex generously read this several times, and TDS88, not only read it a couple of times, but also gave it one final look. All of their support was invaluable. However, I have a bad habit of tweaking things before posting, so all mistakes are mine.
I own nothing, but the original plot points belong to me.
Okay, let the games begin...
Chapter 1: Chill in the Air
"No one can tell what goes in between the person you were and the person you become. No one can chart that blue and lonely section of hell. There are no maps of the change. You just come out the other side. Or you don't."
Steven King
Before…
Standing on the front stoop, my body shakes in frustration as the dreaded echo of grinding metal fills the night air around me. Of course, tonight of all nights, the key has decided to jam, hindering my ability to lock the front door and leave.
"Son of a bitch!"
The noise is an irritating reminder to replace the lock, and I can't help but berate myself for not having done it sooner. Even with my constantly spinning mind, I usually pride myself on being an organized person. Recently though, the daunting list of tasks to complete has almost become overwhelming. I should just stop procrastinating, and replace the uncooperative thing before I end up smashing it with a sledgehammer. Yet, somehow, the minimal task feels insurmountable.
"Stop being ridiculous, it's just a fucking lock."
Deep down, I know my "forgetfulness" is an exercise in avoidance. Once, I had a partner to help with such undertakings. Changing the lock will force me to face the hollow feelings I've successfully circumvented thus far. In all honesty, I'm just not ready for that.
"You're stronger than this, Bells. Things don't have to be this difficult." My father's voice drifts into my scattered thoughts. Robotically, I push it away and focus my irritation on the tangible object in front of me.
"God damn it," I mutter, wrestling with the key.
My shoulders tighten as I jiggle it harder, fighting the childish desire to scream and stomp my feet in defeat when it refuses to cooperate. Realizing that my approach is getting me nowhere, I release my frustrated grip on the knob and take a calming breath. Exhaling loudly, I finally manipulate the key into place and turn the lock without too much more of a hassle. Stuffing the key into my pocket, I close my eyes and hope that this latest debacle is not a sign of the night to come.
On the back-end of several horrible months, this week has particularly sucked. My computer crashed, I was late submitting a brief, lost an important argument in court, and to top it all off, it was my turn as "Officer of the Week", which equates to endless annoying phone calls. My intention was to put this crappy week behind me by spending a quiet weekend at home preparing for a crucial meeting. But, after reading the same sentence ten times in a row and still not remembering what it said, I decided to take my friends up on their offer to attend a concert instead.
Unconsciously, I tilt my head to the sky looking for strength, but quickly stop, laughing at the pointlessness of such a gesture. "You're a fool," I mutter reminding myself that I don't believe in a higher power anymore.
A loud crunching sound from the nearby hedge swiftly draws my attention away from the morose thought. Swinging around, I look for the source of the noise, but unfortunately, the height of the hedge makes it difficult to see anything on the other side. Hearing it again, I peer into the darkness trying to identify the shadows on the sidewalk.
"Hello?" I call out, listening closely for any other sounds.
Standing quietly for several uneventful seconds, I decide that my overtaxed mind is just playing tricks on me. It was probably a mouse or a squirrel moving through the branches of the hedge and nothing more. Scoffing at my overactive imagination, I hastily adjust my scarf and decide to get going.
Walking briskly along the street, the sensations of the city envelop me. I revel in the way the damp night air feels as it caresses my skin, and enjoy the aromas wafting out of the various restaurants as I pass them by. The fog rolling in from the bay gives the street lamps a muted, almost ghostly glow, lighting my way through the encroaching darkness. While the sounds of the far off car horns and sirens are almost comforting in their normalcy, a constant that rarely changes.
I love San Francisco. Even though I've enjoyed living in several different cities, I knew this was my home as soon as I stepped foot on the well-traveled cement of Union Square. The organic, earthy energy of it seems to soothe my soul, like listening to smooth jazz on a warm summer's day. Even on my most stressful days, that energy usually helps to ground me.
Tonight, however, the city is no match for my frenzied state of mind. As I turn the corner towards the Fillmore, instead of the calming feelings that usually embrace me, my muscles painfully clench when images of abandoned paperwork on my dining room table, and legal documents left unopened bombard my thoughts. Rationally, I know taking a break will make me more effective, but somehow that knowledge doesn't quiet the voice telling me to go back home.
Stopping abruptly on the sidewalk, I contemplate just turning around. My actions unintentionally cause a traffic jam for the people walking behind me, and several grumble their annoyance as they pass by. Barely registering their discontent, my eyes drift to a group of six friends walking across the street. Almost bouncing with light steps, they laugh and playfully nudge each other. The happiness I see reflected on their faces helps to determine my path. I want to feel that again. Biting my lip, I gather my courage and force myself to keep moving forward.
A tiny smile breaks free when I think about how my friends will react when they see me. My arrival will shock them. Lately, their invitations, although continuous, are simply a loving gesture. Months of turning them down or finding excuses to cancel at the last minute have left them expecting me not to show up anymore. I love them, but it is often easier to evade their good intentions of trying to fix the broken pieces of my life.
"Work and avoid" is a constant theme running through my life these days. Probably not the mantra you would find on a motivational poster, but for now it is the only thing that keeps me going. Life has shown me that I can't rely on other people to make me whole. I have to do that all on my own.
"It's definitely a nice neighborhood. You sure you can afford this swanky townhouse on your newbie salary?" he asks with a sarcastic smile.
After looking for a more permanent home over the last several months, I finally found the perfect place in the Lower Pacific Heights neighborhood. It has all the features I want including being close to work, but the area makes it a pricey choice. His benign question embarrasses me. Most people don't know about my financial background.
"I, uh, still have my mom's insurance money. It will actually cover most of it." I look down at my shoes nervously. He knows my mom died when I was eleven, but we haven't really spoken about it in much detail.
His finger glides under my chin to lift my eyes to his. They are burning with sympathy and regret. "I'm sorry. Do you want to talk about it?"
"Oh no, I'm okay." I say quickly realizing he mistook my embarrassment for sadness. I will always miss my mom, but time and my dad have helped me to move past the pain of her death. "It's just not something I discuss often." Smiling reassuringly, I grab his hand intertwining his fingers with mine. "Want to help me look for furniture?" I ask changing to a breezier topic.
Lifting our hands, he lightly kisses my knuckles. "Lead on, Ms. Swan, but if you're going to ask me to help you move, you should know that I charge by the hour," he jokes.
"Oh really?" Reaching up on my tiptoes to kiss his mouth briefly, I ghost my hand down his chest, his breath predictably hitching as I travel closer to his belt and slightly tug on it. "I think we can probably work something out, don't you?" I whisper seductively against his lips.
Before he can capture my lips again, I pull away and wink, his eyes narrowing in response. Flirtatiously shrugging my shoulders at his "what the hell" look, I simply turn and lead us back to my car. Glancing over my shoulder, I see him pouting as he begrudgingly follows. He is so incredibly gorgeous, it's hard to force myself to continue walking with the way he makes my body tingle.
It is amazing that fate brought us together. Everything I ever wanted walked right into my world the day we met, and there is no way I am taking that for granted.
"Arrgghhh!" I yell out, causing a few people walking on the sidewalk next to me to stare worriedly.
I should have expected that he would invade my head tonight. Clenching my fists, I can't help but wonder how long it will take him to fade from my consciousness. Lord knows, it is already longer than it took him to vanish from my life. The thing that really pisses me off is that his memory is coming up a lot lately. I'm never going to move forward if I allow myself to think that having him here would make things easier.
I need a drink.
Fortuitously, the desire for alcohol occurs just as I arrive at the historic building where I can fulfill it. Weaving my way through the masses on the busy sidewalk, I pull out my pass for tonight's show. Focused on my goal of the front door, I completely miss the broad-shouldered man moving in my direction until he slams into me. The force of the collision jars my body, causing me to lose my footing, and before I can react, I fall awkwardly on my ass. The incident leaving me more stunned than hurt.
"Damn it!" I yell, trying to rub away the burning sensation in my palms, the skin slightly raw from taking the brunt of the impact. "This is just perfect."
"I'm sorry," a gruff voice says above me.
Looking up, I see dark eyes staring down. The intensity on his face does not match the sincerity he is trying to portray in his voice. He reaches out his hand to help me up, but for some reason, the usually friendly gesture causes the hairs on the back of my neck to stand up. My instincts are screaming not to touch him. Instead of using his offered hand, I get up on my own and step away from the stranger.
"That's okay. Accidents happen," I respond, my voice tight and strained.
"The least I can do is buy you a drink or something. What do you say?" he asks pointing towards a small bar across the street. He takes a step closer, and in return, I step back.
"That's really okay. I'm already late. My friends are probably going to send out the cavalry soon," I lie with a measured laugh. I want him to believe that people know where I am.
"You sure?" he asks. I nod my head wanting to end the conversation. "Well, maybe we'll run into each other again," he says cryptically, his watchful eyes running up and down my body.
"Um, highly unlikely. Have a good night though," I say dismissively.
Turning around, I walk quickly towards the door. Subtly glancing behind, I shudder as the man continues to stare at me. I'm not sure why I'm having such a strong reaction to him, but I do know I never want to run into the creepy stranger again. A wall of heat hits me once I cross the threshold of the Fillmore, the outside chill rapidly disintegrating in the sea of humanity inside. Looking over my shoulder again, I release a breath when I no longer see the man. Shoving the strange encounter out of my mind, I focus on trying to enjoy the evening.
Moving further into the room, I uncoil my scarf and shrug out of my jacket, holding both close to my chest to squeeze past a particularly crowded area. Looking around, I feel a sense of happy nostalgia, the stress of the evening easing a bit. The old town architecture with a modern flare of indie rock decorations combined with the slight scent of Agarwood incense makes the place feel cozy and welcoming. This is one of my favorite hangouts, and it has been too long since my last visit.
Glancing to the right, I see hundreds of bodies mingling on the floor in front of the stage, and I can feel the energy building as Washed Out's roadies methodically tune each instrument. Everyone seems at ease and happy. Scanning the room, my eyes focus on several couples being affectionate with whom, I assume, are their significant others.
The sight gives me pause, stirring a longing I try to ignore. A startling flash of emerald eyes and loving arms turn my stomach to ice. The last thing I need are more unwanted memories adding to this already strained outing. Pushing the image away, I reprimand myself for allowing him to affect me twice in one night.
Maneuvering over to the poster room, I quickly spot the familiar faces of my friends sitting and laughing around a small table next to a colorfully decorated wall. They are obviously enjoying the evening and each other. The visual makes me smile.
My friends have always been a big part of my life. In fact, spending time with them was my daily "therapy", but somewhere over the last the few months that has changed. Now, what was once my stress reliever, feels exhausting. It's something that I battle with every day. A part of me realizes that I'm pushing them away, and they are getting frustrated with my behavior, but I can't seem to stop doing it.
"Holy shit! Bella's here!" Jasper, my partner at work, yells across the room causing several people to turn in my direction.
Acknowledging him with a wave of my hand, I quickly walk over before he causes an even bigger scene. I lovingly refer to Jasper as my "work husband" because we tend to spend a lot of time together preparing our cases. Not to mention that we often argue like an old married couple in the office. Our close relationship is hard for many to comprehend, which is why it's a good thing that his actual wife is my best friend.
Reaching the table, I walk straight into his waiting arms. "I'm so glad you made it," he whispers against my temple.
Breathing in his brotherly comfort, I squeeze tighter, feeling relaxed for the first time tonight. Why do I run from this? Before I can tell him that I'm happy to see him too, I feel a smack to the back of my head.
"Hey," I huff in annoyance, turning towards the smiling face of Rosalie Hale.
Rose is the one of the brightest and toughest FBI agents I have ever met, as well as one of my closest friends. She is impeccably dressed in dark blue jeans and a green sweater with her long blond hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail. As usual, she looks like she just walked out of a fashion magazine and I can't help but feel inferior in comparison. I pull nervously at my own worn sweater, suddenly rethinking the quick pick I made when rushing out of the house. Rose quirks her eyebrow, and I quickly neutralize my expression before she questions it. I know she would kick my ass if she knew about my self-deprecating thoughts.
"What the hell, Swan? Did hell freeze over when I wasn't looking?" she asks, eyeing me up down trying to act harsh, but failing miserably in her buzzed state as her lips break into an uncontrollable smile.
"Stuff it. Even I can go out every once in a while." I smile back sweetly, purposely not reacting to her attempt at a severe tone. "What are you drinking?" I ask peering into her glass.
"Mojito. Why? Do you want one?" she questions in disbelief.
"Yes!" I yell a little too enthusiastically.
Rose raises her eyebrow. "Okaaay," she draws out. I'm really not much of a drinker and she knows it. I'm sure this will just add to my friends growing list of concerns. "Let me text Emmett to get you one. He's getting refills at the bar," she mutters, pulling out her phone to quickly type out a message. "He's going to flip when he hears that you're here."
Emmett McCarty is a San Francisco PD homicide detective, and Rose's long-time boyfriend. Glancing towards the bar, I can easily spot his tall and muscular body in the crowd. Emmett has always been a bit of an enigma. Although his impressive size and confident presence scares most people, he actually is nothing more than a huge heart with a warm sappy center.
"Bella!" I hear as a small ball of energy tackles me from the side. "You're here!" Alice, Jasper's wife, shrieks into my ear as I try to recover my balance before we both topple over.
If Jasper is my partner in crime at work, Alice is my partner in crime in life. The yin to my yang is how my dad described our friendship because even with our many differences we still somehow balance each other out.
"Hi," I say, tightening our embrace.
"I'm so glad you're here." She pulls back rewarding me with a brilliant smile. "I missed you."
"I missed you too," I whisper, a little overwhelmed by the truth in my statement.
"Not that I'm not really glad to see you, but what are you doing here? I thought you were going to bury yourself in the new case all weekend," Jasper questions again.
"That was my plan, but I'm hitting a wall. So, I decided to hang out with you guys instead." Reaching forward, Jasper silently rewards my explanation with another supportive hug. He's been the most vocal about my self-imposed isolation.
"This case is a tough one, huh?" Rose asks.
"Yeah, there's a lot of information to sort through and put into place to ensure a conviction." Turning back to Jasper, I lightly punch him in the shoulder. "Tell me again why we're not doing this one together?"
"Because I had to finish up the Volturi case, and if I recall correctly from when you came bouncing into my office last week, you said this is your big break. The fact that Newton asked you to take the lead is huge. You wanted this remember."
"Well, I take it back. I'm beginning to think Newton gave me a no-win situation on purpose. If I fail, I'll be the scapegoat for the office. Then bonus for him, he can get rid of my ass, and I will no longer be a pain in his."
"Seriously, who are you? The Bella I know doesn't take that shit lying down. She fights and takes no prisoners. You sound like you've given up." Rose huffs out in exasperation before looking over to Jasper. "This is exactly what we were talking about. This mopey crap is getting old."
"Rose!" Alice hisses.
"You're not helping." Jasper chastises, my mouth still hanging open from the brazen comment.
"Shit," Rose mumbles remorsefully. "I'm sorry, Bella. I just don't know what to do anymore."
"She's right," Jasper adds jumping in. "We're all worried. You haven't been the same since—"
"I'm fine!" I yell cutting him off.
His eyebrow rises challenging my response, but I don't care, I refuse to discuss it. He, unfortunately, refuses to let it die. "Look, I get that grief takes time, but you're cutting people off. We're here to help you, whatever you need. Isolating yourself is not what your dad—"
"Don't," I growl lowly. Alice squeezes my arm, and out of the corner of my eye, I see her subtly shake her head at Jasper. Rose looks on warily, I know she has a lot to say on this subject, and I'm surprised that her liquid courage isn't making her jump on the "you just need to talk about it" bandwagon with Jasper.
Releasing a long frustrated breath, Jasper takes Alice's cue. "Okay, you're right. You wanted a night away. We don't have to talk about this now. We're just worried because we love you."
"And that means a lot to me, but I swear I'm fine." Taking advantage of the leeway, I veer the conversation back to safer topics. "I think I'm just tired, and honestly, this Biers guy freaks me out a bit. He's a really sadistic bastard. What if he creates more victims because I fuck up?"
Jasper stares for a moment. He knows me well enough to know exactly what I'm doing, but thankfully follows my lead anyway. "You're not going to fuck up. Besides, I always have your back. I'm not officially assigned to the case, but I'll still help if you need me," Jasper says, leaning down to look into my eyes. "You have this, and we have you. Alright?"
"Alright." I smile back, silently thanking him for always being there, even when I'm being stubborn. The sentimental moment is short-lived, however, when I feel another sharp smack to the back of my head. Looking over my shoulder, I cut my eyes to Rose.
"Damn it, Rose! What is it with you and the back of my head tonight?"
"Don't let that idiot Newton get to you. You're the best. Make him recognize it," she argues, lifting her finger and pointing it threateningly in my face. "I'm warning you, Swan, keep up this 'woe is me' shit, and I swear I'll kick your ass so far—"
"Okay, okay, I get it. Jesus, just how much have you had to drink tonight? You're a little more mouthy than usual."
Giving me a sarcastic smirk, she innocently shrugs her shoulders and lifts her drink to take another sip. But before the glass can touch her lips, she abruptly stops, her eyes widening. "Wait, did you say Biers, as in Riley Biers?"
"Yup, that's the one. You know him?"
"Who doesn't? Damn, you weren't kidding. He's high-profile and slimy as hell. The feds are finally going to prosecute?"
"That's the plan. Your office has gathered data for years. Everyone's decided it's time to go in for the kill, but a lot has to go right to get the sentence we want."
"Sam's the lead on that case right?" she asks seriously, the topic apparently decreasing her buzz.
"Yeah, I have a meeting with him Monday. Any advice?"
"Sam's tough, but he's a solid agent. If anyone can get Biers, it's him. He can be an ass, but I've learned that it comes from a good place. You're going to need him in your corner, so take his attitude with a grain of salt. You respect him, and he'll respect you."
"I can do that," I say, glancing towards the bar wondering how long it will be until Emmett returns with our drinks.
"Are you two done?" Alice asks in annoyance. "Can we leave the work talk behind now? We're here to get away from serious things, and have some fun."
"Honestly, girls. I swear we can't take you anywhere," Jaspers adds, his lips curling into a sarcastic smirk.
I glare in response. He knows damn well that he would be jumping right into the conversation if it were about one of his cases. Turning my back on him in an act of insolence, I focus on Alice giving her a sympathetic smile. "Yes, we're done. Sorry."
Alice works as a museum curator, and is the only member of our group not in the criminal justice field, which is a challenge to say the least. Given how much time we dedicate to our jobs, "shop talk" tends to take over more times than not. However, she is always our tenacious reminder to find balance.
"No way! Is that Bella Swan gracing my fine establishment with her presence?"
I look up to see Paul, the manager of the club, strolling over to our table. Although in his late fifties, Paul could easily take down most of the younger patrons. He's clearly physically fit, and the graphic tattoos running down his arm give him an air of danger. The combo is usually enough to keep most trouble at bay.
Although we met through difficult circumstances, I have come to consider him a dear friend. About four years ago, in a coordinated effort between several agencies, Jasper and I were able to convict the gang members responsible for the murder of his sister. Ever since, no matter how often I tell him it's not necessary, Paul guarantees us access to shows, and use of his personal balcony seats. The generous offer is one that I try not to take advantage of too often.
Getting up, I walk over and meet him for hug. "Hi, Paul."
"It's been too long, sweetie. How are you?"
Aww, there it is. The loaded question everyone eventually gets to when they interact with me nowadays. The tension that left my body moment's ago rushes back as soon as the vile words leave his lips.
"Fine."
Moving back, he holds my arms up, his eyes evaluating me carefully. "You're too thin. Are you eating enough? Are you hungry, do you want something to eat? I can have Leah go and pick you up something."
Even in my irritated state, I find myself smiling at his verbal barrage. As usual, Paul's concern for my wellbeing is making him go overboard. "Really, I'm fine. I'm a big girl, Paul. You don't need to take care of me."
"Bullshit. Someone needs to make sure you're taking care of yourself. I think you'd work yourself to death if we'd let you."
Hearing a chorus of murmured agreement behind me, I shift my narrowed eyes over to my friends. "Thanks for the support, guys," I spit out sarcastically.
"Don't get mad at us just because Paul is speaking the truth," Jasper retorts.
"And you wonder why I don't come out more often. I wanted to have some fun, not be read the riot act."
"Okay, okay. I'll lay off, but I want you to stop by more often. Deal?" Paul asks, looking at me with soft, pleading eyes.
"Deal," I grumble begrudgingly. I don't know if I can hold up my end, but at least agreeing to it will get him to back off for the evening.
"I've been told that I have a pretty good ear and a strong shoulder if you ever need either of those things."
Fortunately, before I can politely decline his "you can fall apart with me" offer, a loud crash from the front pulls Paul's attention away.
"Shit, sounds like the natives are getting restless. I'd better go see what's going on. You have fun tonight, and don't run off before we can catch up," he requests pulling me into another quick hug before rushing off to handle the commotion.
Turning back to the table, I find that abhorrent sympathetic look etched on the faces of my friends. It makes me want to scream. I just want them to treat me like Bella, not some fragile piece of glass that is about to shatter. Why can't they understand that?
My body language must have portrayed my frustration, because suddenly all three drop their eyes and start discussing other things. Maybe they will finally take the hint and leave well enough alone.
"Where the hell is Emmett?" Rose grumbles, looking around.
"He's on his phone," Alice answers.
Glancing at the bar, I see Emmett standing in the corner with a tray of drinks in front of him. Even from here, I can tell that his shoulders are tense as he nervously taps his fingers on the bar. After another second, he frustratingly pulls the phone away from his ear to start typing out what I assume is a text. He does not look happy.
"Any idea about what's going on?" I question.
"It's probably his partner. She's been driving him crazy, and she was in charge of completing their paperwork tonight," Rose answers.
"I hope it gets sorted out. He's been edgy all night," Alice adds.
After finishing his text, he roughly shoves his phone into his pocket before picking up the tray and heading in our direction.
"My eyes must be deceiving me because there is no way that Bella is sitting at our table," Emmett remarks as soon as he arrives. I smile at his typical banter, but notice the creases of stress still on his face, the humor of his statement not quite reaching his eyes.
"What can I say, I like to keep you guys on your toes so you never know what to expect," I joke in return, watching him closely. When he walks over to hand me my drink, I touch his arm softly. "You okay?"
"Of course. Why?" he asks casually, but the underlying tension is clear in his voice.
"You seemed upset over there," I state motioning towards the bar.
"Oh. That was nothing. No worries." He waves me off with a fake smile. "Are you, umm, staying for the concert or just stopping by?"
"I came for the concert. That's still okay isn't it?"
Emmett doesn't respond right away, subtly shifting his eyes to the right as his hand runs nervously through his hair. His cagey behavior is troubling, especially because it appears connected to my unexpected arrival.
"Of course it's okay." Rose jumps in. "What's the deal, Emmett?"
"Nothing," he bites back defensively.
"You sure, man?" Jasper asks focusing his gaze on Emmett. He seems just as confused as I am.
"I said it's nothing. Just a crap day and I wasn't expecting Bella to come that's all. You know you're always welcome," he says with a stiff smile, pulling me into a sideways hug.
Emmett always gives me a hard time about not hanging out with them, so I know there's sincerity behind his words. Nevertheless, tonight seems different, and I am at a loss as to why.
After passing the drinks around, a friendly banter about everything and nothing ensues. Unfortunately, my curiosity about Emmett tempers the relaxing evening I desired. While keeping up with the dialog, I watch him closely, hoping for some clue about his strange behavior, beyond his obvious preoccupation with the phone. Frustratingly, although his body language continues to scream agitation, nothing else he says or does sheds any light on the situation.
Several minutes later, Emmett pulls his phone out for the hundredth time, huffing in annoyance when he looks at the screen. After taking a large gulp of beer, he moves to look at it again, but stops suddenly when he spots something over my shoulder. I watch as the color drains from his face, his eyes becoming wide and panicked. Turning around, I try to spot what has him so uncharacteristically rattled. Shifting my gaze across the room, the air leaves my lungs when I see him moving through the crowd and closer to our location.
Oh my god!
Even from a distance, his vibrant green eyes shine as they search the room. His hair, although shorter, is still a perplexing combination of messy and sexy. The lighting of the club highlights the unique bronze tones, and I cannot help but remember how good it felt to run my hands through it. He looks unbelievably beautiful, and my heart stops at the sight. Anger quickly overcomes the shock when my brain processes that he's actually here.
Edward Cullen, the man who stole my heart three years ago and then walked off the face of the earth is walking right towards me.
I really should have stayed home tonight.
See you next week!
