Chapter Two: Closed Hand, Full of Friends
EPOV
Her surprise registers first, which is closely followed by confusion, and then embarrassment. Her cheeks flush as if on command, and her tray tilts slightly, dangerously. Really, I'm tempted to take it from her, but I don't want to unsettle her any more than I clearly already have.
"Hi," I say, retreating slightly. "Were you just coming out?"
She nods, though her eyes are still a little wide, and she still hasn't said a word.
I step out of the way, allowing her space to come through the door. It's the polite thing to do.
She doesn't move.
I should be amused, but I'm not. I don't want her to feel so out of sorts in her own home. This moment is important, I suspect. If it goes badly, I'll tell my father that it's best if I go home. I kind of want to, anyway. I'm exhausted.
"Bella?" a voice calls.
My head snaps to the side, where our fathers are standing together.
"Come meet Mr. Cullen," her father says, speaking again.
It seems to snap her out of her trance because she starts walking, straight past me, towards her father. There's a small spring in her step, and it both unsettles and settles me. Perhaps I'll be having an early night after all. I reckon I deserve it after the whirlwind of a week I've just had. I'm actually surprised that I'm still alive. I could have sworn that my father was going to murder me at some point.
He knows better though.
I head into the house, following the directions Mr. Swan gave me. I don't actually need the bathroom but more of an escape. I hate these things. It's one thing to drag Esme here, but to bring us as well is a little much, don't you think? I'd like to say that family should be kept separate from work, but Cullen Novak is kind of a family business and the lines are very blurred.
I spend a few minutes in the guest bathroom. My shoulder feels a little tight, so I stretch it out for a moment. I'll have to roll out properly tomorrow.
When I've exhausted the suitable time to spend in the bathroom not to make my return awkward, I leave. I make my way back towards the back terrace, wary of who I may or may not encounter on my way. I don't know if I'm relieved or disappointed that I don't see her by the time I'm sliding the back terrace door open.
Do I want an excuse to leave that badly?
"Edward?"
I move towards my father. He's still standing with Mr. Swan. And Isabella.
"I believe you know Bella here," my father says. "We were just talking about your exploits in dissection in Biology."
I look at Bella and, as expected, she looks a little green from the topic of conversation. She's probably too polite to say anything to my father though, so I do it for her. "Oh, Dad, not before we're about to eat dinner," I say.
His smile softens. "You're right, Son," he says.
I hate it when he calls me 'son,' as if it were even possible for me to forget. I think he does it for my benefit, as if I need reminding that there's still a parent who loves me.
Sure there is.
"I should go and check if Mom needs help," Bella says, politely excusing herself.
"Go with, Edward," my father says.
It's my cue to know that there's going to be business talk, and I'm clearly not wanted around. I know the drill. I've been here before.
"I put your drink on the table," Bella says, addressing me for the first time as we walk away from our fathers, easily falling into step beside each other. Her voice is steady and undisturbed. She's clearly over the initial shock I gave her when she first saw me.
I blink. "Uh, thanks," I say, stepping wide left to retrieve the glass of the wooden table.
She raises her eyebrows. "Gatorade, huh?"
Maybe there's hope yet. "I need the calories," I tell her. I might have told her that I just like the taste, but there's just something about her. My go-to answers aren't going to work here, and I don't really have it in me to say them anyway.
She gives me the once-over, and I suddenly feel uncomfortable in my skin. "I didn't know you were going to be our dinner guests," she tells me when we reach the sliding door. I move to open it, but she ignores my movement and opens it herself. She goes through first, and I follow, sliding it closed behind me.
"I didn't know either," I admit. It's the truth. All I knew was we were headed to a colleague's house for dinner, and that was that. I'm over asking questions now. What Carlisle Cullen says, usually goes. The new business in Seattle is sort of his brainchild, and the rest of us just go with the flow. As long as he allows me to do my thing; how can I complain?
She leads the way through the house towards the kitchen, and pushes the door open. Her mother and Esme are chatting together, each of them with a glass of wine. Maybe they're bitching about their workaholic husbands. Who knows?
"Do you need any help?" Bella asks.
"No, we're all right for now," her mother responds. "We'll eat at seven thirty, all right?"
"Okay." She closes the door, before she turns to look at me and it's awkward. It's really awkward.
"Do you want me to go?" I ask eventually.
"What?"
I swallow. "It's just, I don't want you to be uncomfortable."
"I'm not uncomfortable," she says, her voice shakier than usual. "I'm just not sure what to do." She lets out a breath. "We're at that age, you know? Too old to hang out with the little kids, but too young to kick it with the adults."
I'm surprised because I didn't expect her to be so candid with me. "Are you sure you don't want me to go?"
"Is that what you want?"
I blink. "It's just that I know you're not a fan of me."
She looks particularly scandalized by my observation - or assumption. "Who said that?"
"If you'd seen the look you gave me when you first saw me; you wouldn't need words," I tell her.
"You surprised me, that's all," she counters, her eyes narrowing. "Believe me when I tell you that Edward Cullen was the last person I expected to see here tonight."
I'm not sure how to respond to that, so I don't.
"Come on," she says, turning on her heel and heading back towards what must be the TV lounge.
I follow in silence.
It's still awkward. I don't know what to say and, once we're settled in seats suitably far from each other with the TV on; there's no real need to speak anyway. She flicks through the channels, searching for something suitable.
"Is there anything specific you want to watch?" she asks.
I don't know how to tell her that I don't actually watch that much television. "Anything's fine."
She nibbles at her bottom lip, clearly thinking. I watch for the moment that she decides, and her eyes dance with mirth. It's quite endearing.
MTV. Well, can't ever go wrong with MTV, can you?
We've listened to three songs by the time she speaks. I suspect she figured out that I was never going to be the one to break the silence.
"Aren't you going to drink that?" she asks, her eyes on the glass of Gatorade in my hand. "I promise I didn't spike it."
"Didn't think you did," I say automatically.
We fall silent again and, this time, I do sip at my drink. It isn't as cold as it once was, but I'm not about to complain. It is quite sweet though, and I grimace.
"What's wrong?" she asks.
"It's the poison," I say, straining my voice as I dramatically clutch at my throat. "You have fooled me, Miss Swan."
I'm rewarded with a fake laugh and a shake of her head. "Very funny."
"I try."
Her eyes stay on me for a moment, before she looks at the TV again. I'm not really into the marketable pop music, so a lot of it is just going over the top of my head. I guess they have decent beats and all that, but I'm more into the quiet kind: indie, singer/songwriter kind of stuff.
It's another few minutes before she speaks again. "Have you finished your write-up for Biology?" she asks.
I shake my head no. "That's tomorrow's problem. You?"
"Same," she tells me. "Though, every time I try to work on the actual writing part, as opposed to the planning part, I get all squeamish."
"It was gross, wasn't it?"
"You didn't seem that freaked out," she points out.
"I'm one with the amphibians, you see."
She smiles. It's an open smile, and it's the first time that I catch sight of an unguarded Bella. It's kind of disarming just how beautiful she is in this moment. I like this side of her; this side that her family and friends probably get to see on a daily basis. I feel something oddly like jealousy, which I don't immediately understand.
Until I do.
Bella has an unguarded side.
"Dissection doesn't really freak me out," I add. "I mean, if it were a cadaver, I'd imagine it would be an entirely different story."
Her eyes widen. "Oh God. Don't even bring that visual into the conversation."
I laugh lightly.
"I also had nightmares about 'ribbit ribbit,' thank you very much."
I can't help my grin. "You're very welcome."
"I mean, frogs are genuinely disgusting creatures, right? I can't be the only one who thinks that."
"You're definitely not," I assure her. "Rose agrees with you. Like, on an atomic level."
She nods, frowning slightly.
"What?"
She worries her bottom lip and I stare; I can't help it. "I know this probably sounds stupid, but it is weird that she talked to me, right?"
I raise my eyebrows in question.
"It's just that, you know, we don't exactly move in the same circles."
"Bella," I say, and her eyes snap towards me. I realise it's the first time I've said her name, and it feels equal parts exciting and terrifying hearing myself say it. "We're talking."
"We don't have a choice."
I dramatically clutch at my chest. "Ouch," I say, but she's right. "You wound me, Swan." Swan is safer to say. I think I'll stick with it until I can reassess what's happening right now.
She giggles, and it's almost musical. "All I'm saying is that it was weird, right?"
"What was weird was the way you just stared at her," I tell her.
"Oh God," she groans, burying her face in her hands. "I knew I acted like such a spaz."
"It's okay," I say. "It was kind of endearing."
"Oh, sure, that totally helps."
"As I expected."
She glares at me for a moment, before we both burst out laughing. I feel lighter than I have all week, almost worry-free, even though it isn't actually a possibility. I guess I like the idea of just being this person that I am, with Bella.
There's no pressure here. Nobody wants something from me. I don't have to act a certain way, and it's easing the tension that's been building up inside of me since Kevin told me that I lost almost a full second on my freestyle splits.
If I hadn't been so exhausted at the time, I'm sure I might have cried.
When I look up, she's looking at me curiously, as if she's trying to figure something out, but she's failing.
"What?" I ask.
She waits a beat. "You're different than I imagined."
"What did you imagine?"
"I don't know," she replies. "Just, not you."
I shrug. "I guess I'm too busy to be any one stereotype," I tell her, and I believe it's the truth. I'm a jock without being a jock. I'm a popular kid without actually enjoying the popularity. And, if Bella ever knew the extent of my timetable, she'd probably keel over and die. Like I sometimes want to.
"Swimming?"
I nod. "My life is one, massive balancing act."
"How do you do it?"
"It's difficult," I tell her, and it's true. It is difficult, but the reward is definitely worth it. At least, it will be. One day, I hope. "I have a lot of help as well. I'm not the only one invested in my success."
She just nods, but she looks like she has more questions.
"Just ask, Swan," I say, and her eyes meet mine. "Ask whatever you want to ask."
"It's nothing," she says. "You've just really surprised me."
I raise my eyebrows. "I have?"
She nods.
"Because I'm not actually self-centred and entirely oblivious?"
She laughs. "Exactly." Then: "No, I mean - it's just, well, you're friends with Emmett McCarty, and that in itself kind of gives way to certain opinions about you."
I drop my gaze. Of course. Emmett. "We've been friends since we were seven," I tell her. "He, Rose and I - we formed a little group when my family first moved here. He wasn't always such a jackass, but something happened along the way, I guess." I run a hand through my hair, surely making it messier than it usually is. Esme will probably throw a fit when I turn up at the dinner table. "There are reasons he acts the way that he does, and I do try to keep him grounded, but I'm not always around, and he doesn't always listen to me. He has other voices in his ear these days." I can't help my scowl. "He's also very stubborn and set in his ways. Short attention span as well. Once he latches onto something, he sees it through, and then forgets."
Her eyes narrow. "I don't know about the forgetting part."
"Temporarily moves on then," I offer.
She nods.
"I won't defend him, because he is a bully. It's as simple as that." I sigh. "Actually, I won't defend any of us, because we're bystanders, more often than not."
She regards me for a moment. "Why is that?"
"Why is what?"
"Why don't you ever say anything? Try to get him to stop?"
I frown slightly. How did we even get here?
She raises her eyebrows expectantly.
I heave a sigh, trying to think of the right words. "It's because I'm a weak little shit," I eventually say, and it seems to surprise us both. "It's true," I say before she can respond. "I'm so focused on my own life, on my own goals that I can't even rock the boat. I mean, I see it, but I'm a coward. I'm just a coward."
She just stares at me, her mouth hanging open slightly as she digests what I've just said.
I continue anyway. "What happens if I do say something, anyway?" I ask rhetorically. "I can barely get out of bunking without him calling me out. He knows my secrets. He knows my fears, and I don't think he'd be against using them against me." The more I speak, the more I realise how messed up my friendship with Emmett sounds.
I mean, he isn't a bad guy. Not deep down, I don't think. Life just dealt him a crappy hand, and I'm trying to get him to stop taking it out on other people. Including me.
"I guess, I just can't. I'm not cut out for it. I'm definitely not the right person. I can barely protect myself, let alone others."
She waits a beat, before she clears her throat. "But you're Edward Cullen."
"So?"
She looks away for a moment. "So." Her eyes meet mine. "That means something."
"And what exactly does it mean?"
She takes a moment, visibly thinking. "I don't know you, but I don't believe for a second that you're anything like the way you describe yourself?"
"Why's that?"
"Because I'm nothing like the way I describe myself."
I wait, because I'm not entirely sure that I'm following what she's saying. We kind of just look at each other for a while, words hanging in the air, creating meaning out of nothing at all.
But, before our conversation can go any further, her mother appears in the doorway.
"Ah, there you are," she says, eyeing us both, before glancing at the TV. She rolls her eyes as if to say 'of course.' "We're almost ready here," she says, her eyes on Bella. "Call your dad, will you?"
Bella nods, before she rises to her feet. "Just Dad?" she asks her mother; "or Mr. Cullen too?"
"Ha ha." That was as great a fake laugh as I've ever heard. I see where Bella gets it from. "Just go."
Bella shoots me an amused look before she heads towards the infamous sliding door that opened me up to the very idea of this evening.
Her mother turns her attention to me. "Edward, dear, come to the table."
I stand immediately, my practically-still-full glass in my hand. I'm tempted to wait for Bella, but that means I'd be waiting for my father, and I don't want to do that. So I head towards where I remember the dining room to be.
It's a large table, which can easily seat ten people comfortably. Which, incidentally, is the exact number that we are. Even as we all settle in to eat, I can't help noticing the similarities in the families.
High-powered fathers with important jobs.
Superhuman mothers who manage to do supernatural tasks on a daily basis.
Teenagers, who are desperately trying to find their way in the world.
And two adolescent boys, though Riley would probably put up a fight at that description. He is closer to our age, I guess. But still.
The similarities are a little weird, and yet comforting at the same time.
Conversation is light, flowing easily across the table. My brothers really seem to be getting on with Bella's youngest brother, and I'm secretly glad that they're making a new friend. Peter is a painfully shy, and Liam's OCD makes it difficult for him to interact with kids his own age.
Really, Carlisle Cullen has an odd bunch of kids.
Dinner is divine. It's a whole lot of things, varying from pot roast to seafood pasta that I practically devour. Esme made me eat after training earlier, which is a good thing too, otherwise I might have polished off the entire bowl of pasta myself. It's just so good.
Bella sits on my right, forming the tail of the table, and her brother, Max, is on my left, literally talking a mile a minute about Spider-Man. I swear, if Bella weren't steadily telling me a funny story about an incident during Phys. Ed. class, I'm sure that Max might've talked my left ear right off.
I lean closer to her and whisper: "Is he always like this?" I ask.
She nods. "Collectively, as a family, we make sure to avoid the trigger words." She lifts her hands and starts to tick them off one by one. "Spider, man, Tobey, Maguire, Uncle, Ben, green, goblin, Mary, Jane, great, power, responsibility, and pssht." At the last word, she forms Spider-Man's famous hand movement to release a web. "And, not necessarily in that order."
I can't help my grin. "You're a fan, aren't you?"
"So what if I am?" she counters, and I swear my grin widens.
"I think it's cool," I say, because I think it is. I also think that it's pretty neat that she's unafraid to let me know that she is a fan. This evening has just been full of surprises.
She gives me a hard look, as if she's trying to figure out if I'm kidding or not. When she's satisfied that I'm not teasing, she returns my smile for a moment, before looking back down at her dinner.
I also return to my pasta, trying to ignore the very real possibility that this is probably the first time that I've had an unguarded conversation with anyone in -
It's been a long time.
"Do you want more Gatorade?" Bella asks me after a while.
"Hmm?"
"Your glass," she says; "do you want a top-up?"
"Oh, no thank you," I say; "I'm fine with water for now."
She smiles once, and we both return to our plates. I get lost in my thoughts. I mean, I feel like I can talk to this girl and it unsettles me. My father sent me to a child psychologist - they called her a trauma counsellor to make her sound less scary - when I was younger, but I don't really remember it being useful. I didn't want to talk then, and I sure as hell don't want to talk now.
But this girl.
Bella nudges my foot with her own, easily getting my attention. "You okay?" she asks softly enough for only me to hear.
I nod. "Just thinking."
"That's dangerous."
I smile. Why the hell am I smiling so much? "So I've heard."
"So you should probably stop."
My smile hasn't dropped. "Tell me again how you hit Jessica Stanley in the face with a tennis ball."
She laughs, and my wondering thoughts are temporarily forgotten.
After we've eaten, Bella, the boys and I all clear the table. In the kitchen, Bella's mother puts her in charge of organizing dessert and hot beverages to be feasted on in the living room, where the parents have retreated to. Max, Liam and Peter eventually disappear somewhere, which leaves Riley, Bella and me in the kitchen.
Bella seems very at home in the kitchen.
"Are you having coffee?" she asks me.
"Yes please," I say with a nod. "One sugar and a lot of milk."
She busies herself with tailoring everyone's mug while I chat to Riley. He's almost as easy to talk to as Bella, his smile infectious and his taste in video games too tempting. I also like the fact that he doesn't know me at all. It's almost a relief. Though, I guess, of course he's heard of me. We may not be on the same campus yet, but we still go to the same parents school.
Also, the way he is with Bella is fascinating. They have their own way about them, using few words to communicate. They clearly have some kind of understanding that I imagine comes from shared experiences on top of being siblings.
"Riley, don't you want to grab the trifle from the fridge?" Bella says. "And spoons. We need spoons."
I look at her expectantly. "Anything I can help with?"
She eyes me for a moment. "How adept are you at slicing cake?"
I blink. "Not very adept, but I'm willing to learn."
"Oh boy," she mutters, before she stretches her back, making me swallow thickly.
I'm not blind. Bella is pretty. Beautiful. With kind eyes and a gentle smile that makes the world feel as if it makes sense. She's perfect, really.
"The cake's in the fridge," she tells me. "Be gentle. I spent hours on it."
"You bake?" I ask stupidly.
"She cooks too," Riley adds, before Bella can even answer my unnecessary question. "Makes the best lasagna man has ever eaten."
She laughs the praise away, her cheeks flushing. "Cake, Edward. In the fridge."
My eyes snap towards her, at the same time that her flush deepens. It's the first time she's said my name when addressing me, and it's not lost on me how easily it falls from her lips. Jesus Christ. What on earth is happening right now?
I do as instructed, retrieve the cake, and set the masterpiece down on the centre island. Its iced simply and beautifully in white frosting, with pretty red decorations along its sides. If I were a cake eater, it probably wouldn't leave the kitchen.
"It looks amazing," I say, and her blush hasn't even let up once. "I bet it tastes it too. What flavor is it?"
"Red velvet," she says, and I make a strangled sound in my throat. "What?"
"Nothing," I hasten to say. "Just, red velvet is kind of my favorite."
"Well, then you're in luck."
My gaze meets hers. "Yes, I do believe that my luck has changed, Swan."
She doesn't respond; just uses the boiling kettle to distract the conversation away from its current topic, and I think we're both relieved. This is all a little much, isn't it?
Once everything is prepared, we leave the kitchen as a unit, each of us carrying trays. Bella serves everyone their chosen hot beverage and cake, and leaves the trifle out. She dishes for Max, Peter and Liam some of the dessert into bowls, and then sends Riley to find the boys and deliver their bowls.
I take my coffee and the tiny slice of cake that Bella guilted me into, and Bella collects her own cuppa and slice of cake, before we go back to the TV lounge. MTV is still playing softly, but she makes no move to change it or increase the volume.
I settle into my claimed armchair, and she drops down onto the opposite end of the couch she sat on earlier. She's sitting closer to me now, and I know it's a conscious choice that she's made. Unlike the first time we were here, we settle into easy conversation much quicker. The cake is delicious, and I tell her repeatedly just to see her blush. God, it's so endearing.
As soon as she's done with her dessert, she abandons her crockery on the coffee table and stretches out, looking much more relaxed than the tension she was displaying earlier. I absently wonder what I look like right now. I don't even think I have a relaxed demeanor.
"Have you ever been to Westport?" she asks.
I frown for a moment, thinking. "The beach?"
She nods. "Apparently it's a good spot for surfing."
"Never been," I tell her.
"You're better suited for in the water, rather than on it, huh?"
I raise my eyebrows. "Well, if you think that, then you've clearly never seen me swim."
She laughs, taking it as a bit of an invitation. "One day, then."
I suddenly can't wait. It's odd. I barely know her, but I get the feeling that she would be one of my biggest cheerleaders. I look at her because I can't stop myself.
"What?" she asks, her cheeks tingeing pink.
"I'm just trying to imagine you surfing and, after you Phys. Ed. stories, my brain just can't seem to make the leap," I tell her.
She laughs. "Oh no, not me," she's quick to inform me. "I wouldn't be caught dead surfing. I mean, I'd probably die if I were to surf. I can barely play tennis, remember?"
I frown. "So, you're not going surfing?"
"I'm going to watch."
It takes me a moment to click. "Oh. Jacob Black, huh?"
She looks surprised that I know, which is silly of her. "I guess everyone knows, huh?"
"Pretty much," I tell her. It's hard not to know when the guy tells everyone he meets, practically boasting about it. I, for one, like private relationships. The quiet kind, that exists between the very two people involved. Not that I have all that much experience in that department, really. "So, Westport, huh?"
"As much fun as I'm sure it will be," she says, and I can hear the sarcasm in her voice; "I do have a write-up to do."
"The life of a student."
"Exactly."
We smile at each other, and I'm struck again by how easy this all is. I've never really felt so at ease. Not even with my own friends. Okay, maybe a little with Rose, and with Emmett when we're alone and away from school. Somewhere where outside images don't matter, and he doesn't have to assert whatever dominance he imagines he has to.
But this is different, that's for sure.
I feel as if we talk for ages, though, in reality, it's probably only half an hour. We don't really touch on anything profound, but I do learn that her favorite colour jumps between purple and green. I tease her about loving Barney The Dinosaur, and she giggles with delight, telling me about how much she loves the Barney movie with the magical egg.
It all sounds like a euphemism to me.
When Esme comes to call me when it's time to go, I'm sure that my face matches Bella's, though I'm still at a loss as to how or why. It doesn't make sense. Anyway, I stand up even though I don't really want to. This entire evening has been a welcome break from my life and I don't want it to end.
Bella stands up as well, and we stretch simultaneously, which makes her laugh.
For a while, we just stare at each other.
"Give me your phone," she eventually says, and I barely hesitate as I dig it out of the pocket of my jeans. She's practically humming when I hand it to her, quickly unlocking it. "So, this is what's going to happen," she says, not even looking at me. "If ever you need to talk about anything - " she looks at me, " - anything at all. You can with me." She drops her gaze again. "Text, call, whatever you want. Okay?"
I don't say anything.
Her eyes meet mine. "Okay?"
I nod.
"Out loud."
"Okay."
She smiles at me, before she quickly dials herself from my phone. I feel a little shell-shocked, and I can't bring myself to say anything.
I don't know if I'll ever willingly take her up on this offer, and I get the feeling that she must know that. My problems are too big for her shoulders. Heck, they're too big for my own.
"Thank you," I say anyway.
Her eyes meet mine, and something passes between us. I don't know what it is, and I'm not bothered to try to figure it out. It's there, and it's a secret. Even though it isn't said out loud, I know that we both know that nobody will ever know about this. This meeting; this decision... it's a secret.
"I should go," I say.
She nods, and then we walk out together. My family is huddled in the foyer, chatting amicably to Bella's parents as they wait. We say our goodbyes and thank yous, and then we're leaving. I don't know if my father accomplished whatever he wanted to by coming here, but I'm glad we came anyway.
If not for the new number in my phone; then for the brief respite from the endlessness that is the life I've chosen for myself.
And the thing is that I have chosen this.
Or it chose me.
Whatever.
I'm in it now, and there's no going back.
The drive home is quick. It's actually ridiculous how close to one another our families actually live. I could probably walk if I wanted to, which I don't, so I won't.
My father's still mad at me about ditching school, so I barely get a grunt out of him when I mention that I'm headed to bed. This part of the day isn't for me anyway. This family time. I've never really been a part of it, and that's okay.
I'm not actually tired, but I need to be in my bedroom. Alone. So I can really go over what's just happened. I just spent the evening with Isabella Swan (and her family) and it's probably the most (legal) fun I've had in forever.
I get ready for bed quickly, changing into pajamas and brushing my teeth. Like I said, I'm not tired, but I am exhausted. How that can be, I'm not sure, but I climb into bed anyway.
I reach for my phone and look up my most recent contact entry. I almost laugh at the name Bella's saved herself as, and I can only wonder what I am on her phone. I reason that it's too early to contact her, so I just set my alarm and put my phone down.
I roll onto my side, close my eyes and promptly fall asleep.
"You're up early."
I startle at the sound of the voice, and I almost drop the bowl in my hands. I spin on my heel to spy Esme standing in the doorway to the kitchen, dressed in her nightgown, and looking decidedly still asleep.
"I couldn't sleep," I admit. I woke up almost an hour before my alarm, and wasn't able to get back to sleep. So much for a lie-in this Sunday morning.
"Something on your mind?" she asks, wiping sleep from her eyes.
That's a loaded question. "My times have been a little slow lately," I tell her. "I think I'm too distracted."
"By?"
"I don't know," I say, because I really don't. "I thought I might head to the pool today."
"But it's Sunday, Edward," she points out. "It's your rest day."
As true as that is, I don't think I'll be able to sit around all day and not go for a swim. Maybe she sees it on my face, because she sighs.
"Okay, well, eat up then, and I'll have Heidi prepare your after-breakfast for when you get back."
I smile at her. When I first moved onto my high calorie diet, Esme tried to keep up with preparing the meals, but it became too much, on top of work with the firm and the twins, so she eventually outsourced. Whatever my nutritionist says; Heidi Santiago makes.
And so, I have a before-breakfast and an after-breakfast, that occur either side of my early morning training, and are vastly different.
"Don't work yourself too hard," she says unnecessarily, before she disappears from the doorway, and I'm left to finish up my oatmeal in peace.
I probably won't spend too long at the pool, given that I have an entire write-up for Biology to do. Really, I'm convinced I'll just end up going to Rose's house so we can work on it together because I can't even remember what apparatus we used.
Most swimmers at the club skip Sundays. Even some of the staff doesn't come in, which is perfectly fine with me. I like a quiet pool, with still water, my body the only one creating ripples.
I typically have a three-part regimen, but I just want to enjoy the feel of the water today. I've always been worried that dedicating my life to the pool would make me hate it, but I still love the act of swimming. I think that a person has to love it to spend as much time as I do trying to perfect it.
Getting ready for a swim usually shouldn't take long. My shoulder still feels a little tight, so I spend an obscene amount of time stretching my body out before I even consider getting wet. The pool isn't exactly heated but it is indoors, which does help prevent premature shivering. Though, I do end up pruning more often than not.
When I do finally get into the water; it's as if my entire body relaxes. For the long endurance swims, I usually listen to music through my waterproof earphones, but it's just me and the water today. We're about to have a conversation.
My preferred strokes are Freestyle and Backstroke, with Backstroke being the most promising. I tried my hand at butterfly and I'm half-decent, but it's nothing to write home about. Breaststroke's no better, but I work on them tirelessly to improve my Individual Medley times.
I swim for just under two hours, my heart rate rising and dropping accordingly. Because I skipped all the land training and weights, I stretch out thoroughly once I'm out of the water. I have a paper to write. At least, that's the reason I tell myself.
When I get home, my breakfast is waiting. Heidi tells me that Esme and the boys have gone out, and my father's at work.
Surprising.
I wolf down my breakfast, before I take a shower, grab my stuff, and then head to Rose's. She doesn't know I'm coming, but her mom still sends me up to her bedroom. I'm hoping to catch her unawares, possibly find her in pajamas and her hair a mess, but I'm out of luck. She's nothing if not always prepared.
"Hey, Bitch," she says, barely looking up at me, from her position on her floor.
I dump my bag on her carpet. "Hi, Douche."
She laughs. She started greeting me with an array of swear words at the beginning of the year, but I've been unable to match her. I try though. "Tell me you've started."
"Have you?"
"Fuck no."
I laugh, as I move to lie down beside her on the floor at the end of her bed. "We're screwed, aren't we?"
She seems to think about it for a moment. "How about we work smartly?"
"Pray, do elaborate."
I listen carefully as she breaks up the work for us, detailing how we can write one paper and then change things up for our separate hand-ins. I don't question her. I figure the only way I'll actually get work done is if I have someone beside me forcing me to.
So we get down to it.
Rose doesn't say much, and I don't say much more either. I think she thinks I'm still mad at her, and I don't think I could reassure her that I'm actually not. She really messed up, and she took us all down with her.
I'm surprised that I wasn't grounded to the nines, if I'm being honest. I think my father's worried that if he pushes too much at this whole father thing; I'll clam up like I did when -
Well, I don't know if I will, but I'm not willing to test it either.
"Done," Rose finally exclaims, startling me. "Well, not really, but I need a break."
I just nod, as I roll onto my back and stretch my legs out. My elbows hurt from keeping myself propped up, but whatever. It should go away eventually.
I feel Rose's hand on my forearm, prompting me to look at her.
She raises her eyebrows. "Tell me something, Cullen."
"What?"
"Why haven't you tried to hook up with me?"
I let out a laugh. "And risk Emmett's wrath; no ways!"
She smiles sadly. "I'm not his property."
"That may be so, but you're still untouchable," I tell her. "On reserve."
Her eyes narrow.
"I'm sorry, Rose, but we both know it's the truth. You're waiting for him as much as he's waiting for you."
"I don't know what that means."
"It means what it means," I say.
She huffs. "So you're not even going to try?"
I roll onto my side, so I can look at her properly. "If you need me to tell you I think you're beautiful; all you have to do is ask."
She hits my arm. "You're such an idiot."
I smile. "You are very beautiful, Hale," I say anyway. "The dangerous kind."
"What's that?"
"We'll worship you all our lives."
She nods. "As long as you know."
"I do."
"Good."
We look at each other for a long moment, before she settles it. "We should get back to work."
"Yes we should."
So we do.
We finish up well after dinner, and I'm some other kind of exhausted when I make it home. I've been out all day, and I haven't received a text from anyone in my family, wondering where I am.
I worry that it's my own fault. That I did this, somehow. Something I said; something I did. I don't bother with greeting anyone, as I rush up the stairs towards my bedroom. My eyes burn, but I refuse to believe it's from tears.
Once I'm in the safety of my bedroom, I go about getting ready for bed. I'd better get a good night's rest. After all, I do have to up at four o'clock in the morning.
Which reminds me. I need to set an alarm.
When I reach for my phone, I have the almost unstoppable urge to message Bella.
But I don't.
I wouldn't even know where to begin.