Disclaimer: No copyright infringement is intended. I don't own these characters. This story is not meant to violate the rights held by Stephenie Meyer.

Break in the Clouds

That night, Edward and a few others wanted to get away from their wives and kids and everything that made them resent life, so they skipped dinner at home and went to a sports bar.

Beers and nachos ordered, the men made their way to a table big enough to seat all six of them, and the complaining commenced immediately. With the youngest being in his early twenties and the oldest in his mid-forties, their topics varied.

Mike who was closer to forty than thirty complained about his wife wanting another kid. Twenty-three-year-old Eric bitched about his student loans. Jasper cursed his ex-wife who wanted more alimony.

"She won't be satisfied until I'm living in my car." He tipped back his beer and chugged for all he was worth – which wasn't much these days.

"That's why you won't see me getting married," Tyler lied.

He was the guys' hero because he lived the bachelor life. At forty-four, he still hadn't been sucked in by some she-devil, and he had no crumb snatchers to feed and wipe shit off of.

Tyler himself, though . . . he didn't see it. He wasn't a hero. He was lonely. Went home every night to his microwave dinners and an empty bed. For his last birthday, he'd paid a hooker to keep him company, and had he not been black, the guys would've seen his ears heating up in shame at that thought.

He'd contemplated ending things. His life. But he was afraid of pain . . .

"To Tyler!" Edward raised his bottle. "He did the right thing."

They all drank and Tyler plastered a pained smile on his face.

"At least your wife is something to look at, Cullen." Jacob made a bitter face into his glass, glad he'd ordered a pitcher. He needed it. "After four kids, Leah ain't what she used to be."

Edward had nothing to say to that, because he didn't see Lauren's beauty anymore. Instead he looked out at the faces of the patrons, hoping there'd be some woman hot enough to fantasize about later in the shower. But what was he thinking? This was a sports bar.

The only women in the place looked like trash.

Fuck, I need to get laid.

He realized he'd said that out loud when Mike responded, "I don't get horny anymore."

There could be scoffing and laughing, but there wasn't.

Jasper could relate. "Pretty damn hard to be attracted to the gender that sucks everything out of you."

Edward pondered that for a minute and decided there was truth in that. Yeah, he got horny, but wasn't it more . . . frustrations? Because it wasn't lust and desire. It was just the need for a release.

"Married women could work, though," Jasper mused. "It's less likely that they're after something."

One married woman came to Edward's mind . . .

#

Just across the street from the sports bar, Bella sat in the middle of a romantic restaurant – alone.

She felt the pity stares and heard the whispers and accepted the glass of wine "on the house, honey" and looked down on her phone, not even wondering where Carlisle was.

She already knew. He often forgot to call when he was working, but the sting never went away. She was in physical pain, sitting here abandoned. Forgotten.

The little black dress she'd crammed her body into felt tighter with each breath. She didn't like the satin dress at all; it revealed too much, too much, too much. But at least the cardigan covered her cleavage and her non-flat stomach. The cardigan was black, too, because it was the color that hid more of her.

If only she could hide her thighs, too . . .

She didn't touch the bread basket even though she was starving.

What will the other guests think if I sit here alone and shove bread sticks down my throat?

Bella had always been round, and being only five feet two didn't help her look slimmer, but college was the worst. In a dorm, she'd lived off of takeout and snacks, and once when she visited her parents . . . she'd never forget how their eyes grew large, if only for a second.

It was during her four years in college that her spirit died.

She eventually lost some weight, but the mentality remained. Everyone who'd been overweight knew.

You ate salads in front of others for fear of what they'd think if you didn't. You joked about yourself before anybody else could. You were always two steps ahead of everybody: if dancing was on the agenda, you made sure to feign a headache early in the day so you could decline going when the evening rolled around. If it was hot out, you suggested outings that wouldn't involve too much walking and moving around. Because that meant you'd sweat. If you went to the gym, you came prepared, already changed into your workout clothes.

Hold on.

Skip that. When you felt fat, you didn't go to the gym. Simple as that. The gym was for beautiful people. But coming prepared also applied to gym class in school. And if you wanted to exercise, maybe take a brisk walk in town, you did it after dark. The risk of people seeing you was lesser.

When you failed at something, which happened often, you found comfort in cookie dough, chocolate frosting, and . . . anything you could find in your cupboards.

As soon Bella got home, she'd probably dive into her candy stash. And hide in her closet, maybe. And talk herself into believing that she could start over on Monday. And make promises about trying even harder. And set up goals that made her feel good, yet had never worked in the past.

Overweight people were skillful liars, excellent actors, and amazing at deception.

"Are you all right, darlin'?" A waiter appeared with a sympathetic smile and that tilt of his head that basically asked the same question as he'd done verbally. Only, the tilt exchanged "darlin'" with "poor girl."

He was gay, and those were usually the good people – the ones who didn't judge.

"Oh, I'm fine." Bella smiled brightly, despite the fact she was choking back tears. "My husband just left me a message." She made sure to flash the big diamond on her finger.

It's proof I'm not a total loser!

"Good!" The waiter looked relieved. He placed a hand on his chest for emphasis. "I'm so glad."

"Yeah . . . So, I think I'll just ask for the check." She hadn't eaten, but she'd had one glass of wine upon arrival – before the free glass out of pity.

"Of course, of course." The waiter smiled and nodded. "I'll be back in a jif."

Bella exhaled, as if in relief, though she felt close to the breaking point.

She was desperate for someone to care about her.

Instead she had a husband who forgot her completely.

#

As she left the restaurant, her fucking heel got caught in the mat that had the restaurant's name on it, but nobody saw her and she didn't fall. However, she did bump into the doorway, which ended in cardigan disaster. The shoulder seam got ripped, and she soon felt the breeze over the tear it'd left.

"Crap, crap, crap."

This was the last thing she needed. Sniffling and blinking back tears, she inspected the damage, concluding that she looked absolutely ridiculous. But there was no way she could take it off – not with the body she had.

As if the night wasn't already ruined, it got worse when she brought out her phone from her purse to call a cab and she dropped the phone on the ground . . .

"I won't cry," she whispered to herself, lying. "I won't cry, I won't cry."

"Hey!" someone hollered across the street. But Bella ignored the man's voice and picked up the pieces of what was left of her phone. The display was all shattered, and her case was cracked. "Are you all right, ma'am?"

No. I'm not all right. I'm not all right at all.

Thank God it was dark out. Nobody should see Bella like this.

Unfortunately, the man crossed the street.

"I'm fine," Bella bit out, probably more rudely than the man deserved, and turned to get a look at him.

Shit.

Figures that she'd run into someone who worked at the Grove.

The guy grinned in recognition. "Hey, you're Isabella Cullen, right? You work next to the movie theater?"

Bella nodded and pulled the torn fabric together over her shoulder. A self-hug. "And you're Eric Yorkie." He worked in the sporting goods store, she recalled. He was a few years younger than her twenty-six, too, if she wasn't mistaken.

"That's right." Eric's grin broadened. "So, you got a hot date, or would you be interested in joining me and my friends for a drink?" He waved a hand at the sports bar on the other side of the street. "I was out to grab a cig when I saw you."

Bella needed to go home and wallow in her own misery. Bella needed to feel sorry for herself. Bella needed to be there when Carlisle came home. Bella did not need to enter a sports bar and eat her weight in bar nuts. Bella did not have anything in common with this guy who still looked alive.

So, she said, "I guess one drink is okay . . ."

Fanfiction written by AnotherPen, beta'd by InFlight75, pre-read by LAchick85 – we usually go by other names in the fandom.