Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

GeezerWench made it readable for you.

Chapter 7

The Stumbles

"Fuck."

Edward cursed as he slipped on the wet floor of the hospital before miraculously catching his balance. Two young nurses that were passing by giggled at the sight. It wasn't every day they saw Dr. Cullen fluttering his hands and making uncoordinated but necessary movements.

"Very fucking funny," Edward muttered, pissed off.

As soon as he felt that he had regained his balance, he picked up his bag from the floor. During his fight with gravity, it had slipped from his hand.

He brushed his unruly hair out of his eyes and hastily made his way to the exit.

He'd just finished a 36-hour shift. Normally, he managed to rest his eyes for a short time, but during this shift he'd barely had time to grab a coffee, never mind sleep. Now he was dreaming of a huge breakfast and a dozen or so hours of uninterrupted sleep.

Almost there, all he had to do was get in the car and go home. Edward wondered for a second if he should call Esme and ask her to prepare breakfast for him, but decided against it. After all, it was still only seven in the morning, and surely she was still sleeping. The last thing he wanted was to listen to her meditations and worries. His mother was hard to stand lately, and things had only gotten worse over the few last weeks.

Edward walked out of the main entrance of Denver Health and headed towards his car that was parked nearby. He raised his eyes from the grey asphalt of the sidewalk and couldn't believe what he saw.

The damned stray was getting out of a black car that was parked in a prohibited place. Edward's eyes widened, his heart beat faster, as he took in the car—a limited anniversary edition of a Shelby Cobra. A very uncommon site in these places. And not only that—there was a man opening the passenger door for her.

The man's face, along with his posture, was sending a clear non-verbal message: don't fuck with me. He was muscular but slender, tall—taller than Edward, and dressed up like a modern cowboy, boots and all. Edward took a hasty look around, but there was no escape. The woman looked straight at him.

Damned stray, repeated Edward in his thoughts. It had been a month since Esme had gone crazy. It was because of Bella. And apparently Bella just found herself another naïve person whom she was trying to use, so Edward's mother was unwanted now.

Edward came to the conclusion that man was the reason why every single one of Esme's attempts to contact Mrs. Whitlock had been unsuccessful.

Every time Esme had called her, the phone would simply go to voicemail. Worried that something was seriously wrong, she had gone to Isabella's apartment only to be told by the janitor she had moved, but was still paying rent. Carlisle, despite having the patience of a saint, was extremely worried.

Edward had no other option and perused Isabella. She looked much better than last time he had seen her. Her clothes weren't hanging off her anymore—one could guess that she had been eating better meals. Her hair—that he had liked even if he wouldn't admit it—was even more beautiful; it was falling down her shoulders in slightly curled, shiny waves. His eyes made their way up to her face and he hissed out a breath.

What the actual fuck?

The left side was disfigured by purple and violet bruise that looked fresh. It spread from her cheekbone to her superciliary ridge. From Edward's distance the ridge looked like split open deeply and it was screaming for stitches.

Edward furrowing his own eyebrows in a moment of sympathy, he had no idea what to do or how to behave. He didn't care for Isabella, but on the other hand, he was wholeheartedly against any forms of violence—especially towards women. He didn't know how he was supposed to react; he didn't know if he had the right to do so.

"Good morning, Edward," Isabella said shyly as Edward approached them. She looked to the ground, her cheeks flushing in embarrassment as she remembered their last meeting. She didn't even know if she could talk to him.

"Isabella," Edward nodded his head, confused and lost.

The man accompanying Isabella abruptly slammed the car's door and approached her at a rapid pace. He shot a sharp look at Edward as he stepped in front of Isabella.

Edward decided to ignore him and said to Mrs. Whitlock, "How are you, Isabella?"

His voice was unsure. His eyes were studying her face and the question reflected in his eyes spoke for itself.

"I'm fine," she answered quietly. She touched her cheek and bit her lip. "I had a little … accident."

She glanced at her companion and gestured to Edward with her shaking hand, sighing.

"Jasper, meet Edward Cullen. Edward, this is my …" she hesitated, but at the same time the blond man, dressed all in black, reached out his hand in greeting.

"Jasper Whitlock," he said.

Edward reached out quickly and muttered his own name, surprised. The handshake that Mr. Whitlock bestowed him was certainly too hard.

The silence lasted for long seconds before Jasper grabbed Isabella's elbow. "We should go," he said with authority and looked at her meaningfully.

"Yes, you're right," she said obediently. "See you, Edward."

"See you, Isabella," his response was automatic, as he observed Jasper leading Isabella towards the hospital entrance.

He stood there for a while trying to process what had happened until he finally blinked and went to his car.

When he arrived home, he could not make sense of what he had seen so he pushed it to the back of his mind. He took off his jacket and threw it on the table in the hall. He walked towards the kitchen where he could hear his parents talking.

Esme was sitting with her elbows resting on the table, her face hidden by her palms. Carlisle was standing behind her and stroking her back, attempting to soothe her. Edward looked at his father in question. Carlisle aimed his eyes on the calendar that was hanging on the kitchen wall. Edward read the date, but he didn't immediately recognize it.

For a moment.

"How do you feel, mom?" he asked, his voice dry.

Esme raised her head. Her eyes were red and puffy, a sure sign that she had been crying. There was a shadow of a smile on her lips and she reached out her hands to Edward and Carlisle laid his on top of their clasped hands. The three of them stayed like that for some time, with only the clock ticking and the coffee express humming to break the silence.

"Breakfast?" Esme offered finally.

Edward nodded gratefully. Esme stood up and went towards the fridge as Carlisle reached to grab the newspaper that was placed on the table.

Edward thought he couldn't stand the silence any longer. Silence that was so foreign to the house, for their family. He decided to break it. Besides, he fully intended to divert Esme's attention from the damned date.

"I met the st.. your Isabella today," he said quietly.

Time stopped. It congealed like aspic. Edward heard the sound of breaking glass; Esme had dropped the bowl. She quickly turned, her eyes finding Edward's immediately. He waited for some questions, for some emotions to come, but Esme was only looking at him.

"I saw her today in front of the hospital," he stated precisely as he concluded that his mother wanted to know.

Esme didn't say a word.

"Esme, honey?" Carlisle was worried and he went to her.

She blinked and looked less stunned as her husband touched her arm.

"What's wrong with her?" she asked, her voice trembling. "Tell us everything."

"There's not much to tell," Edward answered. "I was going home and met her in the parking area. I think she needed the ambulatory treatment."

"What?" Esme made a step back.

"The superciliary ridge was split open and huge, ugly bruise on her cheek," Edward explained professionally, pointing toward his eyebrow, his voice emotionless.

"My God, Carlisle, someone hurt her!" Esme cried, covering her lips with her fingers. Her eyebrows drew together; the accusation clear in her eyes. "You didn't help her? How could you leave her there, all alone?"

Edward turned away and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration.

"Mom …" he started to speak, but Esme cut him off.

"How could you?" she cried again.

Edward started to regret that he had opened his mouth. "It was a mistake, I'd better to leave it alone," he thought.

"She was not alone, okay?" he yelled.

He rubbed his face with his hands and looked at Esme. She was standing exactly in the same place with her arms raised, completely still.

"She was not alone," he repeated. "She was with her husband."

Esme widened her eyes and glanced at Carlisle who was as stunned as his wife. Her bewildered gaze returned to Edward.

"With her husband?" she asked, the amazement and the fright in her voice.

"Yes. He drove her there and they went inside together," he confirmed.

"But Edward, her husband is dead," Esme said slowly.

Edward looked at Carlisle, confused, and his father nodded his head, confirming Esme's words.

"Peter Whitlock died in Iraq in February last year," Carlisle said confidently. "We checked it out."

Edward looked between his parents, confusion written all over his face.

"Then, who the hell …?" he cut himself off. "The man she was with said his name was Jasper," Edward wondered aloud as he relived the memory of Jasper's excessively tight handshake.

Suddenly he lowered his head. He remembered his own words he had spoken to Isabella the first time they met, just before the most awkward of dinners.

"Will Mr. Whitlock be joining us?"

Fuck.

Xxx

Isabella didn't allow the nurse to anaesthetize her before stitching her cut.

When she stepped out from behind the curtained area of the emergency room, she saw that Jasper was standing in the hall and staring through the window. After the last couple of weeks, she had learned to recognize his moods. She was analyzing his rigid posture and she already knew that he was irritated and impatient. She walked closer to him and stopped two steps behind.

"Jasper?"

Without saying a word, the man turned to face her and pointed at the exit. He refused to meet her eyes, but she saw it in his face—he was angry. She could read it in his suddenly sharp features, in the wrinkle between his eyebrows and tensed jaw line. His darkened eyes were looking straight ahead as if she didn't deserve attention, as if she didn't deserve a glance.

He refused to speak to her. The drive home was a nightmare. The thick and oppressive silence was smothering her. She wished she had a knife to slice through it so she could get a breath of air.

When they arrived home, Isabella got bolted out the car, not bothering to wait for Jasper to open her door. She fled to the door, typing in the security code, and finally took a deep breath when she stumbled inside. She planned to take two Tylenols and go to bed because the stitches were bothering her. When she was half way up the stairs, leading to her room, she froze.

The sharp, seething tone of voice left her no choice.

"Come back downstairs, Isabella. We need to talk."

A/N Drop me a line, please. And give Jasper a chance!