Something Worth Fighting For

Chapter 7: You Never Make It Alone

Isabella Swan

Being alone with Edward Mason was a better thrill than your first time on a rollercoaster.

There were a lot more bumps and turns involved as well. It was quite shocking, feeling the almost electrical pull that remained constant between us. I had never felt anything like it before. Even with the first guy I had ever had sex with, I hadn't felt anything that way.

I waited patiently for Edward in the empty loft as he showered. He had already gotten checked over and cleared to leave by his Cut-Man in the back wing so I knew he wouldn't take long.

I was a total wreck, to say the least. I went from pacing back and forth in front of the huge glass wall where I watched the last few people that lingered around the ring. You could tell that they were hoping to catch a glimpse of Edward Mason.

When it finally started to clear out, I eagerly grabbed the remote from beside me and switched the channel to the report on ESPN about the match.

The announcers were in love with Edward. But then again, who wasn't?

They commended him on everything; his quickness, his agility, his power, and apparently his ability to just fight. I think the only female reporter at that table stared at Edward's picture for a bit longer than she needed when they showed a slow motion play of the fight against McCarthy.

I didn't blame the hair-sprayed bimbo. His body had to be one of the seven wonders of this world. I think we'll just kick the Taj Mahal right out the door and replace it with Edward Mason's abs.

"They sure do love to talk, huh?" Edward's playful voice came into earshot.

My neck craned around from the area on the couch I was sitting at. All the blood in my body didn't hesitate a millisecond to rush up to my cheeks.

Edward Mason was standing about ten feet away from me with nothing on but a pair of perfectly fitted jeans that hung so low I could see the black elastic waistband of his Calvin Klein's.

Oh yeah. I totally want to lick that little patch of Heaven. The pink skank inside of me was relentless tonight. She was dying to sink her claws into that chunk of man-candy. I was in total agreement with her, though.

He was running a little white towel through his copper locks, causing his biceps to bulge and flex in all the right ways. His abs still glimmered and shone in the low lights above, thanks to the water that still clung to his skin. The one thing I probably should have noticed before I had turned into a dripping mess of goo – the shameless hussy I am – was the single, gold cross that hung down from a long chain around his neck.

Wow. He really was raised Catholic, like he said in his interview.

I resisted the urge to moan as the prostitute in pink stuck her head out and made me re-avert my gaze back to those glistening abs. Only God could have chiseled out those babies with a toothpick and some serious time on his hands.

Hmmm…maybe that's why all my prayers haven't been answered yet.

Edward didn't seem to notice my obvious ogling. His focus was intent on the ESPN review of the match.

"I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long." Edward spoke gently. His eyes were still focused on the flat screen.

Sweet baby Jesus, he had no idea what he was doing to me. Even now as he flung the white towel away towards his hamper, he probably didn't notice the crossing and uncrossing action happening between my legs at the moment.

I think I could get used to having him around all the time without a shirt on.

"Bella?" Edward's voice brought me out of body ogling heaven.

My eyes shot back up to his face to see a crooked and cocky smile plastered on his perfect fucking lips. His eyes showed obvious amusement at my expense. I felt my face growing a million shades of red that Crayola would probably love to name.

I could see it already: Beat Red Bella.

"Are you a-alright?" Edward stuttered. He tried to conceal his laughter with a cough or two.

Oh yeah. Beat Red Bella was totally the shade I was sporting.

"Er," I coughed and cleared my throat for a moment. "Yes, I'm fine." I murmured under my breath.

He nodded gently as he retrieved what looked like a grey tee shirt with a pocket on the breast. As he pulled it on, I couldn't help it. I ogled again. I really didn't care if he caught me staring at him or not.

He ran his long fingers through his wet locks, his biceps curled and uncurled, showing just how perfectly built his body was. All thoughts of a few hours ago with his horrid mother and frazzled sister were banished and nothing but the fire I felt for this man even dared to enter my subconscious.

"Bella," Edward's voice was husky and low. Nothing I had ever heard before.

I turned towards him, staring back up to his equally beautiful face.

His eyes were filled with something I hadn't expected to reappear when we entered the loft; shame.

Shame for the way his mother acted towards me. Shame for the way the night had all gone down. I understood his anguish…but it was never necessary.

If his mother had smacked me across the face, I would have still left this match happy as a kid leaving a candy store with a bag full of chocolate. Okay, not so much but I still would have been pretty happy.

"Y-yeah?"

I wanted to smack myself right there.

Am I that stupid? YEAH? Really Bella? Oh gosh…

Edward took only a few seconds to flop down beside me on the comfortable couch here in the middle of the loft. His incredibly long stride and perfect grace that any supermodel dreamed of having was the cause of his speed. Yes, this man was perfect in every way.

He leaned forward a bit after planting himself a few inches beside me. We were so close our thighs almost touched. I wondered for a spilt second if he could feel the sparks that flew between us even without touching like I could.

Edward's forest green eyes brought me back from my thoughts as he began to speak once again.

"I'm so sorry about the way my…" his jaw clenched as he swallowed loudly. "About the way my mother acted towards you tonight. It will never happen again, I assure you."

My breath hitched for a moment.

Why was it whenever he spoke about his mother? Because his temper became so short? I understood the way she acted wasn't exactly normal…but she was still his mother. What terrible thing could she have done that could make Edward hate his own mother so much?

"Edward," I breathed his name as gently as I could, hoping to get him back at the carefree, laid back Edward he was only a moment ago.

"I told before. It's alright. She was just trying to protect you," I placed my hand gently over his that rested on his thigh.

Edward's eyes darted down to the space between almost instantly but went back up to my face so quickly I wasn't sure if it even really happened. "It doesn't exactly look great that

I'm a reporter who's writing an article about your personal life and then I come here." I chuckled.

I was right. It didn't look all that great, but it wasn't like I was going to go running to my laptop after the fight to write about every single little thing Edward did tonight. It would probably sell more papers, yeah, but I still had some morals.

"She may not have known the best way to show it, but I understand." I urged.

Edward was stunned for a moment, as if he was trying to let what I said sink in. Like I said it in a foreign language. His eyes were back to the lovely emerald green I adored so much, but I could tell he was still a bit touchy on the subject. I decided to change the topic. Maybe even lighten the mood?

Yeah right. The inner butch bitch scoffed. You lightening up the mood either leads to falling flat on your ass or making a hideous, nervous giggle that will only embarrass you and make him know for sure that you are a total idiot.

I ignored that little remark and went back to the beautiful man before me. His face was so close to my own.

"Thank you for being so patient. So kind." Edward whispered in this thick voice that screamed of lust. His huge hand slowly lifted up to caress my cheek. I couldn't help but lean into his touch. I think I even sighed in contentment.

"I was so scared she had scared you off…" his tone reminded me that of his sisters when she was staring into the eyes of her mother. It made me pull away from his touch almost instantly.

The both of them were both so fragile. No matter how much muscle Edward had or how tough he seemed, he was still a little boy at heart. Alice wasn't as experienced as Edward was at hiding his hurt but I understood. She was still so young, and at that age it feels like the world is crumbling around you for every little thing. With a mother like hers it must be a million times worse.

I tried to lighten the mood a bit more and gave him a small chuckle.

"Edward, no offense," I tried to keep my tone light. "But I grew up in a huge Italian family with only male cousins," I patted his hand gently. His eyes shot up to mine. "It takes a lot more than a good bad-mouthing to scare me off! My own grandmother does that almost every time I speak to her." I grumbled that last part under my breath with a slight roll of my eyes.

I wasn't lying. I had grown up in a huge family of all boys. All of my mother's sister's and brothers had at least six children per family. Large didn't even begin to scrape the surface.

The hardest part of it all, at least for me, was the fact that their gender was the total opposite of my own. Every single one of them.

My mother was the only one blessed to have a daughter. By the way Rene looked at my constantly frazzled aunts and their large son's who wrecked everything in their path, I was going to be the only child she would ever have.

Edward pulled me back down to earth with a small chuckle.

All my cousin's stupid antics towards the only girl in our entire family didn't compare to those stupid Jersey Shore people's crap. Nope. My poor Gran would have to constantly hold me hostage in the kitchen where no boys were allowed. If they came in, my Gran's wooden spoon would quickly come into contact with some part of their body.

"You're Italian? But your last name is Swan." Edward's light jersey accent stuck it's head out briefly as he asked about myself. That was clear sign that slowly but surely, he was becoming more and more comfortable with me.

"My dad isn't Italian." I chuckled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

Charlie wasn't really comfortable with the whole, "My Big Italian Family" thing that went on with my mother's side. He was so cut off and not really into the whole expressing his feelings that my mother's side of the family really didn't understand him. Vise versa.

My mother's side of the family didn't particularly enjoy Charlie's company and they often expressed their feelings. Loudly. So during my early youth I was restricted to a one week visit during Christmas break to visit my loving and warm family up in Little Italy.

Little Italy was like a fairytale land to me. For most people who lived there, they would object with every ounce in their body, but I loved it. I loved the way you could walk down the block and smell a fresh pot of tomato sauce being made or the way people could laugh and curse at each other without doubting their love for each other. I loved the way everyone held so much faith not only in God but their faith they had in each other. I loved hearing the wonderful purr of the Italian language spoken around me and seeing young couples and elderly, alike, still as passionate about each other as they were the day they met. I loved it all.

Charlie didn't understand that.

Charlie grew up as the Preacher's son. He grew up being told that no matter what, you kept your opinions to yourself and your faith strong. He was to follow in my grandfather's footsteps but decided he couldn't take it anymore. By the time he turned eighteen he had already moved out and married a local college student and have a daughter by twenty.

I think it hurt Charlie a little bit that I connected more with my mother's family than with his. What did he expect? Every time I visited my father's family it wound up in tears and bible verses. Charlie didn't even read the bible.

"So your mother is?" Edward asked cautiously.

I wasn't afraid or ashamed of my family. I loved every single one of my crazy familia. No matter how loud, obnoxious or crazy they got. Rene was all of the above in every way you could think, but that's why I loved her so much.

"Oh yes." I spoke as Edward stood up from the couch to the table behind us. I heard a jingle of keys as I continued to speak.

"Full blood Italian. She speaks Italian fluently. Made me take lessons so I could speak with my grandmother when we visited her here in New York."

"Parla italiano?" I was stunned when he spoke my second most fluent language.

"Sì. Correntemente." I smiled up at him. "How do you-"

"My grandfather was the only real father figure in my life." Edward fiddled with his keys around his fingers as he stared down at the floor. "The only bad thing was, he only spoke Italian."

I was in shock. Could Edward Masen get anymore perfect?

Probably.

"So are we going to get out of here or what?" Edward grinned, giving me that perfect crooked smile of his. I practically leapt off that couch.

"Where are we headed?" I was intrigued by everything this man of many talents did.

Edward's lips twisted up into a beautiful but smug grin.

"My place."