A Crack in the Door

Chapter Eight

Closed for the night

Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight. I do own an Edward Cullen Pillow Case. Now before I get criticized for this, please know that one of my students gave it to me for Christmas two years ago. The fact that it's now threadbare only proves one thing: it's not made out of Egyptian cotton and it has a low thread count.

Big thanks to sunflower Fran 3759 for being an awesome beta! And a big thanks to dovelove for pre-reading!

**ACITD**

It feels like hours pass, and there is no sound. I can't believe I left her here after her revelation to me. I'm a moron, an idiot; the biggest fool this side of Southeastern Massachusetts..

Dejected, I stand up and head for the bedroom; I'm not even going to bother taking a shower tonight. Just as I cross the threshold I hear a small noise from the hallway. I rush back to the hallway, my heart pounding.

"What is it?" I hear her whisper, as the door creaks open ever so slightly. "Is everything okay?"

Relief washes over me at the sound of her voice "Yeah, sorry. I-I thought maybe you were gone," I manage to croak at the door. Embarrassment floods my face and burns the tips of my ears. I sound like a desperate fool. I struggle to get my breathing under control in an effort to calm myself. I get up quickly and begin gathering up the fallen plums, and stuff them back into the bag.

"Oh. No, I'm … I was here. I was just sleeping," she admits. I glance at the clock and see that it's nearly 1:00 in the morning. Jesus, no wonder she didn't answer the door.

"Oh god, I'm sorry. Look, I didn't realize how late it is. I had to made a few stops and return some calls. I guess I lost track of time."

Yeah, because I was busy stalking your past and dissecting our relationship with my aunt, I think to myself guiltily.

"I'll just leave the things you wanted by your other door, okay? I-I got you some plums too," I stammer awkwardly. The atmosphere that was once so easy between us feels strained.

"No, it's okay, I'm awake now. You can leave them by the door when you head out tomorrow and I'll get them later. Are you okay? You sound, off …"

I feel off.

"Hey, come sit next to the door and talk to me for a little while if you're not too tired," she says softly.

I put the plums on the table, kick off my shoes, go to the door and sit. She opens it marginally; just an inch more.

This time it's me who slides my hand through the door. I'm nervous, and I'll bet it's sweaty and shaking, but I force myself to do it anyway. I let out a small sigh of relief when I feel the press of her hand in mine.

We sit there quietly for a few minutes just absorbing the strength that we seem to receive from this simple touch. And I wonder, not for the first time, what it would be like to touch more of her. Maybe even all of her.

Desire shoots through me unexpectedly, and I let out a small shudder as I attempt to tamp it down. The last thing I need is a raging boner like some kind of perverted creep that prays on sweet young things who live next door.

"Your hand is cold. And wet," she says with a little chuckle.

"I'm sorry," I wince, as I try to extract my hand from hers. But she is having none of that and only pulls it in closer and grasps it more firmly.

"Don't be. I love to touch cold, wet things," she says sincerely. Then she realizes how her words sound, and she stammers, "I mean … I love the way it feels, cold and hard in my hands. No … urggh! I'm an idiot," she laughs at herself.

At her unexpected words and reaction to my cold, sweaty palms, I burst into laughter. I can't stop myself; her remark cracks me up. It isn't a second later that she joins in. Her laugh is beautiful; rich, deep, and full. It's the first we've shared together and it feels good.

"Um, care to explain yourself?" I ask playfully, once I've recovered from the shock of our unexpected mirth.

"I'm an artist," she says simply. "A sculptor. I do pottery too, although I prefer to sculpt. I like using my hands."

Not surprisingly her words do nothing to extinguish the burn that I felt only moments ago. But as I glance down at her hands, that feeling is replaced by something new; awe at this girl's strength and talent. An artist's hands.

I squeeze her fingers gently as she explains her craft to me, and glance at her nails. I notice they're no longer chipped and ragged. They're short, trimmed and devoid of the pinkish color that spoke of her past. Somehow, seeing her bare fingers gives me hope.

"Tell me," I encourage. A sculptor … images of a woman with long, dark hair bending over a mound of clay fills my mind. In my mind, I can picture the sensuality of her hands as they pull, tug and mold the wet earth into something stunning, beautiful and possibly, even erotic.

"Well, I like working with different mediums. Mostly clay, but sometimes I use a chisel and work with marble. I've tried my hand at working with bronze as well, but I'm a little scared of the welding process; Jay was always teasing me that I'd never be a mechanic."

"Jay. Was he your boyfriend?" I ask without thinking.

Her silence reminds me that I need to tread carefully.

"I'm sorry, I say after an uncomfortable moment. "It's none of my business. I know that you mentioned him this morning, so …"

"No, no it's okay. Um, no. He-he wasn't my boyfriend," she stutters.

"So, what, like he wanted to be, or something?" I ask. I hold my breath waiting for her answer, knowing how much worse this accident would have been if she were romantically involved with him.

"It was complicated," she admits after a long pause.

"I think I can keep up, that is if you're comfortable talking to me about it." I hate to pry, but I want to know.

"Jay and I knew each other since we were kids; our parents were friends. He was a little younger than me. I always loved him as a buddy. But Jay, well, after a while, maybe when he was a junior in high school, let me know he was interested in more. I had a boyfriend by then, so of course I told him no. But after Ben and I broke up in our freshman year of college, Jay tried again that summer. I told him that I would always love him as a friend, but there would never be anything more than that between us."

"And did he finally give up?" I knew I wouldn't, I thought to myself silently.

"Yeah, he did. He started dating this girl named Zoe in his sophomore year. She was exactly the kind of girl Jay needed; a little younger and a lot smarter," she joked. I used to tease him about that, because Zoe was really intelligent, she planned on becoming a nuclear engineer."

"Was, um, Zoe in the car when you …" I knew her name wasn't on the list but then again she could have had a different first name and went by Zoe as a nickname or something. I mean girls do that, right?

"No. Zoe met a guy when she was interning at the power plant for the summer and got pregnant with his kid. Jay was devastated."

"So, did she have the baby?" Jesus, this place sounds like a soap opera more and more.

"Yeah, she did. She ended up leaving school in December, and none of us ever saw her again. I told Jay that she might have been book smart, but she couldn't have been too bright to leave a guy like him."

"And did he meet somebody else?" I ask.

"Nah, I mean, he dated a few girls after that, but his heart wasn't really into it. Anyway, like I said, Jay and I still hung out a lot together. Nothing romantic ever happened between us. Until the night of the party …"

The night of the party? Oh fuck, something happened between them the night of the accident I guess. My mind starts scrambling at the possibilities, and I chose the most benign of them.

"What, like he tried to kiss you or something?"

A hear her sigh loudly and let out some kind of disgusted snort.

"No, more like I tried to kiss him," she sighs.

My heart starts to plummet, but I command it to stop; this girl doesn't need me to get jealous over a guy who no longer has a pulse, for Christ's sakes, What she needs is a friend.

"And did he return the kiss?" I keep my tone as light as possible.

"Yes, he did. And that was the problem. I had way too much to drink that night; I was celebrating big time because I had just graduated. I'm not much for alcohol as a rule, but I made an exception that night since I knew I wasn't going to be driving. So, yeah …I was pretty buzzed when it happened. Not that it was a good excuse. Anyway, all I know is one minute we were sitting by the bonfire and the next minute I was leaning over and kissing him."

"And did you want more?" Please say no.

"No, that's just it; as soon as the kiss ended I knew it was a mistake. I felt as if I was kissing my brother, or something. But Jay, well, his eyes became all soft and dreamy and I knew that I had given him the wrong idea. But I didn't want to hurt his feelings, so instead of being honest with him when he asked me if maybe there could be something more, I lied and told him I'd think about it over Christmas. I knew it was wrong, but he looked so happy that night, sitting there with all our friends, just laughing and playing with my hair. He looked so, hopeful," she admits sadly.

"Hey, don't beat yourself up over it, we all make mistakes like that from time to time. Besides, maybe it was a good thing in the end." I say.

"How was telling a lie to my buddy on his last night on earth a good thing?" She responds acidly.

"Well, maybe it brought him a little bit of happiness to think that something good was on horizon, you know, like he had something really wonderful to look forward to. Besides you never know, maybe you weren't lying. Maybe if things hadn't turned out the way they did your feelings would have changed? I mean, that happens to friends sometimes, doesn't it?

I'm a bartender. I know that girls fall in love with their male friends ALL the time. I've heard countless stories of unrequited love over the years, believe me. Again, blame it on those damn Cosmos; the FBI could use those babies as an inexpensive truth serum. But in her case I don't think a single kiss, even when it's given in the glow of a bonfire, is going to alter this girl's feelings. She may be raw and sensitive right now, but I can already sense a determination in her character.

"Yeah," she says. "I guess, maybe I could have. He was very good looking."

Of course he was.

"But there wasn't any …"

"What?" I ask as I caress her hand. The warmth that flows between us sends a small shock, and we both jump at the sensation.

"This," she says. There wasn't any of this …"

I'd like to say that her words gave me the courage I need to finally open the damn door and take her in my arms and simply hold her, all of her. But I don't. Instead, I find myself changing the subject.

"So, you mentioned you had a boyfriend when you first got to college, what happened there?"

"Yes, his name was Ben. He was a good guy, very sweet. But, he wanted different things than I did. I loved my art, and I was always pretty liberal thinking. But, Ben came from a very religious family and was pretty conservative. By the time summer rolled around he had decided to become a minister, so that pretty much ended that. He ended up transferring to a Baptist College and then took over his grandfather's church as soon as he retired. He's still there, in fact, he was going to perform the wed …" she stops abruptly and bursts into tears.

Oh hell, no. What am I supposed to do now? I haven't heard her cry like this in days. Shit. I knew I should have kept my trap shut. When did I get to be so chatty anyway? I've probably talked more to Bella in the last two weeks than I did with Tanya in the three years we dated in high school. I look around the room frantically and see the bag of groceries on the counter.

Think Edward think.

Chocolate.

Girls love chocolate, right? I excuse myself for a second and grab the bag and pull out the box of Ring Dings and open them.

I quickly replace my hand with the chocolate treat and offer it to her through the crack of the door.

"Really?" she says in this sort of half giggle half snort. I look down at my hand and realize how fucking ridiculous this is. What in the hell was I thinking? Trying to give a crying girl chocolate when what she needs is a good friend and a …

"I know it's dumb, I'm sorry. I'm not good with women; I never know what to do. I-I had a girlfriend once, and she told me … You know what, I'm going to shut up now," I finish lamely.

"That's the sweetest thing anyone has ever done," she pronounces in between a few sniffles.

I glow like a damn Christmas tree.

"Nah, it's just a Ring Ding. They're really good, by the way; I never had one until you put one in the crack of the door the other day," I tell her.

"You never had a Ring Ding?" she asks, surprised. "I never had one before I came here, either. I mean I didn't grow up with these. But I found them when I stopped at the store and tried them. They're so good."

"They are," I agree." Of course the best part was the fact that she gave it to me, I know that now.

"If you grew up with them why didn't you ever have one before?"

I tell her that I try to be careful about what I eat because of my parents' medical history, and she strokes my fingers as I explain how I gave up snacks and smoking. We sit and chat for a little while until our words run out and that same, awkward air from earlier seeps in.

"Teddy, when you came in the room and knocked on my door you seemed scared or something." She says in an effort to keep the conversation flowing.

"Yeah, I don't know… I was afraid maybe you wouldn't be here when I got back," I admit, blushing.

"Where else am I going to go?" she says softly.

"I don't know. That's the problem, I don't really know you. But I feel like I do, I feel …"

"What?"

"I feel very protective of you. I have from the first moment I heard you crying on the porch. It doesn't make any sense; we barely know each other, so why …"

"Why what?"

"Why do I care so much?" I admit to the door.

"You mean, why do we care so much," she says wrapping her thumb between mine and stroking it. "Does it matter?"

"It matters only if you leave. I-I can't explain it … I just, well, I don't want you to go."

"Teddy, I'm not going anywhere. I don't want to stay away from you anymore than you want to stay away from me."

"Then don't"

We both take a couple of big sighs when we admit how we've been feeling. For me, it's a mixture of exhaustion and relief. But I sense there is still underlying fear or at least apprehension on her part. I remember her laughter a few moments ago and wish I could think of something that would add a bit of levity to our conversation. The air in here feels stuffy to me somehow.

"Hey …what if we sit outside on our balconies and talk? I could use some fresh air, and the moon is out."

"Um, I'm not sure ..."

"We'd still separated by the fencing"

"Maybe tomorrow night?"

"Okay" I agree, disappointed. It would have been nice to sit outside under the moon and the stars."

I excuse myself for a moment and go over to the window, open the jalousies, and let in some fresh air. It smells good for a moment, and then it doesn't. Now it smells like low tide. The foul stench of it fills the apartments. I wrinkle my nose and am about to get up and close them when she yelps in disgust.

"Eww … what is that?"

I bark out a short laugh and then in an ominous voice I taunt, "It smells like murder on the beach. It happens a lot out here."

"You -you mean that smell is from a body? Do you need to call the police?"

I burst out laughing at that. "No, Bella … it's when the red tide comes in. It's just red, ugly seaweed, and when it clings to the beaches it starts to stink, hence the term murder on the beach," I laugh.

I feel her fingers freeze in mine.

"How did you know my name?"

Oh no, oh, fuck!

"Bella-"

"How. Did. You. Know. My. Name?"

I try to take her hand back into mine, but she pulls back away from me. "Please Bella; I can explain …"

"Oh that's good. Do it." She commands.

I'm scared; I admit it. I don't want to tell her that I've Googled her. I don't want to tell her that I know her name and all of her friends' names, and who their parents are. But I know the gig is up and I have no choice. However, the one thing that always happens to me when I get scared is that I get defensive. Sometimes I act like a jerk. I know this about myself, and I try not to be that guy, but as soon as she starts tapping her fingers on the side of the door impatiently it's as if he receives an engraved invitation to suddenly appear.

"Look, I know your name alright? You know mine too. How is it you know my nickname is Teddy? My name is Edward. No one but Mrs. Cope calls me Teddy; it's her special name for me. Did she tell you to call me that? Did she tell you all about me and my business? Because if she did …."

"Mrs. Cope never told me anything at all except where to send the money. So, don't get your ass up on your shoulders. I knew she called you Teddy because the vent from the kitchen is right under my bedroom, and I can hear everything."

"Oh."

"Yeah, OH. So, I'm going to ask you one more time … how did you know my name without you copping an attitude with me, and then making it all about you, okay?"

I rub the back of my neck roughly. I wish I had a beer right about now.

"Rainier."

"Rainer?"

"Yes, the name of the beer you said you wanted earlier this morning," I say like the dumbass that I am.

"What about it?"

"Well, it got me curious and I decided to Google it to see where it was made, and where it was sold. I'd never heard of it before so …"

"That sounds like bullshit."

"No, it's not. I swear it."

But I stop right there, because this girl, a woman whom I've never officially seen, seems to know that I'm only telling her a part of the truth. I guess having a good bullshit detector is guaranteed when your father's a cop.

"Okay, the truth is,I-I sort of Googled your story when I went back down to the bar last night. I was so worried about you being here and leaving there … I knew there had to be people who missed you, who wondered where you were and if you were even alive. I know it was wrong to do that, but I wasn't sure if you would tell me, so I …"

"So, you took it upon yourself to make that decision for me? Okay. Well, I guess this conversation is over," she informs me coldly.

"No, Bella wait. Please don't go yet. I know you're angry; I would be too. I'm normally a very private person myself, not a private dick trying to solve a case."

"NO, you're just a dick, she says sarcastically. "You know, I would have told you anything you wanted to know eventually. I was just starting to get comfortable with you just beginning to trust someone again, and now you've taken it all away."

And with that she slams the door shut and closes me out. For a few moments, I stand there, like a deer caught in the headlights. What the hell just happened here? Oh that's right, I opened my big mouth, and everything, including my verbal diarrhea, just spilled out. And then, because I'm also an irrational ass, I get mad. Not at her, but at myself. Pissed off, I pick up the bag of plums, and toss them one by one against the door and watch as they split; opened, bleeding and trailing down the door.

FUCK!

Hurt and frustrated, I head back downstairs to my office. I know she is going to leave me now.

Stupid … stupid …

Why did I have to run my mouth? More importantly, why had I set the wheels in motion for all this fucking drama when all I had to do was ask her? I broke her trust. I glance over and see the articles from the accident which I'd printed off earlier. I look at Bella's beautiful face and the guilt in my conscience springs anew. When I read Charlie Swan's plea for information, I pick up the phone and plug in the numbers. Then put the phone down in disgust. This sort of behavior is what got me in trouble to begin with.

I grab a sheet of paper featuring the Swan Dive's logo and write quickly.

Bella,

I'm so sorry. Here are the articles I found when I Googled about the accident. I realize now that I had no right to pry, and should have simply asked you first. My only excuse was that I was sincerely worried that someone was missing you. If you were mine, I know I would never be able to stop looking.

I have another confession.

I told my Aunt Esme some of what's been going on between us. Esme is one of the sweetest and kindest women I know. She's been through some hard times herself. Anyway, I only told her the basics, none of the details about you or your accident. She was more interested in hearing about this thing … this amazing energy or whatever it is that flows between us every time we sit behind the door. I told her that when my hand finds yours and holds it I feel whole and like I've come home.

I don't talk that way Bella, not to my trusted aunt, or to anyone. I never have. She told me that sometimes the best things in life are the things we can't see.

I'm not a guy who believes in those kinds of things, Bella. I'm the kind of guy who is always waiting for the other shoe to drop. My glass is always half empty. I have a brown thumb. I root for the Red Sox, but I always know in the back of my mind they're probably going to lose. And I'm usually right. I know if I meet someone special they'll stay for a while and leave. They always do.

But these past two weeks I've started to think that maybe, just maybe, there could be something wonderful waiting to begin. I can't explain why. You should know that I'm not good with words; I never have been. When I mentioned the feeling I get when I hold your hand, my aunt told me that sounds a lot to her like the beginning of love.

I don't say this to scare you. You're probably going to leave anyway. But I wanted you to know that after I met you for the first time, I really started to think that the Sox might win after all.

Please forgive me,

"Teddy"

I head upstairs and slide the note under her door. I endure a broken sleep dogged by dreams of dead friends; both hers and mine. My mother's perfume, a scent which always blanketed me in safety now burns my nostrils and makes my throat constrict. My father's ghost flit's in and out of my dream where he spouts platitudes and warnings about hard women. And then he changes gears and reminds me that some women have hearts that are worth holding on to. I see Tyler sailing toward me in an ocean of oil, but as he gets closer I see his slow, lazy, grin morph into something huge.

"You owe it to yourself to live a genuine life, Edward. Mine never was. I'm off to the races, buddy boy."

And just as I'm about to call out to him, to ask him to wait and that I'll go with him, he's gone. I'm crying out, restless, cold and broken, yet I can't seem to wake up. I feel an angel's warm hand smooth the hair off my forehead and she presses a soft, slight kiss on my forehead. This simple gesture seems to soothe me, and I fall back into a deep slumber, no longer bothered by ghosts or my mother's perfume.

When I awake, I go to the kitchen and see a note attached to a Ring Ding stuck between the doors. I bend over and pick it up as if it's some sort of precious object. My tired eyes skim the few lines.

I hold my breath and read.

Teddy,

I forgive you. We'll talk tonight, okay?

PS: I think the Sox are going to win, too.

Bella

I choke out a sigh of relief and hear the sound of my phone alerting me that I have a text. It's from Angela.

You had a phone call this morning. They said it's urgent. I gave them your cell #.

I no sooner finish scanning her text when the phone rings in my hand. I answer it quickly.

It's Charles Swan.

**ACITD**

Author's Note:

Thank you all for reading. Your response to this story has been inspiring and warming.

Jayne

PS: I wanted to say a special thank you to Bellebiter for giving me the inspiration for the word confessional in the last chapter. It's amazing how a reader's review can influence a writer's story.