I don't own Twilight. I own this well fertilized plot.

I can't say enough nice things about JulieToo and Beachcomberlc. The fact that they will stick with me, warts and all, should be enough to start their bids for sainthood.

Chapter 9

In the present...

The phone ringing on his bedside table woke Edward from a deep sleep. He struggled to remember where he was as he blindly searched for the annoying black rectangle that was jittering against the wood and making a hell of a noise.

"Yeah?" He grumbled.

"What have you done now? Drugs? Alcohol?" A sad voice he hadn't expected to hear woke him even further.

"Dad?"

"Your sister insisted we attend some sort of intervention for you and I want to know what you've been up to to warrant one." Edward could hear what he thought was disdain emanating from every syllable his father uttered. Dr. Cullen very rarely phoned his son. Edward phoned his father even less.

"You don't need to come, Dad. It's really not that big a deal. Alice and Rosalie are playing it up. And it's not an intervention." Edward lay back on his pillows and ran his hand over his face.

"How can they be playing it up if no knows what's going on with you, Edward? That much I do know. You never let anyone in. I want to know what I'm walking into so I can brace your mother."

"Brace her, what do you mean?" Edward was fully awake now and sitting up in bed.

"God forbid anyone say anything untoward about her darling boy. She'll have a conniption. She has blinders on when it comes to you, son."

"But you don't, do you, Dad? Nothing I've ever done has been good enough for you, has it? Maybe that's why Mom supports me so much? Because you don't."

"That's where you're wrong, Edward. I do support you. But I won't fawn all over you like your mother. You've never really had to work for anything in your life. Everything just gets handed to you and you have little regard for others. It breaks my heart that I helped to make you into what you are today. You come across as selfish, self-serving and completely self-absorbed."

Edward was stunned, his father'd never said anything like this to him before now. He didn't know what to say in reply. What his father was saying about him hurt, but he realized that there was some truth to it, as uncomfortable as it was to admit that. Dr. Cullen continued.

"Someone needed to take you off your pedestal and make you humble. That's all I've ever tried to do. What you see as disappointment is caution, Edward, I don't want to add to your ego. You don't appreciate what you have and who you have. It breaks my heart to see your mother reading over your clippings and hanging on every word that is written about you, knowing that one phone call to her would make her day, shit, it would make her year. But you never think to be the one to get in touch. You wait and let her come to you. You never ask how she is or what she is doing. Conversations are all about you, your band, your music, your life. Do you ever think about others? Does anyone ever register on your radar, Edward?"

Edward groaned quietly but didn't say anything in response.

"Perhaps it's our fault, we gave you everything, coddled you and helped you. And when your sister was hurt, we spent a lot of time with her and left you to your own devices for a long time.

But now you're almost thirty-years-old, Edward. You've never had a relationship. You're so closed off with everyone. Do you have any emotion in you at all, Son?" The question was asked quietly, almost in a whisper. There was a long pause before Edward broke.

"Oh, Dad, I did something terrible and I really hurt someone. It was a long time ago before we were famous. At first I did it out of anger, like I was punishing her, but then I got caught up in a lie and couldn't get out of it. Now I'm only really punishing myself. It's been five years of lies and guilt and paralysis. I can't enjoy the success I have because it's tainted by my own inability to own up."

There was a long silence and Edward was certain that his father had finally reached his limit.

"Dad? You still there?"

"Have you ever heard the phrase 'Drama Queen', Edward?"

"Is that your clinical diagnosis, Dr. Cullen?" Edward snorted a laugh. It wasn't funny.

"Just let me talk through this. You did something years ago that you feel badly for and rather than man-up and deal with it, you've isolated yourself, internalized your guilt, and held your family at arm's length, all the while pursuing a career that greatly pads your ego but perpetuates the lies that stunt your emotional well-being?"

"Ummmm, yes?"

"And rather than turn to your family for help you, what, drink? Do drugs? What is this intervention for?"

"I've been looking for the person I hurt. I wanted to atone for what I did to her and find her to apologise."

"That's all? No meth or heroin, just this…whatever this is?"

"Yes, but if it doesn't go well, she has the power to destroy everything the band had gained since we started. She could potentially ruin everything, or I guess, I could ruin everything. I have ruined everything."

"And you've let this hang over you for years without thinking about fixing it?"

"I'm trying to fix it now."

"All right. I'll see you there, I guess. And I'll caution your mother not to overreact."

"Thanks Dad. For what it's worth, I did hear what you said. I hadn't realized how detached I was. I'm sorry. I'll try to be better, to Mom and you."

Edward stared at his phone for a long time after he hung up with his father. He really hadn't known that he'd hurt his mother so deeply. It had never occurred to him that a simple thing like a phone call asking about her life would make her happy. She'd never said anything to him about it.

Slowly, as if they each weighed a thousand pounds, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. He walked into the bathroom, and after relieving himself, stared at his own face in the mirror for a long time. The answers weren't there. There was just the same face he'd seen every day for as long as he could remember. He gave up looking and turned the shower on to heat up.

Little pieces of his conversation with his father ran through his mind as he washed. He never asked for all the things he'd been given but he never appreciated them either. Everything came easily to him, some determination or charm and whatever he was seeking fell into his lap. Bella was like that. She followed the crooking of his little finger. But there was something about her that made him finally feel guilty and remorseful. He wondered what it was about her that was different. There had been other women; girls, really. Bella was still a girl when he knew her. If he needed help with homework or a less than pleasant task performed, such as laundry, there was always a girl he could charm into helping.

But there was something about her that got under his skin. It wasn't just guilt, although he had plenty of that. And it wasn't pity, she was too strong to pity. Maybe it was pity for himself. Maybe it was knowing that she was much more successful at being an adult at seventeen than he was at twenty-seven. She was not only smarter than he was, she graduated high school at fifteen and he didn't until eighteen, she was better at being an adult and dealing with the pressures of life than he was. With everything life had thrown at her, she persevered, while he wallowed under much less pressure than she seemed to.

He thought that she would come to him when they started gaining press and getting air play with their songs. He thought that she would demand her credit when her words were used. He thought she'd do something. But she hadn't. She'd disappeared from his life and he was worried. For the longest time, after he started courting fame, he'd worried that something bad had happened to her. To worry over another person was a foreign concept for him and it was an uncomfortable feeling.

After he realised she was gone, without one word to him, he searched the papers for any type of lead or news of her. The only things he found were a short article about the accident that killed her parents and their obituaries. The only thing those articles proved was that she'd never lied to him. The last shred of doubt he had in her was obliterated with those postings. He'd already felt crappy for what he'd said about her the last time he saw her that New Year's Eve. He was fairly certain she'd overheard him talking shit about her. To be the cause of her dropping out of society, of her leaving school and never finishing her degree, of trampling her crush on him and her hopes and dreams made him feel like the worst person in the world. God, he was an asshole. He didn't know how to change it, though. He needed her to teach him how to be a better man. A better human, really. She could teach him how to interact with his family and the band. Only she could teach him how to deal with his fans and the public. She held all the answers.

If only Rosalie would let him fucking talk to her.

Bella was the water and Edward was screaming in the desert for her.

Chances were good that the guys would listen to his story. Chances were not so great that they'd forgive him. Chances were even worse than they'd let him talk to her. He needed a Plan B. He finished his shower and towelled off. He walked back into his suite and something on the desk caught his eye. He grabbed it and flopped onto the bed, tossing the towel aside. Picking up his new phone, he scrolled through his contacts until he found the number he wanted. After the phone rang for a long time a voicemail message came on.

"You have reached Victoria at Denali Public Relations. Please leave a message after the tone and either my assistant, Laurent, or myself will get back to you within twenty-four hours. If you're looking for press kits or to book an interview with Uncovered, please call the main Denali PR line. Thank you."

"Um...yeah...this is Edward Cullen. I think you're our publicist, if I'm not mistaken. Anyway, I'm looking for the contact information for the writer who did the Rolling Stone article on me awhile back. Um...Jane something...Marcus, Jane Marcus. Could you call me back at the hotel or have her give me a call? I want to give an interview."

AN: Thank you for reading. I haven't been the most diligent in responding to your reviews. I'll try to to better. I've been fighting off some doldrums and I fear they may be winning.