Chapter Nine

After he told me that he was a non-negotiable figure in my life until Jasper comes back, he kind of stopped communicating. Instead, ol' silent night packs my board up in his car and drags me to the worst possible beach to surf on.

I'm pretty sure it's in retaliation for my snotty attitude this morning.

It has to be, because why else would he bring me to such a horrific place? The water is shallow, barely waist deep, and the ocean floor is riddled with jagged, death-creating rocks. Only experienced surfers catch waves here. The majority of people, like me, have died or lost limbs out there—neither of these things I want for myself.

Of course, I asked him to confirm my suspicions when we first got here, but he lost the power of speech and just pointed towards the waves like a mime. That's it, and then proceeds to pop a squat in the sand to watch me drown. It's a challenge. Edward wants to see how far I will go to save face. Being stubborn and stupid, I can't admit how being with him terrifies me. So, I stand up straight, push my shoulders back, and take my board (and what's left of my pride) out to the sea. It doesn't seem bad from the shore distance and catching a wave might be easy. All I need to do is ride a small one, nothing too flashy or extreme, and prove Edward wrong.

The bright, happy sun shining down upon Rockpile has no effect on the water and the arctic temperature goes straight through my wet suit, freezing me to the bone. Two minutes in, I stub my big toe on some evil coral rock and my surfing is quickly aborted. There's blood and shame rising to the water's surface. My pain comes out in a single tear, but mostly I'm pissed at myself for letting Edward push me this way. Any idea I may have had this morning about getting away to the calm waters of the sea to forget about my shit is ruined in a heartbeat.

I'd come stumbling back to shore and throw my board on the ground. "What now?"

"Just watch," Edward says and pats the spot next to him.

Sitting down, I'd focused all my attention on the blissful blue and the influx of people raiding the beach. Even though this place is dangerous, and nearly impossible to surf, many brave, poor souls attempt to hang ten on a daily basis. Some are successful, but most end up coming back to the shore like me: cut-up and bleeding, pulling their sad, dilapidated boards behind them.

I'd found some humor in our collective failures, but Edward's not amused, or at least act like he's not. A mute statue next to me, staring out into the ocean—and sure, yes, I can get over his assholery, in some ways, but his lack of conversational skills is frustrating. When he picked me up this morning, I'd foolishly thought it wouldn't be so bad to spend the day with him without Jasper. We'd get to talking and slowly start to know each other, bond over surfing or whatever, but that never happened.

The more time I spend with the man of few words the more our treasured friendship, the one I'd created and imagined in my head, becomes less and less likely.

I'd talk nonstop for the the first thirty minutes, but it feels like hours, hoping to fill the void and ease my obvious discomfort. Edward sits back and contributes nothing, just a few syllables, accompanied with an occasional head nod or shake, (and maybe a flannel blanket that smells like him to warm me up) but that's it.

It's hard being the bigger person, but I try to make the best of this prison sentence handed out to me by not bitching about the cold weather or the fact I'm bored out of my mind. These are the moments in life where my anxiety is at an all time high. The only thing that will relax me is a quick steal, but it's impossible to do anything with the watch dog at my side. I make one move and those eyes of tranquil green, so pretty in ways but also deceiving, are on me and stop me cold. He uses his beauty, unreal in perfection, to intimidate me.

I hate myself because it works.

Being shackled to him is something I want more than freedom, but this communication barrier we have between us is something I won't tolerate. Around the fourth person to wipe-out, I grow tired of the one sided conversations. My courage takes an unusual, free of dope spike, and I snap.

"You know, don't get me wrong, I love the whole brooding, silent type thing you've got going on, but I'm getting really fed up with hearing my own voice." I pause to study his face, but nothing. He's like a British guard standing in front of the Buckingham Palace. "Aren't you?"

Another head shake, but this time he tacks on a full sentence. "I like your voice."

My face engulfs in flames—figuratively, of course. "You do?"

Head nod.

"Why?"

He shrugs, and that is new. "Why wouldn't I?"

I want to go into the all the reasons my voice is annoying, but berating yourself in front of a guy you like is annoying. Edward, in his way, is giving me a compliment, and he's sober. There's no weed or an empty, spinning beer bottle to influence his judgment.

This is kind of huge step for this guy.

Maybe I should give him one in return.

"Yeah, well, I like your voice too." I snuggle with the blanket and watch his expression carefully. "I just want to hear more of it."

And my intense scrutiny pays off.

Edward falters and smiles. It's not much, and quickly fades, but the hardness behind his eyes soften and the creases in his forehead smooth out. He's not scowling at the world. I see the boy he used to be.

"What do you want to talk about?" he asks.

"Everything," I say, and he scoffs. "Is that not okay?"

"No, it's just fucking vague, Bean—" Edward cuts himself short and clears his throat. The tension he released from his shoulders moments ago is building back up. He stares out into the ocean, doesn't look at me or even acknowledge that I'm there hanging on his every word.

The little progress we've managed to make is shattered and forgotten. It's like starting back at square one.

I replay the brief conversation to figure where things went wrong. Nothing stands out. This guy is moodier than a chick. He's too much in his damn head all the time. I know he's been through Hell, but he's home now and I want the Edward I saw with Jasper yesterday. The one who flirted with me, made jokes, and touched me often.

I could fall in love with that boy.

How can things change so much in only twenty-four hours?

"Screw everything then," I say, and throw the flannel blanket off me and onto his lap. He turns his attention off the crashing, soothing waves and on to me. My face, easily read, tells him everything I'm feeling. "I want to know why you're here and why you agreed to do this. Isn't there something else you rather do with your time than babysit some teenage klepto?"

I suspect my habits are why he's been assigned to me by Jasper.

Edward wants to laugh at my colorful descriptions, but is too dedicated to being a soldier. "We're hanging out, Bean—" He stops himself again, but instead of going mute, he redirects the conversation in the way of my growling belly. "You're hungry. Let's go eat something."

It occurs to me then why he keeps getting quiet and closing himself off.

"You know, I don't mind if you call me Bean."

Edward stands and brushes the sand off his hands. "That's what Jasper calls you."

The sun shines above him and creates a halo over his head. I raise my hand to block out some of his heavenly glare. "So what? My mom calls me Bella."

"That's your name."

"No, my name is Isabella Marie. Bella, just like Bean, is a nickname. It doesn't matter who came up with it, I'll still answer to it."

The wind picks up again, chilling me out and igniting a million goose bumps to pop up all over my exposed skin. This Arizona girl freezes at seventy degrees and my teeth chatter again—rather loudly.

Edward picks up the blanket I'd tossed and crouches down to wrap it around me. He rubs his hands up and down my arms to generate warmth. "What do you want?"

The list of things I want from him is long, so I settle on the one that's least likely to scare him away. "I just want to be your friend." The conflict in his face and hesitance in his response worries me. "Don't you?"

"No," he says, rising up from his squat. He blocks out the sun, casting a dark, bleak shadow over me. That one word infiltrates my hopes and crushes them.

I stay seated, not having the motivation to move or do anything, but think about his lips and how much better they would feel with a clear, sober head. Not that it matters. Edward has made it pretty clear what he wants and it involves keeping his distance. This arrangement is a job to him. Almost like a less hostile and dangerous tour of duty, he wants to get in and get out and get home.

"Bean," I hear his voice, but then his hands come into view. He's holding them out to me. I take a chance to look up at him, knowing damn well I'm asking for heartache. Edward, still beautiful and unreal, is watching me closely with a pained, somewhat guarded expression. "Come on."

Maybe I'm a glutton for punishment and don't know when to quit, but I don't think about the consequences of taking him up on his offer. His hands are big, massive even, and his long fingers curl around my hands and engulf them. He makes me feel delicate and precious, but he doesn't treat me like fragile china. Yanked me to my feet, I go crashing into Edward's chest with a solid thud. He's abnormally warm, and I close my eyes just enjoying the feel of his skin against my cheek.

I'm obvious about my attraction, and 'Friends' is a relative term to me (apparently).

Edward doesn't push me away or set boundaries, but encourages this girly crush of mine by fanning the flames and putting his arms around me. He squeezes, my body pressed against his, and I listen to his heart as it pounds in his chest, so fast and hard. It's thundering, vibrating, taking over and changing everything I thought to be true.

"Jesus." He lets out a heavy sigh and rests his chin on my head. "You're going to get me in trouble."

I smile, just simply beside myself. Because no matter how small the victory, it just gets me closer to winning the battle and having precisely what I want. "I hope so."

*()()*

It's been two weeks since that day at Rockpile and my education is in full swing again. School is tedious and pointless. I'm not learning a damn thing, just itching like a crack head to get the hell out. Alice rushes me the first day back and asks me a shit load of questions, wondering where I'd went and who I'd hooked up with on Thanksgiving. She wouldn't believe me if I told her, so I don't and keep mum about Jasper and Edward. Besides, I'm not the bragging type, or the girl who likes to kiss and tell, exposing all her dirty little secrets. But then again, really what is there to brag about?

It was one night of drunken lust, filled with endless weed and a high stakes game of Spin the Bottle.

I can barely remember it anymore.

Even now the whole thing sounds juvenile, and telling Alice anything would just lead into more questions and possible rumors. She will exaggerate and gossip to people I don't know and definitely don't want knowing about my life. It's too complicated of a situation to be tainted by lies, and these two unruly boys, no matter how twisted they got me, they're mine and I refuse to share them with the world.

I'll do whatever I can to protect what we have.

On the up side, I've managed to make some strides with Edward and Jasper. Things are happening slowly between all three us. Jasper texts and calls me daily, keeping me in the loop about school and keeping his promise by not leave me hanging, or wondering what he's thinking. We don't discuss our relationship, because neither of us knows what it is. Everything is still too new and he's away too much. Maybe when he comes home, we'll talk about it, but right now we keep things on a superficial level.

My progress with Edward is steady, but subtle in its own growth.

Every day he opens up to me, little by little, talking about Jasper and how he's the only guy that kept him sane after the death of his parents. I loved the story about the time they got caught stealing Turtle Wax from a surf shop when they were fourteen. Both boys were grounded for two weeks. No TV, no video games, no surfing, and definitely no girls.

But that's one topic I want nothing to do with. Edward's smart, he catches on to my silent cues and never discusses the girls he's been with, or even the girls Jasper's been with. I'm grateful for that bit of kindness, and in return, I don't mention Marcus or anyone else.

Edward does talk openly about the good times he had in the Navy. How excited and proud he was when he became a SEAL. He even talks about some of his experiences in Iraq. Most of his days there were spent having down time with his buddies, watching movies or lifting weights. The jokes and pranks they would play on each other made him laugh, and watching his eyes shine with happiness, is better than anything I've ever known.

But with the good comes the bad and not everything's perfect. He tries discussing the bad times with me, leaving out gruesome details. That's something he still has issues with and glossing over it has kept him stable, sane, and in the here and now. I've asked him about his scars and he doesn't hesitate or leave out any details with me. He tells me it was because of an IED (Improvised Explosive Device). It was left on the roadside and blew up as he drove past it during a convoy mission almost two years ago. It killed four of his men and disfigured two others. He said he was lucky. It could've been worse.

"Shrapnel," he points the scar below his eye, "almost took my sight."

It's Tuesday afternoon, Edward's picked me up from school (like he's done every day since Rockpile) and we're just sitting in his car outside my house, listening to music and talking. The rain started pouring down about fifteen minutes ago and hasn't let up. It thunders on the roof and front windshield, making it impossible for me to brave the weather, but I also can't seem to force myself to leave the comfort of my boy's company. He's got the heater on full blast, the radio turned down low, and all of his rapt attention is on me.

"What's that?" I ask, tentatively raising my arm to touch that patch of delicate skin. It's a risk, but he nods and takes my hand, pressing it against his neck. This is an intimate moment, feeling his war and pain under my fingertips. I want more, but know not to push him.

"It's fragments of a bomb. When it blows it up, it sends out whatever it's comprised of. Usually it's nails, ball bearings, needles or other small metal objects. The shit varies, but it comes at you like a million fucking bullets." He moves my hand along the jagged scar; it's bumpy and hard in some places. "You feel that?"

I swallow thickly. "Yeah."

"That's shrapnel."

"Does it hurt?" I pull away, but Edward is quick to bring me back in, forcing me to stay and not be afraid.

"No." He never takes his eyes off mine, tugging aside a portion of my shirt and exposing the long, faint, silvery line that runs down the front of my chest. "Now it's your turn."

The one thing about me no one ever notices, Edward sees and it scares the shit out of me. I don't know how to respond, not wanting to go into it, but feeling as though he deserves to this bit of my past. He waits patiently for me to get my thoughts together.

Breathing in deep, I steady my troubled, pounding heart and speak in a whisper. "It's some congenital thing I had when I was a baby."

"You had surgery for it?" He leans in close and traces it down, but stops short of my cleavage.

I nod, unable to focus anywhere else but where he's touching me. "Yeah, I've had three before the age of one. They had to fix an artery or something, I don't really know."

That's a lie. I know everything about my heart defect. It's called Transposition of the Great Arteries. My aortic and pulmonary arteries got switched and the left side of my heart was getting deoxygenated blood. I couldn't breathe right and wasn't able to latch. I was crying, non-stop, so hungry and in pain. Mom says she saw it before the doctors and asked one of the nurses, "Why does my baby girl look like a blueberry?"

They diagnosed my problem fairly quickly and my first surgery was done two days after my birth. It wasn't a big deal or anything. I recovered and had no problems with physical activity. Mom pushed me to overcome my 'disability' by expecting nothing but the very best from me. If I had shortness in breath in ballet, I was to ignore it and carry on with a smile.

Chin up, Isabella.

The only reminder I have now is the faded scar on my chest, and like I said, no one really spots it unless it's pointed out to them.

Edward's different.

He sees everything.

"You're a lot like me," he says, dragging his hand away from me and placing it on the steering wheel.

"Yeah, how so?" I lean away from him, resting my back against the door and creating space between us. I'm breathless, and it's not because of my blemished heart, but from the intensity he creates by sharing the same air with me. He makes me nuts with desire, because I want him in ways that aren't possible and it's getting harder to control it.

"Just the way you minimize the bad shit. You don't want to be seen as weak. I like that about you." Edward smiles, it's bashful and unlike anything I'd ever seen from him. "And when I tell you certain things, you don't look at me like other people do."

"How do I look at you?"

He faces me head on and says in the most stern, no bullshit tone, "Like I'm Edward and not some fucked-up solider of war. I look in your eyes and the last thing I see is pity."

"That's because you're an asshole."

Edward laughs, a red hue flushing his cheeks and neck, and he looks away. "Yeah, I know."

*()()*

Rose groans into the phone. "How do you stare a boy in his face when he says that shit to you and not kiss him?"

"It's complicated," I say, laying back in my bed and staring up at the popcorn ceiling. Edward left several hours ago, but I'd been debating whether or not to call Rose, knowing damn well she would call me a pussy for not fucking him in his car or on the streets. She didn't care how it got done, just as long as it did. "He's Jasper's best friend."

"And so? Screw them both, preferably at once. Ugh, I should be having these problems, not you."

I laugh, because Rose wouldn't hang back and wait for the guy to make the first move. She takes control. Like everything in her life, if she wants something, she'll take it and nothing will stop her from attaining it. Not money, not social status, not even a dude's best friend. This is one of the many qualities I envy the about her.

"Listen, I know you're in a sticky situation, but you got to make a move already."

"And what if I do and they're not into me?" I ask, and this immediately gets a snort from her.

"Guys don't waste time with a girl they're not interested in, okay? Trust me, they want you."

I cover my face with my hands to hide the blush no one will see. "Okay."

"Speaking of Jasper, when's the last time you spoke with him?"

"It was this morning, actually. He was on his way to class and didn't talk long, but that's all I really get from him these days. Just these brief, inconsequential conversations, and…" I don't want to admit to her how that bond we shared is slipping away. She'll tell me to drop him and go for the available best friend. I still want Jasper. "Anyway, he's supposed to come home next month for his mom's birthday."

"Have you two ever discussed your coupling status?"

"No, of course not, why would we? That kind of conversation will be had when he gets home and not over the—" Beep, beep. I pull my phone away from my ear and see Jasper's name blink across the screen. I sit up straight in my bed, heart racing with a painful strength. "Shit, he's calling me right now. I'll call you back." Rose says something, but I hang up on her and switch over the call. "Hello?"

"Hey, Bean," Jasper says, his voice sounds strained, out of breath and nervous. "How are you?"

"I'm good," I say, but there's something that isn't right with him. "Are you okay? What's wrong?"

"Everything's fine. I just, well, I just needed to talk to you and it couldn't wait. I'm sorry if I woke you," he says, and I glance over at the clock. It's past one in the morning. Holy shit! How did it get so late?

"No, I wasn't sleeping, it's...are you sure you're okay, though? You sound strange." I'm at the edge of my bed now, listening to his breathing and background noises. It's like he's walking outside, I can't tell. "Where are you?"

"Remember the last night I was in town and you demanded more from me?"

I roll my eyes at his choice of words. "Yeah, and you told me friendship was all you could do right now. Being more was just going to complicate things," this isn't the conversation I want to have with him over the phone, but I'm afraid to tell him so and never have this chance again, "and I said it wasn't good enough."

"You were right, about everything. I just didn't know how to tell you…"

There's distortion over the phone and he keeps cutting in and out. I'm pacing my room, concerned for him more than anything now. He doesn't sound like himself and it's late. "Jasper," I press the phone to my ear, hoping to get closer to him, "where are you?"

"Bean," he says again, but the static is all I can hear, plus there's some crunching noise and something else I can't seem to figure out—God, it sounds like he's walking somewhere, but where would he be going at this time of night?

"Jasper, hello? Can you hear me?" I pull it away from my ear and see the seconds keep rolling over into minutes. The call hasn't been disconnected, he's still there—tap, tap, tap. "Shit!" I spin around towards my window and drop my cell phone on the ground. I take a furtive step forward; confused at first, but then it happens again, another three soft taps. I'm not sure what to do now, call Charlie for help or run out of the house. My mind is set on bolting for Charlie's room since it's raining outside, but the final tapping accompanied with the subdued murmur of my name stops me in my tracks.

That voice, even through the glass and falling rain, is something I'll always respond to.

Picking up my phone, I put it to my ear and listen to his breathing on the other side of the line. "Where are you?"

"Bean, just please…" But I pull the curtains back before he can finish that sentence and reveal Jasper sitting outside my window, soaking wet, with his beautiful blue eyes on me, "…let me in."