Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. No copyright infringement is intended.
Beta'd by HollettLA
I don't have a schedule for this. When the chaps are ready, I'm posting them. Sadly, I have other obligations at the moment. So, you guys won't get chapter 11 until next week. Thank you all for reading and reviewing. Enjoy!
"Offbeat"
Chapter Ten: Date Night
Nights are the worst. Not on the job, but after.
All alone, things still.
So, I do what I can to avoid the silence—volunteer for extra shifts, eat up any overtime they can give me, bang the fuck out of my keyboard, stop by the Twilight Lounge, or go to my mother's—hoping she's still awake.
Nine out of ten times, when I stop by my father's hangout, I don't even go in. When I do, he's usually not even there anymore, but I know he chills there during the day, early evenings, and I get out of work too late. Maybe Carlisle never left Manhattan, but he's good at disappearing, going off the grid. He never ever wanted to be found, and I still have no idea why I bother. I swore to stop passing by that spot.
My mother always seems to be up when I visit. Then again, she might stir awake hearing the door. When I lived there, she'd always fall asleep watching TV on the sofa. And I always wondered if the late night—the quietness—made her restless as well. Even in her bedroom, she has to sleep with the television on.
I used to sneak in and turn it off after she was out for the count.
Nevertheless, the more I have to do, the less time there is to think about things . . . things like being sad or angry, or worst of all . . . afraid.
Visits with Grandpa Platt were always few and far between. But when he'd visit or we'd visit him out in Queens, he'd always tell me, "Be brave and the world will respect you".
As if…as a kid, I had the slightest idea what the word brave even meant—like it was supposed to come naturally.
I'm the grandson of a legendary fire captain. He retired after 9/11, but people still remember his name. He wanted me to be a firefighter until September 11th, 2001 . . . when I was in middle school. Grandpa Platt used to talk about it all the time—be brave, follow my footsteps, but that tragedy changed him. He never flat out told me. He just stopped pushing me to be a fireman.
Although he never stopped telling me to be brave.
That's probably another reason I took this job—became a police officer since the firefighter route didn't interest me—to show him.
I'm one of New York's Finest instead of Bravest, and it's worked out so far.
I mean, I can't remember a time in my life where I wasn't trying to prove something, trying to be better at everything I did—always doing the right thing.
Maybe someday I'll qualify as brave in his book—not that I'll ever know.
He was diagnosed with Alzheimer's a few years back. His second wife—Nelly—put him in a home, where they take decent care of him. Sadly, after dumping him in that place, Nelly cleared out their accounts and took off. She was his trophy wife—twenty years his junior—after my grandmother died. Nanna passed away when I was seven. She had cancer.
I remember my mother being furious when Nelly left—looking for her, but it was all about money, not even my grandfather. His pension keeps him housed in that home nowadays—his fortune gone.
It might seem selfish, but I remembered being glad—thankful—that he'd put my college fund in my name. It was set aside for me. I'd offered it up, of course—said he could have it back. No one wanted to touch it. That was for me, for school.
Either way, it's not like he knows. He's in his own little world—putting out fires, and manning a battalion. And I think that's awesome.
Life sucks, retreat to a better time…
I'd visit, but he thinks I'm his son and not his grandson. My uncle—my mother's older brother, Anthony—died years back. His ladder was one of the first to arrive at the Trade Center. Anthony was missing for close to a month before they found his body. All of which destroyed my grandfather. Before that, he was going strong—old as fuck, but capable and didn't want to retire, had his head, and then one day he didn't.
So, was he brave? I just . . . I don't know.
My mother called me last night. My grandfather had a massive stroke in his sleep, and things aren't looking too good.
Doesn't matter—I can't think about that shit. I have to stay busy.
"Cullen!" I heard Jacob shout.
Turning and taking off my kevlar vest, I saw him run into the locker room. "What's up?"
He handed me a piece of paper. "I just saw this on the corkboard. It's still in Morningside—two bedrooms, second floor, hardwood floors—"
"Whoa . . . what?" I asked, trying to clear my head of the cobwebs as I undressed to redress in my civies—my street clothes.
Jacob adjusted his belt. "You and me—an apartment? I found one."
"Oh…" Truth be told, Emmett and Rosalie—just like I thought—told me I just had to be out of the apartment in time for them to get my room ready for the baby. I still had two months to play with.
"I could write a check—go there first thing tomorrow before it's snatched up, but it'll bounce unless I have your half," he explained. "It's $1,700 a month."
"$850 a month?" I asked, getting into my jeans. "That's less than I'm paying now."
"It's on 113th and Adam Clayton." He seemed nervous, fidgeting where he stood. "Also…"
"What?" I started buttoning my shirt, and then waved as Whitlock came in flanked by McCarty. "What's up, guys?"
Emmett grumbled, going toward his locker, and Whitlock started singing . . .
"What's up?" I asked; Jacob was still in my face.
He looked around us. "On—on my way in?" He came in after me, having spilled a Slushie in the RMP. I told that fucker not to get one. How tough does a cop look with a blue tongue? Greenish teeth? Blueberry, my ass. I rest my case. My partner may only be a year younger than me, but maturity-wise…? He's like seventeen. "Well, I saw Bella. She's outside the precinct . . ."
"Yeah, they're here," Jasper confirmed. "I'm taking Ali to my place, so . . ." He winked at me.
Smiling widely, I turned back to Black. "And...?" I asked.
Tonight is going to be our first actual date. With me working so much, on my last day off, I pretty much slept the day away. Then I went to Bella's for dinner, only to crash there. It was a good day.
But a date . . . it should be romantic, right? She shouldn't have to cook? It's late—midnight already—and I had no idea where we'd go. This is the city that never sleeps. I knew we'd find someplace to go.
I told her to choose—make up her mind, which is never difficult for Bella. That's one of the many fantastic things about her. She's not like most of the broads out there . . . indecisive and whatnot. Well, the women I know personally. Fuck. I can't seem to be able to make up my mind either, so . . . I'm just not great with choices. For example, I like only having two—yes or no, do or don't—shit like that.
I'm secretly hoping—with what Jasper just said about Alice going to his place—Bella wants to hang out at her place. We could have some privacy, maybe we'd finally have sex . . . I didn't know, nor did I care what we did really.
Going out, doing something . . . that's for her. I'm content to chill wherever, as long as we're together?
"I know you said—what you said—but you guys aren't dating . . ." Jacob gulped loudly. "I mean, she's interested... She gave me her phone number."
"What?" I raised a brow.
Maybe I wasn't 100% on this relationship stuff, but we were a thing, and I wasn't happy about her having given up the digits to this fuck. What was up with that? In fact, my chest felt tight, and I wanted to strangle him, or go out and confront Bella. Maybe she wasn't as decisive as I thought . . .
"She gave you her phone number?" It was a bit unbelievable, or I had a hard time processing that.
He nodded. "I mean—"
"Call her," I said. "Right now." My teeth were gnashed together, and I wished I wasn't pissed.
"Why?" Jacob took out his phone.
I leaned toward him. "Just fucking do it. Call her."
"Hey…" Jasper jumped between us, placing his hand on my chest. "What's going on?
"Call her." I pointed to Jacob.
After he says hello—she answers—I'll get on the phone to surprise her.
We've only been whatever-the-fuck we are for a week. We haven't even fucked yet. Truth be told, besides some crazy good kissing, things are the same—we're friends who make out, she feeds me and gives me blue balls, and we snuggle until we fall asleep. I didn't know if that made her my girlfriend or what, what the fuck we were, and so . . . Did I have the right to be angry with her?
Jacob backed away from me, bringing his phone to his ear. After another second, my fucking cell phone started to ring. It was a coincidence, and I stared at a number that was unknown to me.
"Hello?" I heard my voice mirrored back to me—coming from Jacob's receiver.
"Edward?" he asked the phone, staring right at me.
I smiled, feeling so much better, placing my cell back into my pocket.
"Why would she give me your number?" He scratched his head.
Since I was changed, had everything stuffed in my small duffle, I closed my locker.
"I thought—could she have been confused?" Jacob, the boy wonder, still didn't have a clue as to why Bella gave him my number instead of her own.
"'Cause we're a thing now—me and her. We're together, so you need to step off. Understand?" I asked. "You didn't respect my words before . . . you keep at it, we'll have a problem." I wasn't going to do this with him—like, if he wanted to keep pursuing her.
He put his hands up. "Jesus…that's all you had to say. I didn't mean to overstep." Jacob turned, going over to his locker.
I chuckled, tossing my duffle onto my shoulder.
"What was that about?" Whitlock asked.
I shrugged, not wanting to get into it. Jasper knows Bella and I are together now. He congratulated me and all, but I didn't want to get into Jacob or what just happened.
"Um…" Jacob showed me the ad for the apartment, and the thought of sharing a place with him . . . having Bella over.
"We do this…it doesn't make us friends." I felt like a dick. "We're partners—I don't wanna have to look at you outside this place, too. It'd be too much." I looked over to Emmett to see if he'd weigh in, explain how shit worked, but he was too busy scowling and aggressively changing—slamming shit around.
Jacob nodded. "I respect that. Look, if I could afford my own place—"
Unfortunately, I was in the same boat as he was. "It's cool. We'll take lost time tomorrow—go check this place out. Call the landlord."
"Awesome. I'll call first thing in the morning," he said.
"Do not tell them we're cops. They need proof of employment—whatever the fuck—that's a different story," I told him.
"Why?" Jacob looked confused. "They might be more compelled to rent—"
"People know you're a cop, they ask for favors, want you to look out," Jasper said. "You know you always change when you get here and shit. Most people are just satisfied knowing you got a good job with the city."
I pointed to Whitlock and nodded my head. Jasper's words were very true. No one knows McCarty and I are cops where we live. Our landlord knows, but we asked him to keep it on the hush, and he doesn't give a fuck anyway—lives out in Jersey and only comes by the building once a month.
We mail our rent checks anyway.
"Fuck!" Emmett shouted, kicking his locker.
"What's his problem?" I asked.
Jasper chuckled. "Hale just told him—Cap is sending this one to sensitivity training." He jerked his head.
"Why?" I looked to Emmett.
"Eh…" Jasper winced. "We had a little problem earlier."
"I didn't have a problem." Emmett placed his hand on his chest. "The can had the beef—"
"Can?" I shook my head.
Jasper hit my arm. "Listen to this fucker."
Emmett huffed a breath. "You know…Mexi-can, Domini-can, Ri-can—some ese had a problem with me."
I had no idea what to say, how to respond to that. There were a million things wrong with his sentence.
"Meanwhile, I was trying to help him!" Emmett shouted. "He was robbed—"
"It's true," Jazz said. "He just…I didn't hear what he said, but he called in a complaint—said McCarty insulted him."
"Everybody's too fucking sensitive—always gotta worry about their feelings. I'm out there to patrol the streets, not hold people's hands!" McCarty groaned.
"Well," Jasper rocked back on his heels, facing me, "this isn't the first time that dumb mick bastard had to go for counseling—"
"What'd you just say?" Emmett flew at him, and I stopped him. "Mick, what?" he hollered.
"He was making a point," I said.
Jasper laughed. "I was . . . How'd that feel?"
McCarty let out a growl and went back over to his locker.
I turned to Jasper. "I'll forgive you for that mick shit."
He shrugged. "I was making a point . . . he doesn't like it. Just like I don't like being called a mutt or white-trash, and those cans…" he said to Emmett, "don't like being called wet-backs, or anything else. A bean eater? Where do you come up with this shit anyway?"
"They're just words, expressions, to differentiate. And I didn't say that to the guy's face."
I rolled my eyes, sighing, knowing Bella was still waiting for me. "I'm out."
/=/=/=/=/
She was beautiful, waiting under the street lamp next to Alice.
Bella was bundled in her coat, her scarf wrapped around her neck, and I couldn't wait for warm weather again—when she might not be inclined to wear so much clothing. Her legs were bare tonight, but she wore boots. The coat she wore is long. I'm guessing she's wearing a skirt, and that made me even happier.
Although, she was dressed to go out somewhere.
"Hey," I said.
She smiled brightly.
"What's taking Jasper so long? I'm freezing." Alice shivered.
"Go inside—you can, go inside," I laughed, because I didn't know why they chose to wait out here.
"Thanks," Alice said, turning to Bella. "You have fun tonight." She kissed her cousin's cheek and then entered the precinct.
I grabbed Bella's sleeve, making her face me. "You look good."
"Thank you." She looked down.
Holding her chin, I ducked to place a soft kiss on her lips. Then I paused, an inch away, wanting to kiss her again—give her a smooch that'll blow my mind. "You gave Jacob my phone number?"
She giggled. "I felt bad . . . I don't know." Her eyes left me, but her smile hadn't. "I couldn't just say no. I don't know."
"You better get used to telling other fuckers no." I wrapped my arms around her, holding her close. "That cool?"
She nodded. "I know…he was just…he was persistent, and I'm not interested. I'm with you. I l-like you."
I nodded. "All right." Little did she know…Christ. It'd fucking kill me if she really did engage in other…prospects. I didn't even wanna think about it.
"Was he upset?"
I smiled even wider, roaming my hands down her back. "He was devastated…as gorgeous as you are? Are you kidding?"
She laughed. "Stop."
"I'm serious . . ." I bent low to capture those lips once more. She grasped my shoulders, keeping me there, and she didn't have to do that. "Can we go to your place?"
"Oh…" Her face fell a bit, and I hated that. "I thought you wanted to—"
"We can do anything you want," I promised. "Anything."
"Anything?" She mirrored.
I chuckled. "We should save bungee jumping and sailing for the weekend."
She agreed. "Definitely." Her wide eyes let me know she got my joke. "I . . . I want to hear music." She'd brought her voice down. "I've been avoiding it—all kinds of music." There were tears in her eyes now. "It was just so loud that day…If we could listen to music—if you were playing it. I mean—that's what I want to do, hear you play, because…you make me feel safe, and then we can go back to my place."
I nodded. "My keyboard is at my house—"
"That old bar—The Twilight Lounge?"
"What?" I was surprised she knew of its existence, and even more shocked she'd bring it up in conversation.
"The bar by my building?" she asked. "I gave the bartender twenty dollars…so we could use the piano they have."
My lips drew a tight line. Ironically, I knew that piano all too well, having been taught how to play on it. That upright used to belong to my father. When he took off, he didn't take it with him, but then Mom had it taken away—taken to Carlisle, who didn't have any place to put it. His best friend housed it at the Twilight Lounge. No one ever play it…tucked in the back, behind the pool table, collecting dust.
Carlisle might keep it in tune, but fuck if I knew.
"You don't want to do that," she spoke to herself. "We can—"
"Um…it's fine," I said, clearing my throat. "You paid him twenty bucks?" I asked. "And how did you know they had a piano? And what—"
"Hey…" She shook my arms. "It's not a big deal…"
"Do you hang out in there? Or…" It was just too close for comfort.
She shook her head. "When I first moved here—that bar is closer to the subway—I went in there to escape the rain. I had a soda, and I saw it in there."
"Oh…" That squashed the sickly feeling in my gut, but not really. "Are you sure? It's seedy—not very romantic."
"It will be, if you're there." She stood on her toes to nip my lips.
"Okay." I drew in a deep breath.
"How was work?" She linked her arm with mine, and we started to walk.
"Eh…the neighborhood was hopping today." I forced out a laugh, still a bit uneasy about where we were headed.
"I spoke to my dad." I felt her eyes on me. "I told him we were dating…"
"What'd he say?" I asked.
She pursed her lips as a small smile crept up. "He thought you were too old, and then when I told him you were twenty-three, he was surprised."
"Oh…" I furrowed my brow.
"He told me, um, to, to watch myself?" It sounded like a question. "Young police officers like to play the field…?"
I lifted her hand to kiss her palm. "Even single…before I met you, I didn't do that." I wasn't sure what I could say to make her trust me. Just like…she says she trusts me, but does she really?
"Doesn't matter. I trust you," she said, and that settled that. "The past three years, when spring semester ends, I go see him . . . for a couple of weeks. That's—that'll be the end of May, which isn't too far away."
"You're leaving?" I stopped us, staring at the frown that marred her face.
"Yeah, but—"
"It's cool." I wasn't sure what to say, or why she'd change her plans, or if she would just for me. "I hope you have fun and shit."
"I'd be back in a few weeks…"
I nodded as we started walking again. "Do whatever. I don't own you." I really wished there was a way I could, which was an odd thought to have.
"You could always . . . take some time off, come out for a week?"
My initial response was to laugh. "Me go out there?" I'd never even been on a plane before. I've never even left New York before. Well, besides going out to Jersey to visit extended family as a kid. "Where would I stay? With you and the Chief?"
"Why not?"
As we approached the bar, I didn't know why not. "Here we are." With my heart in my throat, I opened the door to the Twilight Lounge, hoping and praying my father wasn't here.
"Hey." She placed her hand on my chest, us standing in the doorway. "Don't be nervous. I'll love whatever you play." She's usually a lot more perceptive than this, although I've never said a word about my father before, nor has she asked. "And . . . owning me? I hope you stake your claim tonight. Alice is gone . . ." She trailed off, heading into the bar ahead of me.
But she basically just said we were having sex tonight, right?
Now, wearing a smile, I followed in after her. This dump was dark and dingy like always; Hank was behind the bar talking to the few who occupied it. My eyes darted around for Carlisle, and I didn't see him. Thank God.
"Edward!" Hank greeted, his eyes landing on Bella. "Oh…" He slowly nodded, understanding coloring his face. "Go on ahead—I'll bring you guys two Cokes?" He winked.
I gave him a head nod. "Sounds good." Apparently, twenty bucks covers piano use and two sodas.
He put his head down, grabbing glasses, and the famous question of "Is he here?" was on the tip of my tongue. But then Bella would ask me who Carlisle was.
"Ready?" I took Bella's hand.
"I thought you loved to play." She was confused. "Why are you upset? You don't have to be nervous. It's just me." Yeah, it was just her—Bella. Bella. Bella. She mattered, her opinion mattered, but I wasn't worried about missing a key, or a note. I didn't want to be put in a situation where she'd meet the man who got my mother pregnant. I didn't want her to think less of me. I didn't want to be embarrassed tonight. It was our first date, which was so important to me.
I didn't say anything—knowing exactly where the piano was and ushering her along.
Bella grabbed a chair, went to sit at a table, but I didn't let go of her hand. "You're coming with me." I pulled the bench out, gesturing for her to sit.
She grinned, sitting down and sighing.
Again, I followed her lead, noticing there wasn't a speck of dirt or dust on this old thing. I'd bet it was tuned as well. "Ready?" I placed my hands over the keys.
"What are you going to play?" She bit her lip, and now she looked anxious.
I pulled her lip out from between her teeth. "Nothing that'll upset you—nothing classical."
She toyed with her bracelet. "It's stupid, huh? Me being scared of music? It was just so loud . . . I can deal with the pop stuff Alice listens to, but . . . she keeps it low."
"Hey, nothing—and I mean nothing—is going to happen to you or hurt you. It's just you and me." I placed my lips to hers.
A throat clearing broke us both apart. It was Hank with the Cokes. "I'll just…" He placed them on the table nearest us and then turned back for the bar.
"Okay…" Bella leaned into my side.
Then I had to rack my brain, as I had no idea what to play for her. Her problem wasn't necessarily with classical, just with that song, and she's just been avoiding music in general, but it doesn't really bother her.
A tune came to mind—my fingers knowing the keys from memory. It was one of the first songs my father taught me, the first complex song.
"I know this song!" Bella sounded excited as I continued on. "Someone to watch . . . over me," she softly sang along, leaning her head on my bicep.
I turned stare at her—at that smile, that face, her hair smelling amazing, the scent in my nose.
"You can play without looking?" Her nose touched mine.
I grinned, leaning and placing my lips to hers. My position was awkward, Bella giggling into my mouth as I hit the keys.
"Can we go back to my place now?" she whispered, all breathy and with her eyes closed.
"Yeah." I rasped, my mouth dry. If I was nervous earlier, I was even more so now. I'd been waiting for her to give the okay, for her to want me in that way, for us to have the opportunity, and here it was. "You-you're done?" I hadn't stopped playing yet, continuing the song. "Um…wanna hear another one?"
"You playing…" She sucked in a shaky breath, and I stopped playing. "Being with you . . . it's like the world disappears."
I nodded, knowing exactly how she felt, nuzzling my nose to hers.
About to kiss her, a round of applause interrupted me. My stomach dropped when I heard a familiar hoot and holler. Carlisle had emerged from the back room that's usually off-limits. He'd left the door ajar, and I tried to look to no avail. As if he followed my line of sight, he closed the door, still smiling.
"That was excellent," he said.
I gave him a head nod, my leg bouncing.
"Can't believe you remember that." His gaze fell on Bella, his hands on his hips. "Who's this classy byrd?"
Bella giggled, looking between Carlisle and me.
"This is Bella . . ." I placed my hand on her back.
My father dipped his head to take her hand, kiss her knuckles, and that . . . yeah, it bothered me. "This is Carlisle." I tilted my head.
He stared at me, his face falling.
"We were just leaving." I stood from the bench.
Bella did the same, her movements slower. "How…do you know each other?" Her head whipped back and forth.
"He's . . ." I paused. "An old family friend."
Carlisle smiled. "We're old mates."
"Let's go." I placed my arm around Bella, hurrying us out.
"Wait a second." She tried to stop me. "What, um—"
Once outside with the door to the bar closed, I stopped to face her. "What's up?" My attempt at nonchalance was for shit, but I tried.
Bella shook her head, a crease developing between her brows. "Talk to me." She placed her hand on my cheek.
"All we do is talk…" I scoffed.
"No," she disagreed. "I talk…you, you don't say a word."
I massaged my forehead. "What do you want from me? I told you—I'm not good at this shit."
"Edward…" My father couldn't leave well enough alone, poking his head out.
Between a rock and a hard place—Bella and Carlisle—I didn't say a word.
"Here's my phone number—my address." He handed me a small piece of paper. "We should meet—catch up."
I swallowed, staring down at the Post-it.
"Have a good night," he told Bella with a wink and disappeared again.
"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I just—"
"Who is that?" She came over, reaching up to hold my cheeks. "You have the same eyes."
I shrugged, looking down the street.
"Come on." She took my hand. "Let's go."
Content with that, she led the way at first until I eventually calmed down. Instead of throwing Carlisle's address into the trash, I placed it in my pocket.
Thank you for reading.
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