Edward's POV:

Almost a month after Bella left for good, Charlie and I were talking in the station. I'd stopped by for some papers he wanted to give Carlisle, and as always the conversation had turned to Bella.

"She's changing her last name," he told me, rubbing the back of his neck absently. "Phil's adopting her. She's Isabella Dwyer now."

One more link irreparably broken. One more tie to Forks cut forever.

"She's still doing okay physically?"

"Yeah, apparently she's dating her therapist."

I didn't expect that to cut so deeply. I had known this would happen – it was what moving on meant. But Charlie's words caught me by surprise.

He must have noticed the change in my expression, because he looked disgusted with himself. "Aw, Edward, you know I didn't mean to let it out like that."

"S'okay Charlie," I assured him, "I understand. I knew it would happen eventually."

Slowly I made my way back out into the cloudy, misty, miserable day.

Wishing for the sun…my sunlight, my warm, happy Bella. God, I missed her. I missed the delicate blush pooling in her cheeks. I missed her warmth against my cold skin. I missed lying side by side in our meadow, talking about anything and everything. I missed her luscious scent, the smell that was uniquely Bella.

I even missed her clumsiness.

Pulling out of the station, I resisted the urge to laugh at the irony. Bella would've been so happy to see me and Charlie buddying up. I would call us friends, exactly, but at least he didn't finger his gun every time I showed up.

I was beginning to rethink my words to my family – all of a sudden I just wanted to leave this town. Leave all the reminders behind. But I wouldn't because this was the first real home we'd had.

One of the things I missed most about my human life was the ability to get drunk.

Isabella's POV:

"Midnight, good night singing along/baby why you leaving so early? Time to get home, home, oh, home."

My hair whipped wildly in the wind as I sang along with Anthony and the other two in the convertible. After the first time it grew increasingly easy to set aside my reservations and sneak out to join him. Soon he'd introduced me to his other friends, a couple named Patty Rose Cyrus and Reece Donovan.

We were all slightly buzzed, hence the loud, off-key singing. I wasn't worried though – Anthony was a safe driver even after a few drinks.

"Hey, Anthony," I said, sitting back down. "I really do gotta get home. Renee and Phil won't be asleep forever, you know."

He laughed as if that was the funniest thing he'd ever heard, and I started wondering just how many he'd really had.

"Kay, Issy," he said, "One more round and we'll go."

Issy?

"Look, Anthony, I'm not sure –"

But my protest was cut off by headlights coming directly at us…and I realized we were in the wrong lane just as we collided.

"Isabella Marie Swan Dwyer!"
Mom's frightened voice was the first thing I heard. God, I had one heck of a hangover.

I was sitting on an exam table, knees drawn up to my chest and head cradled lovingly in my hands. I waved one hand in the general direction of her voice, trying to get her to tone it down a little.

"Are you all right?" she asked, apparently not getting the hint. Fingers wedged under my jaw, forcing me to look up at her. I squinted at the light. "Mom," I complained.

The arrival of the doctor thankfully drew her attention off of me. "Mrs. Dwyer," he greeted her, his voice dripping with disapproval.

"Is she okay?" Mom demanded.

"Yes," the doctor said, "she's a very lucky young lady."

He scribbled something on his chart. "A little banged up, and a severe hangover seem to be the extent of her injuries. I noticed the scar on her forehead, how did that happen?"

Mom looked at me angrily before dragging the doctor out into the hall, where they held an intense whispered discussion. I dropped my head back down and tried to tune everything out.

"Excuse me, Miss Dwyer?"

The voice was cool and flat, and I lifted my gaze to meet the eyes of a young, dark-haired officer. "What?"

"Were you aware that the driver of the car was drinking?"

"He hadn't had many," I defended him automatically, even though mentally I was still cussing him out.

"Anthony Martin confessed to drinking eight beers prior to getting behind the wheel."

"Oops," I shrugged sarcastically.

Anger flashed in his cool green eyes. "Oops, Miss Dwyer? Oops?"

He took a breath, visibly trying to calm himself down. "There was a young mom and two kids in that minivan you hit. The mom was lucky – the airbag protected her. The two-year-old escaped with minor bruises, but he's shaken up pretty good. The twelve-year-old is currently paralyzed from the waist down and the doctors don't know if she'll ever walk again. Her name is Lindsey Johansen, and she was looking forward to playing soccer professionally. She's a very beautiful, talented little girl, and you just helped pull the plug on every dream she ever had."

Stunned, I looked into his disappointed, disapproving green eyes, and suddenly it wasn't him standing there.

Dr. Cullen from Forks was, holding a clipboard, looking at me with that same disapproval. "Bella, you know you should've been more careful. I could have lost you!" His golden ocher eyes held disappointment, but there was more…they held fatherly love…

I gasped in a breath, head starting to ache painfully – but it was a different ache. This one was deep-rooted, tearing me apart. I clutched my head, shaking away the image of Dr. Cullen.

"Miss Dwyer!"

The officer caught me as I rolled off the table, trying to get away from whatever it was I'd seen. Was I going crazy?

"Isabella," Mom was kneeling front of me, "what is it?"

"I must've hit my head," I muttered. "Dr. Cullen…"

"Did you remember something?" Her eyes were watchful, alert, while the officer was no doubt wondering if we were both insane.

"No, couldn't have. I just thought…"

I stood, shaking my head, but the pain was gone except for the residual hangover ache. "It's nothing."

The officer let me go and backed away. I turned to him. "I'm truly sorry," I said, suddenly wondering what the crap I was doing with guys like Anthony Martin in the first place. "I've never been drunk before. I've never ridden with anyone like that."

"Tell that to Lindsay," he said, but he didn't seem as angry as before. "We're pressing charges against Mr. Martin. However, I will give you over into your mother's custody. She has promised there will be consequences."

I swallowed and looked over at my mother. Now that her worry had dissipated, there was pure fury in her face.

"Oh yes," she hissed the words like a promise, "there will definitely be consequences."

Jail didn't look so bad right then.