A/N: Thank you for all of the sweet reviews and the love you have for my Edward. I hate to tell you, ladies, but I fell in love with him first. ;)

And thank you to Fran and SunflowerFran for all of their wonderful input.

TO THE LIGHT

CHAPTER 29

A customer approaches. Gaunt-looking, eyes sunken and shifty, sores on his face like cigarette burns. His eyes swivel from left to right before he suddenly lurches across the counter, causing me to stumble back. "I want my money," he hisses through blackened, chipped teeth.

Beads of raised flesh dot my arms as my eyes flash to Angela. "Twenty, forty, sixty, eighty," I hear her chant. With one blink, I locate Marcus standing by the door, his hand resting casually on his gun. His badge flashes when he laughs at the guy standing with him.

"Cash this," the man demands, slapping his hand on the counter. I jump, his slap jump-starting me into action. I reach for his check and pull it from his long, dirty fingernails as I discreetly slip my left hand underneath my station. My jittery fingers stay poised on the silent alarm.

I draw in a shaky breath before releasing it. "Do you have an account?"

"No."

"Do you have ID?"

"It got stolen."

I swallow. "Okay. Let me see if we can get this taken care of for you."

With a counterfeit smile and my eyes fixed on him, I take carefully-placed steps backward until I feel safe and quickly race away to my manager's office. She immediately signals Marcus, and he stands a couple of feet away from the man while she explains why we cannot cash his check. He loses it, and a crowd gathers around as Marcus escorts him from the building.

And for just the briefest second, I think I see Edward's coat.

It all becomes too much, so I ask for an extended break, which my manager grants. I sit in the coffee shop in my building, taking small sips of the dark liquid. I bend the plastic edge of the lid up and down as I stare at people going by.

Bundled up, I step outside and walk in the opposite direction of Edward's store. Pulling my scarf up over my mouth, a man with a tattoo of a tarantula on his face approaches. Recoiling, I turn and watch him go past just as a hurricane of wind blasts my hair into my face, and strands get stuck in my eyelashes. I narrowly avoid a slushy puddle, and my stomach rumbles at the smell of cheese and pepperoni. Gathering my long hair in one hand, I lean against the glass of a high-end jewelry store. Flashes of dazzling, brilliant white diamonds the size of gumdrops tantalize my eyes. I wonder what type of women would wear these exquisite pieces. Would the man give the gift out of love, or amends?

Each step, each sensory experience peels more and more stressful layers from my skin, and I walk until my nose reddens, and my fingers and toes start to burn and tingle.

Once back inside the bank building, I make my way to the restroom. After powdering my black eye and cheek, I rearrange my bangs and try to finger comb the knots from my hair before finally going back to work.

Five o'clock rolls around and ripples of guilt waterfall over me. I ended my lunch with Edward terribly. I rushed out of the bookstore with him keeping pace and mumbled a quick goodbye when we got to my building. I need to talk to him. I know he won't be riding the bus anymore, but I have a feeling he'll show up to say goodbye.

I'm right. Just as I step outside, I spy him huddled close to the building.

"Hey," he says upbeat, but he looks exhausted and sleep-deprived. I hate that I'm the one to blame. I return the greeting, and we walk silently toward the bus stop. When we arrive, I turn towards him.

"I want to thank you for lunch and apologize for leaving like I did. What I shared with you was something really difficult for me to talk about and I—"

"I didn't mean to pry."

"You weren't prying. You were just being kind, and I didn't even thank you for staying with me last night. I owe you so much. Thank you, Edward. Truly. For everything."

His tired eyes light up and warm me despite the cold. "You're welcome."

The bus rambles toward us. I awkwardly mess with my bag, unsure of what to say next. "Well ... I'll see you, uh, later, I guess," I kind of stutter.

"Nope. You're going to see me right now."

My face twists in confusion. "What do you mean?"

He cocks a brow. "The bus? I'm normally on it, remember?"

"But ... I know everything now, and you don't even live near me."

"You're right. How about instead of the bus picking and dropping you off, you let the Jeep do it."

"But, that's way out of your way. I could never do that."

"Then I guess I'll be riding the bus again."

"But..."

He just stands there, all proud of himself with a big "I gotcha" grin.

Puffing a breath, I clomp up the stairs and shove my bus pass in the machine with a little more force than I should.

Packed with shoulders-touching-shoulders, I have a hard time finding a place to stand. I find a spot and grab onto the pole, and breathe in a quick, startled breath when Edward steps into my space and grabs the pole right above my head, facing me.

Stiffening, my head swims as I try to regulate my breathing. Quick, small pants leave my open mouth as my eyes stay fixed on the gray and white tweed fibers in his coat. The middle button—the size of a half-dollar and at my eye level—dangles precariously by just a few threads.

My knees weaken, and my eyes slide shut because have we ever been this close before?

"I'm not happy about this," I whisper to his chest as we bump gently into each other. The top of my head fits under his chin, and his scent wafts over me: rich, manly, intoxicating.

I'm concerned I might keel over.

"I know you're not," he says from above me, with a hint of humor in his voice. We get jostled, and I think his nose lands in my hair.

No, it does land in my hair. And I hear a throaty groan.

And I keep my eyes buried in the thread patterns of his coat.

"I don't want you to go to the trouble."

"I want to be here. It's that simple."

I shut up but silently fume. I know he's worked-up over the situation with my mother, but I don't understand why he would inconvenience himself like this.

A few people get off, and Edward finally moves out of my space. My appendages feel like Bungy cords, so as soon as a seat becomes available, I snag it.

He stands across the aisle from me, and I can feel his eyes. I glance up, and his mouth softly curls and his eyes are gentle, and that mouth looks kissable, and I don't think I've thought of his mouth like that before, and a hot flash rips through me, and I immediately strip off my hat, gloves, and scarf, and wish the bus had a fan.

As his stop comes closer, I play with my bangs, and my stomach does some acrobats.

"Oh. I forgot to tell you that I have a new stop today," he says.

My mouth falls open, and he laughs.

"But … you said the parking ... you couldn't park anywhere..."

"A spot came open."

My brows crowd together.

He chuckles again. "Bella, this isn't all about you. I actually have some selfish intentions here. Do you mind if I sit down?"

After a quick muffled grunt, I reluctantly gather my things and move over to the window seat.

He settles in, setting his backpack on the floor between his legs. "I need some help," he says as he leans towards me.

"With what?"

"I actually have a paper I need to write, and I'm at a loss, and since you have a degree and all," he says with a wry grin, "I thought I could consult you. That you could share some of your wisdom with me."

Mischief plays in his eyes. "You won't look at me differently now that you know I'm a man of lesser intelligence, will you?"

I do not want to smile. I don't. I want to stay annoyed, but my lips desire to curve, and we battle it out, but they eventually win. But only a little bit.

Beaming, he reaches down into his backpack and pulls out a raggedy, blue, spiral-bound notebook.

"My topic is 'Police Brutality vs. Dangers that Police Face' and since your father was a cop, I thought you might have some good insight."

My eyes narrow as I wonder if he just made up that topic, but as I stare at his weary, yet eager face, I decide it doesn't matter.

Dad loved his job more than anything, but the stress and the long hours did take a toll on him. He never talked about the dangers he faced, but I saw them first-hand. I share with Edward an incident when Dad was off-duty, and I was in the car, and he had to make an arrest. I manage to get the story in right before the bus ends its travels.

As we approach my apartment, his eyes constantly move, scouring the area, and I have to admit that where his eyes don't go, mine do. I lose track of how many times I look over my shoulder.

And my phone has still remained quiet.

An underlying fear lays silent between us. We don't voice it, but we both know it's there.

"Are you going to be home tonight?" he asks as he rubs his gloved hands together for warmth.

"Yes."

"So, you're not going anywhere?"

"No."

"Okay. Good. That's good," he says, a smile brewing on his lips. "Someone is going to knock on your door at precisely seven o'clock, and I don't want you to be frightened. It's going to be a guy named Ben. He's a great guy. And before you open the door, he's going to announce that he's Ben and that Edward sent him. So make sure to answer the door."

"Why?"

"You'll see," he says, his eyes crinkly.

Trying to figure out what he's up to, I shiver as I purse my lips.

He chuckles. "Well, you better get inside," he says. "I don't want you to have to thaw yourself later."

"I would ask you in, but ... I'm really tired. After everything..."

"Of course." He steps closer. "Bella, I..."

"Yes?"

"Bella, I..." he repeats, and I can see him struggling. "Just ... please check your locks twice and keep my number close. I want you to be safe. I need you to be safe. My anxiety..." he murmurs, blowing out a white puff of air. "I swear I think I might be developing an ulcer."

"I'll be safe. I promise."

I duck my head and move up the steps to my door. Once I get it unlocked, I turn. The street light casts shadows around his tall silhouette, and he looks like a scene from a movie. "Goodnight," I say softly.

"Goodnight, Bella."

I lock the door and peep out but try to be inconspicuous. He stands there, moving a bit, trying to stay warm as he glances up and down the deserted sidewalk. An old truck backfires, and a heated exchange between two angry horns erupts in the distance. He tucks his gloved hands in his pockets and glances up at my apartment before looking back down the street again. He stands there for another minute or so before giving my apartment one last look and slowly walking away.