27

The Boy with the Thorn in His Side

The iced Americano in front of him did little to calm his shaking fingers. He exhaled and leaned forward, pouring over the table as he drummed his fingers against the hardwood—he tried to expel his agitation. Of course, it continued to bubble up inside his chest as he wished the espresso drink were filled with liquor. In the months I had known him, I had memorized his expressions. This was a look of longing. Not longing for me but longing for the habit he had kicked before Charlie came into the picture.

"I never meshed well with their type," Edward said before he grabbed his Americano and took a long chug. He wiped his lips with the back of his hand, which were dry from how much he had been gnawing on them will driving. It was a nervous habit; one of many nervous habits.

"Their type?"

"You know what I mean." His fingers began to drum against the table again. Charlie, who was sitting on Edward's lap, looked up at him curiously. It was apparent he could feel his agitation, too. "Straight-laced, easily offended, fearing everything … Kate's mom used to look at me like I was some sort of antichrist. She met me once, saw my ink, and thought I was a fucking criminal. And that was before I was inked up like this. Now, she's probably going to have a heart attack."

"When was the last time you saw them?"

"At my brother's wedding. I wasn't too close to anyone, so I was never really around."

"You didn't give them any reason not to like you?" I teased before taking a sip of my own drink.

We had pulled over for the third time today. We would be arriving in Emery County today, and because of this, Edward was taking as long as humanly possible to get there. We were moving at a glacial pace, and it was certain to be nightfall when we finally made it into town. I had never seen him so agitated. Does he think they'll take Charlie away?

Edward relaxed at my words, slouching back in his seat as he smirked. "No more reason than usual."

"You're too hard on yourself. You're taking care of their grandson. They've got to love you for that."

Charlie prattled out a response, too, as if he agreed. When Edward noticed this, he grinned, causing the small lines caused by hours spent working under the sun to crinkle.

"If you say so."

He finished his drink as his eyes wandered around the nearly empty coffee shop. Acoustic covers filled the space, and it all felt like something out of a movie. Truly, these past few months have felt like some low-budget, coming-of-age indie film. Every second felt like I was watching it rather than experiencing it. Am I too afraid of happiness? Is experiencing joy so frightening?

"We should get back on the road soon," I commented as I avoided answering my mind's questions. They were too much for today.

"I'll change him real fast," he responded as he stood up and carried Charlie to the bathroom with his diaper bag in hand.

I must be afraid. Afraid of experiencing joy again. Afraid of how quickly time passes. Time was as fickle as the people I used to surround myself with. Everything could come crashing down so quickly. I didn't know if I didn't trust time or if I just didn't trust myself. As much as I wanted to let go, I was still holding on with a grip so harsh it could tear every tendon.

Dusk had settled by the time we reached Carson City. Edward poured over the steering wheel with tense muscles and a perturbed expression. His stiff body screamed for something—a cigarette, a drink, a quick lay, any way to self-medicate. I ran my fingertips along his forearm and felt a tendon twitch before his body settled. My gaze moved upward, following the flow of tension in his body that led to his neck. Veins there were constricted and prominent—moving against the skin as he rocked in his seat.

I dropped my hand from his arm and slunk against my seat, rolling down the passenger window and tasting the cool air. The wind felt good against my flushed skin, which had become red and irritated after hours in a cramped car dealing with claustrophobia and nervous energy. With my head tilted toward the sky, enjoying the beginnings of twilight, I breathed in and assured myself that this trip would go as well as I wanted it to.

"Want to stop at the hotel first?" I asked as I looked at the passing cars. "I wanted to freshen up a bit before we met them. Plus, I'm pretty sure Charlie could use a few minutes to relax and stretch his legs."

He nodded and redirected the GPS as soon as we reached another stop light. Both of my men managed to make it to the hotel without any outbursts. The clouds looked as if they had been painted as we finally exited the cramped car. Charlie was happy as soon as he was in his daddy's arms, and I was so ecstatic that we had arrived safely that I nearly kissed the pavement.

"I just want to pass out," Edward commented as we gathered our bags. "All that driving made me want to vomit. I get so anxious with Charlie in the backseat."

"We made it. That's all that matters." Raising to my tiptoes, I pecked his cheek. "Let's just get ready for tonight."

"All I want to do is sleep," he whined as he playfully bumped into me. I giggled at his pout—he was so cute when he was fussy.

"We'll get plenty of sleep after dinner. I think tonight will run smoothly … don't you?"

The hesitancy in my voice didn't help anything.

"It'll go how it goes, I guess. We drove all the way over here. They can at least appreciate that much."

"They will. They're good people, right?"

He shrugged, causing one of our bags to slip from his shoulder. "Kate was a good person. She always felt like my annoying older sibling. I used to hang around her and my brother … but that was a long time ago. Everything has changed since then."

He shook his head as if he were dispelling all the thoughts that were festering. Memories were flooding him more frequently now, threatening to drown him at any moment.

"She's feeling sick again," Edward explained as he drove. He looked ahead as he spoke, taking in the long road lined with trees and a vermilion landscape. "Her health has been declining for a while. I'm sure all the stress hasn't fucking helped."

"If she weren't sick, do you think—" I stopped myself, knowing this conversation could quickly go south. However, I couldn't help but wonder if she were well, would she be the one caring for Charlie.

"Do I think they would have been the ones to take care of him?" His hands tensed around the wheel as he almost missed the turn the GPS spouted out. A bitter laugh passed through his lips as he shook his head and stared at the road ahead. "I think about that all the time. I think they think about the same shit, too." He was quiet for a moment as he followed the next few directions with a careful precision. "Maybe they would have been better for him."

"Don't say that." I brought my legs up, bending them to rest my head on my knees. Why did I even bring this shit up? Right before we meet them and I have to do this. "How is that helpful? You're taking care of him. The what-ifs don't really matter. Don't let it get to you. Sorry for bringing it up."

"I was thinking it anyway. It didn't matter that you brought it up. I'm always thinking about shit like this. I'm broke with a drinking problem and no experience, so I—"

"You don't have a drinking problem—not anymore."

"Had a drinking problem. Still, I have so much fucking baggage. He deserves someone who's perfect."

"No one's perfect, Edward. Not them. Not anyone."

"I just want the best for him."

Illuminated by streetlights, his face dropped, exhibiting all the self-doubt I knew he harbored inside of himself. His brows creased before he shut down. The light in front of us turned green, and slumped forward, he continued to drive.

"I'm sorry to hear that she's sick." I changed the subject again, wanting to ease the tension building between us. "Hopefully, they'll be well enough to have a nice visit with Charlie."

"I'm sure they are. They've been so excited for this."

I reached across the center console and placed my hand on top of his. After a moment, his grip loosened.

"Don't worry about this, Edward. No one's going to make you feel bad. Not when I'm around."

His expression puckered, and while satisfied, he also seemed slightly embarrassed by my words. Feeling weak was abhorrent to him, like one slip would fracture my opinion of his strength. One wrong move and it felt like his dismal confidence would slip away. Edward turned the radio dial and moved to a channel that played folk—he adjusted the volume and drowned everything else out. My head gently moved to the beat—slow and mellow—and my fingers tapped against his thigh. Despite invading his space, I tried not to look at him, giving him privacy to build himself back up.

An older, brick home came into view as the GPS indicated we had reached our final turn. Edward became a ball of tension as he pulled onto the gravel road leading to the vintage home. It almost looked like it belonged somewhere else—it more closely resembled something out of a novel than it did anything else around Carson City. It had a tall chimney, green shutters, and a mahogany door. Edward was too wrapped up in his own mind to appreciate it, but I quickly realized this was something out of a fantasy to me. I loved things that were old and rustic like this. Maybe one day, we'll have a home this cozy.

Charlie babbled in the backseat, desperate for attention as his father came to park outside the home. Sluggishly, Edward turned the car off and slipped out of his seat to retrieve Charlie. I followed in suit and noticed an older couple hovering in the home's large picture window as I kicked my passenger door shut. The woman was thin and slightly taller than the pudgy man beside her. With wide, curious eyes, they looked out at us.

"Edward—"

"Ga, ba, da da!" Charlie exclaimed, cutting me off as he peered up at me. As I walked toward him and his daddy, he began to wave. Flush-faced and jittery, he reached toward me. "Ma, ma, ma, Mama!" he screamed with an excited giggle.

Frozen, I gazed at him—mouth agape and eyes bulging. Every bit of blood drained from my face, leaving me white as a ghost as Edward reached out to me. His hand was almost apologetic as it soothed me. My mind became a jumbled mess as I tried to pinpoint my feelings. It was no use. I was all over the place. Is it all right to be happy? Does my happiness diminish something? Does it fuck something up? Should I feel sick with myself? Would his mother want this? Would she want me?

"Bella?" When I didn't respond, unable to pause the thoughts running wildly, he tried again. "Isabella?"

Did he mean to say that? Of course not. He doesn't even know what that word means … does he? He doesn't know. He can't know. There's so much significance—so much beauty in a single word. Maybe it was just a simple, innocent mistake. I shouldn't be this happy. I shouldn't like this this much.

"Isabella? Bella?"

His voice sounded as if it were bouncing off the walls of a tunnel. It sounded so distant from me even though he was within reach. I couldn't mute the flood of thoughts, but despite this, I regained my wits as I stood there stupidly and stared past the pair in front of me.

"Mama!" Charlie exclaimed again as he continued to reach for me.

This time, the word sounded intentional. He means it. Somehow, he means it. He wants me to know how much he cares. Wants me to know that I matter to him.

The backs of my eyeballs stung as I looked at him. The word sounded so melodic as it passed from his lips. Something about the sweet sound made me feel weightless—like we were walking on clouds. Despite wanting children, I never believed there would come a day when I was being called mom. After everything that had happened—how I came to fear sex—I had stopped considering it as a possibility. A few events caused my entire life to halt and all of my plans to derail. When Liam had raped me, he had fucked more than my body—he had fucked my mind in a way that was irreversible.

Parts of me were marred beyond recognition, and still, I was loved. People who had no reason to, found a way to love me. Edward loved me without restriction even if he couldn't vocalize it. Charlie loved me even though I felt I could never fill his mother's shoes. I wasn't his blood, but still, I was his everything. Love consumed my life and found a way to exist alongside the ugly bits. It thrived as it mixed with the dark parts.

"Bella." Edward finally nudged me, growing worried as I stayed silent. "Talk to me, baby."

My lips quirked, and I smiled despite the tears in my eyes. "I can't believe it. I j—just can't believe he said that. He can't mean it … but … it's so crazy to hear. I never imagined …"

"I understand. I had the same reaction when he called me 'dada' for the very first time. For weeks, I couldn't believe it and wondered if I was hearing him right."

"Do you think he …" I trailed off, shaking my head as my cheeks flushed.

"Knows what he's saying? Of course, I do. Somehow, he definitely knows."

"Where do you think he picked that up?"

"I don't know … Cyndy maybe?" He adverted his gaze, peering down at the gravel driveway as he asked his next question. "Are you cool with him calling you that? I know it's a lot and sort of out of the blue or whatever."

The hesitation in his tone calmed me down as my body warmed up to him. The word may have been jarring, but it was not unwelcomed. I was lucky to hear it. Lucky to share so much love with him. I believed this was his own way of asking me to care for him. I really belong here. There's nowhere I need to be but, in this moment, experiencing everything with an open heart.

"It's fine. More than fine. Edward"—his gaze rose at the sound of his name—"I love him so much."

Simple, yet so impactful. Understated, yet so beautiful. Moments like these became part of me. These little fleeting seconds packed full of emotions that would flutter around my memories for a long time to come—I grasped onto every one of them, knowing I would never want to let go. This was a moment that would be engrained in me, and my mind made room, shoving more unpleasant memories to a place deep in my subconscious.