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Chapter Thirty-Two

My heart and time and everything stops.

Edward.

We just stare at one another. Part of me still doesn't even believe he's really here. It's been months. Four and a half months of us being apart. The urge to touch him is strong, but I don't. I can't really move or think clearly or breathe.

So, I stare.

He's soaked to the bone, droplets of rain falling from his hair and his bearded face. His gaze is intense. He's trembling. And he's fucking beautiful.

"Bella." His voice cracks around my name, and my heart breaks from the sound. He looks exactly like I feel: a bit broken and a bit unsure. "I'm… fuck. Fuck, it's so good to see you."

"It's really you," I whisper, because I still can't believe it.

He opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out.

And then: "I'm so fucking sorry, Bell."

Any hesitation I felt moments ago dissolves instantly when I hear him say my name again. Without a second thought, I jump forward and throw my arms around his neck. I hug him so tight, clutching at him. I'm worried if I don't, he'll disappear. If that happens again, I don't think I'd survive it.

Rain falls around us, drenching us both now. I don't even care that I'm wet, too. He's trembling like he's cold or scared, so I just hold him tighter, my own body shaking as relief sinks in.

"Don't cry," he quietly begs, one hand around my waist, the other caressing the back of my head.

"You're here," I say, voice muffled against his neck, my tears mixing with the rain on his skin. With his chin over my shoulder, his body arcs over me, keeping us in this embrace.

"I'm here," he whispers. "I'm not going anywhere."

His grip around my waist tightens, and he lifts me a little to walk us inside. He must kick the door shut with his shoe because he never lets go of me.

With my feet on the floor again, I clench my eyes closed, inhaling him. He smells different than I remember. He feels a little different, too. Thinner, maybe. Regardless, it's still him, and I'm beside myself with relief and comfort. He's here now, and all I can do is hold him. All I can do is memorize his smell and his touch and the feeling of his heart thumping beneath his shirt.

"Why—" I sniffle, pulling back to really capture his face. That's a bit different, too. He has a beard now. He looks tired, and the sparkle is gone from his eyes. His skin is etched with worry and pain. My fingers skim over the facial hair hiding his sharp jaw. "I've been so worried. I've been so—" My voice catches, and I have to remind myself to breathe and stop crying before I speak again. "Are you okay? Where were you?"

"It's a very, very long story," he murmurs, brushing some wet hair away from my face. "But I'll tell you if you're willing to listen."

"Of course. I wanna know everything," I say honestly. He breathes out the smallest of laughs like he's relieved. "What?"

"Nothing, I just… I wasn't sure how this would go," he mumbles. "I've been stressing that you moved on or… fuck. I dunno. It feels really fucking good to see you and hold you."

Nerves flutter in my stomach. "I do have a few things of my own to tell you, too…" I prompt, unsure how to start the whole James conversation.

His expression is grim, so he must know. "You've been placed with someone, haven't you?" Tears fill my eyes again, and I nod my silent confirmation. His eyes dart past me, like he's expecting someone to walk in any moment and catch us. "Should I go?" he asks in a low voice.

"No," I blurt, frantically shaking my head. "Please don't go. James and I don't live together yet."

"James?"

"He's just… a family friend," I explain, as if that makes it any better that I'm now placed with him.

"The guy from your brother's party," Edward remembers, and his jaw tenses.

"Yeah."

"That fuckin'..." He doesn't finish this thought, his expression hardening. "I thought this might happen. Fuck," he breathes.

"I know. But it's not…" I trail off. "I don't want to be with him. I missed you," I say through my tears. "Every day."

He cups my face, his hardened gaze turning so fucking tender when he looks at me. "I thought about you every day, too. Please believe that. I got here as soon as I could."

My heart pounds, and suddenly I realize just how alone we really are. No Esme. No Lauren or Jasper who can just walk in at any moment. It's just us. My nerves are suddenly out of control, and I realize I'm shaking. Not enough for him to notice, but enough for my bones to feel like they're vibrating.

I move to step back a little, but his hands don't let me go far. His desperation to stay close makes my stomach flutter.

"You're soaked," I say quietly. "You must be freezing." He just shakes his head a little, his eyes never leaving my face. "You should shower. I can wash your clothes."

"It's okay."

"Really. I don't mind."

"We should talk, though."

I swallow, but I don't even know why I'm anxious. I know we need to talk. I want to know where he's been, and how he made it back to me when all I've been told this entire time is that I'd likely never see him again. And then there's the entire part about us having been engaged before that I need to confess. But I don't know. All of this is difficult to wrap my head around. Hours ago I went to bed convinced that I needed to let him go, and here he is. I just think I need a minute to calm my heart and get my head straight.

"We'll talk. But you're wet and—" I start to move away from him again, and he grabs my waist tighter, his fingers warm through the thin cotton of my shirt.

"Bell?"

I take a deep breath and look at him. "Yeah?"

"Don't be scared. It's just me," he whispers. "It's okay."

He pulls me closer, so I'm flush with him again. I run my hands over his arms and chest, and I just stare at him. My fingers graze his beard, and he exhales shakily.

"This is just… I've thought about you coming back so many times," I mumble. "I think I'm just nervous."

He places a palm over my heart. It's meant to be soothing, but his touch only makes my pulse quicken. His hand stays there for a few seconds before moving up my throat. I swallow under his touch. His hand cups the side of my neck, thumb grazing over my chin. Maybe he thinks he's calming me, but he's only making things worse. His touch might unravel my tension, but it creates another nervousness—I want him. Desperately. And if he picked me up right now and took me to my room, I wouldn't be able to deny him.

"What are you thinking?" he asks, the worst timing ever. I just shake my head, unwilling to share. "It's okay," he whispers, voice heavy. "Don't be nervous."

I stare at his chest and nod. "Let me take care of you," I plead. "Okay? I wanna take care of you."

His eyes soften, and he scrubs a hand through his wet hair. "Okay."

With his hand in mine, I guide him through the house and down the hallway to the bathroom. He stands idly while I turn on the shower, making sure it's just right. Steam fills the bathroom, but he doesn't move. He just stands there watching me. Maybe it should be weird, having him here in my space, and having him here at all. But it's not. It feels so right that I nearly feel like crying again.

"There's soap in there. And if the water starts to run cool, you have to turn the knob toward the cold side. It'll get hotter, I promise, but—" There's a small smile on his lips. "What?"

"Nothing. Just missed you. Missed looking at you… I missed everything."

I swallow thickly, my heart still thundering. "I've missed you, too." I step past him, pointing toward the towel on the rack. "You can use that to dry off. And… I'll come back in after you're in the shower to grab your clothes."

"Thank you," he murmurs.

I nod and quietly shut the door behind me, standing with my back against it, taking a much needed breath. Edward is here. In my house. In my bathroom. He's here, he's alive, and he's safe. This is what I wanted for so fucking long. I repeat all of that, and the realization makes my heart settle a little. There are so many things to be anxious about, but him being here is not one of them.

After a minute or two I go back into the bathroom to pick up his discarded clothes from the floor. But when I open the door, I find him still clothed and sitting on the edge of the tub, his head dropped in his hands.

"Edward?" He doesn't lift his head, so I move closer to stand between his legs, running my fingers through his hair. He tilts his head back to look up at me, his gaze vulnerable, his throat bobbing as he swallows. "Hey," I say gently, and his fingers brush the backs of my thighs, making my stomach simmer. "Do you need anything else?"

"Just you," he whispers, and the soft timbre of his voice makes me ache all over. "Don't go again. Please?" He presses his face against my stomach, breathing in steadily. "Don't go."

"Okay," I murmur, throat dry.

I peel the wet jacket off his body and toss it on the floor. My fingers reach for the hem of his T-shirt, and I get it about halfway up his shoulders before I need him to take it off himself. When he does, I nearly gasp. Angry red wounds mark his body. Near his shoulder, above his hip bone.

He doesn't say anything about it, and I don't ask. I'm too scared to. When he stands and unbuttons his jeans, I notice the worst wound on his thigh, just below his boxers. It's like he was ripped apart and stitched back together badly. I try not to react too much though because the way he avoids my eyes makes me assume it's a sensitive topic. I want to hold him, though. I want to make it all better. I want to kiss his skin and take away whatever pain he was in.

"Stay with me?" he pleads, running a nervous hand over his beard.

I nod shakily, my eyes still locked with his, and I pull my shirt over my head. He doesn't look away, even as I slide the thin cotton shorts I'm wearing down my legs. We're both in just our underwear, and I'm wondering if this is okay… then decide I don't fucking care. I don't. Fuck James. Fuck my placement. I want to be close to Edward. I need to. So, I take off my underwear and step into the shower. After a moment of hesitation he removes his boxers and joins me.

His gaze is intense, mouth parted a bit as his eyes roam over me. The stream of water pounds against his back, and we just… stare. I'm nervous to look away from his eyes because I know if I do, I'll stare at his wounds, and I don't know if he wants to tell me about them or not.

He tilts his head back, so his head is under the spray, a small appreciative moan falling from his lips. I watch him relax, and his eyes close as the tension leaves his body.

"C'mere," he whispers, and opens his eyes.

I step closer to him, my fingers gently grazing over the raw skin of his shoulder. His rough hands gently grab my waist, and his thumbs press into my skin, making me yearn for more of his touch.

"Edward." I don't even know what to ask. "Are you hurt?"

"A little. Not as bad as before," he murmurs, staring down at me.

I want to cry imagining what before entails.

He moves a little for us to switch places, placing a hand on the tile for support so I'm the one standing under the spray now. I'm thankful the water hides my tears. But what it must not hide is the pain on my face because he pulls me to him, and our wet bodies press against each other. My heart pounds when he places an open-mouthed kiss to my shoulder.

"I missed you so much," he murmurs, lips brushing my skin.

"Where were you?" I mumble and bury my face in his chest. "Who hurt you?"

I snake my arms under his, so I'm holding him, my fingers gently brushing up and down his back. He brings a hand up to caress my hair, soothing me. He whispers that he's okay, but his voice breaks when he says it. Knowing that he's crying, too, makes me feel sick. It makes me feel helpless. He promises he's fine and that he's not going anywhere again. He won't leave, and he won't let anyone take me away from him.

We pull apart just enough, and I tilt my head upward until our lips meet. Our kiss is fragile. Tender. His lips feel different than what I remember, and his beard pokes at my skin, but I don't care. There's no passion behind our embrace, just a desperation for closeness and healing.

The longer we kiss, though, the more heated it becomes. He cups the side of my neck, and I moan into his mouth. I can feel him, all of him, between us. It makes my own body react with desire and longing. I want to look and touch and feel him, but I'm too nervous. So, I just love him with my kiss, and show him how much I missed him. I kiss him back harder until I'm pulling away and peppering kisses along his neck and his chest, needing him to be okay. I kiss him until I can't do anything else. I kiss him until I'm crying again.

We just hold each other then. My head on his chest. His chin over my shoulder. We stand under the stream until the water runs lukewarm, and neither of us have any tears left.

XXX

We're emotionally drained after our shower.

I toss his clothes in the washer but only dry his boxers so he can at least have those to wear for now. I give him his old hoodie to throw on, the one I kept after our last day together, and he looks so good in it.

He follows me into my room, and it goes without saying he's staying here tonight. The idea of him leaving me and going back out there again is too much for me to entertain, so we wordlessly crawl into my bed under the blanket.

He's surprised but thankful to see that Pepper's here and being taken care of. She stands on his chest when we're in bed, and in the dark of the room, the mood feels light for a moment. She meows at him, like she's giving him a lecture for being gone for so long. I smile, but my heart still hurts because I know we still have to talk. About our Procedures. About James. About where he's been all these months and why he's so broken.

"She missed you," I mumble, tucking myself into the nook of his arm once Pepper curls into a ball at the foot of the bed. "Not as much as I did, though."

He holds me close, his mouth brushing the top of my head. "Is this okay?"

"What?"

"Being in your bed… being here at all? Holding you? Kissing you?"

"You mean because I'm placed with someone?"

"Yeah."

"I mean, technically no. It's not. But I don't care," I say simply, curling closer to him. "I don't love James. I don't feel anything at all for him."

He's quiet. "I can't believe you're with James of all people." I can feel him tense as he lets out a soft, humorless laugh. "I mean, I guess I can, actually."

"Yeah."

"That wasn't your choice, was it?"

I don't know if it's just me feeling defensive, or if his voice holds accusation, but it takes me a second to answer. I shift to look at him, the shadows dancing on his face, his jaw tensing.

"Why would James be my choice?" I ask.

"I don't know," he mumbles. "I'm just… I don't know anything. I haven't been here. I haven't… I don't know."

"James wasn't my choice. None of this was. I wanted to be with you, Edward. When that couldn't happen, I eventually got placed with James. He's not who I choose or who I want or who I love." The tension between us eases a little because Edward must know in this moment that I love him.

"My fucking head isn't right. I just…" He exhales, and I drape a leg over his thigh, forgetting it's the one that's scarred. He winces a little, and I move it off of him.

"Sorry."

"No… I'm sorry," he insists. "I shouldn't have said it like you chose James. I just hate the thought of you being someone else's. It drove me insane for months, knowing I couldn't do anything about it. Now that I know it's him, I just… I fucking hate it. I fucking hate that guy."

I'm about to tell him that James isn't so bad, but maybe now's not the time. It's a sensitive subject, and I don't want to talk about it anymore. Not now, at least, when we have so many other things we need to talk about.

My fingers brush his jaw, and I lean in so my lips can meet his. "I'm still yours," I breathe, thinking of the memory of us in my bed from before, and Edward's proposal. "Hey."

He sneaks in another kiss. "Yeah?"

"I need to tell you something."

His arm tightens around me. "Okay."

"It's kind of big, though. And I don't…" Nerves assault my stomach. I don't even know where to start.

"Is it about you and James?"

"No. Remember that ring I found? The garnet?" He only nods. "I finally know where it came from. I know who gave it to me."

"Who?"

"You," I whisper.

He rolls onto his side, so we're facing each other. "Who told you that?"

"No one. I remembered," I admit quietly. "I had a dream after you left, and I realized it was a memory. You asked me to marry you. We were together before we met that day at the clinic. We both had the Procedure, I guess, but we somehow found our way back to each other."

The room is too silent for having just admitted this news to him. It makes me nervous. So, I keep talking.

"I found some stuff in your room after you left, too. A photo of us. Some origami swans. Like the ones I used to make with Carmen? And a snow globe." All of the items are on my dresser right now, but I don't want to leave the bed to show him. "We were together," I say again. "We were in love."

"I know," he murmurs. "Bella, I… I know."

I frown. "You know?"

"I remember everything."