A/N

A bonus chapter of WG *waggles eyebrows* Thank you to the usual suspects - couldn't do it without you.

xo

Chapter Seven: Mitigation

Edward

xXx

My phone goes off, ringing loudly, and I groan, struggling to open my eyes. My head feels like someone's shoved a hundred nails into it, my throat dry as the fucking Sahara. I swallow around the bad taste in my mouth, rolling onto my back and squinting at the ceiling. Why the fuck do I feel so hungover? Did I fucking drink? Why would I do that?

I suddenly fly up, the memories from last night crashing into me. Oh, fuck...shit, shit, shit. The realisation of what I did, along with the sudden movements, cause my stomach to turn, and I just manage to get my head over the side of the bed as I throw up my guts.

"No, no, no," I moan, pressing my head against the soft mattress, my stomach rolling. There's a painful stabbing behind my eyes, and I feel so fucking queasy. "Shit."

I drag myself out of bed and stand under the shower, my hands against the wall as the hot water pounds down on me. I put my fucking hands on her, grabbed her by the fucking throat, and not gently either.

Shit.

I bend my head forwards and throw up again, retching. I wasn't accustomed to drinking yet, shouldn't have gulped down so much, shouldn't have done a lot of things.

I sigh angrily. I'm still really fucking pissed at her for doing that to me, but I also feel awful for roughing her up like that. I'm not some kind of animal, and she's a seventeen-year-old girl. A bitch, yeah, but that doesn't mean I had any right to touch her like that.

Charlie is going to fucking kill me, and I'm definitely fucking fired.

I tie a towel around my waist and start shoving my stuff in my bag, even the little things I usually leave here during the week. I pause when I get to my cards, seeing the one from Tommie, my heart sinking in my chest. I've fucked everything up.

There's a knock at the door, and I widen my eyes. Is it Charlie already?

"One sec," I call, drying myself quickly and pulling on a pair of jeans and a hoodie. I fling open the door, dread rising in my gut, and freeze in surprise when I see Isabella. She's in a hoodie, too, her brown hair in a messy bun, face fresh and bare of any makeup, showing the freckles on her cheeks.

"Wh-"

"Fido," Isabella says quickly, "I ... I want to apologize for... and...I won't do that again. It doesn't mean I'm going to be nice to you or anything. But I won't touch you ever again, I promise."

I'm taken aback. "W…" I frown at her, confused. She's fucking apologizing to me? I don't understand her at all.

"I haven't told anyone, by the way," she says, biting her plump bottom lip.

My frown deepens, "Why? I hurt you..."

"Don't sweat it, Fido, you didn't hurt me." Isabella's lips curve up a little. "I'm actually kind of partial to a bit of choking."

I store that information to react to later, my brain too busy being confused by her behavior. "But I ... don't you want me to get fired?" I ask her, confused.

Isabella's eyes flicker, and she nods, "I want you to quit," She smirks at me, "So feel free to."

I frown. "I don't want to quit."

I can't quit. I need the money too badly.

Isabella shrugs. "Then I'll just keep trying, but I won't…" Her facial expression goes serious, and she bites her bottom lip, "Not like that. Never again, I promise."

My face scrunches up as I try to understand her. I don't get it. I don't get her.

"I really am sorry," Isabella says almost softly, staring into my eyes, hers all wide and open and fucking green and brown and blue all at once. What kind of fucking eye color is that?

I look away from them, my eyes widening when I see something on her throat. I grab her hoodie and tug the neck down without thinking, choking as I see the bruising around her neck.

"Oh fuck." I look up at her in panic, guilt flooding through me. "I'm so, so sorry."

My fingers brush against the bruising, something under my ribs aching a little. "I can't believe I did this to you. I'm…"

"Please stop apologizing. I deserved it," Isabella says quietly.

I pull my fingers away from her soft skin and stare at her with surprise. "No," I say firmly. "Isabella...no matter what you do; you never ever deserve anyone to lay a hand on you. Don't say shit like that, ever."

She looks at me with wide eyes, tilting her head. "I…" She frowns. "I'm fine, so...let's just not talk about this again, okay? I know I don't really have the right to ask because I did something fucked up, but can we...forget it happened?"

I feel even more confused and nod at her slowly, searching her eyes for some kind of explanation for her behavior right now. Why is she forgiving me? Why is she not mad? Why is she not going to tell her father?

Isabella takes a few steps back and arches her eyebrow, her lips curving up. "Be a good boy this weekend, Fido. I look forward to giving you hell when you get back Monday." She winks and then skips back down the hall.

I stand there for a moment, staring after her, my eyebrows drawn together.

Once I've spoken to the housekeeper about cleaning up my mess, for which I apologize profusely - she laughs and tells me Emmett grew up here, and not to worry - I head back upstairs to grab my bags.

Sitting on my desk, next to the rest of my stuff, is a tiny white gift bag. I don't recognize it, and I open it curiously. Inside is a white box, and inside that, a brand-new pair of Ray-Bans. There's a tiny piece of paper in there too.

I swallow as I read it.

Sorry. B

xXx

"Happy Birthday!" Esme greets me at the door, smiling wide, her blue eyes lit up.

I smile at her, and she steps aside to let me into the house, her hands shaking slightly. Birthdays are always awkward with Es. Even now, her guilt lingers, and I grab her hand gently and squeeze.

"Thanks, Es," I say softly.

She nods, letting out a soft sigh, and turns her head, "Tommie, honey, Edward's here."

I laugh as Tommie barrels into me, practically jumping up and down. "I'm so excited you're here, and I have everything planned already! We've got all this stuff, Ed." He grins at me, his green eyes sparkling with excitement, his cheeks pink.

I also notice the bags under his eyes, the pallor of his skin, and the way it seems stretched across his cheeks and collar bones. But for now, I force myself to focus on the light in his eyes instead.

I scoop him up and throw him over my shoulder as he laughs, Esme leading the few steps into the kitchen.

On the counter is a big, square cake with white frosting. Next to it are a few presents, wrapped up in pale pink wrapping paper, and I smile at Tommie. "You didn't have to do all this!" I say in surprise.

"We wanted to," Esme answers, her eyes flashing with guilt again.

I fight back a sigh. It's always going to be like this between us; a river of memories and past hurts. I've told her I've forgiven her, but she won't hear it.

"Thank you," I tell them softly, dropping my bag to the floor and hesitantly reaching for the wrapping.

I uncover a pack of cigarettes and laugh, looking at Esme, who gives me a sheepish smile. "Feeding your addiction, I know, but-"

"Thanks, Es." I nod at her, giving her a soft smile before I start opening the next gift. I raise an eyebrow at Tommie as I unwrap it, revealing a pair of really nice Levi Jeans. Too nice for him to have been able to pay for.

"You need to stop." I reprimand, shaking my head at him as I fight a smile.

Tommie gives me a cheeky grin. "Are you saying you don't like them?"

I grab his shoulder gently and bend down to his level, meeting his green eyes, the perfect match of mine. "If you get caught, kid, you'll go to Juvie. Is that what you want?"

Tommie gives me a sad smile, "They wouldn't send me to Juvie."

The room is silent for a second, and something unfurls under my ribs, a wrenching, horrible pain that seizes my chest.

I swallow and squeeze his shoulder. "Tommie…"

"Do you like them?" he asks me, his voice uneasy all of a sudden.

"I fucking love them, little man," I say, pulling him into me and kissing his head. "Thank you."

Tommie wriggles out of my grip and grins, "I knew you would."

I glance over at Esme and feel a strike of alarm when I see the tears trailing down her cheeks. Tommie can't see her crying; he doesn't need that shit.

"Can I have a water, Es?" I ask, giving her a warning look.

She swallows and spins around, wiping at her tears discreetly as she grabs some glasses.

I turn and look at the other two gifts, "What else did you get me?" I rub my hands together, grinning at Tommie.

"Open them!" he giggles.

I unwrap the smallest one first, and my heart flies into my chest, my eyes burning. It's a photo of James and me when we were barely seventeen, his dirty blonde hair in his eyes, one arm over my shoulders, the other clutching a skateboard. I'm laughing, holding my hand up to the camera, a large cut across my cheek. I can vividly remember the day of that photo. James and I had had a really bad run-in the night before with some of Trigger's crew, who crossed into Cinna's territory. We'd been so fucking lucky that a bunch of Marcello's other guys were around the corner and came to rescue us from the knife fight we ended up in. Thank fuck, no one was packing: Police presence had been high in New York because of the big game on the weekend.

I'd gotten a cut to the face and James across his ribs, but we'd gone home, smoked a bowl, and then the next morning gone to the skate park as usual. Es had brought Tommie to meet us for a bit, and James had carried Tommie around on his shoulders and then put him on his skateboard.

I swallow thickly, the picture frame clattering lightly to the counter. Visions dance in the corner of my eyes, James' laugh, his smile, the way his blue eyes used to glint wickedly, the sight of him lying there, covered in blood.

His mouth opening, eyes panicked. 'Ma-sen.'

Esme's voice cracks through my thoughts, "I'm sorry if it was a bad...I just found it and thought…"

I can't look at her, but I can see the tremor in her hands, betraying her anxiety. I'm not mad at her. She doesn't know what happened.

"Thanks." My voice cracks and I push down the intense maelstrom of emotions going through me. None of this pussy shit.

Tommie, oblivious, pushes the next parcel at me. "This one's from me too!" he states happily.

I force a smile on my face and unwrap it carefully. It's replaced by a real one as soon as I see what's inside. It's a sketch of him and me, imitating a photo that Esme must have taken at some point in the past few weeks. We're side by side on the couch, laughing at something. Tommie is such a talented artist. I've never seen anything like it, it's fucking amazing.

"This is fucking awesome," I tell him, all the darkness that had been infiltrating my mind before lifted as I look into his happy green eyes.

"Thanks," he nods, grinning. "Am I the best little brother in the world?"

I laugh and pull him into a hug, squeezing him tightly. He pretends to protest, but I know he loves it. "I missed you so much." My voice is barely a murmur.

Tommie wriggles out of my hug and grins at me. "I know, because I'm the best. Now say it!" He jabs his bony knuckles into my stomach, and I wince, laughing.

"Shit, okay, you're the best little brother." I grin back at him.

"In the…" Tommie says slowly, nodding his head at me with a cheeky smile.

"In the fucking world," I laugh.

"You fucking know it." Tommie beams.

I let him get away with swearing, and then I let him get away with shoving a piece of cake into my mouth, which the little shit finds fucking hilarious.

It's the best birthday I've ever had.

A/N – Let me know what you're thinking in the reviews! I know some of you thought Tommie was E's son – Nope, they're brothers. It's so hard sitting on all of the details in this – it's the most intensive story I've ever written so hope you're prepared for the ride. See you on Monday for the next chapter *kiss*

Ella xx