A/N: I don't own this, we all know who does. If I did, Rpattz would be bangin' me. Straight up. No more stalling. It'd be awesome...
This is unbeta'd, so any and all mistakes belong to me. By this point you know that. I think you're okay with it.
I'm gonna get my thanks out now, so as not to clog up the ending a/n.
This is for my wifey, Mrs. Robward. I wrote this for you, just you. I'm happy you let me share this with everyone. You'll never know what you mean to me. Not really. But, since this is how we do it... http:/www (dot) youtube (dot) com/watch?v=o8EamHKpdrM
Thanks to Luxure & EdwardsBloodType for prereading this. I don't really know what I'd do without you two. You're two of the very best parts of this fandom for me, meeting you...getting to know you... I'll forever be grateful for that. I love you both. :)
And mnp968 thanks for the help. You were wonderful to me. :)
Thanks to everyone who has pimped this, rec'd it, talked about it, voted for this, freaked out on Twitter or Facebook over this... The past few weeks have meant so much to me. You'll never know...
Big, Huge, MEGA thanks to KennedyNicoleCullen for getting this whole thing started. This was just a naughty little story until you found it. I'm eternally in your debt...
And to ssherrill115 for recing this on her site. You're always so good to me...I don't know what I did to deserve you. But I'm glad I did it. :)
And to RoseArcadia for the beautiful blinkie she made me...even though she was drunk off her behind while doing it! :D You're always so lovely to me...thank you. :) I owe you an outtake, too, so be thinking... :) And if you haven't seen that blinkie, it's linked on my profile. Ugh, it's hot and so pretty... :D
All my girls on Twitter and Facebook...I love each one of you. I know I'll forget if I start naming names, but you know who you are. :)
**disclaimer **
This story is a bit taboo. But you know, I think that's what you like about it...dirty peeps. :D
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… Epilogue - Forever and Ever and Ever … Bella …
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Time is a funny thing. Sometimes it seems as though minutes can take years to pass. Other times, it seems as though years pass by in only minutes.
My mother and I tend to my flower beds, the ones along the front of our house. The house I love, with the grass, and the neighbors, and plenty of rooms, and the tire swing hanging from the back yard tree, and the puppy, running wildly behind a small herd of children. Our children.
Hearing them squeal, laugh, love one another makes me think back over the time it's taken us to get here.
Claire is 14, it's been seven years since we married, since Garrett was born.
His delivery was good, uncomplicated. It wasn't until a few days later that the problems started. More bleeding than I was used to, more pain than I'd had before, more tears and sadness when the doctor told us.
Hysterectomy. There would be no more babies for us, no more little Edward's or Bella's joining our family.
I cried for weeks, so much sobbing that often times my eyes were dry of tears, yet I still cried. You held me, comforted me, assured me that it didn't matter, you were happy.
I tried to be okay, to enjoy the children we did have. I kept up with my school classes, kept on track. You helped, our mother's helped, even Mrs. Cope, when she wasn't traveling the country with Liam, helped. By the time Garrett was two, I was ready to graduate, go to work.
I couldn't imagine leaving him. I'd done it with Claire, I had to, but with Garrett...I couldn't.
Your job was picking up, taking you away on more and more business trips. Advertising is a busy business, especially when the firm you work for is one of the most popular in your region. And when you are their wonderboy. Which you are, of course. But you love it, it makes you happy.
And I try as hard as I can to keep the memories of another husband's business trips from creeping into my head. I know you're not him, you'd never do to me what he did.
Still sometimes, when I'm alone at night, and remembering the pretty young woman that just joined your team, recalling the longing glances she casts your way, I worry.
How long could you possibly love someone so much older than you?
How long will my body hold out? My looks?
Will you get bored with me when I want to eat dinner at four in the afternoon and use my senior citizen discount for the early bird meal?
They say children keep you young. Maybe that's the trick, because I don't feel older than you, but I know it's there. Waiting to pounce on me.
As I place another pot of daisies into the ground, Alex's car pulls up. He's home from class, living with us while he attends the university.
Jacob didn't believe me when I said I'd see him in court. He thought no judge would ever listen to me. He underestimated me and the amazing attorney your father found for us.
The judge thought it was interesting, our divorce papers. How things were done. He was ready to award joint custody and then he spoke to Kim and Alex. They were old enough to decide who they wanted to live with. They both chose us, our home. With all those extra bedrooms, we had plenty of space, and it was Christmas time when we moved them in.
Jacob hates me, I can tell each time I have to see him.
I don't care.
He can rot in Hell for all the things he's done to me. The only good thing he ever did was give me my children. For them, I'd live my life again the same way. But only for them.
Leah and Paul are happy, with a little girl that just turned three. I see her sometimes, for coffee or shopping. It's not often, but sometimes. We're working on things, getting there. We want it, and that's what makes the difference.
She's been to counseling, I've been to counseling. We're past the "why" of what I did, neither of us really worried about the answer to that. Now we're on to the "how" of fixing things.
I know that our family will never spend Thanksgiving's around the table, laughing and talking, enjoying each other. We'll never have giant family birthday parties, everyone singing and eating cake.
And that's okay.
We have what works for us, and it's good. It's positive. It's hopeful.
We'll be okay.
When Garrett started preschool, I found a job with the children's services department. Assessing the health and welfare of at risk children. That's how we found them.
One trip to a scary neighborhood, one knock on a broken, kicked in door, one look around a filthy house with crack pipes and cocaine lines on the kitchen table, and they were ours.
Foster care wasn't something we'd ever considered, but when we saw Peter, Maggie, and Ben, we didn't think twice. They were six, four, and three. Maggie and Garrett only a few months apart in age. They blended into our family perfectly, and a year later, after a fatal overdose by their father and the loss of parental rights for their mother, I asked you. Begged.
"Can we keep them forever?"
As always, you smiled. "Absolutely," is all you said, before wrapping me up in your arms and kissing me silly.
Their adoption went through without too many problems, and now their last name is Cullen, not whatever it was before. They don't remember, so neither do I.
Looking across the street, I smile, seeing your mother on her front porch swing, talking to Claire. It didn't take them long to pack up and move away from our home town, just the off handed comment about the house across from ours going up for sale.
The church went into hysterics when rumors started flying about Jacob and his history. First it was anger over my return, the appalling thought that I'd take their beloved reverend's children away. Then realization that you were Claire's father, and your mother was ostracized from the bittie's. She didn't care, taking the opportunity to fill them in on the extra curricular activities of one Reverend Black.
No one believed it, until word got around to Old Man Stanley. He sang like a canary, tales of a quiet abortion that his daughter underwent, paid for by Jake. Vindication felt good, and I smiled a little brighter as I fell asleep that night.
My children still see him, he's their father. I don't ever want them to hate him, not the way I do. That wouldn't be good for them, healthy. But now they know, they know the truth about my life with him, why I did the things I did. They don't blame me, not even Seth. Though he still doesn't come around, doesn't want to see me, he told me once that he gets it, that he doesn't blame me anymore. That he still hurts, can't forget it.
I understand that.
My life will never be perfect, not the kind of perfect I'd like it to be. I'm at peace with that. I have to be. I can't change it, so why cry over it? I've spent too many years crying. I'm done. I want to be happy, to enjoy things.
My parents are getting older, in their 70's now. Things are touch and go with them sometimes, but I know they love me, respect you, adore our children. Hearing our son's talk of fishing trips with Grandpa Swan makes me happy, fills me with delight. Reminds me of my childhood, long hours spent in silence in a row boat in the middle of a lake. Fishing. Seeing his smile as I reeled in a trout that was too small to keep, but made me giddy anyhow.
I tried over and over to talk them into moving closer, be nearer to us, so that we wouldn't have a two hour drive between us. They won't, not yet. The best fishing hole is close to their house. My mother's gardening club would fall apart without her.
Maybe someday soon they'll leave, come closer. I can hope, anyway.
It's late once I finally have the children fed, bathed, homework finished, and tucked into bed. The house is quiet and I wait for you, knowing you'll be home soon. Television doesn't interest me. My needlepoint is almost done, I'll save it for another day. Cookies are baked, cooling on the counter. I sit in silence, in a dimly lit room, waiting.
Then I hear it, the sounds that makes my heart lurch, try to climb out of my chest. The garage door opening, the purr of your car's engine, the slamming of the trunk, the turn of the door handle, the clack of your shoes on the wood flooring. You, back in our house, coming to me.
"Hey baby, you waited up?" you say, dropping your suitcase on the floor, your garment bag and briefcase next to them.
I smile. "Of course I did, I always do, don't I?"
Crossing the living room, you sit heavily next to me, your body exhausted, I can tell. You head leans back on the sofa, your eyes closing as your hand rubs across your forehead.
"How'd things go? Did I miss anything?"
I curl into your side, feeling your arm wrap around my shoulders. "No, it was good. My mom helped me with the flower beds. Your mom took Claire shopping for a dress for the Daddy/Daughter dance at school. Other than that, just quiet, normal."
"The dance is this weekend?" you ask, trying to remember.
"Yep, Saturday. You're home, right?" She's excited. She has the "Hot Dad" at school, the one all her friends will want to dance with Saturday night. I'm sure your dance card will be full, and you'll be embarrassed. But you'll love Claire's pride in you being there, with her.
You sigh. "Yeah, I'm here."
We sit, silent, still, content. At peace.
It's a feeling I don't know if I'll ever get used to. I wanted it, dreamed of it for so long, and always thought I'd never get it. But now it's here, it's mine, I have it, and I'll never take it for granted.
"I'm a little nervous about Saturday," you say, shifting a bit.
"Why?" I'm curious. It's just a dance with your daughter. You've done it before, what's there to be nervous about?
"Well, what if I forget how to dance? Maybe I should practice. You know anyone who might help me with that?"
A smile creeps across my face, my lips turning up at your slyness.
"I know someone..."
I stand, pulling on your hand and taking you to the middle of the room. I can see how tired you are, your eye lids heavy, and yet you push it aside...for me.
Your arms wrap around my waist, mine around your neck. There's no music, no tune or melody, but we sway together, you humming into my ear as our bodies reconnect, alive in the closeness we've both been missing for days.
"I love you, my Bella," you whisper into my ear, your lips kissing me, sucking gently on the soft skin of my neck.
"I love you, too."
We move, dancing, feeling, until you lift me, carry me to our room. With the door closed, the darkness surrounding us, clothes come off, hitting the floor. You lay me on the bed, hovering over me, kissing my neck, my chest, my face. I feel you hard and so ready, and I want you. I need you. Your breath hisses out as my fingers wrap around you, leading you to where I want you most.
I pull you down onto me, letting you fill me completely as we move together, our bond never more solid and sure than it is today. It gets better, closer, as time goes on. I think it will always be this way for us. As we both tumble into ecstasy, panting and moaning, I feel it.
Love.
Safety.
Security.
Desire.
All the things I dreamed of having one day. And I know, looking at you in the moonlight that streams through our window, that I've found it all with you.
Your lips are soft on mine as you kiss me, over and over and over again. Never stopping, even though I know how tired you are. I let you, not ever wanting to discourage you. I can see it in your eyes, the love, devotion, need you have for me. I hope you see it in mine.
It's always been there, since the first moment I saw you in his church, as you stood at the front of the room alongside the other altar boys. Never did I think that one look, that one moment would lead to all of this. I was so lost, so broken and alone, and in that one gaze, my whole world changed. Shifted. Righted itself.
So much heartache and pain we've lived through, suffered through. So much joy and happiness, too.
Your tongue twirls with mine as you lie atop me, pressing me down, keeping me here as my soul longs to float away on the happiness it feels. Happiness that I thought was never possible, never meant for me.
And just like those old times, when we'd sneak away, caught up in one another, this moment is perfect. Right. Everything I need and all consuming.
It's you. You were always meant for me. Forever and ever and ever, we'll be us, together. There's no other option. You're it for me.
You're the one I want. The one I love. My soul knows it, my heart, too. You're my harbor, my home, my safety, my life.
It's at the feet of your soul, your love, your perfection that I'll always kneel, always pray.
You were once forbidden to me, not allowed. I didn't listen, didn't care. My spirit knew what it needed, and it called to you, went to you.
And it was right.
We were right.
We still are, always will be.
As you push into me the last few times, stilling, shaking, I fall with you. Fighting back the tears that always seem to come when we're like this, together, loving and so close. Your eyes stare into mine, and I can't stop. Wetness slips down my face, into my hair, and your lips move to kiss it away, just like you always do.
Seeing the love you have for me, feeling it in action, is empowering, consuming, lifting. Your eyes tell me everything I'll ever need to know, every feeling you feel, every dream you dream, every desire you desire, every want you want. Everything.
It's kindness.
It's devotion.
It's hope.
It's need.
It's love.
It's eternal.
And it is at the altar of our endless love that I find myself on my knees, my heart in my hands, alive in perfection...where it is you that I will forever worship.
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A/N: Thank you. So much. I can never say it enough. :)
See you in the outtakes.
One more time, because I love and miss my Bratty Vamp so much...
Reviews are better than perfect lives. Though they could never compare to how you all have made me feel.
Leave one.