When Beau opened his eyes in the morning, he knew there was something different about the light. The sky was muted and cloudy as always, but today, there was no fog lining the window.

He jumped up to look outside and groaned in horror.

A fine layer of snow had coated the world overnight. Beau pressed his nose to the glass and studied a Forks he had never known. In all his trips as a child to Washington, he never visited during the winter. It almost looked like a Christmas card.

Beau might have been able to enjoy the snow if he could observe it from the couch with a good book. But today he had to drive in it. From this height, Big Red sat stoically below the window, partially concealed under powdery white dust. Meanwhile, all the rain from yesterday had frozen solid, and making the driveway a deadly ice slick.

By the time he went downstairs, Charlie had already left for work. In a lot of ways, living with Charlie was like having his own house, and Beau found himself reveling in the aloneness instead of being lonely. While a small town like Forks might have seemed boring at first, he was learning to appreciate the isolation and peace it offered.

Beau munched on a quick bowl of cereal. He felt excited to go to school today, and that scared him. He knew it wasn't the stimulating learning environment or seeing his new friends. Beau knew he was eager to get to school because it meant seeing Edward Cullen. And that was very, very stupid.

He should avoid Edward entirely after their conversation fiasco yesterday. The guy had been nice to him one time, and that didn't mean anything. And Beau was suspicious of him; why would Edward lie about his eyes?

Beau was still frightened of the previous hostility, and, worse, rendered speechless whenever he pictured that perfect face. He never should have invested so much time thinking about Edward Cullen in the first place. For all Beau knew, he was straight, making him especially uninterested in the police chief's gay son. All this anxiety was, therefore, completely unnecessary.

To his surprise, Big Red had no problem with the black ice that covered the roads. After climbing out of the truck at school, Beau saw why the tires had so little trouble; each one had thin chains crisscrossed around them in diamond shapes. There was only one person who had the means—and the mind—to do something like that for him.

Charlie had gotten up early to put snow chains on the truck.

Beau felt his throat grow tight. Charlie's unspoken concern took him off guard. He was unused to this level of parental attention; it was the kind of forethought that he found himself performing for Renée.

A sudden picture of Charlie in uniform, breath visible as he worked on the tires well before the sun rose behind the clouds, sharpened in his mind. Their relationship, though still tentative, was blossoming into something Beau had not expected.

Beau was standing by the back corner of the truck, struggling to fight back the sudden wave of emotion the snow chains had brought on, when he heard an odd sound.

It was a high-pitched, loud screeching noise. He looked up, startled. The adrenaline rush allowed him to understand several things happening simultaneously.

Edward Cullen was standing four cars away and staring at him in horror. His pale face stood out from a sea of them, all frozen in the same mask of shock. But of more immediate importance was the dark blue van that was skidding, tires locked and squealing against the brakes, spinning wildly across the ice of the parking lot. The van was going to hit the back corner of Big Red, and Beau was standing between them.

Even on a summer day, there would be no time to escape. Beau was numb; he didn't even have time to close his eyes. He supposed, having faced mortal peril in the past, that logic would prevail over fear at any second. Death would be instant; no pain at all. He took one breath—his last—to prepare for the end.

But just before he heard the impact, something hit him, hard, and not from the direction he expected. His head cracked against the asphalt, and he found himself pinned to the ground by something solid and cold.

Beau lay there on the pavement, stunned, watching the van spin back to him again.

A low oath made him aware he wasn't alone. This voice was impossible not to recognize. Two large white hands shot out and forced the van to shudder to a stop a foot away. Those hands fit perfectly into a new deep dent in the side of the van's body.

Then Beau felt himself dragged away from the sound of groaning metal. The van settled, but the window above the dent had developed lattice-like cracks, and its glass fell in a jagged pile where his legs had been only a heartbeat before.

The parking lot was silent for only a moment before the screaming began. In the bedlam, Beau could hear more than one person shouting his name. But something cut through all the noise—Edward Cullen's low, frantic voice in his ear.

"Beau? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." His voice sounded strange, like he was underwater. Beau tried to sit up and realized the other boy was holding his shoulder in a cold iron grasp.

"Be careful, I think you hit your head pretty hard."

"Ow," he said, surprised at the throbbing ache above his left ear. He touched the skin, probing for blood, but his hand came back clean.

"That's what I thought." Edward's voice, amazingly, sounded like he was suppressing laughter. The strange boy was holding him close to his own body, and Beau felt the chuckle vibrate through as if it was his own.

Beau stared up at the white face above him, completely dumbstruck. His brain was still trying to process what had just happened.

"How in the . . . how did you get over here so fast?"

"I was standing right next to you, Beau."

Beau turned to sit up, and this time Edward let him, releasing his hold and sliding as far away as he could in the limited space, which, for two boys north of six feet, was a hard thing to do. The crowd had reached them by now, surging around the two cars, chattering at full volume.

"Don't move," someone instructed.

"Get Tyler out of the van!" someone else shouted.

Beau tried to stand, but Edward's firm hand pushed his shoulder back down.

"Just stay put for now."

"But it's cold," Beau complained. He was surprised to hear the other boy laugh again. There was an edge to the sound, and it strengthened his focus.

"You were over there," he continued, and the laugh stopped short. "You were by your car."

"No, I wasn't."

"I saw you."

The parking lot around them had succumbed to chaos. Gruffer voices of teachers had joined the fray. But Beau obstinately held onto the argument; he was right, and Edward was going to admit it.

"Beau, I was standing with you, and I pulled you out of the way." Edward was gazing at him without blinking, and for a brief moment, Beau faltered. But then his eyes flickered to the dent, the spot where Edward's hands had pressed into the body of the van, its door crunching under the pressure. A new image burst sharply into his thoughts—Edward, four cars away, staring in horror as the van lost control over the ice. He was nowhere near Beau.

It was a lie—and a bad one at that.

"No." Beau set his jaw.

The gold eyes blazed. "Please, Beau."

"Why?"

"Trust me," Edward pleaded. His soft voice was overwhelming. Beau felt his stubbornness lessen enough to consider a negotiation.

"Will you promise to explain everything to me later?"

"Fine."

"Fine," Beau repeated angrily. It seemed like the good doctor was out today. This morning, Edward decided to be Mr. Hyde.

The rescue effort took six EMTs and two teachers—Mr. Banner and Coach Clapp—to shift the van far enough away to bring in the stretchers. Edward vehemently refused his, and when Beau tried to do the same, the traitor told them the latter hit his head, and probably had a concussion.

It looked like the entire school was there watching. Beau surrendered to the humiliation of a neck brace and was silent as they loaded him in the back of the ambulance. They allowed Edward to ride in the front with the driver; it was obvious they were familiar with the doctor's son. The privilege only made Beau angrier.

To make matters worse, Chief Swan arrived before they could get safely away.

"Beau!" he yelled when he saw the stretcher.

"I'm completely fine, Char—Dad. There's nothing wrong with me."

He turned to the closest EMT for a second opinion. Frustrated, Beau tuned them both out to consider the jumble of inexplicable images in his head. When they lifted him away from the car, he once again saw the deep dent—a very distinct dent that bore the shape of Edward's hands. He had braced them against the car with enough force to damage the metal frame.

And then there was his family looking on from a distance. Every one of them wore expressions that ranged from disapproval to fury and held no hint of concern for their brother's safety. Why was that?

Everyone talked about those miraculous feats of strength, like the women who lifted cars off their children after a collision. But he had not heard a story of someone stopping a van going sixty miles an hour with their bare hands. Beau tried to think of a logical solution that could explain what he saw—a solution that excluded the assumption that he was insane. Nothing added up.

The ambulance naturally got a police escort to Forks Community Hospital. Beau, motionless in the stretcher, remembered the last time he rode in an ambulance. He ground his teeth together at the thought.

The EMTs put him in an emergency room bed behind a pastel-patterned curtain. After his vitals were taken, he stared at the ceiling, too exhausted by the morning's events to remove the brace.

The memory of Renée sobbing at his bedside flashed through his mind. His stomach churned with nausea, and suddenly, the concussion diagnosis didn't seem too out there.

There was a flurry of hospital personnel as another stretcher was wheeled in. When the curtain between them drew back, he recognized Tyler Crowley from his Government class. Despite the bloodstained bandages wrapped tightly around his head, he was staring at Beau anxiously.

"Beau, I'm so sorry!"

"I'm fine, Tyler—you look awful, are you all right?"

"I thought I was going to kill you! I was going too fast, and I hit the ice wrong . . . "

"Don't worry about it," Beau at once. He watched a nurse start removing the bloody bandages and tried to be present in their conversation. "You missed me."

"How did you get out of the way so fast? You were there, and then you were gone . . . "

"Um . . . " He paused, weighing his next words carefully. "Edward pulled me out of the way."

Tyler looked confused. "Who?"

"Edward Cullen—he was standing next to me."

"Cullen? I didn't see him . . . wow, it was all so fast, I guess. Is he okay?"

"I think so. He's here somewhere, but they didn't make him use a stretcher." His voice grew bitter at the end.

There—proof. His account had some traction now. Beau knew he wasn't crazy. What really happened in that parking lot? There was no way to explain what he'd seen.

The nurses wheeled him away to radiology, but there was no evidence of a concussion. Beau asked to leave, annoyed when they told him he had to be seen by a doctor first. He soon found himself trapped in the ER with a guilty Tyler. The stream of apologies was constant until Beau closed his eyes and ignored him.

"Is he sleeping?"

Edward stood at the foot of the bed, smirking. Beau glared at him. It was hard to do; even now, his first instinct was to ogle.

"Hey, Edward, I'm really sorry—" Tyler began, but Edward held up a hand to stop him.

"No blood, no foul. So, Beau, what's the verdict?"

"No concussion, but they won't let me go. How come you aren't strapped to a gurney like the rest of us?"

"It's all about who you know, but don't worry. I came to spring you."

Then a doctor walked around the corner, and Beau felt his mouth fall open. This had to be the famous Dr. Cullen. He was young, blond, and unreasonably handsome. His skin was pale like his son's, and they shared the same dark circles under their eyes, though Beau remembered belatedly that the two weren't blood related.

Beau was beginning to understand the dilemma of the nursing staff Charlie had mentioned over dinner. He quickly tried to school his expression before it gave him away.

"So, Mr. Swan, how are you feeling?"

"Fine."

"Your scans look good. Does your head hurt? Edward said you hit it pretty hard."

Hard because your son pushed me, he wanted to retort, but bit his tongue. Beau sat up and pulled the neck brace off, trying to prove he was okay. "It's fine."

Dr. Cullen felt his head for bumps but appeared not to find anything unusual. Beau worked hard to suppress a shiver; the doctor's hands were as cold as Edward's. Dr. Cullen told Beau that he was free to go, but to return if he noticed any other symptoms.

"Shouldn't I go back to school?"

"Maybe you should take it easy today."

"Does he get to go back to school?" Beau asked.

Edward looked smug. "Someone has to spread the good news that we survived."

"Actually," Dr. Cullen corrected him, "most of the school appears to be in the waiting room."

"Oh no," Beau groaned, covering his face with his hands. He felt the top of his bare head and jerked up in shock. His Mariners cap was gone. It had to have fallen off in the accident.

"Do you want to stay?" The two Cullens noticed his mounting panic.

It was just a hat, but it was Charlie's hat. His hat. His shield, his suit of armor. And now he lost it.

"No, no!" he insisted. He wanted to get out of there and look for his stupid hat. "I'm fine."

"Take some Tylenol for the pain," Dr. Cullen suggested. "It sounds like you were extremely lucky."

"Lucky Edward happened to be standing next to me," Beau said. He watched the doctor absorb these words, then subtly shift his attention to Tyler.

Beau's eyes narrowed. In baseball, they called this a shutout. The solution hit him like a ton of bricks: the doctor was in on it, of course.

He knew it wasn't just lucky that he survived—it was extraordinary.

Beau felt the weight of Edward's eyes on his face and returned the stare, daring him to contradict stone cold fact. Edward stared back insolently. This wasn't going to be an easy fight.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?"

Edward took a step away from him. "Your father is waiting for you."

"I need to speak with you alone," Beau pressed.

The other boy stalked off to a distant corner of the ER. When Edward spun around to face him, Beau was struck at the realization that this was the first time they stood face-to-face.

"What do you want?"

Beau had two inches of height on him; somehow, this made him feel a little braver. "You owe me an explanation."

"I saved your life—I don't owe you anything."

"You promised."

"Beau, you hit your head, you don't know what you're talking about."

His temper flared. "So you keep saying. But isn't it convenient that your dad works at the hospital? You knew exactly what to say to the EMTs."

Beau watched Edward consider his words. His account would be discredited, head injury or not, but he had a few tricks up his sleeve. Beau didn't want to pull the police chief card, but he could, if it came to that.

"What do you want from me?" Edward folded his arms, which allowed Beau to scrutinize them more closely. There were no cuts on his sleeves or his skin. No shards of glass, no paint from the van's exterior . . . no evidence of how he avoided catastrophic injuries at all.

"I want to know the truth. I want to know why I'm lying for you."

"What do you think happened?"

"All I know is that you weren't anywhere near me—Tyler didn't see you, either, so don't tell me I hit my head too hard. That van was going to crush us both, but it didn't, because your hands left a dent in the side of it. You're not hurt at all. That van should have killed us, and yet, here we are."

"You think I stopped the van?" Edward's incredulous tone only made Beau more suspicious. It was a perfectly delivered line by a skilled actor. "Nobody will believe that."

"I wasn't going to tell anybody." Beau was good at keeping secrets; he had plenty of practice lately.

Surprise flitted across the other boy's face. "Then why does it matter?"

"It matters to me," Beau insisted. He had enough lying for one lifetime. Why did Edward expect Beau to give up so easily, when he saw everything?

"Can't you just thank me and get over it?"

"Thank you," he said, fuming and expectant, but the promised explanation did not come. Edward raised his eyebrows as the tense silence wore on.

"You're not going to let it go, are you?"

"Of course not!"

"In that case . . . I hope you enjoy disappointment."

Beau scowled. "Then why did you even bother?"

"I don't know," Edward whispered. For a brief moment, his face was open and vulnerable. He lifted a hand as if to clasp Beau's shoulder like he did in the parking lot, but dropped it, turned, and walked away. Beau lifted his own hand in response, too slow to keep him there.

Beau found Charlie in the waiting room. He assured his father that Dr. Cullen had given him the all-clear and he was free to go. He would have told Charlie anything to get away from the persistent staring of his classmates. The Swans walked to the cruiser, not talking, each wrapped up in their own thoughts.

Beau took Edward's defensiveness as a confirmation he had something to hide. He used his position as the doctor's son to tell a story and Beau played along, not realizing he was being played as well. What else had those two covered up?

"Beau," Charlie kept his eyes on the road. "Are you okay? Really?"

"Of course, Dad," Beau told him. "Everything's fine."

"No, I know the scans were clear, but, um . . . emotionally? I'm sure a car accident brings up a lot of bad memories for you."

It took a second for Beau to remember that this was the lie he and his mother fed Charlie last summer. A hit and run, Renée had told her ex-husband, ending Beau's baseball season for the year. Beau, immobilized in casts and pain medication in the bed below, could only listen as Charlie's voice grew louder and louder over the line. His mother spent a few agonizing minutes convincing Charlie she had everything under control. As soon as she hung up, Renée burst into tears.

"I'm fine, Dad," Beau murmured as he summoned yet another lie for the day. "I would tell you if I wasn't."

Charlie fell silent until the cruiser turned into the driveway. "Um . . . you'll need to call Renée."

"You told Mom?"

"Sorry."

Beau hurried to the phone, eager to perform damage control, but it was too late. His mother was in hysterics when she answered, and it took nearly an hour to calm her down. Beau braced one hand against the wall, receiver cradled between his ear and shoulder, struggling to avoid tears himself. He always hated it when she cried.

"Mom," he whispered, when her sobs had subsided. "I'm fine. It was an accident. Please. Everything is okay. No concussion. No broken bones."

"Beau, if you end up in the hospital again, I swear, I will move you back to Phoenix myself."

"Phoenix was the start of it, Mom," he said tiredly. "I'm not going back there. Listen, I'm exhausted. I'll call you tomorrow, okay? I love you."

He replaced the phone in the cradle, pressed his forehead against the wall, and closed his eyes.

Charlie could wield more influence than Dr. Cullen, here, in his hometown. There had to be something left behind on the van that could be tested—a fingerprint? Radioactive matter? The chief had the power to get the van towed and have it analyzed. He could call Edward into the station for an interview. But one question remained—would he do all of those things?

No, Beau decided. He wouldn't do any of it. Charlie had gone on and on about giving the Cullens a fair shot in Forks; he'd never agree to investigate an accident that seemed inevitable on an icy winter day without a very good reason. And Beau had told Edward he wasn't going to say anything. He intended to keep that promise, even if it wasn't reciprocated. Involving the police now would complicate things.

The mystery Edward presented was too consuming to resist; Beau was obsessed with it. Obsessed with him. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

It was the first night he dreamed of Edward Cullen.

A/N: Thanks for your readership these past few chapters! I love developing Beau as a different character than Bella, while maintaining their essential attributes. Definitely a slow burn, but more diversions in the future.

If you're on Tumblr, I'm over there twistedkey (one y!) and I tried my hand at a photoset for this fic. Jury is still out on the quality, but I had fun :)

See you next Sunday!