In his dream, it was very dark.
Slowly, in the hazy way of dreaming, his eyes adjusted. He recognized this room. Beau had been here before.
He was in the locker room in Phoenix after hours.
Beau was lying flat on his back, covered in blood, unable to move his arms or legs. Everything hurt. He thought his ribs might be fractured; his nose was definitely broken. Dazed, Beau tilted his head, the only part of him that would cooperate with his commands.
A dim light appeared beside the row of lockers. A boy stood over him, silent, watching his fruitless struggling. This was a new development—normally his nightmares were his alone.
The light Beau saw seemed to be radiating from the surface of his skin.
Beau recognized the boy at once. Those eyes glowed gold in the darkness, casting his face in shadow, but still, Beau knew him.
"Edward," he whispered. "Please help me."
Edward turned away, wordless, leaving him alone in the darkness.
It was the same dream every time. No matter what he said, Edward never turned back. Beau woke up troubled, night after night, and couldn't go back to sleep. Hours would pass until his eyes closed again, and before long, it was time to get up for school. Dark circles appeared under his eyes; if they weren't pretending he didn't exist, Beau thought he would fit in at the Cullen table.
The month that followed the accident was uneasy, tense, and at first, embarrassing.
To his dismay, Beau was the center of attention for the rest of that week. Tyler Crowley became his shadow, following him around, determined to make amends. Beau tried to convince him to forget all about it, seeing as he was just fine, but Tyler remained insistent. He joined their now-crowded lunch table, drawing the ire of Mike and Eric, who thought they were being pushed out of the friend-of-Beau-Swan spotlight.
Edward was never surrounded by crowds eager to hear his firsthand account. People saved their curiosity for Beau and avoided the Cullens as usual. The strange family sat at their table as always, not eating, talking only amongst themselves. None of them, especially Edward, glanced his way anymore.
Beau wondered why no one else noticed Edward standing so far away before he was suddenly, impossibly, saving his life. Then he realized—no one else was as aware of Edward as he was. No one else watched him the way Beau did. How pitiful.
When they sat together in class, Edward would sit as far away as the table allowed, and seemed totally unaware of the other boy's presence. Only now and then, when his fists would suddenly ball up—skin stretched white over the bones—did Beau wonder if he wasn't as oblivious as he appeared.
He wished he hadn't pulled Beau from the path of the van. Beau could reach no other conclusion.
Beau desperately wanted to talk to Edward, to at the very least thank him sincerely. He did try on the day after the accident. The last time they saw each other was outside of the ER, where they had exchanged angry words. Beau was furious Edward wouldn't trust him with the truth, even though he saw everything. Even when he was keeping his mouth shut. But, Edward had saved his life, and overnight, the resentment Beau felt faded into awed gratitude. Charlie might have been picking out a coffin by now if Edward hadn't acted so quickly. Whatever his secret was, Beau was happy to keep it, thankful for his heroism.
The next day Edward beat him to Biology. Beau sat down, expecting him to turn, but he didn't.
Something else was waiting for him at their table. It was the Mariners baseball cap, the same cap Beau thought he lost in the accident. He pressed his hand flat to the crown of it, delighted, heart thudding loud in his ears.
"Hello, Edward."
Edward turned his head a fraction, nodded once, and looked away.
That was the last contact they had, though he was there, a foot away, every day. They worked on their lab reports independently and didn't speak, even during partnered projects. His golden eyes grew perceptibly darker by the day.
Beau watched him sometimes, unable to stop himself, but always from a distance, like in the cafeteria or parking lot. In class, they ignored each other.
Beau was miserable. And the dreams continued.
A week after the accident, Beau asked around for a good mechanic. He told people the truck sustained some minor damage, but he had ulterior motives. He really wanted to take a better look at the van, unable to sate his curiosity about Edward. As long as he kept his investigation private, Beau reasoned, there was no harm in examining the dent.
But, by the time he made it to Dowling's garage after school, the dent had been repaired. Nothing remained of the accident—nothing he could prove.
These events had another unusual effect. In the days following the accident, people—girls, specifically—started dropping by the house with casseroles and other premade dinners. It was as if narrowly avoiding death had rendered him incapable of feeding himself. Sometimes their mothers joined them, giddily passing along the reheating instructions, and flirting with Charlie if he was home. The chief appeared to appreciate the attention.
These visits happened so often that Beau suspected Charlie thought he was some sort of high school Casanova. Beau didn't have the energy to correct him, much less have the big Coming Out Talk, so he let his father think what he wanted, because it seemed to make him happy. Beau was the only one not enjoying his continuing popularity.
He played his part, though. He went to the Newton Super Bowl watch party with the lunchtime gang, even though football bored him to tears, chuckling when Mike cursed the Patriots in a fit of rage.
His mother read between the lines of his e-mails and called a few times. Beau tried to convince her it was just the weather that had him down; seasonal effective disorder or something to that effect. Renée was happier now that she and Phil were in Florida, and Beau wanted to keep it that way.
The snow washed away for good after that one dangerously icy day. Mike was disappointed he'd never gotten to stage his snowball fight, but pleased that the beach trip would soon be possible.
The rain continued heavily, though, and the weeks passed. Beau went to the school on some weekends, used the weight room, and grew stronger both mentally and physically. He slowly became more comfortable being in a locker room again. These efforts worked better than expected; no one noticed his disquiet about Edward Cullen.
Then Jessica, a three-time casserole visitor, made him aware of another event looming on the horizon. She pulled him aside one day after Trig to talk about the girls' choice spring dance in two weeks. Beau thought she was looking for advice on how to ask Mike at first, but soon, he realized she had other plans entirely.
"So, I was thinking you should take me to the spring dance."
Beau put a hand on the back of his neck, which was growing hotter by the minute. He decided the best course of action was to play dumb. "There's a spring dance?"
"Yes," Jessica said excitedly. "It's so much fun, and spring break starts right after it, so everyone always has a great time. Anyway, we've been friends for a while now and I think it's time we took the next step in our relationship."
"You want to go with me? I heard . . . well, I heard Mike was hoping you'd ask him."
Her smile faltered; she hadn't considered this wrinkle in the planning process. "Mike?"
"Oh, yeah," Beau was excited by this potential loophole. "He talked about you all week in Biology."
"Really?"
Beau nodded. "He's really into you. I say go for it."
"Okay . . . " Jessica said slowly, the gears no doubt turning in her mind, recalculating every interaction the two shared in the past week. "All right, I'll ask Mike. Are you sure, though? Did someone already ask you?"
"No," Beau assured her. "I'm not going to the dance at all."
This shocked Jessica. "Why not?"
Dancing was glaringly outside his range of abilities. A bunt in front of home plate? No problem. But dancing in public? Safety hazard. He was built like Charlie; tall, lanky, and pitifully uncoordinated during social occasions. It was in the interest of public safety that he did not attend the dance.
"I'm going to Seattle that Saturday," Beau explained. He was itching to get out of town and away from all the attention, and suddenly, he had the perfect excuse.
"Can you go some other weekend?"
"Sorry, no. But I think you and Mike would have a lot of fun."
Jessica was less chatty than usual in Spanish. Beau didn't stop talking, even when admonished by Señora Goff, trying to soften the blow of his rejection. Like Mike, Jessica seemed to have certain expectations for their friendship, but as Beau also harbored unrequited feelings for someone uninterested, he didn't want to upset her. By lunchtime, it seemed his efforts with Jessica had paid off, because she quickly took the open seat next to Mike.
Beau went up for a soda and tried not to glance in the direction of the Cullens. Angela joined him in line and they discussed the latest Biology homework. After a moment of watching her dig through her purse, Beau put a dollar in the Mariners cap, then had her pick it out at the cashier. They laughed together.
"I heard Jessica asked you to the dance."
Beau winced. "You heard about that, huh?"
"Well, she called me last night to talk her through it," she smiled. "But it looks like Mike said yes."
She was right; the two were sitting closer than before and smiling. He breathed a sigh of relief.
"Who are you asking?"
Angela glanced at him shyly. "Actually, I thought about asking you to go with me, you know, as friends."
It was a sweet offer; if he wasn't so adverse to dancing in public, Beau would have accepted it in a heartbeat. But there was another thing impeding this offer—something critical.
"Me? Not Ben Cheney?"
Angela blushed at his words. He'd noticed her watching the other boy across the cafeteria for over two weeks. Sometimes, Ben would watch her, too.
"He doesn't know I exist."
"Ang," Beau grinned, throwing a playful arm around her shoulders as they returned to the table. She was nearly as tall as he was, so she didn't stumble. "Sure he does. Ask him! I dare you."
"I can't."
"Of course you can. You asked me, didn't you?"
Angela nodded, still blushing. They spent the walk to Biology devising the perfect way for her to ask Ben out after church on Sunday. Beau was relieved she took it well. Angela was fast becoming a good friend to him in Forks.
Mike always hung out at his desk before class, but today, Lauren Mallory was waiting for him. Edward was avoiding his gaze as usual. Beau forced a polite smile.
"Hey, Lauren."
"Beau," she chirped as he slid into the chair. "You're looking good. I'm so glad Tyler didn't flatten you with his van."
"So am I," he said nervously. Lauren was another three-time casserole visitor; a bad sign. "Black is so not my color, you know?"
Lauren laughed even though it wasn't that funny. Beau had a strong hunch about she was after but he was too chicken to cut her off at the pass. So he plastered a smile on his face and listened, nodding along to her dress shopping saga, the hair extension misfires she made a year ago, and waited for the proverbial other shoe to drop.
"Anyway," she continued, steering the conversation back into dangerous waters. "You and I should go to the spring dance together."
"Oh," he murmured, shifting uncomfortably as she leaned closer. There was nowhere to look other than at the neckline of her ugly tracksuit. "That's really nice of you to ask, but I'm not going to be in town."
Lauren kept coming. Her zipper was suddenly a few inches lower than before. He had nearly a full view of her chest, which, if he was straight, would seal the deal.
But he wasn't, and it didn't.
"Yeah, Jessica said that."
"Then why—"
Lauren shrugged. "I was hoping you were just letting her down easy. Jess can be overbearing sometimes."
"I'm sorry," Beau said, though he was not all that sorry. "I really am going out of town."
"That's cool. We still have prom."
Beau exhaled loudly as she flounced away. He really should just tell people. This was starting to get out of hand.
He wasn't obtuse—Beau knew girls thought he was attractive. He was tall, fit from exercise, and above all, nonthreatening; he'd never made unwelcome advances toward Jessica, Angela, or Lauren because he wasn't interested. To them, it made Beau a desired candidate; to Beau, it was tantamount to cowardice. He was lying—lying by omission. The girls at least had the courage to be forthright with their intentions.
A snort of derision cut into his self-loathing. Beau turned unwillingly to find Edward's eyes on him. He waited, but the other boy didn't say anything.
"What? Are you speaking to me again?"
"No, not really."
"Then what do you want?" Beau snapped.
"I'm sorry." He almost sounded sincere. "I'm being very rude, I know. But it's better this way, really."
"I don't know what you mean."
"It's better if we're not friends," Edward explained. "Trust me."
"It's too bad you didn't figure that out earlier," Beau muttered. "You could have saved yourself all this regret."
"Regret? Regret for what?"
"For not just letting that stupid van squish me."
Edward was astonished. "You think I regret saving your life?"
"I know you do."
"You don't know anything. Except maybe that 'black is soooo not your color.'"
Beau stared, taken aback by the outrageous impression of his own voice. Edward Cullen, a comedian? It was on the same level of lunacy as the idea of Renée becoming an accountant. Inconceivable. And kind of . . . bitchy.
Before he could think of a suitable retort, Mr. Banner's voice called across the room, seeking an answer to a question Beau hadn't heard being asked.
"Mr. Cullen?"
"The Krebs Cycle," Edward replied, almost like he didn't have to think about it. Beau scowled, disappointed.
He then spent the next hour picturing Big Red running over the shiny Volvo. Beau was sure the student body would hoist them on their shoulders for that act.
Later, Beau decided to make enchiladas for dinner. It required some prep work and took his mind off school for the moment. But he soon had to slow down when he realized he was dicing the chicken too forcefully. There, while his mind was unoccupied for a second, the intrusive thoughts made themselves known.
What did Edward mean, it was better if they weren't friends?
Maybe he caught on that Beau was interested in him. He paused, the knife in midair, considering the facts.
That had to be it.
Edward must have realized Beau had a crush and was trying not to lead him on. It was better if they weren't friends because he wanted to let him down easy.
Well, that was fine. Beau could leave him alone. He would leave him alone. He had to get through this year, and the next, then continue with the Florida plan. Eighteen months, eighteen months . . .
Baseball tryouts were coming up. Beau doubted scouts would bother driving to this rainy little hell, but if he was pitching, he might turn the shitty school record around. He focused on sunny beaches and palm trees as he finished preparing the ingredients.
Charlie seemed suspicious when he came home and smelled the green peppers. Beau couldn't blame him; the closest edible Mexican food was probably in southern California. But he was a cop, even if just a small-town cop, so he was brave enough to take the first bite. He seemed to like it. Beau enjoyed earning his father's trust in the kitchen.
"Dad?"
"Yep?"
"Um, I just wanted to let you know that I'm going to Seattle for the day a week from Saturday . . . if that's okay?"
His mother was liberal with curfew, but he hesitated to bring this precedent up with his father, knowing it would set the two against each other unnecessarily. He would have to tread carefully; it was all about the approach.
"Why?" He sounded surprised, as if unable to imagine something that Forks couldn't offer.
"Well, I wanted to get a few books—the library here is pretty limited. Maybe pick up some warmer clothes . . . grab a new glove while I'm at it."
"Big Red probably doesn't get very good gas mileage," Charlie said. Beau smiled at the use of his truck's nickname.
"I know, I'll stop in Montesano and Olympia—Tacoma if I have to."
"Oh, okay. Sure. Will you be back in time for the dance?"
"It's not my scene, Dad."
"Oh, right."
The next morning, when he pulled into the parking lot, Beau deliberately parked as far as possible from the silver Volvo. He didn't want to bring his destruction daydreams to fruition; Big Red was a ready and willing accomplice. As he got out of the cab, his keys fell into a puddle just underneath the door.
Ugh, he thought. One of those mornings.
As he bent down, a white hand flashed out and beat him to it. Beau jerked upright. Edward Cullen leaning casually against the truck, twirling the keys around one finger.
"How do you do that?"
"Do what?"
"Appear out of thin air."
"Not my fault if you are exceptionally unobservant."
Beau scowled and pocketed the keys. He couldn't help but notice Edward's eyes were light again today. They were a deep golden color, almost like honey, and nearly impossible to look away from.
"So what's this about? I thought you were pretending I don't exist."
"You're being absurd. I'm not pretending you don't exist. Besides, if I was, that means I would miss out on the Forks-Most-Eligible-Bachelor Show."
Beau turned and sloshed through the rain in the opposite direction. In no time at all Edward had caught up with him. "I'm sorry, that was rude. I'm not saying it isn't true but it was rude to say it, anyway."
"Why won't you leave me alone? What kind of game are you playing?"
"I wanted to ask you something, but you sidetracked me."
"Do you have multiple personality disorder? Like today for example, when you woke up and decided to be Mr. Hyde?"
Edward was smiling. "You're doing it again."
"Fine," Beau growled. "What do you want?"
"I was wondering if a week from Saturday—you know, the day of the spring dance—"
"Are you trying to be funny?"
He was rendered truly weak in the knees by Edward's answering wicked smile. "Will you please allow me to finish? Word is you're going to Seattle that day and I was wondering if you wanted a ride."
"Why?" Beau asked warily.
"Well, I was planning to go to Seattle in the next few weeks, and, to be honest, I'm not sure if your truck can make it."
"Big Red works just fine, thank you for your concern." He set off toward homeroom, but to his surprise, Edward continued to follow.
Was Mercury in retrograde or something? Beau made a mental note to ask Jessica about it later. Jessica, a firm believer in astrology, had almost finished a Virgo star chart for him that was suspiciously compatible with her own sign, Scorpio.
"Big Red?"
"My truck. And you still haven't explained why its mileage is any of your business."
"The wasting of finite resources is everyone's business."
"Honestly, Edward," Beau said, slowing to a stop, and hating the thrill of saying his name. "I thought you didn't want to be my friend."
"I said it would be better if weren't friends, not that I didn't want to be."
"Because that makes sense," Beau replied, irritated again. He stared down at the strange boy, who, annoyingly, didn't seem the least bit intimidated by their albeit small height difference.
"It would be more . . . prudent for you not to be my friend. But I'm tired of trying to stay away from you, Beau."
His tawny eyes smoldered and betrayed absolutely nothing. Beau shifted his feet, searching for an appropriate answer to that, but rational thought had deserted him. Edward's words held possibilities he never dared to imagine. Beau couldn't even string a sentence together.
Edward stepped in to fill the silence. "Will you go with me to Seattle?"
Beau still didn't know what to say, so he just nodded.
"You really should stay away from me. I'll see you in class."
Then Edward turned and walked back the way they came.
A/N: My previous fic, Number Our Days, has again been nominated for the TwiFic Fandom Awards. I'm up for Favorite All-Time Fic and Favorite Out of this World Fic. Thank you for these nominations! I am forever grateful for the support.