"Can I ask just one more?"

Edward sighed. "One."

"You said you saw my face . . . in that man's mind. But how did you track me down? How did you know where to find us?"

Edward looked away, deliberating. Beau realized he'd asked two questions, but it was too late to call them back. The silence went on for so long that Beau groaned aloud.

"I thought we were past all the evasiveness."

"Fine, then. I followed your scent." He looked toward the road, giving Beau time to compose his face. There wasn't an acceptable response to that, but he stashed it away in the growing vampire file for future study. Now that Pandora's box had been opened, he was desperate to keep it that way, and his questions bubbled up and over in an uncontrollable way.

"How does it work—the mind-reading thing? Can you read anybody's mind, anywhere? How do you do it? Can the rest of your family . . . ?"

"No, it's just me. And I can't hear anyone, anywhere. I have to be fairly close. The more familiar someone's . . . 'voice' is, the farther away I can hear them. But still, no more than a few miles."

Edward paused, thoughtful now. "It's like being in a huge hall filled with people and everyone is talking at once. It's just a hum—a buzzing of voices in the background. Until I focus on one voice, and then what they're thinking is clear. Most of the time I tune it all out—it can be very distracting. And then it's easier to seem . . . normal . . . when I'm not accidentally answering someone's thoughts rather than their words."

"Why do you think you can't hear me?" Beau asked curiously.

"I don't know. The only guess I have is that maybe your mind doesn't work the same way the rest of theirs do. Like your thoughts are on the AM frequency and I'm only getting FM."

"My mind doesn't work right? I'm a freak?" The words bothered Beau more than they should—probably because the speculation hit too close to home. He always suspected as much; it embarrassed him to have it confirmed.

Edward looked amused. "I hear voices in my mind and you're worried you're the freak. Don't worry, it's just a theory . . . which brings us back to you."

Beau sighed. How to begin?

"Aren't we past all the evasions now?" Edward reminded him.

So they were. He looked away as he tried to find the words. Then he noticed the speedometer.

"Hey! Slow down!"

"What's wrong?"

"You're going a hundred miles an hour!" Beau yelled. "Are you trying to kill us?"

"Relax, we're not going to crash. I always drive like this."

"Keep your eyes on the road, idiot!"

"I've never been in an accident, Beau. Never even gotten a ticket," Edward explained, tapping his own forehead. "Built-in radar detector."

"Very funny. Charlie's a cop, remember? Trust me, one more car accident and the chief is taking my license away for good, even if I'm not the one driving."

"Probably," Edward agreed with a short, hard laugh. The needle gradually drifted to eighty. "Happy?"

"Almost."

"I hate driving slow."

"This is slow?"

"Enough commentary about my driving," he snapped. "I'm still waiting for your latest theory."

Then his voice softened, and he added, "I won't laugh."

"I'm more afraid you'll be angry with me," Beau shrugged.

"Is it that bad?"

"Yeah."

"Go ahead," he encouraged. "Start at the beginning . . . you said you didn't come up with this on your own."

Edward looked calm, as if he already knew what Beau was going to say. But he can't know, Beau reminded himself. He can't read your mind.

"No."

"What got you started—a book? A movie?"

"No, it was Saturday, at the beach. I ran into an old family friend—Jacob Black. Our parents have been friends since we were kids."

He still looked confused. Beau took a breath. "His dad is one of the Quileute elders. We went for a walk, and he was telling me some old legends. He told me one about vampires."

"And you immediately thought of me?"

"No, he . . . mentioned your family."

There was no response from Edward. He stared out at the road, still driving absurdly fast. Beau spoke, faster this time, worried about protecting Jacob.

"He just thought it was a silly superstition. He didn't expect me to think anything of it. It was my fault, I forced him to tell me."

"Why did you do that?"

"An older boy from the tribe said your family didn't come to the reservation. I was curious, so I got Jacob alone, and tricked it out of him."

That caught his attention. "Tricked him how?"

"I tried to flirt—it worked better than I thought it would." Disbelief colored his tone as he recalled that strange afternoon.

"I'd like to have seen that." Edward chuckled darkly. "And you accused me of dazzling people—poor Jacob Black."

Beau blushed at his words. Poor Jacob Black indeed. The guilt he felt at his own scheming had not yet gone away.

"What did you do then?"

"I did some research on the Internet."

"And did that convince you?" Edward sounded barely interested. But the speedometer started to creep up again.

"No, nothing fit. Most of it was kind of silly. And then . . ."

"What?"

"I decided it didn't matter," Beau whispered.

"It didn't matter?"

It seemed he finally broke through the composed Cullen mask. Edward was incredulous—and angry.

"No. It doesn't matter to me what you are."

"You don't care if I'm a monster? If I'm not human!"

"No," Beau said firmly. "But you're angry, just like I thought. Forget it. I shouldn't have said anything."

"No, but I'd rather know what you're thinking—even if what you're thinking is insane."

"So I'm wrong again?" Beau challenged him.

"That's not what I was referring to. 'It didn't matter' is the issue here."

"So I'm right?"

"Does it matter?"

"Not really," Beau paused. What a relief it was to be vindicated. To know he wasn't crazy or inventing things. He made observations, created a hypothesis, and his research, both by folklore and by free search engine, had proved correct. "It doesn't matter what you are, it's who you are, and I think I'm beginning to . . . know you. And that makes me curious."

Edward opened his mouth and closed it a few times, seeming to have a hard time deciding on what to say. He cleared his throat. "What are you curious about?"

"How old are you?"

"Seventeen."

"How long have you been seventeen?" Beau pressed.

"A while," Edward admitted, after a long pause.

"Okay. Don't laugh, but how can you come out during the daytime?"

Edward laughed anyway."Myth."

"Burned by the sun? Sleeping in coffins?"

"Both myths," Edward replied, hesitating. A peculiar tone entered his voice. "I can't sleep."

"At all?"

"Never," the other boy murmured. He almost looked wistful. "You haven't asked me the most important question yet."

Beau had many important questions. "Which one is that?"

"Aren't you concerned about my diet?"

"Oh," he murmured. "That."

"Yes, that," Edward agreed. "Don't you want to know if I drink blood?"

"Well, Jacob said something about that. He said you didn't . . . hunt people. He said your family wasn't supposed to be dangerous because you only hunted animals."

"He said we weren't dangerous?"

"Not exactly. He said you weren't supposed to be dangerous, but the Quileutes still didn't want you on their land, just in case."

Edward looked away. Moments passed in silence. The road was only visible in the bluish brightness from the headlights. The forest along both sides of the freeway was like a black wall—impenetrable, dark, and deadly. As long as they were in this car, Beau could pretend they were the only two people on the planet.

"So he was right? About not hunting people?"

"The Quileutes have a long memory," Edward said at last. "Don't let that make you complacent, though. They're right to keep their distance from us. We are still dangerous."

"I don't understand."

"We're usually very good at what we do. Sometimes we make mistakes. Me, for example, allowing myself to be alone with you."

"This is a mistake?"

"A very dangerous one," Edward murmured.

The two boys fell silent. Beau knew time was passing by too quickly. He was afraid he would never have this kind of chance with Edward again, both boys disarmed, being honest with each other for once. His words had hinted at an end; Beau recoiled from the idea. He didn't want to waste another minute.

"Tell me more."

"What more do you want to know?"

"Tell me why you hunt animals instead of people," Beau suggested.

"I don't want to be a monster."

"But animals aren't enough?"

"I can't be sure, of course, but I'd compare it to living on tofu and soy milk; we call ourselves vegetarians. Our little inside joke. It doesn't completely satiate the hunger—or rather, the thirst. But it keens us strong enough to resist, most of the time. Sometimes it's more difficult than others."

"Is it very difficult for you to spend time with me?"

Edward sighed. "Yes."

"But you're not hungry now."

"Why do you think that?"

"Your eyes," Beau was confident about this detail. "I told you I had a theory. Speaking as a male, I've noticed that we get crabbier when we're hungry."

This made him chuckle. Beau spent a moment committing the laugh to memory.

"Were you hunting this weekend, with Emmett?"

"Yes. I didn't want to leave, but it was necessary. It's a bit easier to be around you when I'm not thirsty."

"Why didn't you want to leave?"

"It makes me . . . anxious . . . to be away from you," Edward said quietly. "I wasn't joking when I asked you to try not to fall in the ocean or get run over last Thursday. I was distracted all weekend, worrying about you. And after what happened tonight, I'm surprised that you made it through a whole weekend unscathed. Well, not totally unscathed."

"What?"

"Your chin."

"Oh, that. Nicked myself shaving."

"That's what I thought. I suppose, being you, it could have been much worse—and that possibility tormented me the entire time I was away."

Beau reddened at his words. So he wasn't the only one consumed with these thoughts all weekend. Despite the minor insults thrown in, he was pleased to hear this admission.

"Anyway," Edward continued. "It was a very long three days. I really got on Emmett's nerves."

"Three days? Didn't you just get back today?"

"No, we got back Sunday."

"Then why weren't any of you in school?" Beau demanded.

"Well, you asked if the sun hurt me, and it doesn't. But I can't go out in the sunlight—at least, not where anyone can see."

"Why?"

"I'll show you sometime," he promised.

Beau felt his heart race at the thought. But he was still frustrated. "You could have called me."

The statement puzzled Edward. "But I knew you were safe."

"But I didn't know where you were. I—"

"What?"

"I didn't like it. Not seeing you. It makes me anxious, too," Beau confessed. His cheeks felt hot again.

Edward groaned. "This is wrong."

"Wrong?" he repeated. "What did I say?"

"Don't you see, Beau? It's one thing for me to make myself miserable, but a wholly other thing for you to be so involved. I don't want you to feel that way." His voice was low and urgent, and the words cut like a knife. "It's wrong. It's not safe. I'm dangerous, Beau—please grasp that."

"No." Beau realized he was folding his arms like a sulky child and immediately unwound them.

"I'm serious."

"So am I. I told you, it doesn't matter what you are. It's too late."

"Never say that."

Beau turned to look out his own window. He was glad to know Edward couldn't read his mind—he'd never know how much that hurt. It made him feel hollow . . . and sad. It was as if every word and gesture, all the subtext between them really meant . . . nothing. He did what one was supposed to do with someone they liked—be vulnerable. And Beau didn't make a habit of being vulnerable with anyone.

"What are you thinking? Are you crying?"

"No," Beau snapped. A total lie. He swiped at his eyes to hide the evidence. He saw Edward's right hand move toward him, hesitate, then drift back to the steering wheel.

"I'm sorry." The apology was for more than just his words.

The darkness slipped by in silence. The speedometer hovered at ninety, as if torn between the two of them.

"Tell me something."

"Yes?"

"What were you thinking tonight, just before I came around the corner? I couldn't understand your expression—you didn't look that scared. You looked like you were concentrating very hard on something."

"I was planning my next move," Beau explained, thinking back to that swell of rage in his chest before the Volvo appeared. He recalled the dark-haired man with a fresh surge of hatred.

"You were going to fight them?" This seemed to upset Edward. "Didn't you think about running?"

He shrugged. "Of course I did. Fight or flight. I chose to fight."

"What about screaming for help?"

"No one comes when you do . . . well, except you."

Edward stared at him for so long he got fidgety. "What?"

"You were right—I'm definitely fighting fate trying to keep you alive."

The car slowed as they passed into Forks. The journey felt like it took forever, but it had really only been twenty minutes.

"Will I see you tomorrow?"

"Yes," Edward smiled, friendly again. "I have a paper due, too."

It was silly, after everything they'd been through tonight, how these words sent flutters through his stomach. Beau found himself unable to speak.

The Volvo came to a stop outside Charlie's house. The lights were on, Big Red sitting in the driveway, everything utterly normal. It was like waking from a dream. Edward stopped the car, but Beau didn't move.

"Do you promise to be there tomorrow?"

"I promise."

Beau considered that for a moment, weighing his words, then nodded. He moved to return the jacket, but Edward shook his head.

"Keep it—you don't have a jacket for tomorrow."

Beau handed it back anyway. "I think Charlie will notice if I walk in wearing something worth more than my truck."

"Oh right. Well, a lot of things are worth more than that hunk of junk."

"Hey. Leave Big Red alone."

"Beau?" Edward asked. "Will you do something for me?"

"Yes?" Beau almost kicked himself for sounding too eager. He would do anything for him. Instantly Beau regretted his unconditional agreement. What if Edward asked him to stay away? He knew he couldn't keep that promise.

"Don't go into the woods alone."

"Why?"

Edward frowned. "I'm not always the most dangerous thing out there. Let's leave it at that."

It was an easy vow to uphold. "Whatever you say. Can you promise me something in return?"

Edward thought for a minute, then nodded. Beau, seeing that his hand had dropped to the center console, laid his own over Edward's cool one.

"Look, I don't know what you go through every day, but I do know what it feels like to be an outsider. I'm just saying . . . you don't have to feel that way anymore. Promise me . . . promise that you won't shut me out."

Slowly, almost unwillingly, Edward nodded again. The two stared at each other until Beau withdrew his hand, reluctantly breaking the spell. "I'll see you tomorrow, Edward. Save me a seat at lunch?"

"Tomorrow, then."

Beau opened the door, ducking his head to climb out of the car, but a chilly hand on his arm stopped him. He turned and found Edward leaning toward him, his glorious face only inches away. Beau felt his heartbeat stutter in response.

"Sleep well."

These words cast a foggy haze over him. Beau stumbled out of the car toward the front door, dazed. A quiet chuckle followed him out of the Volvo. The engine revved as he made his way up the walk. Cold again, he reached for his keys, unlocked the front door, and stepped inside.

"Beau?"

"Hey, Dad," he called, attempting to step out of his boots. He could barely unlace them; his fingers weren't cooperating.

"You're home early."

"Am I?"

"It's not even eight yet," Charlie said, poking his head into the entryway. "Did you have a good time?"

"Yeah—it was lots of fun." His head spun as he tried to remember how the evening started. "They both found dresses."

Concern crossed his face as he watched Beau struggle with the shoelaces. "Are you all right?"

"I'm just tired. I did a lot of walking."

"Well, maybe you should go lie down."

"I'm just going to call Jessica first."

"Weren't you just with her?" Charlie asked.

"Yes—but I left my jacket in her car. I just want to make sure she brings it tomorrow."

"Well, give her a chance to get home first. She's a nice girl, huh?"

"She is," Beau agreed when he finally succeeded with his laces. Charlie returned to the living room, noticeably perturbed.

Beau went to the kitchen and fell, exhausted, into a chair. The highs and lows of the night must have been taking their toll. He listened to the click-click-click of his father flipping through the channels and fought back a sudden rise of tears. If Edward hadn't saved him, Charlie might still be watching television, eyes flickering to the clock every few minutes. His absence wouldn't cause immediate alarm, at least not until ten or eleven o'clock. Renée was lax about curfews, but Beau suspected Charlie was strict as a small-town dad could be, and would have leapt into action when he didn't hear from him.

The phone rang. Beau jumped up, grateful for the interruption, and yanked it off the hook.

"Hello?"

"Beau?"

"Hey, Jess, I was just about to call you."

"You made it home?"

Well, duh, he wanted to say. "Yes, but I left my jacket in your car—could you bring it tomorrow?"

Jessica could barely get the words out. "Sure, but tell me what happened!"

"Um, tomorrow—in Trig, okay?"

She caught on quickly. "Oh, is your dad there?"

"Yes, that's right."

"Okay, I'll talk to you tomorrow, then. Bye!" He could hear the impatience in her voice.

"Bye, Jess."

Beau walked up the stairs slowly as a heavy stupor clouded his mind. He went through the motions of getting ready for bed without paying attention. It wasn't until he was in the shower—the water too hot, burning his skin—that he realized he was freezing. He shuddered violently for several minutes before the steaming spray could relax his rigid muscles.

Later, when he was curled up into a ball under the quilt, still shivering, his mind whirled at full speed. Images flashed behind his eyelids and made him restless. Nothing seemed clear it first, but as Beau fell closer to unconsciousness, a few certainties became evident.

About three things he was absolutely positive. First, Edward was a vampire. Second, there was a small part of him—and Beau didn't know how potent that part might be—that thirsted for his blood. And third, he was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with him.

A/N: My thoughts are a mess these days. Our doctors, nurses, grocery store employees, teachers, truckers . . . they are the backbone of our society. My sincerest thanks to them and their hard work.

As for me, writing is an escape from these troubled times. I have a few oneshots cooking in addition to further chapters of The Blue Hour. Hoping to post those soon.

Stay safe all, and thanks for reading.