It was just beginning to drizzle as the truck approached Charlie's house.

Beau's brain felt like a wrung out sponge. He learned nearly every painful, bloody, dark thing the Cullens—Edward especially—went through at the birth of their new lives. But there was brightness, too: love, hope, family ties, and even baseball.

Then Edward was muttering something unintelligible in a low, harsh voice. Beau followed his gaze to the weathered Ford parked in the driveway. Jacob Black stood behind his father's wheelchair, looking embarrassed, while Billy, his face impassive, sat waiting under the front porch.

"This is crossing the line."

"Did he come warn Charlie?"

Edward nodded, glaring through the rain with narrowed eyes. Beau was weak with relief that his father hadn't come home yet.

"Let me deal with this."

"That's probably best. Be careful, though. The child has no idea."

Beau frowned. "Jacob isn't much younger than I am."

Edward looked sideways at him and grinned, the anger abruptly fading from his eyes. "Oh, I know. Get them inside so I can leave. I'll be back around dusk."

"You don't have to leave."

"Actually, I do. After you get rid of them"—he threw a loaded glance at Jacob and Billy—"you still have to prepare for Charlie to meet your new boyfriend."

Beau groaned. "Thanks a lot."

Edward smiled the crooked smile he loved. "I'll be back soon."

The gold eyes flickered back to the porch, assessing, before Edward leaned in swiftly to kiss Beau under the edge of his jaw. Beau felt his heart lurch as he glanced toward the porch. Billy's face was no longer impassive, and his hands clutched the armrests of his chair.

"Soon," Beau stressed on his way out the door. He could feel those eyes on his back as he hustled to join the visitors.

"Hey, Billy. Hi, Jacob," he said with a cheerfulness he did not feel. "Charlie's gone for the day—I hope you haven't been waiting long."

"Not long." Billy said, his black eyes piercing. "I just wanted to bring this up."

"Thanks," Beau eyed the brown paper sack. "Why don't you come in for a minute and dry off? Here, let me take that for you."

He pretended to be oblivious to the scrutiny as he unlocked the door, holding it open so they could go in first. Beau allowed himself one last glance at Edward. He was waiting, perfectly still, his eyes solemn.

"You'll want to put it in the fridge," Billy advised. "It's some of Harry Clearwater's homemade fish fry—Charlie's favorite. The fridge keeps it drier."

"Thanks," Beau repeated, with feeling this time. "I was running out of new ways to fix fish, and he's bound to bring home more tonight."

"Fishing again?" Billy asked, a subtle gleam in his eye now. "Down at the usual spot? Maybe I'll run by and see him."

"No, he was headed someplace new . . . but I have no idea where."

Billy watched the change of expression thoughtfully. Then he turned to Jacob.

"Jake, why don't you go get that new picture of Rebecca out of the car? I'll leave that for Charlie, too."

"Where is it?" Jacob was staring at the floor.

"I think I saw it in the trunk," his father said. "You may have to dig for it."

They both watched Jacob slouch back out into the rain, then faced each other, silent. The squeak of the wheels against the linoleum followed him into the kitchen. Beau shoved the bag onto the crowded top shelf of the fridge and turned to face Billy.

"I'm not sure when my dad will be back."

Billy nodded, his face unreadable, but said nothing.

"Thanks again for bringing fish fry over." Beau hoped he would take the hint, but he did not. Billy seemed to sense that he had given up on the small talk.

"Beau, Charlie is one of my best friends."

"Yes, I know."

"I've noticed you've been spending time with one of the Cullens."

"Yes," Beau repeated curtly.

The black eyes narrowed. "Maybe it's none of my business, but I don't think that's such a good idea."

"You're right, it is none of your business."

This surprised Billy. "You probably don't know this, but the Cullen family has an unpleasant reputation on the reservation."

"Actually, I did know that," Beau folded his arms against his chest. "But that reputation couldn't be deserved, because Cullens never set foot on the reservation."

The less than subtle reminder of the agreement that bound and protected his tribe seemed to pull Billy up short. Did he know that his own son had broken it? Beau thought not; Edward said Jacob didn't know anything.

"That's true. You seem . . . well informed about the Cullens. More informed than I expected."

Beau stared him down. "Maybe even better informed than you are."

"Maybe," Billy allowed, but his eyes were shrewd. "Is Charlie as well informed?"

Billy had found the weak chink in his armor. "Charlie likes the Cullens a lot."

"It's not my business," Billy answered, unhappily, but unsurprised at the same time. "But it may be Charlie's."

"Though Charlie's business would be my business, right?" Beau would be damned if Billy outed him to Charlie. But then he realized Billy cared more about him dating a vampire than about him dating a boy, and felt a pang of guilt at his own rudeness.

"Yes," Billy surrendered at last. "Just think about what you're doing, Beau."

"Okay. Thanks, Billy."

"What I meant to say was don't do what you're doing."

Beau looked into his eyes, filled with nothing but concern for him, and it was obvious that he could say no more. Billy had good intentions, whether Beau wanted to agree with them or not.

The bang of the front door was a welcome reprieve. Jacob rounded the corner into the kitchen, long hair dripping wet, his voice rising into a complaint.

"There's no picture anywhere in that car."

"Hmm," Billy grunted, suddenly detached, spinning the chair to face Jacob. "I guess I left it at home."

Jacob rolled his eyes dramatically. "Great."

"Well, Beau, tell Charlie . . . that we stopped by, I mean."

"I will," Beau muttered.

Jacob looked surprised. "Are we leaving already?"

"Charlie's gonna be out late."

"Oh." Jacob was disappointed now. "Well, I guess I'll see you later then, Beau."

"Sure," he agreed.

"Take care," Billy warned; Beau didn't answer.

Jacob helped his father over the threshold. Beau waved, glancing at the now-empty truck, then closed the front door behind them. After the sound of the car faded away, as the tension dissipated from his shoulders, Beau went to change out of his nice clothes.

He threw on an old red flannel and jeans. The tense moment that just passed became insignificant now, and while removed from Edward and Jasper's influence, he began to make up for not being terrified before.

The phone rang, jolting him out of his anxiety, and he raced downstairs to answer it. "Hello?"

"Beau? It's me," Jessica said.

"Oh, hey, Jess." He scrambled to come back down to reality. It felt like months since he'd spoken to her. "How was the dance?"

"It was so much fun!" Jessica gushed. Needing no more invitations than that, she launched into a minute-by-minute account of the previous night. He said all the right things but it wasn't easy to concentrate. Jessica, Mike, the dance, school—they all felt irrelevant at the moment. His eyes kept flashing to the window, trying to judge the degree of light behind the heavy clouds.

"Did you hear what I said, Beau?" Jess asked, irritated.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I said, Mike kissed me! Can you believe it?"

"That's wonderful, Jess."

"So what did you do yesterday?" Jessica challenged, still sounding bothered by his lack of attention toward her. Or maybe she was upset because he hadn't asked for more details. It seemed he was really shirking his GBF duties.

"Nothing, really. I just hung around outside to enjoy the sun."

He heard the sound of Charlie's car in the garage and gulped.

"Did you ever hear anything more from Edward Cullen?"

The front door slammed. Charlie was noisy, banging around with his gear, and dropped his tackle box in the entryway.

"Um—"

"Hi there, kiddo!"

Jessica heard his voice. "Oh, your dad's there. Never mind—we'll talk when we get back to school."

"See ya, Jess," Beau hung up the phone. Charlie waved on his way to the kitchen sink. "Hey, Dad. Where's the fish?"

"I put it out in the freezer."

"I'll go grab a few pieces before they freeze—Billy dropped off some of Harry Clearwater's fish fry this afternoon."

"He did?" Charlie's eyes lit up. "That's my favorite."

Charlie cleaned himself up while Beau prepared dinner. It didn't take long until they were sitting at the table, eating in their usual silence. Charlie was enjoying his food. Beau was wondering desperately how to fulfill his assignments. There was just no way to broach either subject naturally.

But then, as if hearing the silent call for help, Charlie threw him a lifeline. "What did you do today?"

"Well, this afternoon I just hung around the house . . ." Only the very recent part of the afternoon. He tried to keep his voice upbeat, but his stomach was hollow. "And this morning I was over at the Cullens'."

"Dr. Cullen's place?" Charlie asked, astonished. His fork clattered to the floor.

"Yeah."

"What were you doing there?"

"Well, I sort of have a date with Edward Cullen tonight, and he wanted to introduce me to his parents . . . Dad, are you all right?"

It looked like Charlie was having an aneurysm.

"You're going out with Edward Cullen?"

"I thought you liked the Cullens," Beau said, flustered. This wasn't going at all how he imagined. His pulse started picking up speed. The approval he craved so much seemed wildly out of reach.

"I . . . do." Charlie struggled for words. "But . . . last night you said you weren't interested in any of the girls in town . . . "

"Well, Edward doesn't live in town, Dad. And he's not a girl."

Charlie still hadn't picked up his fork. "But . . . what about Jessica Stanley? Or that Mallory girl? And the casseroles?"

"The casseroles aren't for me," Beau told him. "I'm sorry you had to find out this way, Dad. I've been trying to tell you for . . . a while now."

Charlie sputtered at his words. "Don't be s-sorry, Beau, I'm just . . . well, I'm a little a little caught off guard here. Does your mom know?"

"She knows that I'm gay," Beau nodded. He watched his father absorb this information and regretted waiting so long to do this.

Charlie had missed so much of his life already. Now, to add insult to injury, he was the last to know.

"Okay . . . okay," Charlie said gruffly, reaching down to pick up his fork. He met Beau's anxious eyes and held them. "Well. Thank you for telling me. I'm . . . proud of you. I love you."

A wave of affection washed over him. He hadn't realized how much he needed to hear those words from Charlie. The tense knot in his stomach began to unwind.

"Thanks, Dad," Beau murmured. "I hope you . . . I hope this doesn't change—"

"This changes nothing," Charlie said firmly. "You're still my son."

His cheeks were red. "Thanks, Dad."

"You're welcome," Charlie said, clearing his throat, but his eyes were bright. Beau looked at his plate to give his father a moment to collect himself. "So, which one is Edwin?"

"Edward is the youngest, the one with the reddish brown hair."

"Isn't he too old for you?"

"We're both juniors," Beau corrected him, though Charlie was more right than he dreamed.

"Oh, well, that's good, I guess. Is this Edwin your boyfriend?"

"It's Edward, Dad."

"Is he?"

"Sort of, I guess."

The two Swans sat quietly, adjusting, it seemed, to this newfound openness between them. Beau was grateful for the game tonight. He'd be spending time with Edward, of course, but it would also allow Charlie some time to think and come to terms with the news. Renée read dozens of books on the subject and told him, if and when the day arrived, that his father would have to mourn the what-if's. The usual milestones of his life would be different now but no less important.

Beau was sure there were no books on dating vampires, much less gay ones, and decided Charlie had a long road ahead of him. He clearly didn't know a lot of gay people, and now he knew two, one of them being his own son. Charlie led a fairly predictable life and Beau had thrown him a curveball. He would need time.

Beau shook his head to clear it and realized Charlie was talking.

"When is he coming over?"

"He'll be here in a few minutes."

"Where is he taking you?"

"I hope you're getting the Spanish Inquisition out of your system now," Beau groaned. "It's kind of at an early stage, you know. Don't embarrass me with all the boyfriend talk, okay?"

The roar of an engine startled them both. Beau jumped up to clean their plates. Charlie shooed him away from the sink.

"Leave the dishes, I can do them tonight. You baby me too much."

At the sound of the doorbell, Charlie stalked off to answer it, Beau half a step behind.

"Come on in, Edward."

Beau breathed a sigh of relief when Charlie got his name right.

"Thanks, Chief Swan," Edward said in a respectful voice.

"Go ahead and call me Charlie. Here, I'll take your jacket."

"Thanks, sir."

Beau grimaced at the butt-kissing he was being forced to watch. But his dad seemed to eat it right up. "Have a seat there, Edward."

Edward sat fluidly in the armchair, forcing Beau to sit with Chief Swan on the sofa.

"So, where are you taking my son?"

Beau reddened at the use of 'my son' again. This reaction didn't go unnoticed by Edward, who smiled broadly. "Beau is joining my family and I for a baseball game."

It was exactly the right answer. Only in Washington would the fact that it was raining buckets have no bearing on the playing of outdoor sports. Even without Edward's gift, he could tell Charlie approved of the activity, one as a bystander, and two as a father, knowing how much Beau enjoyed the game.

"Ready to go?" Beau asked as he pulled on his Mariners cap. He was using it for its intended purpose for the first time in months.

"Not too late, Beau," Charlie said as he walked them to the door.

"Don't worry, Charlie," Edward promised. "I'll have him home early."

"You take care of him, all right?"

Beau groaned again, but they ignored him.

"He'll be safe with me, I promise, sir."

Charlie couldn't doubt Edward's sincerity; it rang in every word. Beau, eager to end the conversation, stalked out the door. The other two, fast friends now, laughed.

Beau paused on the porch. There, behind Big Red, was a monster Jeep. Its tires were level with his shoulders. There were metal guards over both the headlights and taillights, with four large spotlights attached to the crash bar. The hardtop was a shiny red and very similar to Rosalie's convertible.

It was Big Red's older brother—Bigger Red.

Charlie let out a low whistle. "Wear your seatbelts."

Beau clamored into the passenger seat. The seatbelt had too many buckles. He gave up, frustrated. "What's all this?"

"It's an off-roading harness."

"Uh-oh."

Edward sighed and reached over to help. Beau was glad the rain was too heavy to see Charlie clearly on the porch. That meant he couldn't see how Edward's hands lingered at his neck, tracing the skin along the collarbones. Beau gave up trying to help him and focused on not hyperventilating.

Edward turned the key and the engine roared to life. Charlie stood watching until they rounded the corner, and then he was gone.

"This is a . . . um . . . big Jeep you have."

"It's Emmett's. I didn't think you'd want to run the whole way."

"Where do you keep this thing?" Beau asked. It felt bigger than the plane he took from Seattle to Port Angeles.

"We remodeled one of the outbuildings into a garage."

Beau pulled on a strap experimentally. "Aren't you going to put your seatbelt on?"

Edward threw him a disbelieving look. Then something sunk in.

"Run the whole way? As in, we're still going to run part of the way?" His voice edged up a few octaves.

"You're not going to run."

"I'm going to be sick." Beau bit his lip to quell the nausea.

"Keep your eyes closed, you'll be fine." Edward leaned over to kiss Beau's cheek. Then he groaned. Beau only looked at him, puzzled.

"You smell so good in the rain."

"In a good way, or in a bad way?" Beau asked cautiously.

He sighed. "Both, always, both."

Beau hung onto the Mariners cap for dear life. He spent most of the ride bouncing up and down on the seat like a jackhammer. He cringed in discomfort. At this rate, Beau thought he might need to readjust his expectations on sexual activity, if their relationship ever came to that.

Soon they came to the end of the road. Trees formed green walls on three sides of the Jeep. The rain was a mere drizzle, slowing every second, the sky growing brighter through the clouds.

"You did well," Edward said as they rolled to a stop.

"With the chief or with the Jeep?"

"The chief," Edward answered as he turned off the engine. He turned to face Beau and his expression was so warm Beau felt his heart clench at the sight. "I was listening."

"Of course you were," Beau murmured, remembering the shaky start to that conversation. "Charlie seemed to do all right with it."

"He really meant it, you know—being proud of you," Edward told him. They both listened to the answering thud-thud of Beau's heart. "He's happy that you . . . seem happy."

"I am happy," Beau said, blushing. Coming out to Charlie almost felt anticlimactic now. Edward confirmed what they both already knew: Beau should have expected more from the chief. Of course he would accept him and be proud. Beau was almost drunk with the relief of it.

Edward smiled back, then cleared his throat. "Me too. But, I'm sorry to say, we have to go on foot from here."

"You know what?" Beau decided, his good mood fading fast, "I'll just wait here."

"What happened to all your courage?" Edward's voice became cloying. "You were extraordinary today."

"I haven't forgotten the last time yet." Could that have only been yesterday?

Edward was around to his side of the car in a blur. He started unbuckling the harness.

"I'll get those, you go on ahead," Beau protested.

"Hmm . . . " Edward mused. "It seems I'm going to have to tamper with your memory."

Before he could react, Edward pulled him from the Jeep and set him on the ground. It was barely misting now; Alice was going to be right.

"Tamper with my memory?" he asked nervously.

"Something like that." Edward was watching him intently, carefully, but there was humor deep in his eyes. He placed his hands on either side of Beau's shoulders and stepped forward, forcing him back against the door of the Jeep. Just like yesterday, Beau shivered, furtively enjoying their closeness.

Edward leaned closer until their faces were inches apart. There was no room to escape, and he didn't want to.

"Now," he breathed. "What exactly are you worrying about?"

"Well, um, hitting a tree—" Beau gulped. "—and dying. And then getting sick."

Edward fought back a smile. Then he pressed his lips to the hollow at the base of Beau's throat.

"Are you still worried now?"

"Yes." Beau struggled to concentrate. "About hitting trees and getting sick."

"And now?" Edward's lips whispered against his jaw. He nuzzled against the skin for a moment and Beau shivered again, fumbling for a response.

"Trees," he gasped. "Motion sickness."

"Beau, you don't really think I would hit a tree, do you?"

"No, but I might." There was no confidence in his voice. Edward smelled an easy victory. He kissed slow down his cheek, stopping just at the corner of his mouth.

"Would I let a tree hurt you?"

"No," Beau breathed. He knew there was a second part to his brilliant defense, but couldn't quite call it back. Their chests were so close it felt like his heartbeat was coming from Edward. It was a unique and exquisite torture.

"You see," Edward said, their mouths just touching, "There's nothing to be afraid of, is there?"

"No," he sighed, giving up.

Then, Edward took Beau's face in his hands almost roughly, kissing him in earnest.

There was really no excuse for his behavior. Beau knew better by now. And yet, he couldn't seem to stop himself from reacting as he had the first time. Instead of staying safely motionless, his arms wrapped around Edward's neck, welding them together. Beau sighed, and his lips parted.

Edward staggered back and broke the grip effortlessly.

"Damn it, Beau! You'll be the death of me, I swear you will."

Beau leaned over and braced his hands against his knees for support. "You're indestructible."

"I might have believed that before I met you. Now let's get out of here before I do something really stupid."

Edward threw him against his back as he had before. Beau secured his arms in a chokehold around Edward's neck.

"Don't forget to close your eyes."

Beau tucked his face against Edward's shoulder blade. He could hardly tell they were moving. He could feel Edward gliding along, but he might have been strolling down the sidewalk, the movement was so smooth. Beau was tempted to peek, just to see if Edward was really flying through the forest like before, but he resisted. It wasn't worth that awful dizziness.

He wasn't sure when they stopped until Edward reached back and touched the Mariners cap.

"It's over, Beau."

Beau dared to open his eyes, and sure enough, they were at a standstill. He stiffly unlocked the stranglehold, slipped to the ground, and landed squarely on his ass.

"Oh!"

Edward stared at him incredulously. He seemed to be having trouble deciding whether he was still too mad to find it funny. But Beau's bewildered expression pushed him over the edge, and Edward broke into a roar of laughter.

Beau picked himself up and ignored Edward, brushing mud and bracken off the back of his jacket. Annoyed, he began to stride off into the forest. At once a cold arm slid around his waist.

"Where are you going, Beau?"

"To play baseball with your family. I'm sure we'll have fun without you."

"You're going the wrong way."

Beau turned around and marched in the opposite direction. He was soon caught again.

"Don't be mad, I couldn't help myself. You should have seen your face."

"Oh, so you're the only one who's allowed to get mad?" Beau asked.

"I wasn't mad at you."

"'Beau, you'll be the death of me'?"

"That was simply a statement of fact."

Beau scoffed, trying to turn away again, but Edward held him fast.

"You were mad."

"Yes."

"But you just said—"

"That I wasn't mad at you. Can't you see that, Beau? Don't you understand?"

"See what?" Beau demanded.

"I'm never angry with you—how could I be? My danger-prone boy . . . brave, trusting . . . warm as you are."

"Then why?" Beau whispered, remembering the black moods that pulled Edward away from him. He always interpreted them as well-justified frustration—frustration at his weakness, slowness, unruly human reactions . . .

"I infuriate myself," Edward said gently. "The way I can't seem to keep from putting you in danger. My very existence puts you at risk. Sometimes I truly hate myself. I should be stronger, I should be able to—"

Beau put a hand over his mouth. "Don't."

Edward moved the hand but held it to his own face. "I love you. It's a poor excuse for what I'm doing, but it's still true."

It was the first time Edward said he loved him—in so many words. He might not have realized it, but Beau certainly did.

"Now, please try to behave yourself," Edward continued, gifting him with a small peck on the lips. Beau held properly still and sighed.

"You promised Chief Swan that you would have me home early, remember? We'd better get going."

"Yes, sir."

Edward led him by the hand through the tall, wet ferns, draping moss, and around a hemlock tree. Then they were there, at the edge of an enormous open field, tucked away in the lap of the Olympic peaks. Beau thought back to his first Mariners game with Charlie. The stadium was gone now, but Beau knew even if he could drop two Kingdomes on this field, they would still not cover the surface area.

The other Cullens were all there. Esme, Emmett, and Rosalie sat on a bare outcropping of rock, stretching needlessly; Jasper and Alice were throwing something back and forth, at least a quarter of a mile away from one another; Carlisle was marking bases, further apart than Beau anticipated. Did they expect him to run that far?

Esme and Emmett started toward them. Rosalie stood gracefully, striding toward the field, not sparing a glance in their direction. Beau felt his stomach drop in response.

"Was that you we heard, Edward?" Esme asked.

"It sounded like a bear choking," Emmett clarified.

Beau smiled hesitantly. "That was him."

"Beau was being unintentionally funny," Edward explained, to settle the score.

Alice had left her position and was running, or dancing, in their direction. She hurtled to a fluid stop in front of them. "It's time."

A deep rumble of thunder followed her words. It shook the trees and crashed westward, toward town. Just as Alice predicted this morning.

"Eerie, isn't it?" Emmett said with easy familiarity. He winked at Beau.

"Let's go."

He and Alice darted toward the field together, reducing their group to three.

"Are you ready for some ball?"

Beau laughed at Edward's enthusiasm. "Go team!"

Edward snickered and bounded off after siblings. He quickly overtook them, despite a late start, taking Beau's breath away. The grace and power on this field was overwhelming.

"Shall we?"

Beau returned Esme's smile and let her take the lead. "You don't play with them?"

"No, I prefer to referee—I like keeping them honest."

"Do they cheat?"

"Oh yes—you should hear the arguments they get into! Actually, I hope you don't, you would think they were raised by a pack of wolves."

Beau laughed at that. "You sound like my mom."

"Well, I do think of them as my children in most ways. I never could get over my mothering instincts—did Edward tell you I lost a child?"

"No," Beau said softly, stunned to be let into her confidence already.

"Yes, my first and only baby. He died just a few days after he was born, the poor tiny thing. It broke my heart—that's why I jumped off the cliff, you know."

"Edward just said you fell," Beau murmured. "I'm sorry for your loss."

"Always the gentleman." Esme smiled. "Edward was the first of my new sons. I've always thought of him that way, even though he's older than I, in one way at least. That's why I'm so happy that he's found you, dear."

The endearment sounded very natural on her lips. Beau was further reminded of Renée when she curled her arm through his in a familiar gesture. "He's been the odd man out for far too long; it's hurt me to see him alone."

"You don't mind, then? That I'm . . . all wrong for him?"

"No." She was thoughtful. "You're what he wants. It will work out, somehow."

They reached the edge of the field. It looked as if they had formed teams. Edward was far out in left field, Carlisle paced between first and second bases, and Alice stood at the pitcher's mound.

Emmett was swinging an aluminum bat; it whistled almost untraceably through the air. Jasper crouched at home plate, catching for the other team. None of them wore gloves.

"All right," Esme called. "Batter up."

Alice stood straight and tall despite her short stature, deceptively motionless. Beau studied her style. She seemed to be more about stealth than intimidation. She wound up, then, sinuous as a cobra, threw the ball to Jasper. Strike.

Jasper hurled the ball back to Alice's waiting hand. She permitted herself a brief grin. Then her hand spun out again. Pitcher to pitcher, Beau liked her technique.

This time the bat smashed the invisible ball. The crack of impact was shattering, thunderous; it echoed off the mountains, and Beau immediately understood the necessity of the storm.

The ball shot like a meteor above the field and flew deep into the surrounding forest.

"Home run," Beau decided.

"Wait," Esme cautioned, listening intently. Emmett was a blur around the bases, Carlisle close behind, when Beau realized Edward was missing.

"Out!"

Edward sprang from the fringe of the trees, ball in his upraised hand, his wide grin visible even from home plate.

"Emmett hits the hardest," Esme explained, "but Edward runs the fastest."

The inning continued in a similar fashion. It was impossible to keep up with the speed at which the ball flew, the rate at which their bodies raced around the field.

He learned the other reason they waited for a thunderstorm to play, when Jasper, trying to avoid Edward's infallible fielding, hit a ground ball toward Carlisle. Carlisle ran into the ball, raced Jasper to the base, then collided with him. The sound was like the crash of two massive falling boulders.

"Safe," Esme called in a calm voice, as the two stood up, unscathed.

Emmett's team was up by one—Rosalie managed to flit around the bases after tagging up on one of Emmett's long flies—when Edward caught the third out. He sprinted to Beau, sparkling with excitement.

"What do you think?"

"I'll never be able to sit through dull old Major League Baseball again, though, I'm a little disappointed."

"Why?" Edward asked, puzzled.

"Well, it would be nice if I could find just one thing you didn't do better than everyone else on the planet."

He flashed his special crooked smile, leaving Beau breathless.

"I'm up," he said, heading for the plate.

Edward played intelligently, keeping the ball low and out of Rosalie's always-ready hand in the outfield. He gained two bases like lightning before Emmett could get the ball back in play. Carlisle knocked one so far out of the field—with an ear-splitting boom—that he and Edward both made it in. Alice slapped them dainty high fives.

The score changed constantly as the game went on. The Cullens razzed each other like any street ballplayers as the lead switched back and forth. Occasionally Esme would need to call them to order. The thunder rumbled on, but the field stayed dry, true to Alice's word.

"Beau!"

Alice was waving him on. Beau stared, confused, until Esme prodded him to take a step forward. The confusion he felt didn't go away until he was with Alice on the pitcher's mound. Over her head, he noticed the others coming closer, stopping at a human regulation distance.

"What's going on?"

"Edward says you're an All-Star," Alice explained. "We want to see you pitch."

Instantly he was blushing. "Oh, no, I couldn't—"

A cold hand he knew to be Edward's pressed into his back. "Yes, you can. Tryouts are in a couple of weeks."

He felt a lump forming in his throat. "Sure, but—"

Alice dropped the ball into his hand with a face that brokered no argument. "Consider us good practice. Human players won't stand a chance."

Then he was alone on the mound. There were times when it felt like the loneliest place in the world. But today, despite being surrounded by vampires, he never felt safer. Gradually he relaxed, cheekily spinning his Mariners hat so the visor faced backwards. Somewhere in the outfield, Edward chuckled.

Alice replaced her mate as the catcher. Emmett, big, burly, and grinning, stepped up to home plate. They had inched it up without him noticing, but even so, Emmett was wider and more powerful than any batter he had ever seen.

Beau knew Emmett would score on anything he threw, but that didn't mean he had to give up entirely. He decided this would be a speed exercise. Perhaps he would break his own personal record. Alice crouched low behind her brother, eyes narrowed, and held up one finger, then four.

Fastball, inside. Easy. Beau nodded, wound up, and threw toward the plate.

Emmett, a gentleman, swung. Esme called a strike. Beau stifled a grin as the ball came sailing back to him, slow enough for him to catch without hurting his fingers. He stood still again and waited for the signal.

Three fingers—a slider. He sized up Emmett, deliberating. Then he shook his head. Alice smirked, held up two fingers, then one. Curveball, away.

The windup, the pitch, and the strike. The Cullens were playing so far below their skill level it was almost funny. But Beau was beaming, his body remembering the ebb and flow of the game. It had been so long, and he forgot how much he loved it.

Jasper stood near Alice, arms folded, a small smile on his lips. Beau knew he was reading nothing but joy from the pitcher's mound.

Now, he didn't know Emmett that well, but he did know the niceties were over. Emmett's eyebrows knit together as he concentrated, the aluminum bat almost dancing through the air. This ball would go farther than even Edward could catch. This one would be out of the park.

Alice wiggled her fingers and then held up three of them. A change up—away. Beau took a long breath, wound up, and threw.

The answering crack was deafening. Beau spun to watch, knowing the ball was invisible to his human eyes, but his heart was so full that it did not matter. Emmett raced around the bases in triumph. No one bothered to give chase, allowing Emmett his home run. He whooped and slid into home base with a grin.

Beau caught Edward's eye and didn't look away, unsure of how to express how thankful he was for this opportunity. If only Edward could read his mind. He seemed to understand, though, and smiled beatifically in response. Edward mouthed eighty-seven and Beau damned-near lost his mind. A new personal best.

And then Alice gasped.

Edward's head snapped up to look at her. Their eyes met and something flowed between them in an instant. Beau found himself hustled to home plate before he could think about what just happened.

"Alice?"

"I didn't see—I couldn't tell," she whispered.

"What is it, Alice?" Carlisle asked with the calm voice of authority.

"They were traveling much quicker than I thought. I can see I had the perspective wrong before."

Jasper leaned over his mate, his posture becoming protective. "What changed?"

"They heard us playing, and it changed their path," Alice said, contrite, as if she felt responsible for whatever had frightened her.

Seven pairs of eyes flashed to Beau's face and away. His right hand, now empty, began to tingle in warning.

"How soon?" Carlisle asked, turning toward Edward.

His son was scowling. "Less than five minutes. They're running—they want to play."

"Can you make it?"

"No, not carrying—" He paused. "Besides, the last thing we need is for them to catch the scent and start hunting."

Emmett turned to Alice. "How many?"

"Three."

"Three!" he scoffed. The steel bands of muscles along his arms flexed. "Let them come."

Carlisle deliberated for a long moment. Only Emmett seemed unperturbed; the rest stared at their leader with anxious eyes.

"Let's just continue the game," he said finally. His voice was cool and level. "Alice said they were simply curious."

All this was said in a flurry of words that only lasted a few seconds. Beau listened carefully and caught most of it, though he couldn't hear what Esme now asked Edward with a silent vibration of her lips. He only saw the slight shake of Edward's head and the look of relief on her face.

"You catch, Esme," he said, planting himself in front of Beau. "I'll call now."

The others returned to the field, their sharp eyes warily sweeping the forest. Alice and Esme stayed put and with Edward they formed a triangle around Beau. He spun the Mariners hat back to face the front, pulling at the visor down anxiously.

"The others are coming now?"

"Yes, stay very still, keep quiet, and don't move from my side, please." Edward hid the stress in his voice well, but Beau could still hear it, and that worried him. He slid an arm around Beau in a comforting gesture, but quickly, it became obvious he had other intentions. He watched as Edward smoothed his hand across Beau's face, his neck, and the sleeves of the old flannel.

Marking it—marking him—with his own scent.

"That won't help," Alice said softly. "I could smell him from across the field."

"I know." A hint of frustration colored his tone.

A halfhearted game began. Alice produced a new ball and tossed it at a near human speed. No one dared to hit harder than a bunt. Emmett, Rosalie, and Jasper all hovered infield. Now and again, despite the fear that numbed his brain, Beau felt Rosalie's eyes trained on him. They were expressionless, but something about the way she held her mouth made him think she was angry.

"What did Esme ask you?" Beau whispered.

"Whether they were thirsty."

His eyes were fast fading in color. The gold Beau loved so much was bleeding into black. Those eyes darted between his face and the forest every ten seconds.

"I'm sorry, Beau. It was stupid, irresponsible, to expose you like this. I'm so sorry."

His breath caught. The darkening eyes had zeroed in on right field. Edward took a half step forward, angling himself between Beau and whatever was coming toward them.

Carlisle, Emmett, and the others turned in the same direction, hearing sounds of passage too faint for Beau's ears.