Phew. Thanks to those who have been willing to stick with me. I do appreciate it (and your reviews!) so, so much.

I also appreciate the lovely ladies who help me, and sweet Hadley with her magic pen.

See you Tuesday?

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Edward

Bella stays the night.

I don't question her about Ben, and she doesn't bring him up either. Part of me wonders if I should feel guilty that another man's girlfriend is spending her night with me. But this is not that. This is not like the times Bella and I would fuck around behind Tanya's back. I let myself think about it now, for a split second, and bury myself in shame.

I'm an asshole.

I was a shitty boyfriend and a terrible person.

I deserve to be alone.

But I don't want to be alone tonight. I don't ask her to, and she doesn't offer, but Bella stays, and I'm so fucking grateful.

I suggest she take my bed, but she doesn't want to leave my side. If I'm being honest, I'm scared for her to leave, too. I don't have anything to snort or fuck up my body with, other than the liquor cabinet. But I know I can't drink because if I do, I'll have to choke back the urge to use, and I've made it this far.

So we drink more tea and lie in my bed together, in the dark. Talking. Not touching. I realize after a while we've never done this. Just… be together like this. Supportive. Open and honest. Even in the beginning, it was lust disguised as love, fighting, and fucking, but not friends. Never friends.

We make plans for the morning for me to call the rehab center and get everything squared away before I show up. It makes me feel a little better, knowing what to expect.

"I can figure out the ferry situation and look up the schedule. I doubt it'll be busy, but we should maybe still buy tickets beforehand," Bella says, and it dawns on me, after a moment, she's planning on going, too.

"We?" I ask, my heart hammering, desperate for her confirmation.

"I just thought…" She looks worried for a split second. "I mean, if you want to go alone, you can. But I want to go with you, just until you get checked in. If you think it's okay—if you'll let me."

If I could kiss her, I would. But I can't because she's someone else's. And even if she weren't, we don't do that anymore. Instead, I just nod and smile the first real smile in a very long fucking time. It's small and tinged with sadness, but it's there. I feel almost hopeful. And that's all that matters.

XXX

I feel sick.

I don't know what time it is when Bella finds me in the bathroom, sitting on the edge of the tub in the dark, my head in my hands. I'm trying to breathe, but it's not working. My heart races and my head spins.

She immediately drops to her knees and asks me what's wrong. I tell her I feel sick, but I can't manage to say I woke up and thought I was having a heart attack. She brings me water and brushes the hair from my eyes. She tells me to look at her, to focus on her. She sits with me until I feel like I can move, then she helps me back to bed and curls up next to me.

"Are you going through detox?" she whispers in the dark.

I shake my head. That was a few weeks ago, and detox didn't feel like this. Like there's a hole in my chest. Like the air I'm breathing is seeping out of me.

"Tell me what I can do to make it better," she begs.

I don't know. I don't know.

She starts telling me to breathe with her. Inhale. Exhale. She does this audibly and hearing her do it helps a little. We do that for a while until the pain in my chest subsides. She starts talking to me then, her body still tangled with mine. She talks about random things. Or maybe it's just hard for me to focus and make the connections to what she's saying. But after a while, the panic coursing through me fades, my stomach settles, and the tingling in my hands disappears.

We stay close. I stare at the ceiling for what feels like hours, and eventually, I know she's asleep when her breathing steadies.

I don't know if I'm okay, but I don't feel like I'm dying anymore. It's almost a relief until a new fear creeps in, and for a split second, I'm worried I've traded one drug for another. Cocaine for Bella.

But she doesn't destroy me. She doesn't promise a better life and then rips it away. She's healing and soft, and I fucking love her.

So, I tell her. Even though she's asleep and won't hear me, I want her to know.

I couldn't do this without her. I couldn't. If we make it through this, I'll never fuck up again. I won't. I see her now, and I want her to see me, too. One day, I want to be the man she fucking deserves. If that's what she wants. If we ever make it to that place again.

I want to be the man I should have always been.

XXX

The morning goes too fast, the way it does when you're fucking dreading something.

Bella looks up the ferry schedule and helps clean up around my parents' house while I contact the rehab center. After I confirm there's still space available, I spend some time talking to one of the staff about the services offered and what exactly I need for my recovery plan. It's a little overwhelming, and the urge to use is there, lingering, just waiting for the right fucking moment to present itself. Waiting for me to give up and give in. But then Bella walks by and smiles or brings me some tea or is just fucking there, and I feel okay.

She gives me space and privacy when I say I'm gonna call Emmett.

He answers immediately.

"Everything cool?" he asks in place of a normal greeting, tone curious and wary. It makes me feel guilty. I never usually call him, so he must assume the worst. Especially after last night.

"Yeah, I uh…" I clear my throat and stall.

"Edward…" It's like I can hear the gears in his head trying to figure out how I've fucked up.

"I'm good," I mutter, mustering up the courage to tell him. "I'm going to rehab." The line is quiet, so I go on. "Today. In a few hours, and I just wanted you to know."

"That's really great," he finally says. "I mean it. I fucking…" He pauses. "I'm really fucking proud of you."

"Don't get your hopes up for me yet," I say, downplaying the swell of emotion in my chest.

"Shut up, man. You're gonna do fucking great." He sighs, but it's not resigned and annoyed like it was last night. It's a mixture of relief and hope. "I can go with you. Just let me talk to my boss and—"

I interrupt him. "I appreciate that, Em, but Bella's still here. She's gonna ride the ferry over with me."

"Oh."

"As a friend," I clarify before he gets any ideas.

"Okay. Should I tag along, anyway?"

I smile at the floor. "It's okay. I'm trying not to make this a whole show, you know?"

"I just want you to know I support you."

"I do know. I know. And I appreciate it," I say sincerely. "You can do me a favor though, and tell Mom and Dad. I just… I don't wanna be the one. I feel weird and embarrassed, and it's… a lot."

"You got it."

I give him all the details I have so far, about where I'm staying and how long, and I promise I'll call soon, once I'm all settled.

"Hey, Edward?" he prompts just before we hang up.

"Yeah?"

"Happy birthday."

XXX

I'm quiet for the rest of the day. Contemplative. Nervous. I take my time packing my bag, and eventually, Bella tells me we gotta go if we wanna make the three o'clock ferry.

The sky is gray, and the late October air is crisp.

It's windy, and I suggest we sit inside, but Bella wants to stand on the top deck of the ferry, so we do. Taking the stairs is tricky with my leg, but we manage. We take it slow.

"It's cold," Bella says, wrinkling her nose.

I smile a little. "Told you."

"Are you doing okay?" she asks. I stare out at the water, at the mountains in the distance.

"I'd be better if I could smoke," I say honestly, scratching along my jaw.

"I mean… there's no one out here," she says, looking around, pressing her back along the railing. Her hair's whipping around her bare face, and she's in one of my sweatshirts since she didn't have anything else to wear. She's so fucking pretty. I bite back the instinct to tell her, and instead, I look around, too. I kinda like that we're alone. It's like we're in our own little bubble.

For a second, I pretend I'm not on my way to rehab. I pretend we're together, and we're going to Bainbridge Island for the hell of it. Just for fun. It makes me think of early on in our relationship when we road-tripped to California. I'd been looking to buy an amp from someone online, and I asked Bella to tag along. We took the scenic drive down to Sacramento, making it a whole thing that lasted a week. It was one of the times I withheld from using, and I think about telling her now. That it wasn't always bad. I wasn't always a fuck-up or a liar. But I don't, and the memory fades away as quickly as it appeared.

"I can't smoke a cigarette here," I tell her, pulling my lighter out anyway for something to do.

"But we're outside."

"You can't smoke on a ferry. It's illegal," I remind her, my thumb flicking the wheel, making the lighter spark.

"It is?" she asks, looking surprised.

"There were signs, like, everywhere." I laugh, and she smiles now. "I'd get fined."

"I guess I wasn't paying attention, being a nonsmoker and all."

I look away from her then, squinting into the distance. "So, you weren't just trying to set me up? Get me to break the law or whatever?" I'm teasing her, and for a second, it feels good.

"No," she says playfully, pushing at me lightly. "I wouldn't do that. I only look out for you, punk."

She does. I don't even know why.

I push away a different urge then. To touch her. Kiss her. I push away thoughts of burying my face in her neck and begging for her forgiveness. Even if she thinks she doesn't hate me for every fucked-up thing I've done, I know better. I'll never live down the stuff I put her through. The fights. The moodiness. The jealousy and the lies. The insecurities I let her believe were all in her head. I don't even know why she's here now, but it just proves that she's a better person than I am.

"You know you can call me," she says out of nowhere.

"From rehab?"

"If you're allowed." She shrugs. "If you want to. I'd like that."

"I don't know if I'll be able to have my phone on me," I say.

She grins. "You're already trying to ditch me, Cullen?"

"What? No." My cheeks flush. "I've never been to rehab. I don't know what to expect."

"Even if they don't let you keep your phone, they'll have one for you to use, I'm sure."

I stare at her. "What would we talk about?" I ask softly, not because I'm against this idea. I just want to know.

"Whatever we want," she says simply. "You can tell me about your day, your struggles and successes, and… whatever we want."

I want that. I want to lean on her and talk to her and be all about her. I do.

There's just one thing.

"You think Ben would be okay with that?" I ask. I hate that I'm thinking about him, and that I'm even taking him into fucking consideration at all.

Bella looks past me and hesitates. She turns, so she's facing the water again, hands gripping the railing. "We broke up. So..."

"When?"

She looks at me then and winces. "After I visited you in the hospital that first night."

Now I really wanna smoke. "Shit. Bella." I rub my eyebrow. "I'm sorry."

"What?" She shakes her head. "Don't be. Please."

"Was it because of me?"

"Yes and no. It was mostly because I was trying to make something work that didn't work."

It feels too familiar. "Kinda like us?" I ask carefully, searching her face.

"Not like us," she insists. "Not even close. Which is why I want you to call when you're gone. I still want us to be in each other's lives. In whatever capacity that may be."

"If they take my phone away, I won't know your number," I realize, feeling stupid. "I don't have it memorized."

"You don't?"

"No. I never had to."

"True, but… I know yours by heart." She rattles it off proudly, almost smugly. I want to kiss her. "Here, one sec." She leaves me alone then. No explanation—she just disappears inside the ferry and doesn't return for a couple of minutes. I pull out my pack of cigarettes and count them, then stick one behind my ear. When she's back, she has a Sharpie in her hand.

"What's that for?" I ask, fighting a smirk.

"Let me see your cast."

I do as I'm told, holding out my wrist. She grabs it lightly and writes on the unmarked plaster in black Sharpie. She takes her time, leaning in, eyes on her task. She's so fucking close. Face still lowered. I can smell her hair. Feel her warmth. The hand that's not writing on my cast is pressed into my forearm, and I just… crave her touch. Crave how good and warm and soft it makes me. I'm just weak for her.

She glances up at me briefly, a small smile on her lips. "Don't look," she tells me, and I'm not. I'm not looking at what she's writing because I'm only watching her.

When she's done, she lets go and steps back a little, smiling proudly. I look down and see her number neatly written on my cast, along with different little drawings. A flower. A music note. A peace sign. A fucking heart.

"Now you don't have to memorize my number," she says softly. "As for the rest… your cast was desperate for some personality." She laughs.

My chest hurts.

I don't know why, it just does.

She catches my expression, her smile faltering. "It's stupid, I know."

"It's not stupid," I say, too quietly.

"I just—"

I reach for her then and pull her to me. She instantly wraps her arms around my waist and exhales, her body relaxing into mine. We just hold each other, her face pressed against my chest. My arm that's not in a cast around her shoulders. My palm moves to the back of her head, keeping her close, fingers tangling in her hair. Just craving the fucking calm she brings me.

She shifts her head a little, cheek against my shirt. She can probably hear my heart fucking beating out of my chest. With her close like this, I'm overwhelmed with the impulse to press my lips to hers. To show her with my mouth how grateful I am for her. I don't, though. I hold back, and right now, this urge outweighs the others that live deep inside of me.

"I heard you," she whispers.

"What?"

"Last night."

I don't let go. I don't move. I don't want her to see my face.

"I love you, too," she murmurs.

My throat tightens, and I feel like I can't breathe. I can't think straight because I've felt it from her the entire day. All of last night. And for as desperate as I've been to hear her confirm it, I know I don't deserve it.

I deserve her pity and her resentment. I don't deserve her love.

"Bella." I swallow thickly. "You don't have to say that. Please don't say that."

She pulls back then and stares up at me. Her eyes are wet, and so is my shirt. I brush her tears away with my thumb.

"Don't," I murmur, but I don't know if I'm telling her not to love me, or if I'm begging her not to cry.

"Why not?" she asks. "Why shouldn't I say it?"

"I'm a fucking addict," I tell her. It's the first time I've said it out loud, and it hurts as bad as I thought it would. She can't love an addict.

"You're more than an addict," she insists, grabbing my face, forcing me to look at her.

"I'll never be normal."

"So?"

"It'll never be easy being with me. Ever."

"I'm not expecting it to be," she says firmly.

"I don't even know if I'll get better," I confess, and it hurts just as bad as admitting I have a problem. As hard as I'm able to try, there's no easy fix for this life I've set myself up for.

"But you're trying. You're trying, and I'm so fucking proud of you."

Her words settle. Her touch calms.

I think about Emmett then, and our conversation last night before Bella arrived. As much as he pissed me off, his words were heavy with honesty.

"I can't be with you," I whisper. Saying that hurts the worst of all. "Not now. Not for a very long time. Not until I deserve you." Not until I'm healed and whole and fucking better.

"Edward, I know," she says again, her voice so tender. "I'm not expecting anything from you. I'm not there yet, either, like... romantically. I just wanted you to know that I love you, and I'll be here for you." She pauses and adds, "As a friend."

"I don't even know if I deserve that, Bella."

"Shut up," she says, breathing out a laugh. "It doesn't matter what you did, okay? Let it go. I'm also trying to let it all go. I'm trying to forgive us both for the past and move on."

The wind blows her hair around her face, and I brush it away, staring down at her. Her words give me hope I've yet to earn. "You are?"

She nods. "What matters is that you want to get better now. Nothing else matters."

I exhale shakily, fighting my own fucking emotion. "What if I don't like myself afterward?" I ask seriously.

"I already told you last night—you'll still be you, Edward. But only the best parts." She replies easily like she didn't just ease the fear and pain in my chest. "I don't think you should assume the worst. You don't know what this process will be like. Neither do I. You just have to put in the work, though, and try for the best."

"Okay," I say softly because even though I know she's right, I'm still so fucking scared and out of my element.

We stand side by side, and a comfortable silence lingers between us as we stare out at the Sound and the crashing waves. Our destination is closer now, and our time is running out. She keeps stealing little glances my way, smiling shyly and looking away when I catch her.

Slowly, we gravitate toward each other again. Until I'm standing behind her, my hands on the railing, gently caging her in. Slowly, her shoulders lean back, so she's against my chest, and I breathe her in. Memorize this vulnerability in my bones, and the pull we'll always have toward each other.

"Hey," I say.

"Hmm?"

I dip my chin over her collarbone, my mouth close to her ear. "Thank you," I whisper, feeling overwhelmed with gratitude for her. "Thank you for being here."

She turns her head to the side, her mouth right there. But still, we don't kiss. "You're welcome."

As tempting as it is to talk about our future, I don't. Instead, I just give myself this moment of uncertainty regarding us and my sobriety. It's humbling and it hurts, but it's necessary.

Everything is about to change.

It has to.

And it will.

I just hope when all is said and done, she's still here.