an: thanks to Monica for the super fast turnaround 😘 See you Friday! This will wrap up before NYE (I hope, lol.)
•eighteen•
Beale Street had the kind of party atmosphere that soaked into your bones. It lit something in Edward's chest as he walked with Emmett and Rose along the crowded sidewalks, people sitting outside bars and restaurants—drinking and smoking—despite the cold. The entire street was decked out—Halloween fast approaching—music pouring out of doors; everything from Jazz to Rock 'n' roll.
It had been a while since he'd been out like this, in a city—drinking. They'd rolled into town a few days early with a group of guys Edward had been competing against all season. He thought acting on the invitation might do him some good. Anything was better than sitting around moping; he needed to pick himself up and dust off the rejection.
Bella was right. She told him she didn't want anything that first night, and it was his mistake pushing for anything more. Her continued silence confirmed it, so he wasn't going to dwell. He didn't want to.
Rose slipped into bars with them with little trouble, sipping her body weight in colorful cocktails as Edward and Emmett sank beer and whiskey shots, finally joining up with Felix, Seth, Nico, and Garrett not long before midnight. They laid claim to a large, rounded booth at the back of the club, all cramming around it.
Edward slid a beer coaster off the table and flipped it around in his hands, semi-listening to the conversation of the guys around him.
"... is it true?" Nico nudged him with a shoulder.
"Is what true?"
"That you're in talks with Davey Banner to go to Yamaha next season?"
Edward snorted, throwing the beer mat back down and reaching for his pint.
"After this year's performances, I'm not worthy of it," he told them sincerely. "There's much more deservin' out there. Y'all for a start. Honestly, I'm too old for this shit now."
"Listen to him," snickered Garrett. "Talking like he's past it. You're still what, twenty-five?"
"Yeah, twenty-six Christmas Eve."
"See. You're still young. You still got passion for it, right?"
Edward shrugged, non-committal. "Eh."
"Nah, you do," Felix said, sounding much more convinced than Edward. "You can see it best when you lose. The passion's still there, 'sides talent don't just disappear. You might never win an AMA title again, but you don't deserve to be doing these events either with us rookies."
"Accidents ruin careers though," Garrett interrupted. "Y'know, Robert Kubica—from F1? Injured himself in a rally car incident and it put an end to his F1 career, basically. Just a reserve driver now, for Williams. Man, he could've been great, had that not happened."
"Shame," Felix agreed. "But he's still at it. He's not given up. He ain't a quitter. Are you?"
"Nah, guess not," Edward conceded.
"Isn't it the dream, though? You win a title... that's the whole point… and then you retire. You got girls all over you; money…" Seth interjected. "That's what I want. Move to Hawaii, chill on a beach, invest in shit… set for life then."
Edward was shaking his head. He didn't particularly like that talk, and neither did Nico.
"Well, that's what I'd do. Do it once and then, you know… what's fucking left? You've already proved yourself. Let someone else have a shot at the same," Seth said, determinedly.
"Nah, you want to do the World Championships," Nico said. "You want to become a legend—carry on because you love the sport. You're not even pro, man. It might never happen to you."
"Seth's already a legend in his own fucking mind," Garrett quipped, punching him. "Fucked three girls in the space of one weekend last month. Different one each night. Dirty fucking dog."
"Don't be jealous." Seth flipped him off, laughing.
"Jealous?" Garrett said. "You're probably riddled with it, dude. I like my non-rotting dick, and my girl."
"Hey, I wrap it every fucking time. I'm clean. Just because you're pussy whipped. And no one wants kids this young, right? What a drain. I'd fuckin' leave them to it, if that happened."
Edward laughed, incredulous. "That'd be a shitty thing to do."
Seth just shrugged, and Edward didn't have time to unleash the choice words he had in his head—all of them were getting up to get another round of drinks in.
Garrett lingered, hand on his shoulder.
"You thought about like… rally car driving, Cullen?"
"Not really."
"You should come out with me sometime, when we have some downtime. We'll set it up; it's fucking fun, promise you."
"Yeah. Okay, sounds good."
"You want another?" Garrett jerked his head to the bar, across the room, a heaving mass of bodies separating them. He could just about make out his brother and Rose, off to the side, kissing deeply. He looked away and declined to join them, choosing instead to sit alone and wallow in his own confusion, sipping his beer slowly.
Maybe Seth had a point.
If motocross was a game, he'd completed all the levels. Twice over. Next stop would maybe have been the World Championships. A global stage, competing with the best of the best, spending months away in Europe and Asia.
But… he wasn't at that level anymore. And he carried on because he fucking loved it. He loved bikes. He loved competing—or he had, until recently. And that left him wondering whether keeping on going was doing more harm than good. The problem was… he felt like he had a point to prove. To Paul—his old manager, especially—but mostly to himself.
The one thing Edward was sure of was that he wanted to get back to professional racing on merit, not because of his name and past success. He just didn't think he was there yet.
...
Edward wasn't looking for company, but company somehow found him. At first he ignored the tap on his shoulder, but when a feminine voice spoke close in his ear, it was harder to brush it off.
"Can me and my friends sit here? There's literally nowhere else to sit."
Edward lifted his shoulders up toward his ears, eyes finding the guys over at the bar looking like they had no intention of coming back anytime soon. "Have at it."
He sank the rest of his beer, leaning forward and pressing a heel to his forehead, shoulders hunched over the table. His head hurt from overthinking everything, and the room was spinning when he closed his eyes.
"Thanks so much. I'm Tia!"
Edward finally open his eyes, looking up at the girl properly. She was pretty. Dimples and freckles, and smiling at him like he wasn't some kind of loser sitting there on his own.
She held out her hand, and he stared at glossy purple painted nails, taking it slowly.
"Edward."
"Tell me about yourself, Edward!" Tia sat next to him, so close her knee touched his under the table. Her girlfriends sat down at the table, too, giving him an appraising glance and then dissolving into giggles on the other side of the booth.
Edward glanced at Tia, who mouthed her apologies. "Sorry. Oh my God, they're so embarrassing."
Tia was chatty and Edward didn't exactly mind the attention. She flirted, and it made him feel good—better. She had a cute smile and a short dress that rode up a killer pair of legs that she crossed and uncrossed frequently. He didn't mind it either when she sat in his lap when the guys came back, and space at the table grew short, steadfastly ignoring the conflicted looks Rose kept giving him across the table.
Tia talked to him in his ear, close, cheek to cheek, blue eyes bright, and told him things he wanted to hear.
She wanted to come watch him compete on the weekend.
She thought he was really hot.
And she was desperate for it, he could tell. The way she kept wriggling on his lap, making him hard through the denim of his jeans.
His head spun. He wasn't immune to physical last.
It would be so fucking easy.
No strings.
They parted ways with a kiss up against a red brick wall, and her number in his phone, before Emmett tore Edward away and forced him into a taxi.
"Bad idea," Emmett told him, as it pulled away from the curb and Edward complained. "You're a mess."
Edward closed his eyes, the lights hurting his eyes, the movement of the taxi making his stomach swirl with nausea. His head rolled against the headrest, a lazily flipped finger in the direction of Emmett's voice.
"That was the point," Edward told him.
To drown his sorrows… find clarity in the depths of a bottle. To have fun with pretty girls who actually wanted him.
"You'll thank me tomorrow."
…
Edward didn't thank Emmett at all the next day. He stayed by the toilet, vomiting his guts up until he passed out in the bathroom, before spending the rest of the day sleeping off a monster hangover, jerking off twice in the shower, and eating two portions of fries, dry—no ketchup, like some kind of monster.
It took two days for him to feel normal again.
Free practice, on the Friday before the race, had his head running clearer. Fresh air and gas in his lungs, dirt on his face, sweat in his hair. Memorizing the whoops, the depth of the turns. The bike felt good under him, and his jumps were solid, so when they retired for a drink in the circuit's clubhouse at the end of the evening, Edward felt relaxed—confident, even, for the next day.
where can I find you? we're here x
Edward tapped out a quick reply, Tia and her friends actually—surprisingly—showing up for the evening.
Clubhouse. See you soon.
Edward couldn't deny Tia was really pretty as he waved her over when she finally appeared in the doorway of the old wooden barn that served as the bar. She was dressed up, despite the cold—a floral dress and brown boots, bare legs. Her friends had come along; just two of them he vaguely recognized from the other night; Kebi and Charlotte. They joined him, Nico, and Seth at a table, and somehow, as the night wore on, Tia made herself comfortable on him again. Her arm around his neck, sipping on a Coors Light, her body pressed into his as she sat on his knee, Seth approved, mouthing obscenities behind his hand when something distracted Tia.
It was only when he looked up sometime later and saw Bella frozen in the doorway that Edward's heart failed. He tensed as their eyes locked, before she turned and walked straight back out the door.
He felt a hand in his hair, lips against his cold ear.
"Who's that?"
"No one," he told Tia resolutely, his mouth dry. "Want another drink?"
...
"Have you had sex with her?"
Edward was washing beer off his hands, from a spilt drink, in the men's bathroom, a flickering fluorescent light above the sink. He looked up, finding Bella's reflection in the mirror.
"No," Edward said shortly, reaching for a paper towel and drying his hands, before he turned and rested his back against the sink.
Looking at her was almost too much; the real her, her arms folded defensively, her jaw set, hair falling out of her signature messy bun, still as gorgeous as ever.
"Are you jealous?" He cocked his head, and he couldn't help but smirk as she averted her eyes and a forceful breath of air left her mouth. He stepped toward her, into her space, and he was quite sure she stopped breathing as his fingers brushed a wayward strand behind her ear, and down her neck, to the tattoo there. She closed her eyes, and then he left, stealing past her into the dim corridor that led back to the bar.
"Kasey here?" he asked over his shoulder, pausing.
"Not this weekend. She's with Rachel."
He nodded before walking away, his feet loud on the wood floor.
"Wait," Bella said,her voice wobbling. He stopped dead, turning to face her. "Wait. Edward, just..."
She closed the distance, and he wasn't prepared when she stood on her tiptoes, grabbed a fist full of his t-shirt in her hand, and kissed him hard.
He kissed her back, his tongue sliding against hers, her fingers twisting into his hair, the moan from her spurring him on. And God, did it feel good. She felt good. And he'd missed her—them. He moved fast, her back against the wood-paneled wall of the corridor, his hands hot on her hips.
Bella reached for the buckle of his belt, but Edward grabbed her wrist, stopping her.
Either she wanted him, or she didn't.
"No."
She looked startled.
"Not like this," Edward said, his hands falling away. "I want you. But not like this." He brushed his lips against her forehead. "You need to decide whether you want me or not. It's fucking pissing me off now. I get you're scared but this—" His head lowered—"I can't."
Now she was struggling against his grip. He let go instantly, Bella bringing the same hand to her mouth.
"Sorry," she told him, swallowing hard, tearful once again. "I'm sorry." She breathed in deeply and closed her eyes. "You're right. I'm not being fair... I was wrong. I—"
The door swung open, the hum of people louder, and the last person Edward wanted to come through it… did. Tia stopped, looking between them, surprised.
"Are you coming, Edward? Nico got you another beer." She tilted her head toward the room, smiling at him, invitingly.
"Yeah. Just give me a minute."
"Not necessary," Bella replied coolly. She adjusted her dress and headed, not for the bar but in the opposite direction, straight down the corridor and out through the fire exit.
Edward stared after her as the door slammed shut behind her.
"Hellooo, Edward?" Tia was looking at him expectantly.
He raised a finger. "One minute, I just need to make a call," he lied.
"Okay. Um, I'll be waiting in there."
She disappeared back into the bar, Edward leaning back against the wall, until his head thumped against it. He closed his eyes, a hand back in his hair.
I was wrong.
And then he was pushing off the wall, walking down the corridor and slamming his hands down on the push bar of the emergency exit, just as Bella had done before him. The cold night air instantly hit him.
He strode out of the beam of light, looking around frantically, the silence pressing around him.
"Bella!" he shouted into the dark. "Bella!"
She was nowhere to be seen.
There was a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Had she come to find him? To tell him she'd changed her mind?
And she would have found him with Tia, looking like he was over it—over her.
He rubbed a hand down the side of his face before kicking out at a large garbage can, making it fall over with the force.
"Fuck."