A/N:
Beau
Edward Cullen is a liar.
This I add to the growing list of reasons I don't like him. He'd been nowhere near me when Tyler's van had skidded out of control, and he'd caught the van with his bare hands. I couldn't figure out how, but I was going to pull a confession out of him, even if it was like pulling teeth.
Of course, no one believes me when I insist that I'm fine, least of all my dad. Tyler's been apologizing nonstop, ever since we were loaded into the ambulance. I've told him I was fine about a thousand times now to no effect. Hopefully, stony silence will make him stop.
At the hospital, nurses' stuff me into a wheelchair and roll me down the hall, which is honestly more embarrassment than I can face. They manhandle me like I'm a six-foot rag doll. I'd say it was a blow to my masculinity if I cared about shit like that.
I'm checked over by at least five different people before a nurse escorts Tyler and me to a room, drawing the separation curtain between the beds.
"The doctor will be in to see you two in a little while," she says, scrawling one last thing into Tyler's chart before ducking out. Immediately, I pretend to sleep, lying back against the starchy pillow. I even throw in a pretend snore. I'm treated to blissful silence from Tyler for my efforts.
The door opens then, but to my surprise, I hear Tyler say Edward's name, his tone mirroring my own shock. It dissipates in seconds, of course, they'd want to check him over too. If I remembered correctly, his father was a doctor here.
"He's asleep?" Edward asks, his voice velvety and lush, even in a whisper.
"I guess," Tyler mutters. "Look man, I'm so sorry about what happened—"
"Don't worry about it," Edward cuts him off smoothly. "No blood, no foul." Just like that, Tyler shuts up. Figures. He takes a seat at the foot of Tyler's bed, so I sit up, pretending to shake sleep out of my eyes.
"What's the verdict?" he asks me, smiling slightly. It's stupidly dizzying, even the barest uptick of his mouth.
"I'm fine," I insist. "There's nothing wrong with me, but they won't let me go. How come you get to walk around, all free?"
Edward chuckles, a wry sound, like he's entertaining a child's jokes. It grates on my nerves, but I guess I shouldn't be too mad at him. He did save me. And he's going to tell me how he did it.
"It's all about who you know," he says. Lucky bastard. "But don't worry, I've come to spring you."
I almost want to laugh. Who talks like that? Sometimes he sounds like a thirty's-era radio host. Just then, the doctor comes in and I'm floored. He's so breath-takingly gorgeous that all my annoyance melts away, even my disdain for his son.
"So, Mr. Swan, how're you feeling?" he asks. I nod awkwardly, clearing my throat.
"I'm all good," I say. "Nothing wrong."
"Well, your x-ray's came out fine, no permanent damage, but you did hit your head pretty hard," he says, checking over the chart. "Any pain? Headache?"
"Nope," I say, popping the p and immediately regretting it. "Just fine."
Dr. Cullen runs a hand over my scalp, gently assessing the bump there. I fight off a shiver. Even through the gloves, his hands are cold.
"Well," he says, watching my face. "If you're really sure nothing hurts—"
"It doesn't," I interrupt him quickly.
"Then, you're free to go. Your father's in the waiting room outside," he tells me, a light smile on his face.
"Could I go back to school?" I ask. I'd just caught up with all the schoolwork, and there was no way I was going fall behind again.
"It really would be better if you took today off, rested up. You be sure to come back if you're feeling dizzy or having problems with your eyesight, okay?"
"Sure," I agree, trying to keep the disappointment off my face.
"Well, Mr. Swan, you've been extremely lucky today," the doctor says, laughing lightly.
"Lucky Edward was right there," I say, watching Edward's face. He looks coolly unaffected.
"Right, well, off you go," he says, ushering me out. "On to you, Mr. Crowley."
I wait for Edward to head out, hurrying after him.
"Can I talk to you for a second?" I ask, unable to keep the anger down. He sighs, like I'm an annoyance, which does nothing to quell my anger.
"Your father is waiting for you," he says through a clenched jaw. If I was the violent type—if I had the coordination or strength to be the violent type—I might have hit him, socked him right in the jaw. God knows he deserves it.
"I'd like to speak to you alone if you don't mind," I insist, forcing myself to be polite. I was better than him, I remind myself. I wouldn't regret saving him if our situations were reversed, even if he was a bigot.
"What do you want?" he snaps, arms crossed tight. Edward's just an inch or two taller than me, but right now, it seems like he towers over me. His face twists in disgust and my anger gives way to fear.
"You owe me an explanation," I press on.
"I don't owe you a thing," he says sharply. "I saved your life."
"You promised," I remind him, but I'm already faltering.
"Beau, you hit your head. I don't know what you're talking about," he says coolly, taking a step back. The anger rises up fast at his insinuation.
"There's nothing wrong with my head," I all but snarl.
"What do you want from me, Beau?" Exasperated now, like he'd grown tired of indulging me.
"I want to know the truth. I want to know why I'm lying to you," I say, taking a forceful step towards him. He glides smoothly back.
"What do you think happened?" he drawls cruelly. Suddenly, the words spill out of me, how he was nowhere near me, how the van was coming too fast, how it should've flattened us both like pancakes.
"You think I lifted a van off of you?" he snickers sarcastically. "Maybe you hit your head much harder than we thought. Perhaps we need to call my father back—"
"There's nothing wrong with my head!" I snap, silencing him. To my absolute horror, tears well up and a lump lodges itself in the base of my throat, refuses to budge.
"No one's going to believe you," he says quietly, face impassive again.
"I won't tell anyone," I say. My mind's whirling with possibility. What the hell does this mean? Was it some stroke of luck, a rush of adrenaline? There's a quiet voice in the back of my head that says it something else, something other.
"Why does it matter?" he asks.
"It matters to me," I tell him. "I don't like to lie, so there better be a damn good reason why I'm doing it now."
"Can't you just thank me and get it over with?" he says callously, look away from me.
"Thank you," I growl.
"You're not going to let this go, are you?" he asks, indignant.
"Not a chance," I say, mimicking his cool tone.
"In that case," he drawls, suddenly detached. "I hope you enjoy disappointment."
"Why did you even bother?" I blurt out, unable to help myself. It's been bothering me ever since I was ushering into the ambulance. Edward doesn't like me, he's a bigot, and yet, he threw himself in front of a van to save me. It doesn't add up.
"I don't know." With that, he turns on his heel and walks away, leaving me stunned. Who just runs off like that? Who does he think he is? My indignance is short-lived, because not seconds later, I run into Charlie.
"Hey," he says, worry coloring his tone. I smile at him, give him a thumbs up to let him know I'm alright. Once, when I was fourteen, we went snorkeling and before out boat had driven us to our dive spot, I'd fallen off. I'd been leaning too far over on the railing, fascinated by the way the water grew deeper and deeper, but maintained its clarity. After our captain had fished me out, I'd shot my father a thumbs up, and relief had broken over his face in waves. Today though, there isn't any peace. Charlie looks absolutely rattled, even though I've been cleared.
"I'm alright dad," I promise him. "Dr. Cullen said so."
"He's, uh, he's one of the best," Charlie says, though that might have been more for his own benefit than mine. "You sure? Nothing hurts?"
"All good," I say, giving him a mock salute. That pulls a tiny grin onto his face.
"Come on, soldier," he says, slinging an arm around me. "Let's get you home."
That night, after a long phone call with my very freaked-out mother, Charlie takes care of dinner, which means take out Chinese food and relaxing on the couch. He even relinquishes the remote, but I flip to the hockey game he wanted to watch, letting my mind wander.
My phone's filed with texts from my friends, asking how I am, what happened, and if I'm coming to school tomorrow. I reply to each one dutifully but pause when I see Bella's name.
BELLA CULLEN: Hey! Hope everything's good, hope you're alright! I emailed you all your homework, I figured you wouldn't want to be behind.
I grin, reaching for my laptop. There's not much, a worksheet for my calc class, a reading for my English class and history class, and a short exercise for my bio class. Bella seems to be the only person at the school who gets me.
The homework doesn't take long, but it pulls me along to a reasonable enough time to go to bed. I get ready quickly, then duck downstairs to tell Charlie, who's still perched on the couch, goodnight.
That night is strange though. I fall asleep quickly and completely. It's also the first night I dream of Edward Cullen.
A/N: Alrighty, let me know what you thought and tune in next week!