Welcome back!

Thank you so much to everyone who has joined us on this journey. Today, it's time to meet another key player in this story.

BPOV is written by Ariel, but as always, the final product is highly collaborative.

And for all of you who are going to the TFMU this summer, we will both be there, so be sure to say hi! If you are interested in more info on TFMU, check Facebook!

Bella

Saturday, May 28, 2022

Forks, Washington

The sunlight is watery but undeniably warm as it filters through the lush forest outside and lands on the wood counters of my father's kitchen.

My hands grip my coffee cup as I lean forward, taking in the sunlight a little more. I watch the hairs on my arms prick to life as my body warms in the weak rays.

"Bells?"

I look up from the counter, nodding toward dad as he comes in the back door.

"Hey, dad."

I watch him kick off his boots on the mud mat before he turns to the kitchen. I pour him a cup of coffee and hold it out to him. He takes it happily, downing half of it in a single gulp.

"Great stuff," he says, his naturally gruff voice slightly softer with his gratitude.

"It's freshly roasted," I tell him, motioning to the bag on the counter. "I'll leave it with you."

Dad nods, and takes a smaller sip of the coffee.

"What were you doing outside?" I ask, motioning with my chin toward the door. It's barely six-thirty in the morning. I can't imagine dad had too many pressing chores to do.

"Oh, I told Ron I'd bring his trashcans down while the family is on vacation," he says, waving toward the neighbor's house.

"And you thought six-thirty was a good time to do that?" I ask, hiding my smile behind my mug. Dad doesn't hear my teasing as he turns toward the fridge.

"Any thoughts about breakfast?" he asks, sounding hopeful. I set my mug down on the counter and nod.

"I'll make some pancakes," I assure him. He grins, downing the rest of his coffee.

"It sure is good to have you home again, Bells."

I watch him refill his coffee before he shuffles out of the kitchen. My fingertips dance along the handle of my mug as I try to process the restless feeling I have being back in Forks for the first time in six months. I'm happy to see my dad, of course, but the longer I live in Seattle, the more I realize that this life—and the person who I was living that life—is not me anymore.

I miss the city, miss the thrum of energy that it emits. I miss being at work and diving into cases. I may be here physically, but the rest of me is back in Seattle.

I tap my fingers against my mug a few times before standing upright. Tomorrow is dad's birthday, which is why I made the trip out at all. This weekend is about him, and work, unfortunately, will have to wait.

…

"Mm, great pancakes, Bells."

I look up at dad as he grabs another one off the stack. I'm not sure how he manages to eat so much in the morning. I'm strictly a coffee person before noon.

"Thanks," I tell him, taking a sip from my second mug. "What do you have planned for today?"

Dad glances at me. "Well, I have to go into the station for a while. I'll have tomorrow off though."

I nod. "Mind if I tag along?"

Dad looks only mildly surprised. "You want to spend your day at the station?"

I shrug. "I wouldn't mind taking a look at a few cases." I pause. "Unless you don't want me overstepping," I say quickly. He laughs, shaking his head.

"I'd love it. We don't have much going on though. Might be pretty boring for you."

I shrug again, sipping my coffee. I don't mind boring, so long as I'm doing something.

Dad and I wrap up breakfast, and I do the dishes quickly before running upstairs to get dressed. I pull on jeans and a t-shirt, throwing my hair into a ponytail and slipping on sneakers before I meet dad down by the front door. I opt to drive separately, wanting the option to leave the station a little earlier so that I can go to the grocery store and get things ready for dinner.

The station is less than five minutes from dad's house, and when we pull up, I see only one other car in the lot.

Deputy Sanders is inside the station, his feet up on his desk as he watches Netflix on his phone. Dad clears his throat when we enter, and Deputy Sanders nearly falls out of his chair in surprise.

"C-chief!" He chokes, getting to his feet. His eyes cut to me. "Bella," he says, his head dipping slightly.

"I believe that's Detective Swan," dad says, moving to his desk. I roll my eyes.

"It's good to see you, Detective."

"Don't let him bully you, Jack. Bella, like always," I say cutting dad a look. He ignores me. He's not a bad boss, but he hates it when he catches his guys slacking, even though I don't blame Jack. Not much else seems to be going on.

I look back at Jack, who gives me a grateful smile. "How's the family?"

Jack sits back down at his desk and reaches for a photo. "Growing like weeds," he says, showing me the frame. I smile at the photo of Jack and his wife and their four kids. Jack is only a few years older than me, but he and his wife have been together since middle school. They got married right out of high school and started popping kids out almost a year later.

Jack and his family are the perfect model family of Forks. Married young, content with a small simple life, and kids. So many kids.

All things I'm not sure I ever want.

I catch up with Jack for a while before taking a seat at an empty deputy's desk. "Anything new?" I ask dad.

He shakes his head. "Someone knocked over Mrs. Cope's trash can again. I told that woman if she didn't put the lid on, the animals would keep mucking it up. She won't listen, of course. Swears it's a student." He rolls his eyes as I smile.

Dad picks his phone up, presumably to call her, and I turn my attention to the bulletin board by the deputy's desk. A few pins from the forest service about mountain lions spotted in the area, as well as a warning about the upcoming fire season. It's rare the wet forests out here catch fire, but it has been known to happen on occasion.

A flyer near the bottom of the board catches my attention and I stand, moving to study it. It's a missing person's flyer, and I stare at the young woman in the photo. She's got long dark hair swept back over her thin shoulders. Her eyes are haunted, and I recognize the signs of an addict on her face.

Last seen in Port Townsend.

I glance at dad as he finishes the call.

"How long has she been missing?"

Dad looks up at me and shakes his head. "Three months. Her mom drove all the way out here to put that flyer up. Locals decided she probably ran away to the city."

I look back at the haunted girl in the photo. "What's she on?"

Dad sighs when I look back at him. "Meth."

I wince and take a seat again. It's not unusual to find drug problems in the small towns out here. Port Townsend is a few hours away, and I can't imagine she'd come in this direction when Seattle was closer to her. The locals are probably right about her heading that direction, though it makes me sad to think of yet one more soul, lost to the ruthlessness of the city.

I silently pray that hers is a case that never falls on my desk.

…

The weekend is long and uneventful. Dad's birthday consists of cooking for him and his friends as we gather around to watch baseball. Not a bad day in any way, but when I'm finally back on the road home, I'm beyond relieved.

I'm ready to be back in my own life, working the cases and helping people.

I sleep well Sunday night, but by Monday morning, I wake anxious. I'm itching to get back to work, to prove myself.

I get ready for my run, and before the sun has even thought about rising, I'm heading out, settling into my route.

I let myself fall into the rhythm, trying to chase out my work anxiety.

For a time, it works.

The steady pace of my breathing provides a gentle background track to my racing thoughts, but by the time I've been running for almost an hour, my mind is no more clear than it was before I started.

I round the corner, heading down the final stretch of my run, my small apartment building coming into view down the street. I consider going for another short circle around the block, but the rising sun breaking through the foggy cover of Seattle tells me it's probably time to get home and then get my ass into work.

I push hard, pouring everything I have into the last block sprint. My lungs are straining, my legs burning as I try to outrun my over-active mind.

I'm not successful, and when I stop in front of my apartment building, I double over, catching my breath.

It's been three months since I made detective, and since then I've been so focused and so intent on proving myself, that I feel like I haven't stopped to breathe once.

This last weekend was the first time I'd taken a day off work. Had it not been for dad's birthday, I would have worked through the holiday, tackling any and all cases that came to my desk.

The problem is, being the rookie, very few actual cases have fallen into my lap. It's all been petty crime, which of course, still needs to be dealt with, but I'm dying to prove myself on an actual case.

All I need is a chance.

I think about the life as an officer in Forks my dad offered me. I probably would have climbed the ladder quickly, but I would have never been satisfied there. I need more.

When I feel like I won't throw up my lungs, I head inside, climbing the four flights of stairs to my apartment without slowing down.

I want to, desperately, but I don't let myself.

I make it to my apartment, locking the door once I'm inside. My phone is sitting by the front door, exactly where I left it, and I reach for it as I kick my shoes off. A couple of emails, nothing pressing or work-related.

I huff and head to the kitchen. I pour myself water from the tap, having to stop myself from knocking it back quickly like I desperately want to.

If I chug it now, I know I'll throw up.

Instead, I take one more small sip before heading to the bathroom. I flip the shower on as I strip out of my running clothes, placing my phone on the counter. I make sure the volume is on before I step under the spray. It's not warmed up yet, and I swear as the icy water attacks my aching muscles.

I try not to think about how all the small, asinine cases have been shunted to me since making detective, but my mind is relentless.

There are no small cases, Bells. Just arrogant detectives.

I can hear my father's voice clearly, and it nearly makes me roll my eyes. He's right of course, and I know that, but I can't help it. I have it in me to investigate homicide, and I desperately want to start proving that.

It's all about building connections and doing good police work.

Of course, dad would know given how long he's been the police chief in Forks. It's all well and good, but I know he got that job simply because he was the only one who volunteered when the old chief stepped down. Forks isn't exactly overrun by heavy crime, and the department out there doesn't have much going on.

Not like Seattle.

Seattle might not be New York or Los Angeles in size, but it is rife with its own problems. Problems I know I can solve.

I finish my shower at a scalding water temperature, making my skin pink when I finally climb out. I check my phone again but seeing nothing has come in, I huff and get myself ready for work. I'm not due for a while yet, but I don't mind getting there early. I like the chance to make a fresh pot of coffee and get downloaded on the reports that have come in during the night.

Forty-seven minutes after my shower and I am rolling up to police headquarters, my hair still drying over my shoulders.

I head up to my floor, stopping by my desk to boot up my computer, when my CO storms by, a frown etched deep over his brows.

I freeze at my computer, watching Captain Black as he gazes down at a report. He lets out a heavy sigh, then heads to his office. I can't take my eyes away from him as he picks up his phone.

"Cullen?"

My heart beats heavier in my chest. Captain Black is calling in one of our best detectives, a detective that handles homicides almost exclusively. I hold my breath, trying to overhear his side of the conversation.

Another case. Another murder.

I quietly pull my desk drawer open and pull out my small notebook, grabbing a pen and carefully writing down the few tidbits of information I'm able to overhear from the captain.

I glance back at my other notes, the other cases I've been trying to study and my heart thunders against my ribs.

Here we go again.

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