22

"Why can't we go with you?" Tyler whined, wrapping his arms around my legs and burying his face in my thigh.

He'd been extremely clingy since he and Michael came down for breakfast, immediately finding his way over to the table and sitting in my lap. Now, Carlisle and I were standing at the front door, trying to leave so we could meet with Benjamin Amun, but the boys were whining and begging to come with us. Had we been neglecting them? First we'd gone to San Francisco without them, and now we were going to Port Angeles? Had my selfish needs come between Carlisle and his boys?

Just as I was about to suggest that I go to Port Angeles alone, Carlisle grabbed Tyler's arms and pulled him backward. "You can't." He began to whine again, but Carlisle knelt in front of him, keeping his hands on the top of his arms. "Ty, Isabella and I have some business to take care of, but when we get home, we're going to start packing the house for the move. Now, there are some boxes by the couch. Do you think you and Michael could take a couple up to your room and start packing your books and the stuff off your shelves?"

Sniffing, Tyler nodded. "Guess so."

"You do that, and if you need help, I'm sure Edward or Jasper will help," Carlisle said, softly, and I looked over to where Edward and Jasper were standing next to the staircase.

We'd relied on them too much, as well. They'd lost their jobs, their house, all the respect they'd earned in this crappy little town, and all because Carlisle and I fell in love, because we'd chosen to be together. Of course, they'd say otherwise. They'd claimed that I hadn't caused them any problems, but if Jasper hadn't come rushing into Gabriel Varner's classroom and stopped him from raping me, he would still have a job, Edward would still have a job, and they wouldn't be living in our guest bedroom.

"Then when we get back, we'll have ice cream, okay?" Carlisle added.

"Chocolate ice cream? With sprinkles?" Tyler asked, causing Carlisle to laugh.

"Anything you want, Ty."

"Okay, just hurry. I'm starving," he exaggerated.

"Dude, you ate two pancakes and five slices of bacon less than two hours ago," Jasper snickered, scooping the boy up and tossing him over his shoulder.

"Still hungry," Tyler laughed, struggling to free himself of Jasper's tickling hands.

Carlisle placed his hand on the small of my back and led me out of the house, and over to the car. He opened the door for me, and I slid into the passenger seat, nervously grabbing the seatbelt and pulling it across my body. I wasn't sure I was ready to go to Port Angeles, ready to find out what my mother had left me, or why she'd put her trust in Benjamin Amun. But then again, nothing my mother had done in the last few weeks of her life hadn't made sense.

"You need anything before we leave? A drink?" Carlisle asked, starting the car and putting his own seatbelt on.

I shook my head, shifting my eyes around us. The feeling that someone was watching me crept over me, and I started to second guess our decision to leave the boys alone with Jasper and Edward.

"Hey, look at me," he said, and I turned my attention to him. "The boys are safe. We're going to get this over with, and then we're leaving this town. Trust me, okay?"

"I do trust you, Carlisle," I murmured. "I'm just . . . I don't know."

"You're scared, I get that, but we're going to be okay. In a few weeks, we'll have the house packed up, and we'll be on our way to San Francisco."

"And we're going to live where?" I asked, cocking an eyebrow. "We haven't heard from Celia about the house, have we?"

"No, but it's only been a day, Isabella."

I huffed. "I know."

"Look, we can stay at the bungalow, or a hotel, or my dad's house, if you want. But one way or another, we are getting the hell out of this fucking town sooner, rather than later."

"God, I hope so," I mumbled.

Whether he heard me or not, I was sure. Carlisle pulled out of the driveway and headed toward the highway leading toward Port Angeles, and I leaned my head in his shoulder, closed my eyes, and tried to relax.

—TB—

Benjamin Amun's office turned out to be a trailer in the warehouse district of the city. As Carlisle and I climbed out of the car, I could tell he wasn't as confident anymore that we'd made the right decision about meeting with someone we'd never met, especially someone connected with my mother. But we were there, and before we could turn around and leave, the door to the trailer opened and Benjamin was standing in the doorway. Tall and thin, he had long black hair that was pulled into a ponytail, a patch of black fuzz under his bottom lip, a piercing in his nose, one over his left eyebrow, spacers in both ears, and there was a tattoo on the side of his neck, dipping down into the black T-shirt he wore.

"You must be Bella," he said, smiling and walking down the three iron steps and holding his hand out to me.

"Yep," I said, shaking his hand. "You're Benjamin?"

He nodded, his grin widening. "Weren't expecting this, were you?"

"Honestly, no," I admitted. "You're not the type of person my mother normally would associate with. No offense, of course."

"None taken," he said, leaning against the railing. "You mom . . . she had . . . issues. I was trying to help her, but I couldn't, no matter how hard I tried."

"Help her how?" I asked.

Benjamin pressed his lips together for a moment before replying. "You're mother wanted to stop drinking, wanted to . . . change. She wouldn't go into details, wouldn't tell me much, but said that she'd come to realize that she was hurting those she loved, and she needed help. I told her the only way she was going to stop drinking was if she went to rehab, but she said she had to take care of a few things before she went anywhere. She showed up two days later with a box with your name on it and told me to give it to you. She died the next day."

I inhaled sharp breath. "How'd you meet her?"

Benjamin smiled. "Your father saved my life, so after he was killed, I tried to return the favor by going to her."

"What?" I asked with a gasp. "You knew my father?"

He nodded, and gestured to the trailer. "Come inside, and I'll explain everything."

"Okay," I murmured, looking over at Carlisle, who simply nodded.

The inside of the trailer wasn't much better than the outside. The carpet was a red velvet, and the walls were the same color, making it feel like one was walking into the middle of a giant tomato. The furniture was mix-matched, and worn, but at least the place was clean. Sitting on the coffee table was a box with Bella Swan scribbled across the top.

"Can I get you two something to drink? I don't have much. Some coffee, tea, water?" Benjamin offered.

"No, thank you," I said, sitting on the sofa.

"We're good," Carlisle added, placing his hand on my knee.

Benjamin's eyes fluttered to his touch, before he turned to the refrigerator and grabbed himself a bottle of water. He sat down in a rickety old chair, placing the bottle on the arm. "Five years ago, I was in a horrible car accident. My girlfriend and I had just graduated college and we had been out celebrating. We were young and stupid, didn't think anything bad could happen to us, not after working our asses off to get our degrees. We were going to get married, for fuck sake!" Benjamin's eyes widened as he looked from me to Carlisle. "Sorry. I have a potty mouth."

"I do, too," Carlisle said.

He smiled and looked back at me. "My girlfriend was driving and she swerved into the opposite lane and drove us down an embankment. Happened about three miles outside of Forks. Your father was the first on the scene, and he got my girlfriend out, before coming for me. The car had started to burn, but he managed to drag me far enough that when it exploded, we were safe. Or as safe as we could be under the circumstances." Benjamin paused, his lips quivering. "She died on impact. I never got to tell her goodbye, tell her that I loved her. She just . . . died, and I was left alone."

"Sucks, doesn't it?" I asked.

Benjamin nodded. "I, um, broke my shoulder, my pelvis, and had some burns on my legs, but I lived. I lived and she died, and I was angry. I wanted to die, too. I wanted to be with her because she was everything to me. Everything. One night, about a year after the accident, your father found me living on the streets. I was a mess. Due to the pain . . ." Benjamin trailed off and shook his head. "No, I can't blame the pain from the accident, or the death of my girlfriend. I turned to drugs and alcohol because I didn't want to deal with what had happened. It was easier to let the tequila numb the hurt, let the heroine ease the pain. Your father took me to get something to eat. While I sat there, scarfing down as much as I could, he just watched me. When I was done, he pushed my plates to the side and said I had a choice to make. I could let my anger keep me from living a full life, or I could change. I could become the type of man my girlfriend would be proud of." He scoffed as he leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees. "I wanted to tell him to fuck off, to leave me alone to die, but I didn't. I couldn't."

"Why not?" I asked.

"Because being angry took too much energy. It's exhausting, and I wanted to be a better man. So your father helped me find a rehab center, and when I came home, he helped me find a sponsor for both AA and NA. He made an effort to become my friend, to be a part of my life. When I found myself struggling, he'd be there to talk me off the edge."

"He never mentioned you," I told him. "Not once."

"I'm not the kind of guy you tell your teenage daughter about, Bella," he replied, chuckling.

"Suppose not," I murmured. "So you've been clean and sober for four years?"

He nodded. "Four years, two months, eighteen days."

"And you credit my father for saving your life?" I asked.

"I do," he admitted. "Charlie . . . he never gave up on me, never told me I couldn't do it. I got into law school, and if I pass my bar exam next month, I'll be able to practice. He gave me the confidence to change. When he died, I tried to be there for your mother, but she wasn't having it. She let her anger and grief get the best of her."

"But she came to you?" I pressed. "Just before she died, right?"

"I thought maybe she was getting ready to go into rehab, finally get her life straight, but then I heard about the fire, about her death, and I'm sorry I couldn't do more, Bella. I really wish I could have."

"Me, too," I admitted, shifting my eyes back to the box. "Is that it?"

"Yeah." He reached over and pushed the box toward me. "I don't mean to pry, but I've heard about what you've been through, with her and everyone else in Forks. I just want to say that if I can do anything, just say the word. People are . . . Well, they're assholes."

"They are," I murmured, sliding the box onto my lap. "Can I ask you something?"

"Apparently," he snickered.

I smiled, though it didn't feel real. "Why didn't you ever come to me after he died?"

Benjamin frowned.

"You approached my mom, right?" I asked. "Tried to help her."

He nodded.

"But not me," I whimpered. "You were worried about her, about her grief, about her pain and anger, but not mine. Not about how I was doing about the sudden and horrific death of my father, the man who I had idolized since I was a little girl."

"That's not true," he disagreed. "I was worried."

"Bullshit," I spat, causing him to lean away from me. "I was alone. Nobody cared about how I was feeling. Nobody asked me how I was. Nobody!"

"Isabella," Carlisle murmured, sliding his arm around my waist.

"I'm not a selfish person. I'm really not, but I needed someone to tell me it was okay to be angry and sad and to cry. I couldn't do any of that because someone had to be there to pick my mother up off the floor, to get her in bed, to make sure she showered and ate, and went to work. I was the one who watched her drink herself into a stupor because there was nobody else to take care of her. When I needed someone to talk to, to cry with, nobody was there to tell me it was okay to be angry, or sad, or anything. You could have reached out to me, you could have made an effort with me, too, but you didn't."

"You're right, I didn't," he admitted. "Maybe I should have, but I didn't think your father would want his teenage daughter around a former addict, Bella."

I shook my head as I stood up, hugging the box from my mother to my chest. "That just shows you how little you knew about Charlie Swan."

Stepping around the coffee table, I carried the box outside and down to the car. Carlisle followed, opening the door for me as he always did. Once he was behind the wheel, he started the car and pulled away, driving us out of Port Angeles. Just under an hour later, he pulled up in front of his cabin.

"I'm gonna miss this place," he murmured before he pushed open his car door and climbed out. He rushed around to my side, opening the door and helping me out. I kept the box of mementos from my mother in my arms as we walked into his studio. I settled on the floor in the middle of the room. "Are you going to open it?"

"I don't know," I whispered, placing it on the floor in front of me. "My father was always doing stuff like that. We'd be shopping in Seattle, and he'd buy dinner for some homeless guy on the corner. Or he'd see a woman with kids in a restaurant and buy their dinner. When I asked him why, he said everyone needs something, if he can help — even if it's just a little — then he will always be there."

"He was a good man, Isabella," Carlisle said, sitting on the floor in front of me.

I nodded. "He was," I agreed. Sliding my hand across the top, I toyed with the tape. "Would you open it? If you were in my position, I mean."

"I would." When I looked up at him, he added, "The night we . . . first slept together, I didn't think about how people would look at us, how they'd judge us. And I certainly didn't think your mother would attack you — us — the way she did. Maybe . . . Maybe we went about this the wrong way. Maybe we moved too fast, were naïve and foolish."

"Are you saying that you regret the last few weeks with me?"

Carlisle was quick to shake his head. "No, not at all. I love you, and the last few weeks have been the best in my life, enough if we've had a lot of shit to deal with. I just . . . I don't want you to wake up a year from now and realize that you're married to an old man, stuck raising his kids, when you could be out in the world, living it up like most people your age."

"I won't," I insisted.

He scoffed. "You don't know that."

"I do," I argued. "Carlisle, I don't want to be one of women who parties their way through college, who barely passes her classes with C's because she's too hung over to study. I've never been that kind of girl, and I won't be one now." I pushed the box off my lap and crawled over to him, straddling him. His hands automatically slid around to my ass, gripping and kneading me through my cotton shorts. "You're my future. I want to be your wife, to be the mother Michael and Tyler deserve. Please, don't push me away. I can't survive without you."

"Isabella," he whispered, laying me on the floor and kneeling between my knees. His hands slid to my thighs, pulling my pussy up against the covered bulge in his pants. My back arched off the floor as I moaned. Even with our clothes between us, I could feel the way he desired my body, the need he had for me. "Don't move."

Doing as he said, I laid on the floor and watched as he scrambled across his studio, pulling jars of paint off his shelves. He placed them on the floor next to me before he began stripping off his clothes, leaving him standing over me naked and hard. I licked my lips, wanting nothing more than to taste him on my tongue. However, before I could move, Carlisle was kneeling between my legs again.

Without word, he began slipping my clothes off, leaving me laying there naked. Then, he picked up a jar of red paint, unscrewed the lid, and dipped his fingers inside. The pain drizzled down his palm to this forearm, but he didn't seem to care as he placed the jar on the floor. A moment later, he dragged his fingers over my right breast, coating my skin and nipple crimson.

"Carlisle!" I gasped.

"I've wanted to paint you for so long," he murmured. "You're so fucking sexy, baby."

He picked up a jar of blue paint, and like with the red, he coated his fingers before placing the jar back on the floor. This time, he went for my other breast, donning it in blue. I laid on the floor while he used orange, yellow, green, pink, purple, covering almost every inch of my body. His touch, the way his fingers grazed over my skin, had me trembling. I was his canvas, his masterpiece, and he used and manipulated my body, and I loved it, loved every second.

"You have no idea what you do to me," he whispered, his fingers ghosting over my pussy. Carlisle shifted his eyes up to me as he pressed one finger inside of me. I gasped. "I used to come out here after you babysat, try to get you out of my head by painting, but I never could. I'd find myself sitting on my stool, and you'd haunt me," he growled, adding another finger. "I'd unzip my pants, take my dick out of my pants, and stroke myself while thinking of you, Isabella."

"Do it," I begged, lifting my hips to meet his touch.

Carlisle's eyes widened. "Do what? Hmm? What do you want me to do?"

"Touch . . . touch yourself," I stammered, struggling to contain the rampage of emotions flooding me at the moment. "Please! Fucking touch yourself."

Carlisle's lips curled upward in a smirk as he removed his hand from my hip and wrapped his blue and green painted-covered fingers around his cock. His head fell backward and he groaned, a sound so amazing that I felt myself tightening around his fingers. Carlisle snapped his head back down to where he was touching me.

"Jesus, you're fucking coming from me jacking off."

I nodded and leaned up on my elbows. "You're hot, lover. Knowing that you're touching me while touching yourself, that I'm the only one who drives you this wild, it's a fucking turn on."

Carlisle's jaw tightened and he quickened his pace. I turned so that I was on my knees in front of him. Dipping my fingers into his jars of paints, I gripped his wrist with my free hand, and wrapped my paint covered hands around him. Carlisle's groan filled the room, his chest heaved with every breath he took, and his eyes never left mine.

As I stroked him, letting my hands slide up and around his cock, I used my free hand to paint his chest, cover him in the same array of colors that he'd used on me. His hips were pushing toward my hand, and he twitched in my hand, indicating that he was getting close to his own release. Grabbing the back of his head, I pulled his lips down to mine, pressing the fronts of our bodies together as he erupted, shooting his climax over my hand and our stomachs.

Falling back onto the floor, we both struggled to catch our breaths.

"Baby, that was the most fun I'd had in a long time," Carlisle said laughing as he looked over at me.

"Me, too," I admitted, smiling. "And the messiest."

"A little mess is a good thing," he snickered, rolling onto his side. "Guess I need to pack this place up, too, huh?"

"Gonna have to find you a new studio, too," I said, sitting up and pulling my knees up in front of me. "Maybe one of the extra bedrooms. You know, if we get the house."

"It's only been a day, Isabella," he replied, just as his cell phone rang. Scrambling to his feet, he pulled on his shorts and dug his phone out of his pocket. "Speaking of the devil, it's Celia."

While he answered the phone, I pulled on clothes and placed the box from my mother in front of me. Tearing the tape off, I began to sort through the items inside. There were a couple dozen photographs of me with Charlie and Renee, me by myself, me with just one of them. Pictures of my birthdays, Christmas, first days of schools, every milestone that I had achieved during my childhood. Along with the photographs were my baby books and my parents' wedding album.

But it was the pair of small, black velvet boxes settled in the bottom of the box that had my attention. I didn't need to open them to know what was inside, yet I found myself prying the lids upward anyway. Nestled inside were my parents' wedding rings. I placed the rings on the palm of my hand, lifting them up in front of my face. The gold bans were thick and beautiful. Etched on the inside of each ban was the date 7-14-94, my parents wedding anniversary.

"They're beautiful," Carlisle murmured, sitting across from me. He picked up one of the photographs of me when I was little and smiled. "I love the pigtails, Isabella. So adorable."

"Shut up," I groused, taking it from him as my cheeks turned red. "I hated wearing my hair up, but Renee told me that I looked like a drowned rat with my hair down." I placed the picture back on top of the others. "She was right, I did."

"I'm sure you didn't," he disagreed, bending his knees up in front of him. "Those are nice."

I nodded and placed them back into the boxes. "What did Celia have to say?"

"The owners have accepted our offer, but have requested that we close in ten days."

"Okay," I said. "Is that normal?"

He smiled. "Usually it takes a month or so, but since we're not financing through a mortgage company, it's just a matter of getting the paperwork in order, which I'm sure we can do."

"This is so weird," I quipped.

"Good weird?"

I smiled. "Yeah. I'm so ready to move on from Forks, from everything keeping us here."

"Me, too," he said, standing up and offering me a hand. "Which means, I should call Celia back, and then we should go home, start packing."

"Okay," I laughed.

While Carlisle called Celia back, I started packing the photographs and albums my mother had left me back into the box. When I picked up my baby album, though, it slipped out of my hand and fell to the floor. I picked it up, but found a letter with my name scribbled across it. I placed the book in the box before I unfolded the piece of paper. The letter was from my mother and it was dated the day before the fire, the day before she died.

My Dearest Bella,

When you were a little girl, you'd wake up in the middle of the night and crawl into bed with your father and I. You always insisted on sleeping in the middle, and somehow, you'd always end up with your feet on me. I hated it, but I could never tell you no. Not even once.

I've made so many mistakes over the last couple of years, mistakes I wish I could go back and change. I was selfish and put my needs above yours. I miss your father. So much more than I ever thought possible. He was . . . is the love of my life, my heart and soul, my everything. Losing him hurt. Losing him felt like someone had ripped my heart out and stomped on it.

And I never once considered how you felt, how much losing your father hurt you. For that I am so sorry. I should have been a better mother, tried harder to deal with my grief. Instead, I turned to alcohol because it was easier than admitting that I wasn't strong enough to live without Charlie.

I want you to be happy, Bella. I want you to live a life full of happiness and laughter. If being with Carlisle is what gives you that life, then I guess I'll have to learn to accept it. I guess I just had a hard time seeing you as a woman and not the little girl who would crawl into my bed because the shadows scared her.

I hope that one day you can forgive me for not being the mother you deserved, for not being stronger. I love you, Bella. Even though I haven't told you in too long, or showed it, I do love you.

With all my love,

Mom

"Isabella?" Carlisle murmured, and I looked over at him. "Are you okay?"

I shook my head. "It's from her. She . . . she says she loves me, says she's sorry for everything, but I read the words, and that's all they are: just words. How do I know if she meant any of this?"

"You don't," he said, walking over to me and placing his paint covered hand on my cheek. I leaned into his touch. "You've got to figure out if you can forgive her, Isabella. Only you can make that decision. And none of us will blame you for being angry, for needing more time."

I leaned forward, laying my head on his chest. "Take me home, Carlisle."

Humming, he gathered the box from my mother and carried it out to the car, placing it in the trunk. As we drove away from the cabin, our bodies still covered in paint, I thought about the words my mother had written me, the story Benjamin had shared about my father, and the events of the last few weeks. So much pain and heartache, and all I could hope for was that in just a few weeks, we'd be saying goodbye to Forks forever.

Thank you for all the reviews. Two chapters to go.