DISCLAIMER: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc., are the intellectual property of the respective author. The original characters and plot are the property of Stephenie Meyer. No copyright infringement is intended.

-Chapter Twenty-Six-

We traveled in and out of states, hotel after hotel, drifters on the highway, and with no destination in mind. Sightseeing, taking in the country and keeping tabs on the news coverage back home. Edward brought five thousand dollars with us, but that wouldn't last forever. If we'd had Emmett's weed, we could have sold it to keep us afloat, but he'd anticipated our thievery and hid it in his room. The guy was protective of his stash and acted as if he was going to run out.

Eventually, we were going to have to do something to get money. Edward didn't seem too concerned about our prospects, but I was antsy. Neither of us would settle down and get a respectable job. If anything, we would return to Arizona and face whatever awaited us there.

Knowing how we were and our avoidance of taking responsibility for any wrongdoing, it seemed unlikely that we would ever go home.

So, where did that leave us?

St. Louis, that's where, and in some random hotel right off the expressway, just passing through like we always do. I'd mentioned that I wanted to see the Gateway Arch to Edward a few days ago, and he drove all night to make it happen. He was good like that. Always doing whatever he could to ensure I was happy, no matter how simple or extreme.

Unfortunately, we still had yet to utter the 'L' word.

We both skirted around it.

It was ridiculous.

Hell, we even fought about it once.

It wasn't directly related to it, but it had to do with miscommunication, hurt feelings, and him being a straight-up jackass.

Granted, I had some blame in the fight. I wasn't innocent by any means, but Edward fueled it. We were somewhere in Kansas, but not sure where. All those fields looked the same to me, but we were watching TV and enjoying each other company when I asked a stupid question.

It was about his Tanya tattoo and whether or not he'd ever considered getting a girlfriend's name tatted on his skin. Without even thinking about the meaning behind my question, he answered truthfully.

"No, I'm not a fucking idiot. Why would I want to put some girl's name on me?"

It was like he twisted a dagger into my heart, and although rational thinking told me that he wasn't lumping me in that category, I took it there as my emotions ran high and out of control. I scooted away from him on the bed. He stared at me with furrowed brows, unsure why I was putting distance between us, but he didn't say anything. Instead, he watched me as I pretended to be busy writing. It went like this for an hour, when finally he couldn't take it anymore.

He snapped. "What the fuck did I say? Why are you pissed?"

I shrugged, keeping my eyes on my doodle. "I'm not mad."

"Bullshit," he said, getting up from the bed and sitting across from me at the table. "You haven't said shit to me in an hour. What did I do?"

"You didn't do anything," I lied, still avoiding his gaze. "I'm just not in the talkative mood."

He leaned back in his chair, studying my face and scrapping his teeth across his lips, occasionally chewing on the ring. I could see his mind working, going over our conversation and trying to pinpoint the exact moment when things went sour.

After a moment, his eyes widened, and he sat up. "Is this shit about the Tanya tattoo? I told you, it's my car. It's not some fucking girl."

"It's not about the tattoo," I said, and it wasn't. It was about my guy not wanting to have some girl's name on his skin, and somehow in my immature mind, I warped his words and made it about us and what we had together, which were two separate issues.

He was confused more than ever, and this was the problem between men and women. They say what they mean, and we don't, leading to misunderstandings and meaningless arguments.

"Then what the fuck is it about?" He reached across the table and lifted my chin, practically pleading with me to look at him. "Fucking tell me."

But I couldn't look at him—God knows what those green eyes did to me. So, stubborn as ever, I brushed his hand away and returned to my writing. He stared at me intently, trying to read my mind or at least hoping I would clue him in on why I was so upset, but I couldn't admit to my insecurities and shortcomings. It would only lead to how much I loved him; if he didn't feel the same, it would kill me.

In hindsight, if I had just told him, all the nonsense would've been avoided, but I was too consumed with my petty jealousy and being butt hurt.

"Fuck!" Edward rose to his feet and headed for the door. "This is why I don't do fucking relationships."

My eyes shot up for the first time, suddenly panicked that he was leaving. "Where are you going?"

"Out," he said, closing the door loudly behind him, and I shuddered at the finality of the sound.

I sat there stunned, unable to move, inwardly cursing myself for being so childish.

Why did I have to push Edward like that?

"Stupid," I groaned, swiping the table with my hand and sending the notebook and pen flying to the floor. I stood up and paced the room, berating myself and wondering if I should go after him.

I didn't chase after him, but the longer he stayed gone, the more pissed and hurt I got. Then, suddenly, I felt vindicated for overreacting as I did because he left, unwilling to work it out, while I was sitting in the hotel room worrying myself to death.

Around the hour-and-a-half mark, I packed up all my stuff and left him.

There was little to pack. It was a single duffel bag and a purse. It took me about five, maybe ten, minutes to get it all together, and I made sure to take the spare gun. Then, storming and stomping out of the hotel room like a five-year-old, I slammed the door behind me harder and louder than Edward had to show his punk ass up. It was dark outside. It seemed abandoned, and only the faint sounds of the expressway were giving away signs of life. I searched the parking lot and noticed that Tanya—that bitch—was gone.

Feeling deserted and alone, I allowed myself to break down on the steps for a few minutes. An elderly couple stopped and asked me if I was alright, offering to take me in and feed me some Goulash. I quickly brushed them off and told them I was more than okay.

Wiping away my tears, I got up and headed for the road. There were no cars, but I stood there with my thumb, looking to hitch a ride back to Arizona - which wasn't the best idea, especially when the Chevelle came down the street. I didn't know it was him; all I'd seen were headlights, but when he passed, swerving and slamming on his brakes, I knew it wouldn't be good.

The car flew back in reverse and stopped right in front of me. I avoided looking at him, keeping my arm outstretched and thumb firmly in place.

I pretended like he didn't exist.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he said, getting out of his car and coming over to me.

I scoffed. "What does it look like I'm doing?"

"It looks like you're trying to get yourself killed," he said, gripping my arm and trying to drag me back to his car. "Come on."

I yanked my arm free and glared at him. "Go away and leave me alone."

"Bella, baby, will you get in the car, please?" He asked, reaching for my hand.

I shook my head, crossing my arms over my chest.

"Fine," he said, throwing up his hands and stomping back to his car. He froze at his door, debating whether or not to leave me. Finally, he growled, slamming the door closed, and came back to me on the curb with his jaw tightly clenched. "Get in the fucking car, Bella."

"No," I stated stubbornly.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to keep his cool. "Get in the car or I'm going to make you get in the car."

"What are you going to do, Edward, huh? Force me in the car with your gun?"

"Do not fucking tempt me," he said, taking a step towards me.

I narrowed my eyes. "I'm not getting in the car, Edward, alright? So, just go away and leave me alone. I'll find my own way home."

"Home?" he laughed. "Where is home, kid, huh?"

"I don't know," I said, glancing over his shoulder and seeing a car coming from another direction. I'd seen my opportunity to get away. "But I am about to find out."

He looked behind him, and I ran out into the street, hoping to flag the car down.

"God damn it," he grumbled, coming up behind me, grabbing my arm again, and pulling me towards his car.

I swung around, fighting his hold, jerking my arm away and shoving him hard on his chest. "I told you to leave me alone."

"Bella, I swear to fucking God you're a pain in my ass," he said, picking me up and flinging me over his shoulder.

"Put me down, Edward!" I screeched, fighting against him, and he held me tighter.

My old man didn't even bother with the car anymore. Instead, he walked me across the parking lot and back up to the room with me kicking and screaming the whole way.

"Stop it," He said, smacking my ass. "You're disrupting the neighbors."

"I don't give a shit about the neighbors, put me down," I hissed.

He opened the room door, kicked it wide, and set me back on my feet. He snatched the duffel bag off my shoulder and threw it across the room into the open closet.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" he asked.

"Nothing is wrong with me," I snapped.

"Bullshit. You get all pissy—for no God damn reason, and then you try to fucking leave me?"

There was so much hurt and anger in his voice, and if he only knew that leaving him was never an option. That little show down there was precisely that, just a show.

"Why would you do that?" he asked.

"Because you stormed out of here without telling me where you were going, and I figured you left me," I said, shrugging my shoulders impassively as if that shit didn't tear me apart inside.

He chuckled dryly. "What? I left because you were pissing me off and I needed to go cool down."

"Where did you go?"

"Nowhere. I just went driving around to clear my fucking head. Why in the fuck would ever think I would leave you here? Are you crazy?"

It didn't make sense for him to leave me, but I wasn't going to fess up to that. Admit that I might've overreacted. I was still mad at him for whatever reason I concocted.

"Don't call me crazy," I said, my fists closing and tightening at my sides.

He smiled crookedly. "You're fucking crazy, Bella, alright? You might as well accept that fact."

"I'm crazy?"

He nodded, making no apologies.

"All right, I'll show you crazy," I said, turning around and picking up a glass. I threw it at Edward's head, but he protected it with his hands and ducked for cover. It hit the door, shattering on impact.

He shot his eyes at me. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"You! That's what's wrong with me!" I shouted, picking up another random item and throwing it at him. But, again, he ducked down and avoided getting pummeled in the face.

He rushed to me before I could break anything else, grabbing hold of my wrists and keeping them still. "You need to fucking calm down. Jesus Christ, woman, how can I fucking make shit better if you won't tell me what I did, huh?"

Despite being so angry and frustrated, I still wanted him. Like bad. It was maddening, and I hated myself for letting him get to me. He was a lethal man, sexy and authoritative. He controlled me more than I cared to admit, and I was madly in love with him.

I shook my head, glancing away from his penetrating gaze.

He grasped my chin and forced me to look at him. "What did I fucking do? Why won't you just tell me? You say it's not about this God damn Tanya tattoo, but you've been flipping out on me ever since you asked about it. What is it?"

I sighed. "Why are you with me? Huh? You say I'm crazy and such a pain in your ass, why even fucking bother with it? I'm sure there are plenty of sane girls out there who are more worthy of your time."

"Yeah, you're probably right," he said, bobbing his head. "I'm sure there are plenty of women out there old enough to go into a bar and have a drink with me every now and then. Hell, there is probably a few out there that won't give me a fucking ulcer every time I turn around."

The thought of him with another woman was unbearable.

"Well, maybe you should go date them then," I spat, jerking myself free and pushing him away. "And if it works out, maybe you'll fall in love with them and get their name tattooed on your skin!" I went to the closet, my fingers clasping around the strap of my duffel bag, when he grabbed me around the waist and held me tight against his chest.

"I'm just fucking with you, baby," he whispered. "You're the only one I want to…." He paused. A silence occurred between us as my previous words dawned on him. Then, finally, he swung me around to face him. "Wait a fucking minute, are you trying to tell me that this whole fight is about something I said about not wanting to get a girl's name tattooed on me?"

I glared at him. "You said so yourself, you're not a fucking idiot and you don't do relationships."

Edward laughed hard, practically doubling over. He shook his head and stumbled back a few steps. He rubbed his face roughly with his hands.

"Why are you laughing?" I said, pulling his hands away from his face. "It's not funny."

His hands dropped to my hips, and his eyes bored into mine as he forcefully pushed me down on the bed. He was on top of me and trapped me under his weight. He kissed me so intensely and evocatively, immersing my lips with his. Everything faded, and I stopped fighting, allowing myself to dissolve into him fully. Nothing mattered: not the tattoos or all those previous women in his life. In that brief and fleeting moment, I was his, and he was mine.

He pulled away, looking down at me, his eyes filled with such adoration that it took my breath away. He smiled ever so faintly, caressing the side of my cheek. When he spoke, there was so much disbelief drenched in his words. "How do you not fucking know?"

I was silent because I didn't have an answer for him.

Everything seemed silly now. All my insecurities and worries about these phantom women because he was right.

How did I not see it?

It was written all over his face when he looked at me. And all those times, he looked at me, thinking I didn't know. So this whole trip and everything before that was a blatant display of his feelings for me and how deep they ran.

"Bella," he said, leaning his forehead against mine. "When I said I wouldn't get a tattoo of some girl's name on me, I fucking didn't mean you."

"Really?" I said, curling my fingers in the long strands of hair on the nape of his neck.

He shifted his body off mine, straddling my thighs, and keeping me down on the bed. He pulled off his shirt and lifted his arm, pointing to the Tanya tattoo. "This is one is my car." He took my hand and turned his body to the side, gliding my fingers over the ribcage on his gun tattoo. "This one is my Colt." He then pointed to an unusual blank patch of skin. It was located right underneath his left nipple, on lean muscle. "This spot, I was saving for the third most precious thing in my life. The one thing I love more than my fucking gun or car."

"Emmett?" I joked, deterring myself from those mushy feelings he was giving me.

"No, baby, it's not Emmett." He smiled, yanking me up into a sitting position, and kissed my lips. "It's you."

He lowered me back down on the bed and kissed me everywhere. It was slow and tender, sweet but not as rushed or needy as before. Instead, he took his time with me, loving me.

It was a good memory, not one I'll soon forget.

No matter how stupid, the fight served as a building block in our relationship. Of course, there will be many bumps in the road that we'll have to face, but I was willing to do it and fight hard for it because it was with Edward.

That was four days and two hundred and fifty miles ago.

Today was September thirteenth, and I was finally eighteen. It was still early morning, maybe a little before ten, and I was sitting at the edge of the bed in our hotel room. My toes tapped anxiously on the floor as I stared intently at the red door. Edward had left the room before I'd gotten up. The sheets on his side of the bed were cold, indicating that he'd been gone for a while.

I'd been up for nearly two hours and becoming more worried.

"Damn him," I mumbled, getting up from the bed and putting on my coat. I peeked out the blinds, looking for his car. It was still there. He had to be within walking distance.

Leaving the room, I closed the door behind me. It was cold today, far too chilly for September. The pool below was covered with a dirty green tarp, and the water seeped over it, making it sink to the bottom. It was not a first-class motel, unlike the ones we stayed at when we started this trip, which tipped me off that we were getting low on cash.

Coming around the corner to the stairs, I caught a glimpse of messy brownish-copper hair. Edward had his head down with a pillow sack clasped in his hands. He shifted it over his shoulder, and his shirt went up, exposing the gun in his waistband.

I narrowed my eyes at him, madder than hell. "What did you do?"