Chapter 52
I didn't go to the Halcyon.
Doesn't mean I didn't think about doing so a half a million times. Even got in the car, once. I wanted to hear him out, I did. But to what end? To what purpose?
He said he was sorry. I'm sure he was. But it didn't make what happened that morning okay. Didn't make his utter dismissal of me acceptable. Why go back, why go down that road and feel all those things again just so the Great Edward Cullen could absolve himself of any guilt?
Maybe he was in a twelve-step program and needed forgiveness. I was probably just one of many on that long list.
So I didn't go to the Halcyon, but Edward did not disappear.
I was stunned when he showed up at Emmett's gig a few days later at the Larimer Lounge.
He sat in the back with his hat on, nursing a beer. No one bothered him, the small club dark and easy to get lost in. He met my staring eyes and he nodded at me, but didn't approach as Rose and I sat at the bar. I kept waiting, wondering if he thought with other people around I'd have to hear him out so he could finally get the absolution he needed to get on with his life and never think of me again.
But he left that night, without a word, much to Emmett's dismay. One minute he was there, the next, I sat staring at the empty table, wondering if I'd imagined the whole thing.
Emmett was confused… why show up and not say hello, but I told Emmett not to expect much. That's who and what Edward was and always would be.
But the newly resurfaced Edward Cullen was full of surprises. He showed up at Lost Lake Lounge. Same thing, sat in the back and went unrecognized.
Rose urged me to go speak with him, to get it over with.
I didn't.
I had nothing to say. Well, I had nothing that wouldn't expose the way his presence made my traumatized heart flutter.
Even still.
He showed up again when Emmett played the coffee shop.
I refused to wait on him, made one of the college kids do it.
Rose must've told Emmett he was there, and he rushed out between sets. For his part, Edward looked happy to see him. Shook his hand and gave him a pat on the back. Emmett's beaming face as they sat together at that small table made me re-think my grandiose plan of barging in and asking just what the hell he thought he was doing.
Maybe he was just there to see Emmett play. Maybe he missed it more than I'd ever know.
They sat for half an hour. I looked at my watch, at the coffee shop clock, dreading the fact that he was ten minutes over the break. Rose, that traitor, said nuh-uh, I was his manager, and I was the one that needed to tell him he had to go back on stage.
Dragging my feet, I managed to walk over and tell him break was over. Emmett got up quickly, shaking Edward's hand again, and asked him how long he was going to be in town, and could he come to another show if he was available?
Slightly rattled and not really wanting to hear the answer, I turned to walk away, and that's when I felt it. A light touch to my hand.
To describe the sensation of his skin on mine after months of imagining it, was an impossible thing to do. I'd dreamt of that moment so many times but still had no words.
He felt the same, the calloused fingers lightly scratching.
But he felt different. Gone was the grab of ownership, the pull of the cocky rock star. In its place was a whisper of hesitation.
The feeling disappeared so quickly I thought maybe I'd imagined it.
He cleared his throat. "Bella, will you sit with me?"
"I'm working." I turned to look at him, really wanting to tell him to go to hell.
"After?"
I crossed my arms. Debated. Weighed the scenarios. "You already said you were sorry, Edward."
He smiled slightly. "That barely scratches the surface."
By the grace of God, Emmett spoke into the mic, saving me from sitting in his lap and forgiving him right there. "Emmett's back on." I turned and went to the bar, making myself busy with glasses in case he was watching me. Hoping he didn't see the tremble in my hands.
I couldn't help but glance at him frequently, waiting for him to bolt. But he sat there in the dim lighting, listening to Emmett play. My heart swayed, watching the tapping of that battered sneaker keep time with the music and the way his hand lightly drummed and strummed along.
When Emmett's set ended, the crowd dissipated and there was nowhere for me to go.
Edward sat still, one leg crossed over his knee and watched me wipe up, put things away, right chairs and tables. He watched me say goodnight to my coworkers as they flipped the 'open' sign to 'closed'.
Watched me patiently as I made up stuff to do, repeatedly checking napkin dispensers and sweeping imaginary debris from the floor.
"I can wait all night." The humor in his voice was obvious. "Might as well sit with me and get it over with."
"You can get it over with while I stand here, I'm fine."
"Okay," he answered, but did nothing but fiddle with his empty glass.
I shifted from my left foot to my right. Moved the broom from one hand to the other.
He sighed and closed his eyes, his head shaking back and forth. "I'm sorry."
"You already said that."
He looked at me, his eyes unreadable. "I'm sorry I got involved with you."