A/N: Thanks so much for all your wonderful thoughts!

So, as some of you know, I've spent the past week in Maui! My fam surprised me for my birthday, and it's been…man, no words. But, this is why I haven't updated in so long! I've spent the past few mornings sitting out by the shore, under palm trees, writing a bit here and there, but it's Maui, and I've been so distracted. :)

Anyway, we're leaving today, and to distract myself from all the tears I'm going to cry, I'm updating with a short, little chapter. I may update later on today as well, with the second half of this, if I manage to finish it during our layovers later.

Most characters belong to S. Meyer. The rest belong to me. All mistakes are mine as well.

Chapter 5 – No Good Distraction

Edward

I left the barbecue with my exhausted son asleep in my arms and with my mind in chaos. As I turned in the direction of our summer house, almost in a stupor, my head snapped up to the sky above us, vaguely searching for some form of direction. A million and one stars filled the sky, yet it was her dark eyes, two captivating black holes, at the center of them all.

I'd fucked up. I'd fucked up and badly.

When she grew angry, when those dark eyes of hers flared in righteous indignation, it had hit me with the force of a fiery tempest. Bella was no drunk. No individual with eyes that brilliant and a mind that sharp could be drunk.

But before I could do or say anything to even begin to dig myself out of the hole I was starting to realize I'd dug and dug with an obstinacy that would've been admirable had it not been so stupidly presumptuous, Emmett had walked into the kitchen. At that point, Bella stalked out of the same room with her head held high in well-justified fury.

Now, I was ending the evening bewildered by what exactly was going on with the woman who'd had my entire system in a strange uproar since the moment I'd literally bumped into her, and wondering just when and how I'd get the chance to-

"Hey, Ed," Emmett called out. "Ed, hold up."

"What's up, Emmett?"

"Ed, here's the thing: a couple of years back, when Bella lived in San Francisco, there was a bad accident, and she suffered an injury that-"

"Wait, what? What?" I interrupted anxiously as if the woman in question were somehow currently in danger. "An injury? What sort of injury?"

"My Rosie knows all the exact medical terminology, but what it boils down to is that something got knocked loose around here," – Emmett tapped the side of his temple, just to the right of his ear – "and because of that, sometimes Bella gets headaches, sometimes her vision blurs, and sometimes her balance is off."

I gripped my sleeping son's small frame, ensuring I didn't drop him as a clearer picture of my massive error in judgment began to take hold. Then, with my free hand, I fisted my hair hard - hard enough so that stars filled my vision – though not the stars I'd watched earlier with Bella herself, not the brilliantly sparkling stars that somehow paled when beside her eyes. I barely managed to breathe the next few words.

"A concussion?"

"In part, yeah. She suffered a few other injuries that eventually healed. All in all, she lucked out."

"She lucked out?" Now I spat the words. "What kind of accident did she have?"

"That's beyond the scope of our convo here."

It was a quick yet pointed reminder: regardless of the past couple of days of comradery I'd experienced here in Forks, I was still an outsider.

Emmett sighed. "Look, just believe me when I say, as a cop, that it could've been much…much worse."

"As a cop? What does that-" I began, but Emmett shook his head.

"Jesus." I shook my head as well and glared at the ground between us while nausea roiled in my stomach. "And I accused her of being a drunk."

In further testimony to the good people of this town, instead of rebuking me further than I was already rebuking myself, and despite the irrefutable fact that yes, I was indeed an outsider, Emmett offered me an empathetic sort of chuckle.

"In a weird sort of way, it's an understandable mistake. Bella works as a part-time bartender at Em's pub cuz she's got the experience – she was a bartender back in San Francisco while in college, but she doesn't drink anymore. It tends to make her condition worse. As for what you saw tonight-"

I cut him off. "Emmett, I…her behavior doesn't need to be justified to me any further. In fact, it didn't have to be justified in the first place. I'm the one who screwed up."

For what felt like hours but couldn't have been more than a handful of seconds, Emmett and I stood silently on that sidewalk while I processed all he'd shared, all the while knowing I'd ponder the unanswered questions later. The fact was that in a mere two days in this town, I'd jumped to the most ridiculous conclusions regarding a woman who appeared to have gone through some hell yet smiled now with…with undeniable beauty, with eyes sparkling so wondrously.

I shook my head to clear it, for now, my gaze drifting toward the garage. Emmett followed its trajectory. "Well, a few things make more sense now. The converted garage…"

"Yeah. When they finally convinced her to come live with them, Sue converted the garage really nicely."

I nodded. "And the truck…"

"That was the chief holding out a wild hope."

"Meanwhile, his gaze follows her around with so much concern."

"Exactly," Emmett snorted. "She takes some crazy chances; she does, but not with others."

"Which is why she was so careful with how she held Tristan. And here I thought it was because-" Again, I raked my hair, too disgusted with myself even to finish verbalizing that. "Emmett, how the hell do I even apologize and begin to make up for this clusterfuck?"

"Carefully, and preferably while wearing a jockstrap." He spoke dryly, but when I met his gaze, he chuckled and clapped my shoulder. "Hey, hey, hey. I'm going to tell you one more thing, Ed, and then we really have to drop this. Bella has good days, she has in-between days, and some days, she has off days. But she lives her life to its fullest, and she's fierce about her independence and privacy, so don't show her pity, Edward," he warned much more solemnly. "She doesn't pity herself, and she doesn't tolerate pity from anyone. It's hard enough as a grown woman for her to deal with the way the Chief tries to shelter her. You want to try apologizing – not right now, though; maybe in a day or two," he clarified again, grinning now, "that's fine. But don't show her pity," he warned once more.

"I get it," I conceded, "but it's not pity. It's…"

"It's what?" Emmett prompted after a few moments.

The problem was I wasn't even sure myself what it was – empathy, yes, a sense of compassion, and maybe even commiseration, an understanding through different yet mutual experiences of life-altering change. And maybe…maybe something more, yet for a man who made his living drafting unambiguous documents, I felt woefully unintelligible at that moment.

When I realized I had no answer, at least not one I could verbalize, I clapped Emmett on the shoulder.

"Hey, thanks, man, for trusting me enough to clear this up a bit. I know we don't know one another all that well-"

"Again, as a cop, I believe myself a good judge of character." For a couple of heartbeats, his gaze appeared to scrutinize me. "Don't sweat it too much, Ed. I'm sure it'll work itself out."

I managed a weak smile. "I'll try not to sweat it too much. And thanks again."

OOOOO

The next morning, a muted sun, less bright than the previous morning's sun, rose behind the trees and turned the sky a pale, grayish shade of orange. I had coffee and Tristan's morning oatmeal set out on the wooden deck table while he and I played a toddler game of softball with his peewee baseball set. In between, I drafted a briefing I was working on for the office.

All the while, I was still sweating the events of the night before.

'You work with the children, on your own, in your condition?'

'Who the hell do you think you are to speak to me that way?'

Wincing at the memory, I missed the ball my son pitched my way – a good pitch, by the way, for a three-year-old. It caught me in the groin.

"Sorry, Dad! I hurted you?"

"No. No, Tristan, I'm fine, buddy," I called out, then more quietly to myself, "Not that I wouldn't have deserved a good swift kick to the bal-"

"What, Dad?"

"Nothing, Trist!"

No matter how I tried to distract myself, my mind insisted on replaying every stupid word I'd uttered, right along with the expressions of pure bewilderment morphed into mortification on Bella's face. Almost as bad as my guilt regarding how I'd treated her were the questions remaining.

What happened to Bella? Was it a sporting accident? A car accident?

Her laughter rang out in my mind – ebulliently contagious, rising above almost all else except Tristan's voice while she wandered around the Chief's backyard with her friends and with my son in tow, worshipping her. Conversely, when it was just she and I in that kitchen, her laughter was softly genuine. And those eyes, the brilliance in them had been…mesmerizing.

"What the hell was I think-"

"Dad!"

"Sorry, Trist!"

For about the fiftieth time since the previous evening, I reminded myself that I'd apologize next time I bumped into the Chief's goddaughter. If she chose to curse me out, that was her right and her prerogative. If she chose not to speak to me for the rest of my time here…so be it. That was also her prerogative. Once I apologized, I'd be done with it and could finally clear my mind and my conscience of Bella Dwyer.

Yet, the pangs of self-reproach didn't diminish a damn iota.

"Dad, is you mad?"

Startled, I blinked away from the laptop, relegated the previous night to the back of my mind, and refocused on the small boy in a baseball cap standing before me holding a bright yellow plastic bat in one hand and an oversized, white plastic ball in the other.

"No, Trist," I smiled. "Dad's not mad at all. Just…a bit lost in thought."

His eyes grew wide and wary. "You lost, Dad?"

"No," I chuckled, reminding myself of how literal a kid his age could be. "Just thinking of some things Dad has to fix. Let's set down the softball and get to our breakfast, yeah?"

"Can we go to the beach again after breakfast? Like yesterday?"

I grinned. "Sure. We're on vacation, right?"

"Right, Dad! Dad?"

"Yeah, son?"

"Can we's tell Bella to come with us?"

My heart lurched then stopped. "Uhm, maybe another time, Trist."

"Why?"

"Well, for one thing, we don't really know what she has planned for today."

He crouched on the grass and played with his plastic ball. "We can call her on your phone, Dad, and say, 'Come to the beach with us!'

I snorted. "It doesn't really work that way, Trist."

"How it works, Dad?"

I offered him a sigh, and Tristan looked up, meeting my gaze.

"When are I going to see Bella again, Dad?"

So much for distracting myself from thoughts of Bella Dwyer.

"I don't really know, Trist. I don't really know. Come on," – I ruffled his hair – "let's eat and get ready for the beach."

A/N: Thoughts?

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