17

"Did he . . . did he hurt you?" Carlisle asked hours later. He'd kept his hand on me: my back, my arm, my thigh. Somehow, it was his way of reminding me that he was there, that he had come running after me, despite the fact that I had left him.

"Um," I paused and cleared my throat. "He, um, he didn't . . . he didn't rape me, if that's what you're asking."

"That's not what I'm asking. Though, I am glad to hear that," he said, tilting my face toward him. "I'm asking if he hurt you."

Tears welled up in my eyes as I nodded. "He touched me. Hit me. Threw me on the ground."

Carlisle dropped his hand from my chin as he nodded, turning toward the door to my examination room. We were waiting for Dr. Gerandy to release me from the hospital, waiting for Jake and Sam to take my statement, waiting for our Hell to end. But wasn't. It was only beginning.

I'd left. I'd given my word that I'd never leave, but I broke my promise. And in the process, Peter had been killed.

Sighing, I pulled my knees up to my chest, thankful for the scrubs one of the nurses had brought me. "What time is it?"

"Almost nine," Carlisle murmured. "I need to call the boys. They'll be going to bed soon."

I sucked my bottom lip between my teeth, unsure of what to say.

"Jasper and Edward were going to stay at the beach house with them," he added. "Figured they needed somewhere familiar."

Carlisle looked down at me. "But I don't know what to say to them. They're going to ask where you are, when you're coming home. What do I tell them?"

"I don't know," I whispered. "Do you want me to come home?"

"Do I . . ." Carlisle blew out a heavy breath as he stood up, facing me with his hands on his hips. "Of course I want you to come home, Isabella."

"But," I prompted. "There is a but, right?"

He nodded. "You left me, you left the boys. You just . . . you left, and I don't know what to do now."

"He was never going to stop. Never. He would have come after you, after the boys, and I couldn't let that happen. I . . . I thought what I was doing was right, that I was protecting you — all of you. But it didn't matter, because he hurt you anyway."

Carlisle reached for me, but I pulled away, scrambling off the bed. "Peter begged me to go back with him, said . . . said he loved me like I was his daughter," I cried, thinking about all the people I'd lost because of one man. Charlie, Peter, Renee. "I've lost everyone who's ever loved me, haven't I?"

"No," he insisted, reaching out and grabbing my hands. "You still have me."

"Do I?" I asked.

But before he could reply, the door to my room opened and we looked over to find Jake and Sam. They looked from me to Carlisle and back, before stepping into the room and closing the door.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," Jake murmured, clearing is throat. "We need to get your statement."

"And then I can go leave?" I asked.

Sam nodded. "Can you tell us what happened? How you got here?"

"How I got here," I mused. "I suppose the man that kidnapped me is the way, wouldn't you agree?"

"I didn't mean . . . I mean . . . How'd he get to you? What happened, Bella?" Jake stammered.

"I, um." I sat on the edge of the bed, shaking my head. "After learning that the man we knew as Gabriel Varner had been spotted outside of our home in California, Carlisle and I rushed to his father's house, to Michael and Tyler."

I shifted my eyes up to Carlisle. "I left while he was speaking with the detectives. His father followed, and as we were heading back to the house, Peter was struck by a car. Aro was the driver. He threw me into the trunk of his car. He switched cars at one point, but I'm not sure where, or how long after he took me. I passed out and came to when I felt the car stop outside of the school.

"I screamed for help, tried to break free, but he hit me and dragged me inside. He took me into his old classroom, threw me against a desk before pinning me on top of his desk. Said he'd wanted me for years, said I had teased him, made him want to fuck me. I begged him to let me go. He . . ."

I blew out a heavy breath as I looked up at Sam and Jake. "He killed Charlie."

"What?" they blurted out, looks of horror on their faces.

"He lured Charlie to that house that night, killed him because my father had noticed the way he was looking at me," I cried. "He said I was his now, that he would make me his. I screamed that I wasn't, that I hated him, but he . . . he threw me in a chair and opened one of the drawers on his desk. It had a false bottom and inside were several pairs of handcuffs, knives. Photographs of me."

I swallowed against the bile creeping up my throat. "He tried to cuff me to the chair, but I was able to push him off me. I ran out of the room, tried to find a way out. I ended up in the office. He had cut the phone lines, so I couldn't call for help. He found me in there and was dragging me back to his classroom when you two showed up."

"And he didn't . . ." Sam trailed off. "Did he do anything else?"

"No," I said, quietly.

"Okay, um, I don't think we need anything else," Sam paused and looked right at me. "I'm sorry, Bella. For everything that's lead up to this, for not understanding."

"Yeah, me too," I quipped. "Can I leave now?"

Sam frowned but nodded as he turned toward the door. I shifted my eyes to Jake, who had a similar look on his face. But rather than apologize, he followed his partner out of the room. I sighed as I stood up, the urge to scream filled me. Before the door could close all the way, Dr. Gerandy stepped inside.

"Well, I guess you're about ready to get out of here."

"More than ready," I muttered.

He nodded, dragging his hand across the back of his neck. "I've written out a prescription for some sleeping pills, just in case. And if you need anything — anything at all — just call, okay?"

I snorted. "No offense, but I don't need, or want, anything from you. You turned your back on me a long time ago. Now, give me my release papers and get the hell out of my way."

"Bella, I'm —"

"I don't fucking want to hear it!" I screamed, the urge to throw something at the man was overwhelming. "Just stop pretending you care."

"If I didn't care, I wouldn't be here." Dr. Gerandy placed the papers on the bed before turning toward the door. Wrapping his fingers around the handle, he looked over his shoulder at me. "You have every right to hate me, but your father was one of my best friends. I just . . . I wanted to protect you."

"From who? The only person who makes me happy?" I asked.

"I suppose so." And with nothing else to say, Dr. Gerandy walked out of the room, letting the door close behind him.

Silence filled the air as Carlisle and I stood there, unsure of what to say or do. Just stuck in a place I never thought we'd be. When I promised him that I'd never leave, I hadn't imagined a reason strong enough to force me to go, but the safety of the boys, of my husband, had been a good enough push. Though, in the end it hadn't mattered, I suppose. Peter had died because of my stupidity, and nothing was going to change my role in his death.

"Are you ready?" Carlisle asked.

I shifted my attention to him. "Yeah."

Though he seemed hesitate, Carlisle wrapped his arm around my waist and picked up my release papers before leading me out of the room. Just like when my mother attacked me just a few months ago, everyone stopped and stared at me. Pity — that's what they felt for me. I wanted to hide from their prying eyes, hide from the guilt that wrapped around me. But I couldn't.

Carlisle opened the passenger door of his rental car for me. Tears flooded my eyes as I slid in. He closed the door and rushed around to the driver's side, climbing in behind the wheel. I pulled my knees up to my chest, wrapping my arms around them.

"Are you cold?" he asked.

I shook my head. "No, not really."

He nodded, placing his hands on the steering wheel. "I don't know where to go."

"Me either," I admitted.

"Do you trust me, Isabella?"

My eyes widened as I looked at him, the fear and longing in his eyes had me trembling. "With everything."

"Okay." Though the simple word tumbled out of his mouth, there was no truth in it. He didn't believe me, not that I blamed him, of course. I hadn't trusted him to keep me safe. I put my own fears and doubts ahead of him, and his father had paid the ultimate price.

Carlisle didn't say anything as he started the car and pulled out of the parking space, as he drove through Forks, or even as he turned on the same dirt road he'd taken me on during our first date. After a few minutes, he pulled up in front of the cabin. When we left Washington, he had debated whether or not he should sell it, but in the end, he hadn't been able to bring himself to give it up.

"I need to call the boys," he said, quietly.

I nodded and climbed out of the car, heading inside. He didn't need me there, need me adding to the pressure that would come with every question the boys asked. Most of the cabin had been cleared out, but a couple of old canvases were left, as well as half a dozen sheets along the floor. There was a full size bed along one wall.

"Sorry about that," Carlisle muttered, rushing inside a few minutes later. "I, um, I'll turn the heater on."

"Are the boys okay?" I asked, causing him to stop halfway across the cabin.

He turned and looked at me. "No. They cried, begged me to let Edward and Jasper bring them here. I told them we'd be home tomorrow, so . . ."

I bit my lip and nodded.

"They're just scared," he said, softly.

"Me too," I whispered mostly to myself.

Whether Carlisle heard me or not, I wasn't sure. He turned on the heat and within minutes, the cabin was warm. I grabbed the sheets and spread them across the bed before sitting on the edge. Carlisle sat next to me, bending forward with his elbows braced on his knees.

"I'll understand, you know," I said after several minutes. He turned his head toward me. "If you don't want me anymore. I'll . . . I'll understand."

"Is that what you think?" he asked. "That I won't want you now?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "I don't know."

"You're all I've ever wanted," he whimpered, his eyes glistening with tears. "Someone to love me for me. Not because my last name is Cullen, but because I'm Carlisle. But I'm angry, Isabella. So fucking angry."

"I'm sorry," I cried, softly.

"Did you just not think I could protect you?" he asked.

I pressed my lips together.

"I see," he muttered.

"What do you want me to say?" I exclaimed, climbing off the bed and pacing in front of him. "I was scared, Carlisle. He'd already proven that he would kill anyone who got in his way. The Varners, those people in Phoenix. All he wanted from them was their car, and he killed them for it. What makes you think he wouldn't have killed you, too?"

"Because I would have killed him first!" Carlisle snarled, startling me as he stood up. "I'm not angry because you left. I'm angry because I wanted to be the one to kill him."

I gasped. "You wanted to kill him?"

"He touched you," Carlisle groused. "He put his hands on you, and I couldn't stop him. Sam and Jake, they got to be the ones who saved you. You're my wife, Isabella. I should have been there."

"I don't know what to say."

"Do you love me, Isabella?" he asked, tilting his head up so he was looking at me. "Do you really love me? Because I need to know that you're in this marriage for the long run."

"Yes," I replied immediately. "You're everything, Carlisle. Everything. I just got so scared, and I kept imagining him hurting the boys. The thought of someone hurting them . . ." Bile filled my throat as I thought of Michael or Tyler at the hands of that madman. "I tried to keep them safe. I fucking tried!"

Carlisle's arms were wrapped around me in a heartbeat, nestling me against his chest. "I know, sweetheart; I know."

"Don't hate me," I sobbed, clutching onto the front of his shirt. "Please, don't hate me!"

"I'll never hate you," he promised, but I wondered how he'd ever forgive me for costing his father his life.

Thank you for all the reviews. As you can tell, there is a lot for these two to work out. Have patience with them and me.