EPOV

One more step — just one step at a time.

I got through this morning; I got through the flight, even through the bus ride from the airport to here. Now I just have to get through this — I have to see her leave, let her go, without even saying goodbye.

I lean against the wall, my bag at my feet, as I unapologetically stare at them. Emmett carries her bag to the trunk of the car that's taking her to the train station. When they hug, I look down and try to ignore the pain that sets in my chest.

I was able to contain this before, for the four years I've seen them together. This hug — this hug is nothing compared to some of the gestures I've endured, even after purposely and diligently staying away from them. I used to be able to tolerate eating dinner with them staring lovingly at each other in front of me. Now this hug, this hug makes me want to dry heave.

I've lost it. I've lost this battle. I thought I could be close to her, but it hurts too much.

As I Iook up, I catch her eyes, staring right at me, and my body reacts as if a shot of adrenaline has just been pumped into my chest. I stand taller instinctively, no longer slumping against the wall. I feel stronger, and my lips, which I seem to be unable to control anymore, stretch into a smile for her... just for her.

When she looks at me this way though, I can't do it. It will be excruciating, but I can't stay away from her. Not anymore. Not ever again.

Her fingers wiggle discreetly, just barely above her jeans' front pocket, in a little wave just for me. I nod in return, and with that seemingly meaningless gesture we say goodbye along with everything else we don't allow ourselves to say.

As the car speeds off with her inside, the weight of yesterday's game, last night, this morning, and everything else sets heavily on my shoulders. The extra bit of energy, strength and motivation I had all but a minute ago also disappears with the brake-lights of her car down the road.

As soon as I can no longer feel her, I slump back against the wall and wait for everyone to get their things so we can start getting inside. I just need to get through rehabilitation and my meeting with the medic staff; then I can finally go home.

I can't think of other times I've been as tired as today, both mentally and physically — I'm shattered.

I manage to stay awake during my massage, barely, mostly because everything hurts. The stretching exercises outside go as smoothly as they can go. At least they help me release some tension in my back, which is sore from constantly compensating for my hip.

Even though he works out next to me the whole time, Emmett remains quiet, but every now and then, I catch him staring at me. I don't pay him much attention of course, until he sits next to me on the bench, a towel around his neck, and nudges me on the side.

"What are you doing after?" he probes.

"I haven't slept," I say looking at him, shielding my eyes from the sun. "I need to go home."

"Oh..." He avoids my eyes awkwardly. "I could drive you home if you want."

I get that feeling in my stomach then, as I look at Emmett's fidgety form: something is up with him. He wants to talk to me, and I just know it's about Isabella.

What if he wants her back? Could that be what this is about? He wants her, and he wants to talk to me about it.

I can't.

Not today. Not ever, I don't think.

"It's okay. I can drive." I give him as casually as I can manage.

"Come on, you look pretty whipped to me." He gets up in a rush, giving me no time to answer, as he starts walking away. "I'll wait for you after your scan."

I seriously contemplate leaving — turning around, getting in my car and leaving.

What can Braun say that I don't already know?

My hip is wrecked — what else is new?

It's gotten worse — you don't say!

The incessant pain and the absolute failure of the pain killers don't lie — I don't need a scan to tell me that. It's not going to make a difference though. Nothing will keep me from that game in three weeks. I won't quit now.

Dr. Braun, of course, does not disappoint. I sit on that examining table and hear him go on and on about it: How it has most definitely gotten worse. How I needed that surgery yesterday.

"It's just one more game," I say before I yawn — the examining table looking more and more inviting for a nap.

"It's not. The game is in three weeks. You can't just not play until then. You'll need to train, and stay match fit."

"I'll just take it easy in the next two games, then." I shrug.

"Edward, I'm not clearing you."

Until then, I had been staring at my feet, dangling from the table, but as he says the words, my head snaps up. "What?! No. You have to."

"I can't. I don't think you should play anymore. If it was up to me, you'd be on rest starting right now and as soon as the inflammation goes down, I'd have you in that OR."

"It can wait three weeks, Braun, come on."

"I won't make that call." He crosses his arms over his chest, staring sternly at me.

This can't be happening. "Then what?"

"You'll have to see the specialist in Munich. He will be the one performing the surgery on you anyways. He'll have to clear you." He's already walked back to his desk and is ruffling his desk in search for a piece of paper.

"You can't be serious."

"You think you can get to Munich by tomorrow night?" he asks without looking at me while he fills in a form. "I'll make an appointment right now."

"Do I even have a choice?"

He shakes his head, leaving the room.

I hang my head in my hands. This can't be possible. They won't keep me from the Champions League final.

When there's a knock on the door, I'm ready to tell Braun that I need to talk to Coach first, and that I won't take no for an answer, but as luck would have it, it's not him who is at the door.

I had all but forgotten I was to make my escape before Emmett got here. I hobble down from the table with a groan grabbing my hip because, as if I don't have enough to deal with at the moment, it has decided to start hurting again.

I groan and I limp and I groan again, searching for my shirt and my pants, as Emmett just stands quietly watching me from across the room.

"Emmett, I can't do this right now," I bark, once I'm clothed.

"What happened?" he asks, genuine concern coloring his voice.

I have to pause, panting, and clasping a hand on my hip. I should have had that stupid shot this morning. After some stretches and massages, the pain was manageable again, so I decided against it, because I had already had one after the game. The shots mask the pain too much and they interfere with my healing. I was doing fine earlier, now I'm about to double over from the pain.

"Hey..." Emmett's hand is on my shoulder, as he helps me back and I rest against the table. I take deep breaths and think of pretty brown eyes until I manage to straighten my back again.

I look up to Emmett, once I have gotten myself together.

"Your hip's kaput?" I only manage to nod at him. "Will you make it to the final?"

"I don't know..." I answer through my teeth. "He wants me to see the specialist."

"In Munich?"

"Yeah..." I scratch my neck, resting back against the table, trying to get some weight off my leg.

"How much pain are you in, bro?"

"It's never been this bad," I admit.

"So you're going to Munich?" he asks, stepping away from the table.

"I guess..." I watch him pace in front of me, pulling at his hair.

Oh no. I know where this is going.

No, no, no.

Please.

"You know..." Emmett starts. "You really scared Bella this morning..." His eyes burn as he mentions her name, and so does everything inside me.

I look down, trying to hide my face from him.

I can't do this right now, Emmett. Please. Don't make me.

"She cried and shit." The chuckle that comes out of Emmett is a humorless one.

"She worries too much." I eye the door, willing Braun to please come back in, as I fail to keep the images of Isabella asleep on my chest from assaulting my brain.

"I think she cares about you," Emmett says, taking me by surprise.

I shoot him a glance, and he is still staring pointedly at me.

I get the feeling this conversation isn't going toward Emmett wanting Isabella back.

This is about me.

He knows.

He's seen through me.

My leg starts bouncing and I can't help it. I'm a terrible liar. Can I lie to Emmett? Can I lie about Isabella at all?

"Don't you think?" Emmett insists.

I clasp my hands around the edges of the table to keep from biting my nails.

"Well, as a friend... of course." I manage to say.

"Nah..." Emmett shakes his head, resumes his pacing. "I've seen how she looks at you." He pauses again, shooting me a glance. "How you look at her these days."

I hang my head. I don't have the strength to do this. Not today.

He knows, and I can't deny it and insult him even further. I couldn't possibly be a worse friend.

As I rake my barely functioning brain for a way to properly apologize to him, he keeps going.

"For the longest time I thought you didn't like her. You were so polite, so respectful, but always avoiding of her." My friend, my brother, figures everything out. "You were just trying to stay away from her, weren't you? Out of respect... for me?"

My mouth hangs open, but no sounds come out.

"The day I met her, before I told you about her, you said you had met someone too. It was her for you too, wasn't it?"

I sink deeper and deeper. I can't even find my voice to admit this to him.

"Cullen, do you love her?" There's hurt, anger in his eyes.

"Emmett, I swear..." I make myself say. "Nothing has happened between us. Nothing. I have not touched her, and I never will. I promise."

"That's not what I asked," he says simply, leaving me speechless again. "Are you in love with her?"

I can't.

I can't.

"Fuck, man… all of this time?"

"It's not like that..." I wish there was a way to explain, but no words seem appropriate. "You guys seemed happy, and I thought..." I lose my train of thought, try another angle instead. "Then I was with Rosalie, and well..."

"Why didn't you say something? You're like a brother to me!"

"What was I supposed to say?!"

Emmett resumes his pacing one more time, pulling at his hair.

"I'm so sorry," is all I can say from my hunched position on the table. If I thought I was exhausted before...

Emmett takes a deep breath, and when he walks to me I decide that if he wants to hit me, I'll let him. Firstly, because I can barely manage to stay up anyway, and secondly, because I deserve it.

In preparation, my body tenses. I hope he goes for my face instead of my body, but at this point, I don't really care.

When he sits on the table next to me with a sigh, I relax, marginally.

"Do you think..." he pauses, until I'm looking at him. "Do you think she might have feelings for you too?" The hurt is still in his eyes, but there's no hate there. I don't think he will hit me after all.

"I don't know," I say honestly. "I'm so sorry, Emmett. I promise… nothing will happen. I will get over it, and if you want me to, I'll stay away from her."

Emmett chuckles humorlessly again. "Well… that would be stupid."

I blink at him, unable to see where this is going.

"What if it's you who she wants... what if you're the one who's gonna make her happy?"

"I… I…" Words fail me. My brain collapses with thoughts, my heart with feelings I've kept bottled for way too long.

"How can I stand in between..." He takes a deep breath, his hands on his head. "How could I do that to her?"

I know Emmett, better than my own brother. I know this would kill him. He loves Isabella — I can never have her.

"How could I do that to you though?" I say the words, hurt with the realization: Isabella and I can never happen.

"Well..." He shakes his head slightly, getting off from the table, before turning back to look at me, his expression calm, resigned. "It might take me some time to get used to the idea... of... you two... but, I don't see how Bella and I could be together that way anymore."

I struggle to come to terms with what he's trying to say, my brain finding it hard to make sense of anything.

"All I'm saying is, if you're going to Munich, maybe you should call Bella and figure out how she feels."

My head drops, and I hold on tightly to the edges of the table. I am completely overwhelmed. I don't think I could have ever seen this coming. Could Emmett really be so rational about this? I feel like I could pass out, that my brain is going to shut down any minute, because the amount of possibilities swimming in my head is simply just too much.

"Hey..." Emmett sets a hand on my shoulder, gripping it tightly. "Are you sure you don't want a ride? You look just about ready to collapse."

The air filling my chest helps me straighten my back, and when I look up at Emmett his eyes show nothing but compassion, understanding, even... pity?

Do I really look that bad?

"I'm fine," I tell him and he drops his hand from my shoulder then, taking a step back. "I'll go straight home after this."

"Okay..." He moves to leave, but turns to me once more as he opens the door.

"What ever happened to Rosalie?" He asks at the door. "I remember her," he gestures with his hands in the shape of breasts on his chest. He laughs but then points at me. "I meant what I said." And with that, he's gone.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

A/N: Happy New Year! Hating on Emmett has been a common theme in reviews throughout the story, but I still have to ask… anyone find him redeemable? Is he growing on you a little bit or not at all?