Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed, and recommended the story to their friends. I have to mention manyafandom again as well – if you enjoy JxE stories, please go read All I Ever Knew – it's a sexy and heartwarming story of two younger men who are at a very different place in their lives than these boys are. It's in my Favorite Stories on my profile. Manyafandom also belongs to the Perv Pack's Smut Shack – you can find the link in my author's notes in earlier chapters of this story.

-o-

Jasper

Tuesday night. It's been about two and a half days since I kissed Edward goodbye on the street near the diner. After I returned home Sunday, I worked like a demon to get my apartment looking more like a place I live, not just someplace I'm crashing. Yesterday I started my new job at Northwest Hospital. Tonight, I'm feeling pretty damn overwhelmed with the volume of information I've had to absorb in the past couple of days. I know it'll be a while before I can learn the names of all the staff and department heads I'll come to deal with on a daily basis, much less become familiar with the numerous doctors throughout the hospital.

The timing of my current state of brain overload has, I reflect, been rather fortuitous. At the very least, it has prevented me from constantly thinking about Edward; remembering our night and morning together, wondering how he's doing in Canada, worrying about what he will have to say when he gets back to Seattle.

I look around my apartment with some satisfaction at the work I've put into bringing it up to my standards. My family and friends smile at me from their places on the bookshelves, end tables and walls, and thinking of them brings warmth to my heart. I've already chatted on the phone with my folks twice since I got to Seattle; and Rose and Emmett have emailed me the latest darling pictures of my adorable nephews. It's difficult to be so far from them; but, I remind myself, they are all just a plane ride away.

I pour myself a glass of red wine and flop down into my favorite comfortable armchair, with some documents I need to look over from the hospital. The office is so busy during the day, with people coming and going, that I've already realized that anything that I'll have to work to concentrate on, will pretty much have to be done from home, where there are no interruptions. Tonight's reading is some information on the hospital departments, the department heads and their administrative staff.

I start with the executive administration and work my way down the list. It's very dry reading; but I'll need to learn these names fairly quickly. Halfway through the list, my eyes light upon a name I know well. A name I've thought many, many times in my life; and almost incessantly in the past three days.

Cullen.

Not Edward, naturally; no, the Chief of Surgery is listed as Carlisle Cullen, M.D.

Edward's father.

The father he didn't mention to me while we were together. Not when we spoke, twice, about me starting my new job at Northwest Hospital. Not even a brief mention to say, "My father's on staff there."

To say I'm thrown by this realization is putting it mildly. I'm trying, and failing, to imagine myself in a similar circumstance. If someone mentioned to me that they worked for the Austin office of MotoTela, of course I would say, "Hey, my dad works there – maybe you know him?" Even someone who's not on the greatest terms with a parent or sibling would make a similar acknowledgement. Wouldn't they?

I don't know what to make of this. At this moment, I wish more than anything that I had asked Edward about his family when we were at breakfast Sunday morning; even though in my heart I realize that there's a good chance that if I had broached the subject before truly gaining Edward's trust, he might have shut down completely. Worse, he might have cut me out.

Still, the possibility that he has such a strained relationship with his parents that he didn't even acknowledge his father's existence to me; it hurts my heart. First, for his parents. Maybe it's silly to react that way; after all, I don't know his parents at all – maybe they were horrible to him when he came out. Maybe they were the kind of parents who were cold and uninvolved in their children's lives – many of my friends who were raised in lives of privilege had similar experiences. But having met his father that one time – a father who cares nothing for his child doesn't come to career day to talk to a bunch of 14 year olds, does he? And I try to imagine my parents' reaction to losing one of their children, and the thought of their broken hearts literally brings tears to my eyes.

Second, though, and most importantly, I'm concerned about Edward's emotional health. I'm barraged with questions, one after another, as though fired at me from a machine gun: Is his relationship with his parents so damaged that he wouldn't even mention his father? Is he in contact with them at all? If not, who chose to make the break? If it was his parents, was it because he's gay? If Edward chose the break, why would he abandon his parents? Is his sister Alice still in his life at all? And, most heartbreakingly – if Edward has forsaken his relationship with the people who should love him unconditionally, how badly damaged is he? Is it possible for him to love and trust, and accept those things from another?

My reading is tossed aside; it's impossible now to retain anything else in the pages. The weight of the emotional barrage is like a concrete block around my neck. Worse, I see no immediate relief from the questions that plague me.

"What am I doing?" I groan aloud. Emotionally, I'm already in far more deeply than I could have imagined could happen so quickly; and now, in a classic Jasper move of putting the cart before the horse, I am realizing that the object of my affection may not wish to return my feelings – or if he's even capable of doing so.

I am the asshole...I'm self-centered, and I'm cold…I don't have friends…people don't deal with me more than they have to…I'm sorry; the person you remember…he's gone.

His words taunt me. I didn't want to believe them when he said them, so certain that I saw something else there. And I did see it…didn't I? I jump up from my chair and pace now, unable to sit still. I'm second-guessing myself, and it's a very uncomfortable feeling. As I pace, my inner dialogue becomes a frantic, heated argument.

He didn't say a word about his father when you said you were starting at Northwest.

Maybe he didn't want to bring him up because he didn't want to talk about the state of their relationship.

What IS the state of their relationship?

I don't know. He's a very private person. He hasn't shown himself to anyone in such a long time.

Maybe because he's not capable of showing emotion.

I saw him cry…

Over a decade ago when he was still a baby!

This weekend, though – he said thank you and he said my gift and he said our bed and he said he wants to see me when he gets back and he said he'll be thinking about me.

Which means…?

He was trying.

An alcoholic can try to quit – it doesn't mean he'll be successful. Habits become deeply engrained – they're hard to break.

I have to believe that, in time and with love and patience, he can heal.

That's a big gamble to take, particularly when your heart is on the line.

LIFE is a gamble. Love is the payoff.

Wouldn't it be safer to go with a sure thing? Jacob loves you still…worships you, in fact.

I've done safe. Being with Jacob for three years – that was safe. I don't love him anymore.

Why Edward?

Because if the payout comes…I will have hit the jackpot.

And that's it – the heart of why I am willing to wait and work and soothe and encourage. Because if this works out, I'll be with The One – the love of my lifetime. He is worth it. We are worth it.

I'm utterly worn out; and finally my pragmatic self is able to make its voice heard among the inner battle, and it reminds me that, for tonight at least, there is absolutely nothing I can do to change this situation or even learn anything else that would give me another perspective.

I get ready for bed and finally slide, exhausted, between the warm flannel sheets, under my thick down duvet. One final question does occur to me before I drift off to sleep – I hope I don't run into Dr. Cullen at the hospital before I've had a chance to get at least some cursory information from Edward about their relationship; and if I do, I hope he won't remember my name from Edward's high school years.

Enough, my brain insists. Don't create problems that don't exist yet. It is my last conscious thought.

-o-

I sleep poorly and awaken at six feeling entirely out of sorts. I stub my toe on the way to the kitchen. I get to the kitchen and find that, instead of a hot pot of coffee waiting for me, I am met with a kitchen counter and floor covered with mucky, coffee-ground-filled water, thanks to a plug in the basket of the coffee maker. I grumble, and clean up the counter and floor. Straightening up from the floor, I bang my head on an open cupboard door.

"Fuck!!" I shout, and rubbing my head, I decide to abandon the idea of making my own coffee this morning. Instead, I head to the shower. I turn on the water and step in. I let the water soak through my hair, and reach for my shampoo. It's not where I expect it to be, and a quick look around me reveals that, at some point since my shower yesterday morning, it has fallen to the floor. The cap has snapped off and almost all of the shampoo has leaked out and is now washing down the drain. There is just enough left to wash my hair this morning, but I'll have to pick up some more today. I grit my teeth and try not to dwell on the fact that the bottle was nearly full.

I manage to get myself dressed and out the door without further incident, though I don't hold out any hope for a vast improvement to the day.

There is a serious accident on my way to work, and cars are being re-routed around it, bringing the flow of traffic to a near-standstill. I finally pull into the parking lot at the hospital with only two minutes to spare before my work day is to start. I swear again, under my breath this time, as I realize I won't have time to grab a coffee and bagel at the hospital cafeteria before I have to be at my office. As it is, I'll be a couple of minutes late. I gather my things from the front seat, and make a mad dash through the pouring rain across the parking lot to the hospital, not even bothering to use my umbrella. I skip the elevator in favor of mounting the stairwell the four floors to my office. By the time I emerge into the fourth-floor hallway, I am absolutely miserable. I'm wet from the rain and sweaty from the run up the stairs; I'm hungry, I'm decaffeinated, and I am just generally pissed off.

"Good morning, Jasper," greets my assistant Kathleen, looking up from her desk as I finally stride through the door of my department. "Good grief, what happened to you? You look like you've been through a war!"

"Close," I mutter. Rather that pour out my tale of woe, I ask, "Is there coffee?"

"Of course." Kathleen jumps up and continues, "You go get yourself settled. I'll grab you a coffee from the cafeteria – it's better than what we have here."

Her generous offer makes me feel a bit guilty at not even having greeted her properly. I reply, "That would be fantastic, Kathleen. I really appreciate it." I manage a smile, the very least she deserves.

"Have you eaten?" she asks, and now my guilt increases exponentially.

"No," I admit sheepishly.

"Okay – I'll bring you back a bagel too – sound good?" She smiles warmly.

My smile widens with gratitude for her kindness, and I reply, "That sounds great. Thank you so much. You wouldn't believe the morning I've had already."

"Don't mention it," she grins. "You look like you could use a bit of caretaking." And she's out the door in search of sustenance for poor, bedraggled me.

I head into my office and dump my wet messenger bag and umbrella on the floor; and hang up my coat. I fire up my computer and unpack my papers from my bag, arranging them on my desk in the order in which I'll want to work on them. I take a deep breath and decide it's a good idea to spend a few moments to get centered again; focus, get myself back to a reasonable perspective.

I close my eyes and focus on my breathing. I know that on a normal day, if one - or even several - of these little annoyances had happened this morning, I'd have breezed past them with my usual philosophical attitude, barely noticing them. This morning, I'm much more sensitive to the little frustrations than I should be, and I know exactly why.

After a few moments, a knock at my office door makes me jump. I turn to see a man standing in my doorway holding what is clearly a paper-wrapped bouquet of flowers. I briefly wonder if today is Kathleen's birthday.

"Sorry, buddy; didn't mean to startle you. There was no one at the other desk," he says.

I sigh. "Don't worry about it. How can I help you?"

"Flower delivery for…" he pauses to check the tag, "J. Whitlock. Is that your secretary?"

"No," I answer as my eyebrows shoot up over my forehead, "that's me." I stand and automatically reach for my wallet to tip the delivery man, who looks almost as surprised as I am that I'm the one receiving the flower delivery. I swap him the tip for the flowers.

"Well, okay; thank you, sir; and enjoy the flowers, Mr. Whitlock," he smiles, and turns to leave, almost bumping into Kathleen who stands there with a coffee and a bagel.

"Wow," she says after he leaves, and she places the coffee and bagel on my desk, with a little package of cream cheese. "Aren't you lucky!"

Before I unwrap the flowers, I thank Kathleen profusely for being so gracious, and add, "Please believe me when I tell you that I'm just having a bad morning. Normally I'm not so taciturn in the mornings. Never, actually. I'm very sorry for my rudeness this morning."

Kathleen chuckles and replies, "You're forgiven. How can I resist that smile? Now, let's see those flowers!"

"Okay, okay!" I laugh, thinking to myself that Kathleen and I are going to be good friends. I unwrap the paper from the bouquet. Inside is a beautiful bouquet of white snowdrops and purple crocuses. A card is nestled among the blossoms. I open it and read the message, written by the florist.

Jasper,

These are already in bloom in Vancouver.

Looking forward to seeing you again.

-Edward

My heart skips a beat. Edward is thinking about me.

"From your significant other?" Kathleen asks, and I look up to see her still smiling at me.

"I guess. I mean – we haven't been out that many times…but I'm hoping," I stumble, not even sure what to tell her about what Edward and I are…or aren't.

"Well, looks like she's hoping too," she says politely, turning to leave my office.

She. I'm used to heterosexism, and sometimes I let it go; but there is no point at all in allowing Kathleen to assume that I'm straight. Best to get it out of the way the first time it comes up.

"He," I correct gently.

"What?" she asks, whirling around to face me.

"I'm gay, Kathleen. The flowers aren't from a woman; they're from a man," I clarify.

She scowls. "Shit," she mutters under her breath.

Suddenly I'm not feeling quite as optimistic about a friendship with Kathleen. I square my shoulders and pull out the Jazz Stare. "I expect that won't be an issue for you."

Her face immediately changes – her scowl melts and a look of recognition replaces it. "Oh, Jasper! No, that's not what I meant. I'm so sorry; I know I must be giving you a horrible impression of me. It's just…I just lost twenty bucks to Ellen down the hall! She swore you were gay, and I was certain you were straight."

"Ah!" I chuckle, reminded that the speculation always runs rampant when a new person joins a workplace. I'm relieved, too, that my sexuality isn't going to cause our work relationship to be stilted. "Okay, Kathleen. I think I've wasted enough time this morning; time for me to get to work."

"Yeah, apparently I need to go find Ellen," she mumbles. "Of course, she doesn't actually know she's right yet…"

She's gone, and finally I can hug the beautiful purple and white bouquet to my face and inhale deeply, embracing the bouquet, the sentiment behind it, and by proxy, the man who sent them to me. My heart is soaring. All the troubles, all the bothersome things that have happened today – none of them matter now. They were minor inconveniences.

This is real. This is what's important to me. And I have faith, in myself at the very least, that I will be able to see it through. And now…I can't wait for Edward to come back to Seattle. Back home.

-o-

I hope you enjoyed JPOV in this chapter. Poor boy had a bit of a freak-out moment, but it sounds like he moved past it admirably.

As always, please, please review. xo