Chapter Nine: Breaks & Breaths

I can't let Rowdy leave like this.

I can't allow people like the Webers to tear down everything and everyone around them without even trying to make it better.

I run through the crowd of church folks, hiking up my dress. Jacob catches me mid-step, twisting and grabbing me by the arm. "Bella, where you off to in such a rush?"

"Ouch!" I answer, breathing heavily. "Get off of me. I need to find Rowdy!"

"Rowdy? That Masen fellow?" Jacob's soft features harden at my explanation. "You taking a liking to him, is that it?"

"Maybe I have," I say bitterly. "It ain't none of your business, Jacob Black!"

"It is my business when I tell Charlie!" he threatens with a humorless laugh.

I scowl, hating him more with every passing second. Why can't he just let me be?

"Shut up, Jake. You don't scare me. You tell Papa all you want and I'll tell him you put your hands on me!"

Jacob releases my arm but doesn't back off. "You're too good for him, Bella. Them Masens ain't nothing but filth and dirty words. You should hear Carlisle cursin' up a storm on the boat. You know Charlie raised you better than to be with a boy like Rowdy."

"You don't even know him," I fume.

"Just as well," he replies. "But don't you come a'cryin' to me when he breaks your heart."

I glare at Jacob, seething with hatred that can only come from the devil. "He would never do that. And trust me, even if he did, you'd be the last person I'd think of!"

I leave Jake standing as my boots flap against the hot pavement. I keep running until I'm off of church grounds and on the dirt road called Hardy Lane. I don't care that the rubber from my boots keeps chafing against my skin, or that I feel the tulle of my dress scratching against my thigh. I don't care that I'm running out of breath, or that a pick-up truck beeps at me when I run too close to the middle of the road.

I keep sprinting until I get on our street. Gravel rocks fly up behind me as I race through the overgrown weeds and patches of ant hills that have set up homes in the soil. The Masens' rusty truck sits in the driveway with it's tarnished paint eroding in the sun.

Dashing up the stairs, I pound on the door until Esme answers. "Cotton? Good heavens, child. What's wrong?"

I breathe heavily, trying to catch my breath.

"Rowdy," I say, gasping. "Where's Rowdy?"

Esme may not be a God-following, Bible-reading Baptist, but even a sinner knows when they're lying.

"He's not here," she says softly.

"You're fibbing!" I accuse her. "Where is he?"

I push past her, making my way through their sparsely decorated living room. "Cotton! He ain't here!"

I ignore her, trying to navigate their house. Their kitchen is painted in ugly browns and yellows, with the handles falling off the cabinets. An old pot sits on the stove, smelling of day-old lima beans.

I hear a slight noise coming from upstairs and I notice the stairwell to my left. I climb it, two stairs at a time, with Esme following behind me at a slower pace. "Cotton!"

The hallway is narrow, with most of the doors closed. I open them one by one, revealing not much of anything. There's a small bathroom with no curtain for the shower, a bedroom with two beds and toys scattered about, and a tiny linen closet filled with knickknacks and worn towels.

There's another bedroom, slightly bigger than the last, but it's not Rowdy's. It must be Esme and Carlisle's because there's a dingy flowered bedspread and jewelry box on the dresser. I huff, following the path to the last bedroom. I can hear quiet voices murmuring just as Esme catches up to me.

"Cotton, don't go in there!"

I hold her gaze, the one begging me not to open the door. I don't know why I'm shaking so hard, but it has everything to do with secrets that lurk in their house. My trembling fingers turn the doorknob slowly.

When the door opens, Esme gasps.

Carlisle shuffles his foot ever so slightly, but other than that the scene before me is normal, except for the fact that all of the Masen boys are crowded into what must be Rowdy's room. They all look at me in surprise.

"Cotton?"

Rowdy sits on the bed, adjusting his shirt as Carlisle clears his throat and gives Esme a long glance. Mr. Masen gestures towards the door and Esme breathes what must be a sigh of relief.

I don't know why.

"Heyya, Cotton!" Little Emmett grins and runs towards me, wrapping his arms around me. "You got any candy?"

"Hey, buddy." I can't help but hug him back and he smells like fudge and mischief. "No … but I got a few dollars on me if you want it."

He's all teeth and chubby grins as I dig into my dress pocket, giving him the wad of cash. He'll need it more than I ever will.

Jasper looks awkwardly at me and then looks back at Rowdy. Rowdy gives him a nod and then Jasper leaves. He avoids talking to me.

"C'mon, Emmett. Let's go downstairs." Jasper leads Emmett out of the door, tugging on his arm.

"Can we go to the market?" Emmett begs, holding the few dollars like they're gold. "I want some gummies and sour twists, and a chocolate covered bear with caramel inside."

They leave us be when Jasper shuts the door behind them. Rowdy looks at me curiously. "What are you doing here, Cotton?"

"Looking for you," I answer slowly, glancing around. Rowdy's room looks … typical, I reckon. He's got the largest space out of everyone, and though there isnt't much in it I can tell it's his. There are all sorts of balls on his dresser—footballs, baseballs, even a soccer ball with the seams pulling apart. He's got one picture hanging up; it's of a younger him, smiling like the world ain't never done him wrong.

"I'm fine. Sorry I left you at the cake walk, but those girls…" He trails off as anger crosses his face. "I wouldn't be a gentleman if I slugged 'em across their prissy little faces."

I shrug, thinking of all sorts of ways I wish I could beat them. "I wouldn't hold it against you."

Rowdy nods, but doesn't attempt to move.

"What was everyone doing?"

Rowdy fidgets his hands and refuses to answer. I walk slowly towards him and gaze into his eyes. "Rowdy?"

He sighs and shifts his body around. I almost stop him when I see him trying to pull up his shirt. He reveals his back, which is covered in a large bandage.

My fingers shake I slowly pull away the medical tape. There's a large bruise and his skin is a stark red.

"Rowdy! What on earth happened to you?"

He chuckles, but winces when I pull his shirt back down. "Scraped it across the truck when I leapt into the back. Pop was helping me bandage it up."

"Does it hurt?"

"Like a dickens," he grins. "Fat-ass Emmett rolled overtop of me and marked me up some kind of good. Don't worry, I banned him from the cookie jar for a week. We don't have a cookie jar, but his tears served me justice."

I laugh and he grasps my hands, pulling me towards him. 'Keep doing that."

"Doing what?" I glance at him in confusion, and before I know what's happening, he pulls me onto his lap. Something tells me I shouldn't be doing this, sitting in a room all alone with a boy, but I can't find it in myself to move.

This can't be wrong. It can't be a sin when you're this happy.

"Laughing. Keeps my soul a'smiling when I hear you laugh."

"Your soul smiles?' I peer into Rowdy's green eyes as he brushes back my curls. Something inside of me stirs a give-all-take-none kind of feeling. I don't know what it is between us, but I want more of it. More of him and this. Crooked smiles and soft grazes. More of everything.

"It didn't always," he says solemnly. "You ever had to smile even when you didn't feel like it?"

I nod. Plenty of times, like when Ma made me volunteer in the children's choir. Or when it was picture day at school and I got stuck wearing my orange shirt instead of the yellow one I couldn't find.

But somehow, I don't think that's what he means, so I remain silent.

"Sometimes, Cottonseed, I don't feel like smiling. Days like today, when I've got to defend who I am to folks that don't matter. It chips away at my spirit. But then I think of you; you and your silly boots and pretty dresses, and all that joy you got bubbling up inside of you. You give me your happiness. For a fella like me without much of anything, it's as if you give me life."

I feel both bliss and sadness at his confession. "I can't take credit for that."

"Too late, sweet girl. I'm inhaling you in and there's nothing you can do about it."

Rowdy's fingers tickle the side of my neck as his lips trace my ear.

"Ain't no difference between loving and breathing, Cottonseed. But when it comes to you, I feel myself forgetting to do one."