You guys will like this one. If FF takes ES down, it'll be for this chapter.

. . .

The park at the end of the road is deserted at six a.m. Jamie was right: if I can drag my bones out of bed, the early morning is the best time of day. It's quiet and carries the hopeful promise of a new day. I love seeing the first rays of sunlight as I run toward the horizon, although as each day brings me closer to Edward's departure for Notre Dame, the rays seem to be getting darker and darker.

I'm not sure if I'm blowing everything out of proportion, but my anxiousness and fear about losing Edward seems to be consuming me. I do my best to hide what I'm feeling, especially from Edward because I don't want to make him feel even worse about leaving. But sometimes it just gets to me and I lose it, like what happened last night. We were ready for sleep and when he bent over to kiss me goodnight, I started crying.

Pretty soon, there will be no more goodnight kisses for me.

Or for him.

I know he's hiding the worst of his emotions because he's a guy, or maybe he feels as if he has to because I'm already so raw. Whatever the reason is, I hate it and I'm determined to break through because he can't hide it from me. I won't let him. His hurt is mine.

. . .

It's Edward's last tournament with his fencing club, and I'm sitting in the bleachers among a number of other females, who I suspect are here only for Edward. I'm a little surprised, because he's never mentioned he had a fan club, but I suppose it makes sense. I mean, he has a fan club at school and a fan club at Starbucks—regulars who are mostly women twice his age.

I guess he's always going to have a fan club of some sort, although the thought makes me unhappy. Why can't girls just leave him alone? Why does he have to be so beautiful? And smart? And funny?

He smiles and waves at me before he pulls his protective head gear down, and I swear I hear someone behind me sigh dreamily.

"Pamela! Did he just wave at you?"

"Yep, he sure did."

Oh, what I'd give to be able to turn around and correct them.

From the number of times I've attended his tournaments, I know now that Edward is a master of the riposte. He's good at getting his opponent to attack so that he can parry and swing right into riposte. They usually never see it coming.

Although he definitely seems off his game tonight. When the evening ends, he's in third place, something that hasn't happened in a long time. The girls behind me are eager to console him, and clomp down the bleachers noisily.

Edward's eyes flick to mine where I still sit, then he lets the girls greet and touch him. And each time they run their hands across his chest, or try to finger his hair, even though he's giving off strong don't touch me vibes, my insides draw tighter and tighter. They beg him to come to some party at so-and-so's house, and only after he agrees do they step back.

"So we'll see you there," the girl named Pamela says. Her jeans look like they've been painted on, while mine are a bit baggy because I've lost weight.

After the girl's turn, it's Edward's teammates and his coach. Then he has to shower and change, and so we don't get to escape for another twenty minutes.

"You're not going to that party, are you?" I ask as we walk to the car.

My left shoe has a big mud mark on it.

"No, I just said yes to get rid of them."

"Oh."

"Oh what?"

I can tell he wants to open the car door for me, but people would think it's weird, so he doesn't. So I climb in after tapping my toe against the concrete to see if I can knock the mud off. It sticks. Guess I'll have to scrape it off.

"Bella?"

"Yes?"

"What are you thinking?"

His eyes are sad and dark as he looks at me. Why? Do I look sad?

"I, um, was wondering if you would have gone if I wasn't here."

He turns the car on, then grabs my hand. "No. I'm not interested in going to any parties without you."

"What if this was college, though? And you were there and I was here?"

His hand tightens around mine. "Not even then, Bella. I've gone to my fair share of parties looking for what I've found with you. I'm not confused."

"Oh."

"Oh? Are we back to this again?" And he shakes my hand playfully.

When I raise my eyes, I know they're fierce. I'm letting my anger show now, and I don't usually do that.

"You always say that I'm yours. Well, right now I'm saying that you're mine. And I hate having to watch other girls touch you, especially knowing that you're going away. I can't touch you, and I miss you and you're not even gone yet."

His eyes flare in response to mine and he groans. "I wish I could kiss you right now."

I want him to want more than that, but I guess it's a start.

"Well, let's go home so you can."

And it's the first time I feel like a dirty secret. It's the first time I feel like I'm losing myself because it's becoming more and more obvious to me that I need him.

. . .

Dad gets home as we pull into the driveway. He's been working late hours and coming home at odd times of the night. If he wasn't so rock steady, I would have suspected something was going on. Maybe that he was drinking … but he doesn't drink that much even when he's home.

"Good. You're both home. I have something I need to discuss with you," he says.

Edward and I trade looks and I reach for his hand without thinking. He grasps it tightly before he drops it, and we're lucky that Dad didn't see.

I'm not thinking straight tonight. I'm scaring myself, so I sit far away from Edward when we sit down to listen to what Dad has to say. He looks nervous. Giddy, but nervous. Maybe he's not himself, either.

"I, uh, don't know how to say this," he begins with a small chuckle. He leans his elbows on his knees and stares down at his shoes, and I see the top of his head. His hair isn't as thick as it used to be, and I think I might see a gray hair or two.

It makes me sad, but then everything seems to make me sad nowadays.

"So, uh, your mom has been gone for almost five years now," he says to his shoes, and he's turning red.

Edward and I trade another look, this time one of incredulity. Is he saying what I think he's saying?

"Are you … dating someone, Dad?" I ask.

Now his ears are red. "It's something that, uh, happened purely by chance, but yeah. Yeah, I guess I am." And he looks up at us with a tentative smile.

"Yaay!" And I launch myself off the couch and at Dad. "I'm so proud of you, Dad. Atta boy! Go get 'er, tiger!"

He pats my shoulder and pushes me off of him. "Settle down, Bella. You're kinda killing me."

"Who is it?" Edward wants to know. He's got a ridiculous grin on his face, too.

"Name's Sue. Met her last year."

"Last year?" I ask. "Have you been dating her on the sly for a year, Dad?"

He coughs. "Not a year, Bella, just here and there. I wanted to make sure things would work out before I mentioned anything, that's all."

Edward's mirroring Dad's pose of elbows on knees. "So things are working out then?"

"Smartass."

"We're just happy for you, Dad," Edward says.

I nod at him in agreement, just in case there's any lingering doubt.

"When do we get to meet her?"

"Dunno," he says and shrugs. "We'll see."

"I'll make dinner one night, whatever night is best for her," I tell him. "Which night would be best for her?"

I'm chomping at the bit to meet this woman who's captured Dad's attention.

"I'll let know, Bella."

"Were you with her tonight?" I ask.

He frowns at me. "What is this, the Spanish Inquisition?"

"No. It's just an inquisition. Answer the question."

He stands up and moves toward the staircase because he's going to bed. Not because he wants to get away from me.

"Yes, I was with her tonight. We had a nice dinner at The Olive Garden, then I took her home. Anything else?"

I look at Edward. He shakes his head.

"Just let me know which night she's coming for dinner," I say.

"Yes, ma'am. Goodnight. Don't stay up too late."

He hightails it.

And Edward and I head for the basement because things aren't finished with us yet. As soon as our feet hit the basement floor, I whirl on him and pull his face down to mine. He pushes me away, which takes me by surprise, but then he picks me up bridal style and carries me to the couch.

As he lays his body down on top of mine, I see a fever blush already staining his cheeks. And oh my God, Edward with a blush is one of the sexiest things I think I've ever seen. We don't kiss right away, just hold hands and stare at each other like we're trying to memorize each other's face.

"You're the most beautiful girl I will ever see," he tells me with an intense look in his eyes that pulls at every string inside of me. And there are strings everywhere, just aching to be pulled even harder until they break. Until I break. And he breaks.

He draws his fingers slowly down my arms, to my shoulders, over my breasts, making me arch under his touch. And then he's drawing up the hem of my shirt, and I'm arching again to help him get it off. When I'm in my bra, he sits back to tear off his own shirt and I raise my hands to his chest. He's lean, but well-defined, hard, silky-soft, and hot. It's cool in the basement, but we're both burning up.

I drop one hand to the waistband of his jeans. "Please?" I see his erection, I know he wants me. How can he keep denying us?

His brow furrows and his eyes close. While he deliberates how far we're going to go, I undo my pants and shimmy them down just past my hip bones. I can't go any further because he's straddling me, but at least he lets me get that far. And when I cup my hand over him, he pushes against me with a groan, which raises him off of me so I can lower my pants even more.

By the time he opens his eyes again, my jeans are at mid-thigh and expose my lavender panties completely.

"Fuck," he says. And then he's yanking my jeans the rest of the way down and off of me, and I open my legs for him to settle against me.

"Now yours," I whisper against his mouth. "Please, Edward."

"Noooo," he moans and rocks against me like he can't help himself.

"Yessss," I rock back and take his lip between my teeth. I keep hold of it as I grasp his waist band and shove at it. "Yes, Edward," I say with his lip still hostage.

He likes that because his thrusts get harder, but all I feel is denim against me when I want to feel hot skin. I raise my legs and dig my heels at the sides of his jeans, which opens me up even more for him.

"Bella," he gasps and his arms hook under my calves to hold me like that, which is sexy-hot, but I lose my grip on his pants.

"If you don't take your pants off, I'm going to bite a hole in your lip," I hiss.

He releases one of my legs to shove his pants down his thighs. "I'm not taking them off," he growls.

But he surges against me hard and I feel more of him than I ever have before. My thin panties are wet, and I can feel his hard heat easily. It almost feels as if he's bare … like he's not wearing underwear at all. In fact, on his next thrust, I'm sure of it because the head of his cock bumps my stomach. He's wet, too.

"Oh, fuck," he gasps. "I want you so bad."

"Then take me," I gasp back. "I want you to. Please, Edward."

His mouth slants across mine, and we're breathing each other's air and trying to consume whatever we can. His tongue is mimicking the lovemaking I want us to do, each time he surges against me and drives himself against where I'm aching for him. His knees are practically under my buttocks, he's so close to me. There's only the thinnest scrap of my underwear between us, and I want him inside me so badly.

And then he's tearing off my bra and kissing my chest, and lower, until he gets to my nipples. He bites me hard, then gently, laving me with his tongue, and we're rocking together and I'm so close I feel deranged.

"I love you so much," he says, his mouth tasting my gasps as I come. I'm an arched bow of pure sensation against his body, unable to stop the sounds coming from my throat. And then I'm shuddering with the aftermath and realizing he's still hard against me.

I open my eyes and see his still-lustful gaze, his fever-stained cheeks, his beautiful, open mouth, and I want to come again. He reaches for my hand and brings it to his cock. It's the first time he's let me feel it bare.

I moan with him as my fingers wrap around his girth. He feels huge, hot, hard and silky, and he thrusts inside my grasp almost uncontrollably.

"You're all wet," I whisper as one of his hands wrap around mine to guide me.

"Pre-cum," he tells me. "I'm ready, Bella."

And he moves our hands up and down his cock, and I want to see but he won't let me. And then he's thrusting again and moaning, and I raise my pelvis up so our hands and his cock is against me. His eyes go black as he loses control with a long, painful sounding groan, then he squirts all across my stomach. He watches with a fierce look of pride on his face.

"Why won't you let us go all the way?" I ask him after we clean up and we're just lying there.

"I don't think we're ready," he says and kisses my temple.

"I'm more than ready," I inform him.

"Emotionally, I mean. I can't just be with you and leave, Bella. And I don't think you want that, either."

I'm outraged. "So, what then? We're not going to be together until after you graduate?"

He sighs. "I'm hoping you'll come to Notre Dame after me," he says.

I scoff. "I don't have the grades to get into Notre Dame."

"But Indiana University in Bloomington is just minutes away."

I'm silent as I think about it. That … could work.

"But that's a year away," I say.

"It'll be worth it," he tells me. "Don't you think we're worth it, Bella? And that way, we're not … fucking under Dad's roof. I just don't want to do that. It's bad enough what we're doing now, you know?"

I sigh because he has a point. But meanwhile, I'm going to die of sexual frustration. Has he seen himself?

"Dad can use part of Mom's life insurance for your college tuition, and we can get an apartment together off campus," he says and yawns.

I'm impressed. He's obviously put some thought into this. I roll over to shower his face with kisses.

"You are the best," I tell him. "I love you, I love you, I love you."

. . .

Edward packing his clothes for college breaks my heart. He's very fastidious, so it's taking a long time. Each shirt that leaves the closet for his luggage is like a nail in my heart.

"What gets harder to close the wider it gets?" I ask with my heart in my throat.

And we trade sad, knowing smiles.

. . .

A few days later, I'm sobbing in his arms outside Morrissey Hall on the Notre Dame campus. Dad's waiting in the truck in the parking lot, and I'm having trouble letting go of Edward.

"We can do this, Bella," he says. "I'll see you in a couple of weeks, and we'll talk every day."

It's not the same, not the same, I want to say, but I can't because my throat is too tight.

"Don't make this harder for me," he whispers. "Please."

I raise my head from his chest to see that his eyes are swimming with tears, too, and it sobers me up a little. Edward can't cry. I can't leave him if he's crying.

And so I take a breath and nod at him, then slowly step away. Our hands grip each other until the last moment. It feels like I'm ripping myself in two.

He looks the same way.

I can't look, it hurts too much.

And then I'm running like crazy for the parking lot and my Daddy.

. . .

Bella's riddle answer: a suitcase