Chapter 4

Songs:

"Times Like These," Five Finger Death Punch
"The Lonely," Christina Perri
"What Would You Do?" Seether

Much fiddling was had. Many words were added. All mistakes are mine.

Bella

Left standing in the middle of the room, I'm stunned. Immobile. A storm of emotions courses through my paralyzed body. Anger, disbelief, and confusion swirl inside me, yet I'm unable to move. I hardly comprehend the familiar thumping and banging coming from the kitchen. The sound of Edward putting on his boots doesn't make sense. Why would he leave? He's never left after an argument. We always work shit out.

But what just happened wasn't a simple argument.

It was brutal in every sense of the word.

The slam of the door between the kitchen and the garage rattles the dishes in the cabinets … and me. My entire body tenses, and it's just enough to bring me out of my stupor. But it isn't until I hear Edward's bike start that my feet move. I scramble toward the door and fumble with the knob, wrenching it open and running out only to watch him pull out of the garage.

"Edward!" My hoarse cry carries over the rumble, and I know he hears me when he glances over his shoulder as his tires hit the street. "Wait!"

But when he pulls harder on the throttle and rides away, any hope I had of stopping him is crushed.

As I watch his taillight disappear around the corner, the words that spilled out of my mouth play on a loop in my head.

"My son! Mine!"

"You're not his—"

Those words echo, louder and louder. They splinter my bones and break my heart. But another, more insistent voice joins in, too.

How could you hurt him like that?

Why did you say all those horrible things when you didn't really mean a damn word?

He left and you only have yourself to blame.

Rapid breaths turn to gasps, and suffocating pain constricts my chest as I slowly fall to my knees on the driveway. I close my eyes and fresh tears stream down my cheeks.

"Mom? Why did you do that?"

Sam's voice is sharp, and his words are pointed. When I open my eyes to look up at him, it feels as if our roles are reversed; I'm staring up at him like a scolded child.

"I …" I screwed up, I think to myself. "You heard us?"

"It was kinda hard not to. I think the neighbors heard you."

"I'm—"

"What possessed you to say all that shit?"

My stomach ties itself into a knot as my words escape me in an anguished cry. "I don't know! I … I didn't mean any of it." I pull at my hair. "I just … I was so mad, Sam. I was hurt."

"You're hurt? How the hell do you think he feels?"

I cover my face with my hands and sob. "I know."

"No, I really don't think you do. You all but said he wasn't my father. Do you know how wrong that was? Do you know how wrong you are?"

I blink up at him, pleading. "I know, Sam. Believe me, I know I was wrong," I rasp, licking my lips. "I messed up."

"Why?" he asks, a pained expression on his face. "Why would you say all that to him? To the only man who's been there for me my entire life." The set of his jaw tightens. "You know, I might not call him Dad, but he's the man I look up to. That's why I went to him first. He's the one who taught me to face my shit head on. I trust him. So, for you to say all that shit to Edward spits on my relationship with him. He's the one who's been the only father I've known for more than half my life, since my old man isn't more than a bad memory. That shit hurt me too, Mom." He stabs a thumb at his chest. "Me, too."

I scramble to my feet, but he takes a step away from me as I reach for him. "Sammy, baby, I'm sorry."

"I'm not the one you need to apologize to."

I nod, swiping at my cheeks. "You're right. I know I need to apologize to him. But we both need some time to cool off."

"You've never needed time apart to work things out before. Hell, you've never really fought like that before," he says almost to himself. As if a switch flips, his expression morphs into one of horror. "This is my fault. This whole mess is my fault."

"No. It's not, Sam. This is all on me. I—"

"But if I'd come to you instead …"

"Stop." I reach for him, holding his face in my hands, and this time he doesn't back away from me. "What happened tonight isn't your fault."

"It is." Guilt clouds his eyes before he closes them. "I just didn't know what else to do."

"No." I shake my head. "You did the right thing. I'm so, so glad you felt you could confide in him."

His pained eyes fly open. "Then why were you so angry? Why did you hurt him like that? Why did you say those awful things if you didn't mean any of them?"

I stare at him, into his heartbroken gaze, unable to answer his simple question.

"You need to make it right, Mom," he says softly, his voice breaking. "He doesn't deserve this."

I drag myself up the stairs and go through the motions of readying myself for bed. Our room is cold and silent when I finally reach it. The sight of our empty bed, without my husband there to welcome me into his warm arms, is a visual reminder of the mess I've caused.

But that's not the worst part.

The worst part is when I reach for my cell phone and open the tracking app, watching Edward's little dot reach the clubhouse … and stay.

Flashes of my life before, back before Edward came back into it for good, play like a sad movie in my head, and all I can see are visions of betrayal by the man I love. I know it's irrational. I know he would never do such a thing, but my mind drifts there all on its own. In some ways, Masen's role in the destruction of our marriage feels like only yesterday.

Just the thought of what could happen is enough to force me to rush to the bathroom. The bitter bile coating my tongue somehow seems fitting after the vile words I spewed tonight.

When I finally crawl into bed, I toss and turn, cry and sob, and wonder how I'll ever face him … face myself in the mirror after everything I said to him. Hour after hour, I refresh the tracking app, and his little dot never moves, never leaves the clubhouse to come home. Sam's questions linger in my mind, and as I replay the events of the last few hours, there's only one murky answer.

In the years since we started over, when Edward and I began our life together, there's never been a time when we've kept anything from each other. He's told me things to ease my mind and reassure me that he wasn't hiding anything. And in the midst of learning that my son—our son—was dealing with a life-changing thing, for a brief moment, Edward and I weren't a team. I'd felt betrayal, and it's a feeling I haven't associated with Edward for more than twenty years.

Maybe that's what hurt so much—knowing he'd kept something from me. That brief moment that he wasn't on my side was enough to make me to lash out the way I did.

It was just long enough for the irrational side of my brain to put up walls and go on the attack. Just long enough to hurt the person I promised to love and cherish for the rest of my life. The man who, for the last dozen years, has done everything in his power to give me the life he promised me.

And while it hurts to know he kept something so important from me, I have to concede that he really was doing what he thought was best. Best for our son and, in many ways, best for me.

The clock in the den sounds too often, every chime bringing morning another hour closer. Finally, dawn begins to force its way through the blinds, dragging me from the edge of unconsciousness. I look at the clock and realize I've spent the entire night somewhere between awake and asleep.

With a pounding head and dry, burning eyes, I lie staring blankly at the wall. Exhaustion is a heavy weight in my belly, one pushed aside only by the festering regret of words spoken.

Words I didn't really mean.

Words for which I'm not sure I can even beg forgiveness.

I pull the covers over my head. I'm not ready to face the world … or my family. Confronting my husband is the very last thing I want to do this morning. But he, apparently, doesn't want to see me, either, because missing from the murmured voices floating up the stairs is Edward's baritone voice and his usual morning conversation with the kids.

He never came home.

A lifetime ago, a fight that led to sleeping apart was so common, I almost came to expect it. Toward the end of my marriage to Masen, we fought more than we got along. But in the decade Edward and I have been married, last night was the first night an argument drove us to seek the solace distance would bring.

But it still hurts.

Macie's voice rising in disagreement to something and the deep, irritated reply forces me out of bed. But as I sit on the edge, a fresh wave of nausea crashes over me, sending me running to the bathroom.

After I clean myself up, I head downstairs. When I reach the kitchen, I find my kids quietly bickering over breakfast.

Macie looks up at me from her place at the table, her expression quickly changing from disgruntled to sheepish. "Sorry, Mom. I didn't mean to wake you up."

I walk over and put an arm around her shoulders, pressing my nose to her hair. "It's okay. I needed to get up anyway." I peer up at Sam then back to Macie. "So, what's the problem? I could hear you two all the way upstairs."

Macie huffs a breath. "Sammy is doing my breakfast wrong." She points to the scrambled eggs and toast on her plate. "I wanted bubble eggs, and the toast is too dark."

"Macie! You—"

"It's okay, Mom." Sam shakes his head as he takes the skillet to the sink. "I did the best I could, squirt. If you don't want it, there's a box of Cheerios in the cabinet."

"Macie Renee, apologize to your brother. He didn't have to make you anything at all."

She looks over at her brother, all her indignation gone. "Sorry, Sammy."

I sigh and rub at my forehead. "It's too early for this, guys."

As I go for the coffee pot, my kids exchange a glance. Macie offers a subdued apology. "Sorry, Mommy."

"Finish your breakfast so I can get you to the community center," I say over my shoulder.

"But Dad was supposed to take me to day camp today."

"Macie—"

"I got it, Mom." Sam looks at his sister. "I'll take you, okay? Finish your breakfast and I'll drop you off on my way to work."

I look over at Sam as he washes the bits of egg out of the pan and lower my voice. "Have you heard from him?"

"No," he says with a shake of his head, not looking at me.

I stare out the kitchen window and sip the hot, bitter brew. My grip on my mug tightens, and the meager warmth seeps into my palms. "I'm sorry," I say in a whisper.

He tosses the sponge into the sink and grabs a dish towel. "Like I said last night, I'm not the one you need to apologize to."

"I know. But that doesn't mean I don't owe you an apology, too. I'm sorry for hurting you, Sam. It's the last thing I wanted to do." When he merely grunts in reply, I turn and lift up on the tips of my toes to kiss his cheek. "Thank you for making Macie's breakfast. But you better get going. I don't want you to be late."

He searches my eyes, and I can see he wants to say more, but he merely gives me a quick hug. "Let me know if you need me later."

I offer him a weak smile. "Thanks."

He stops to ruffle Macie's hair on his way out of the room. "Hurry up, squirt. I'm outta here in ten."

I place my mug on the counter and reach for the bagels, sliding one into the toaster. "You heard what he said, kiddo. And you know he'll leave without you."

"Are you sure you're okay if I'm late?" I ask Rose as I check my mirrors and change lanes.

"Yeah, that's fine. I should have the quarterly reports ready for you to go over by the time you get here."

"Thanks."

"So, what's the occasion? You and E go one too many rounds once he got home?" she teases.

I cringe. It does feel like we went several rounds, but in a ring instead of the sheets. "Something like that."

"Hey, what's wrong? You don't sound like a woman who had a welcome home party last night."

"I'm fine. We just … some stuff came up, and it's been a rough morning." She starts to ask too many questions as I turn the corner and follow the narrow, tree-lined lane. When the clubhouse comes into view, I cut her off. "Hey, Rose, I'll be in as soon as I can. I have a couple stops to make, but I should be there by lunchtime."

After saying our goodbyes, I disconnect the call and pull into a parking spot. It's empty but for two bikes, one of which is Edward's.

The giant Devil's Outcasts MC sign on the side of the building catches my eye. Being here at the clubhouse, looking for my husband the morning after a horrible fight, brings back so many memories. I don't realize I'm trembling until I reach for the key in the ignition.

I concentrate on steadying my breathing as I walk up the path to the door. Logic tells me I have nothing to worry about. I know, deep down, that Edward would never take that step to hurt me, but old ghosts still haunt me, twisting my insides and attempting to force my half-eaten bagel up my throat.

With all the courage I can muster, I reach for the knob and turn it, knocking as I push open the door. "Anyone here?" I call out as I step inside.

"Back here." I follow the familiar voice until I reach the bar. "Hey, Bella." Teddy, the newest prospect, smiles as I approach him.

Old ladies aren't supposed to be here without an invitation and definitely not without their biker, so I rush out an excuse for why I'm here alone so early in the morning. "I, uh, needed to drop off something to Edward."

Teddy nods his head toward the hallway. "I think he's back in one of the bedrooms. The second room was closed when I got here, and his bike was the only other one in the lot."

"Thanks."

I pass through the main room and turn down the hallway. With each step, anxiety threatens to send me running out the door. My pulse pounds, and the sound of blood rushing in my ears is almost deafening.

As I near the closed door, memories of a similar morning more than a dozen years ago flood my mind.

My fist is mid-knock when the door swings open. Masen, wrapped in only a towel, barks out a "What?"

My eyes are huge and my body is frozen as I take in the angry man standing before me. A rustling behind him gains my attention, and when my gaze locks on the bed, my stomach drops to my feet.

"Baby, I can explain," Masen rushes out as I back away from him. He reaches for me, and it's enough to snap me out of my daze.

I lurch back, my body colliding with the wall opposite his door. "Don't touch me!" I jerk away from him and run down the hallway.

"Bella, wait!"

That was truly the beginning of the end for us, and as I approach the closed bedroom door, all the emotions I felt that day rush to the surface. But this time, instead of knocking, I reach for the knob, turning it and slowly pushing the door open.

There, lying on his stomach with the sheets twisted around his legs, is my sleeping husband. The man I've hurt so badly, so deeply, it causes a physical ache inside me.

"Did you come to yell at me some more?" he grumbles from the bed.

I swallow a whimper. "No. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I was worried when you didn't come home last night."

He flops onto his back and raises his arm above his head and onto the pillow, his gaze focused on the ceiling. "Well, you can see I'm still alive."

"Edward," I whisper.

His bloodshot eyes meet mine, and it takes everything in me not to fall to my knees and beg him to forgive me. "I only left last night because we both needed space," he finally says. "I needed space."

I nod and lower my gaze to my feet. "I'm sorry." I know it's not nearly enough.

"Bella," he says with more gentleness than I deserve. I look up. "I know you are, but, baby, I don't think … I can't help but feel like this is bigger than a simple apology." His pause is heavy with all the things that have been said. "Sorry isn't going to fix this."

Tears I thought were all gone well in my eyes and spill over onto my cheeks. I sniff and wipe my nose on the back of my hand. "I know," I rasp. "But I don't know what else to say."

He breathes a sigh and shifts on the bed. I look up and watch as he perches himself on the edge of the mattress and pats the space beside him. "Come here."

Drawn like a magnet, I rush to his side and sit, still keeping a few inches of space between us.

Moments pass and neither of us speaks. I can hear Teddy out in the other room, banging around while he stocks the bar. Music plays somewhere in the clubhouse. But the silence between us stretches on until it begins to be uncomfortable.

"How do I fix this?" I ask, my voice thick. "What can I do to fix it?"

He reaches for my hand and holds it between both of his, idly tracing indistinct patterns on my knuckles. "I don't know. I'm not sure there's anything you can say that will erase everything you said last night."

"I didn't mean any of it," I say softly.

He tilts his head, his eyes still fixed on our joined hands. "Maybe you didn't, but you still said it. And, Bella, it …" He shakes his head and finally looks up at me. The pain I see in his eyes squeezes my chest, nearly taking my breath away.

"I—"

"I never thought my own wife would hurt me so bad."

"I'm sorry."

With a tenderness I haven't earned, he brushes my hair from my eyes. "I heard you. I've heard everything you've said. And if you really feel that way—"

"But I don't."

"But you said it. Those thoughts have to be somewhere inside you for those words to ever leave your mouth." He traces my lower lip with his thumb. "I love you, Bella. I'd die for you and any one of our kids. You know that. But right now, until you work out what's really going on with you—how you really feel—I think I need some time."

"What?"

Too quickly, he removes his thumb from my lip and his hand from mine before reaching for his discarded jeans.

"What do you mean time? Time for what?" I stutter as he walks toward his boots next to the door.

He finally turns to me, and the damage I've done to us is clear in his anguished eyes. In that single look, the weight of my actions crashes down on me. With my careless words, I've damaged us. I've broken the trust we had in each other, and nothing I can say or do right now can change that.

His next words shoot through my heart like a bullet from a gun, shredding the tenuous thread of hope I've been holding onto.

"I don't know," he says, his voice suddenly gravelly. "I just don't know."

A/N: This one hurt. A lot. And I'm with Edward; I don't think a simple apology is going to make things right again. I'd love to hear your thoughts.

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I hope to "see" you soon!

Be kind.
Stay safe.
Stay well.

Lots of love
~Sunshine