**This update is being shared from DrivingEdward's kitchen! I'm spending a girls' weekend with a few members of Team Sunshine, so I'm a happy girl. :) **

Chapter 5

Song:
"Just Pretend," Bad Omens

Bella

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

I stand on unsteady legs, preparing to fight—to fight him, for him … for us. With strength I don't have and a tremble in my voice, I straighten my back and jut out my chin. "What, so you're gonna walk away and avoid dealing with this? Hide out in the clubhouse and pretend we don't have shit to fix?"

He tilts his head, his voice still raspy. "When did I say I was walking away? I'm not Masen, Bella." I wince. "I'm not running away from this."

His expression—furrowed brows and narrowed, reddened eyes—steals some of my false bravado. Feeling suddenly uncertain, I sit back down on the edge of the mattress and wrap my arms around my middle. "You said you needed time. What else am I supposed to think?"

He widens his stance and throws out his arms, shouting, "That I need some fucking space!" He drops his arms to his sides. "My god, do you expect me to just lay down and say everything's fine? Just pretend my wife didn't fucking stab me in the heart? Should I act like everything is okay because you hunted me down to apologize?"

"No. I don't know what I'm expecting."

He takes a few purposeful deep breaths and finally says, "Look, we've both said shit we didn't really mean. Last night, I—" He shakes his head. "I said things I knew would hurt you, and I'm man enough to admit that was wrong. But I'm also smart enough to know I can't just say I'm sorry and everything is magically all better. When I say I need time, I mean I need time. I need more than twelve goddamn hours to get over this … this whatever it is. I think we both need time. You have some soul-searching to do, and I need to cool off so I can actually listen when the time comes. We can beat this to death right now, but we aren't going to get anywhere."

"But you're not leaving?" My voice isn't much louder than a whisper. "You're coming home?"

With a long exhale, his shoulders fall. He looks utterly defeated, and I hate myself for making him feel this way.

He takes slow, measured steps toward me, finally crouching at my feet. His gaze meets mine as he reaches up to cup my cheek.

"I'm not leaving. I'm not running away from this. I just needed some space last night. But … I'm hurt, baby. I need time to let the bleeding stop. As much as you hurt me, I'm not going to turn my back on you … on us. I wouldn't. I'm not my brother; I'm not running away from our problems."

His gentle reassurances break what's left of the dam holding back my tears, and everything spills out in a chest-racking sob.

In an instant, he's beside me, holding me as I cry. It feels like years of pent-up emotions and a lifetime of pain bubbles to the surface at his mention of Masen. For too many years, I laid awake at night, worried about what he was doing … who he was doing it with. He left scars that took years to heal, but apparently, there are still a few still buried deeply inside me. And this mess has made every last one of them rush to the surface.

"I'm so sorry," I cry.

"I know. I know." He nuzzles the top of my head and rocks us back and forth as I continue to cry. "Shh."

"How can you even look at me?"

"Because I love you." He pulls back and gently cradles my face in his palms. "Because we fought too hard to get where we are to give up. When I say I need time, I mean it won't happen overnight, but we will get back to where we were. It's just going to take time."

"Okay," I say, every last shred of fight I had in me gone.

With a gentle kiss to my forehead, he releases me and gets to his feet. "I need to get to work."

I nod and wipe at my nose. "I do, too."

Silently, I watch as he quickly strips the bed and gathers his things before I follow him out. We wave our goodbyes to Teddy as we pass through the main room and step outside, each of us going our separate ways toward our vehicles.

"See you later?" he asks once I reach my car.

I look up and meet his stare. There's still so much left unsaid, so many apologies not yet given, but I don't feel as hopeless as I did when I woke this morning. The fact that he hasn't chosen to stay at the clubhouse while we work things out loosens a tightness in my chest I've been carrying around since last night.

"Yeah," I say with a ghost of a smile and the tiniest seed of hope, "I'll see you later."

A week and a half ago, my biggest worry was Sam breaking curfew, making sure Macie didn't stay up too late playing video games, and reminding Seth to check in with his dad. Now, though, everything has changed. We lost a treasured friend, our son is going to be a father far too soon, and the future of my marriage is, at the very least, on unstable ground. It's left me shaky and uncertain about … everything.

Never in a million years would I have predicted this is where my happily ever after would have led me.

Pulling myself from my wayward thoughts, I make the turn into the development and navigate the narrow streets until I reach my destination. Once I shift into park and cut the engine, I stare through the windshield at the charcoal gray single-wide. While it's much nicer than the trailer I lived in years ago, the sight of the Young's modest home dredges up even more memories for me.

It strikes me again just how similar Sam's current situation is to the one Masen and I were in. But the one major difference is that Sam has the support of his family. Edward and I may be weathering a personal storm right now, but there's no doubt in my mind we'll do everything in our power to help Sam succeed. The trouble is, after Sam told us Emily won't be welcome to stay in her home if she chooses to have the baby, I'm just as certain she doesn't have the same support system.

Knowing she doesn't have what Sam does makes my heart ache for her. I was once in Emily's shoes. My mother was gone from my life, taken from me when I was just fifteen, and the one parent I did have was worthless. My father never did anything to support me, and I'll be damned if I allow this sweet girl to suffer because of her parents' misguided decisions.

I push aside my inner turmoil and get out of my car, marching toward their front door with determination. I need to put my son and grandchild first, as well as my grandchild's mother. Three quick raps and a moment later, the door opens.

Emily's mother looks as weary as I feel. "Hello, Bella."

"Hey, Sara. Can I come in? I think we have a few things to talk about."

"Of course." With a nod she opens the door wider and ushers me inside. "I was wondering how long it would take before you came by," she says as I pass by her and into their living room. "Please, have a seat. Can I get you anything to drink?"

"No, I'm fine," I say as I sit on their sofa. "I'm not staying long. I need to at least show my face at work today."

For a brief moment, I allow my gaze to travel around the room. Toys and video game controllers lay on the floor, and baskets of unfolded laundry sit near my feet. Storage tubs peek out from not-so-hidden hiding places, highlighting their limited space. Their home is lived in and cluttered but not dirty. A pile of unopened mail sits on the coffee table, a red "Final Notice" stamp on the one on top. And when I look back to Sara, I can see the stress written all over her face.

"So," she begins, slapping her hands on her lap, "I take it you know now?"

"We do. Sam told us last night."

"And since you're here this morning, I'm guessing he told you about our decision?"

"He did, yes," I say with a slow nod. "And I have some questions."

"I'm sure you do. You must think I'm a horrible mother."

I want to tell her I don't think she is, to ease some of the sadness in her eyes, but I can't force myself to say the words. Instead, I shake my head. "It's more that I don't understand. How can you just ask her to leave like that? She's your daughter, Sara."

She huffs a humorless chuckle. "I know. But we just can't support her and a baby, Bella. I've been out of work for almost two years. They cut Warren's hours. We're barely making ends meet as it is. Not to mention with our two younger kids, we're bursting at the seams here. Adding a baby to that, and Emily not being able to work her part-time job for who knows how long …" She shakes her head and looks down at her lap, her voice lowering. "We just can't."

My hackles go up. "You act like Edward and I wouldn't help until the kids can do this on their own."

"I considered that, and I know you would. You're good people. Sam is a good kid from a good family. But you have to realize how proud my husband is. There's no way he'd accept what he'd see as a handout."

It's my turn to laugh without humor. "I'm sorry, but when is making sure your own kid succeeds at any cost a handout?"

"I never said I agreed with him," she says softly.

"Then why let his pride get in the way of helping your daughter? Why not speak up? Emily is going to need her mother, Sara. I know from firsthand experience how important support from your family is."

"If I thought it would change his mind, I would fight him on it. But even if that were possible, it still doesn't change the fact that there's simply no room here for a baby. Look around." She waves a hand in front of her.

"I am looking around. But the only thing I see are excuses." I press my lips together, briefly considering what I'm about to say. Ultimately, telling her part of my story can only help her see the possibilities, so I press forward. "I don't know if Sam's ever told you, but he was born when I lived in a shitty little trailer in Arizona. He spent the first year of his life tucked into the corner of our bedroom. He slept in a playpen once he outgrew his bassinet. So, please don't sit there and insult me by telling me it's impossible."

She takes a slow breath and releases it. "Be that as it may, I can't change the way things are. My husband—" Her eyes fill with tears. "I want nothing more than to be there for my daughter, and I'll support her to the best of my ability. But if she chooses to have and keep the baby, she won't be able to stay here. I wish things were different, but my hands are tied."

I hold back what I really want to say to her, that a mother doesn't simply roll over and allow her husband to make unilateral, unchallenged decisions for their nearly grown daughter. I want to scream and shout and tell her that allowing her husband to make this call will irreparably damage her relationship with her daughter and it will never recover.

But as much as I want to shake some sense into her, I have to admit I don't know everything that happens in this house behind closed doors. Warren has always been polite but never very warm when we've spent any amount of time with them. He's always seemed like so many of the men I've met through Edward's club—kings of their castles and their word is never questioned. The woman before me is likely in an impossible position with her husband—to keep the peace for the sake of her younger children or to risk that and go against him for the sake of her daughter. The defeat I see in her eyes is clear, and that vision of her guides my next words.

"You need to be there for Emily," I plead softly. "She needs her mother, even if she's not living here. Please tell me you won't abandon her."

"I will be there for her. I want to be there for her. I know she needs me. I just …" She groans and rubs at her eyes. "God, I hate this."

Seeing her grappling with what's happening dissolves what's left of the anger I felt when I first walked in. Before me is a mother on the brink of having to let her daughter go, and it's completely out of her control. With everything in my own life out of my control, I have a pretty good idea how she feels. "Tell me how I can help, Sara."

She offers a small smile. "You being here is a good start. I feel less … alone in this."

"You're not. We're all in it together, whether we like it or not."

"I still can't believe it," she murmurs. "When she told us, I was so heartbroken."

"I was … disappointed. But when Sam told us you and Warren didn't want Emily to stay here if she had the baby, I was … I was furious, Sara."

"I'm sure you were."

"I still don't agree with what you're doing."

Her reply isn't much more than a whisper, but the significance of her words is great. "I don't either."

Silence settles between us, both of us seemingly lost in our thoughts. It's me who finally breaks it.

"How soon do you want her to leave?"

She blinks and a tear finally rolls down her cheek. "It sounds so final when you say it that way."

"I'm sorry, but how else should I phrase it? You're asking her to leave if she chooses to have the baby," I say gently. "There's really no other way to put it."

"I know, but that doesn't make it any easier to hear."

I huff a breath, the stress of the day finally getting to me. I want nothing more than to get out of here. "My main focus is the kids and the baby. I won't apologize for putting them first. And maybe that'll be at the cost of your feelings, but for right now, they have to come first."

"I understand," she murmurs.

"Am I being presumptuous in assuming you're okay with Emily staying with us until she can stand on her own two feet?"

She shakes her head as she wipes the tears from her cheeks. "No. I assumed that would be the best option for now." She clears her throat. "And thank you for that. It means a lot to me to know she has a safe place to go."

I nod once. "You're welcome." It's my turn to clear my throat. "You never said when you want her gone."

"God, Bella. I don't want her gone. I—"

I raise a hand, putting a stop to whatever she's going to say. "I'm sorry. That was a poor choice of words. Have you talked about when you want her to move out?"

"A little. I'd like her to stay until the baby's born, but she wants to leave on her birthday."

Reminders of the tense day I left home on my eighteenth birthday flash through my mind—a snatched-away jewelry box and the biting sting of a slap to my face … and Masen by my side as I faced my father one last time—and once again, it feels painfully familiar.

"I need to speak to Edward, but I'm sure he'll be on board." It's just another reminder of the kind of man I'm married to that I don't even have to question if he'd be okay with Emily moving in with us. "If she wants to stay with us, we'll make space for her and the baby." I gather my purse and stand. "I'll talk to her about it the next time I see her."

Sara scrambles to her feet as I head toward the door. "Wait. Don't we need to talk about everything else? Doctor's appointments? Insurance?"

I stop and turn to face her. That same tortured look colors her face, and I feel a pang of sympathy for her. I take a breath and relax my shoulders. "We have time to work out the details. For now, the most important part is making sure Emily feels like we all have her back. We'll talk about doctor's appointments and insurance soon enough, but I'm more concerned with the kids really understand what's coming. Can we agree that we'll all do what we can to help them get ready?"

"Of course."

"And when the time comes, please know you're welcome at our place any time. I know if circumstances were different, she wouldn't be leaving at all, so please don't stay away. Emily is going to need you."

She nods as more tears fall to her cheeks.

And because I'm feeling a little adrift myself, I give the poor woman a hug. "It's going to be all right."

I wonder briefly if the reassurance is for her or for me.

"You look like shit."

Looking up from my computer, I spot Rose leaning against my doorway with her arms crossed. She's the same stunning beauty she's always been. Her wavy, highlighted hair and svelte figure haven't changed much in the twenty-plus years I've known her. And even though she could still pass for thirty-five on a good day, at nearly fifty, there's no mistaking the wisdom—or the perception—in her sharp eyes that's come with age.

"Gee, thanks." I roll my eyes and try to refocus on my screen.

She saunters in and sits on the edge of my desk. "Mind telling me what's going on?"

I sigh and lean back in my chair. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Cut the crap. You were late this morning, which isn't like you, and you've been dragging ass since you got here." She reaches over and pushes against my shoulder. "What's up with you?"

I shrug. "Bad night."

She studies me for a long time, her vibrant blue gaze searing into mine until she finally asks, "Wanna talk about it?"

Before I can answer her, my phone buzzes with a text.

Sam's getting Macie today — E

No "I love you." No mention of seeing me later. Nothing to hang my ribbon of hope on. It's flat and impersonal, and after our conversation this morning, doubt sprouts in my chest.

"Well, that tells me everything I need to know."

I look up from my phone. "What?"

"You and E get into it when he got home last night?"

I toss my cell onto my desk and rub at my face. "You have no idea, Rose."

"You know I'm here to listen if you need me to."

I shoot her a small smile. "I know. And thanks. But right now …"

"I get it," she says as she stands. She gives a lock of my hair a gentle tug. "I'm here when you're ready."

When I finally walk through the door at home, the kitchen is full, and the smell of dinner cooking floats through the air. Sam and Emily are at the stove, huddled together and whispering, as they stir whatever's in the pot. Macie is at the kitchen table, hovering over what must be homework. It doesn't take long for her to notice me.

"Hi, Mom!" Her bright smile lights up the room. It's a welcome sight after the day I've had.

"Hey, Mace." I walk over and kiss the top of her head. "How was your day? Did you do anything exciting?"

She shrugs. "We had some art time and got to check out new books from the library." She looks up and smiles again. "Maybe we can read one of my books at bedtime?"

"Of course, we can." I catch Emily's eye as she smiles over her shoulder. "Hey, Em."

"Hi, Bella."

"Hey," Sam interjects. "We thought we'd make dinner since you had to stay late today."

"Thank you, guys." I step closer, getting between them and wrapping an arm around each of them and resting my head on Sam's arm. "You have no idea how much I appreciate this."

"Don't get too excited," he says with a snort. "It's just spaghetti."

I kiss his cheek. "I still appreciate it."

Emily glances at me out of the corner of her eye as she stirs the sauce. "Mom said you went by my house today."

I step back and sigh. "I did."

"She said you had a long talk."

"We did."

"So, what—"

"As soon as Edward and I talk a few things over, we'll all sit down and talk. There are some decisions that will need to be made, but everything will be all right. I promise."

She looks to Sam for some reassurance then turns to me. "Okay."

The door leading to the garage opens and Edward walks in. He returns Macie's hello as he heads straight for the fridge to grab a beer. "Hey," he says to me as he pops the cap off the bottle.

"Hey," I say, thumbing over my shoulder. "The kids are making dinner."

"I see that." His stare is piercing, and his eyes are filled with wariness as he brings the amber bottle to his lips.

"I'll set the table then," I murmur.

Things between us don't get any less awkward, and even the kids can sense it. Sam and Emily try to keep Macie distracted, asking questions about what she did at day camp today, but she isn't fooled. She's quiet and gives monosyllabic answers to her brother's questions, her eyes lingering on her father and me.

Edward, for his part, eats silently, pretty much ignoring everyone at the table. When I left him this morning, I was sure we'd made some progress. But as I sit across from him tonight, he's distant at best.

I want to cry.

Much later, after Macie's come in from playing with the neighbor kid and taken her bath, we finish reading her book, and I tuck her into bed. "Goodnight," I say, kissing her forehead before switching off her bedside lamp.

"Night, Mom."

I step into the hallway and close her door. The upstairs is silent. Sam's room is dark; he's still gone, taking Emily home. And after checking, I discover our room is empty as well. I hear canned laughter from downstairs, so I tiptoe down the stairs until I reach the den.

Edward, dressed in a beater and basketball shorts, is kicked back in the recliner, watching some mindless television. An open bottle of Jack is on the table beside him and a half-full tumbler is in his hand.

"Are you coming to bed?" I ask from the doorway.

His eyes shift to me, but his expression remains unreadable. "Not yet. Go on up."

I want to say more, but when he looks right back to the television, I get the message: He doesn't want to talk right now.

Reluctantly, I go back up to our bedroom and go through the motions of getting ready for bed. But as I pull my pajamas from my dresser drawer, I hesitate. I know if I crawl into bed now, and Edward does come to bed, I'll be asleep, and we won't be able to talk.

So, instead, I decide a soak in our garden tub is a better idea. The warm water relaxes my tense muscles and melts away some of the stress of the day. By the time I step out to towel off, I feel a little more like myself. But when I open the door to our room, it's still empty.

I can still hear the sound of the television as I creep downstairs, but when I reach the den this time, Edward is sound asleep in his chair. Only now, an open photo album lays across his lap. As I step closer, I can see it's a collection of pictures from the early days of our marriage, a time when he and Sam, along with Seth, were thick as thieves.

I gently pull the album from his lap and stare down at the toothless smile of my son. In the snapshots on the page, he's helping Edward work on something in the garage, tools in their hands and both of their faces smudged with grease. As I flip through the pages, each photo is a memory preserved, years and years of moments captured … a reminder of where we've been and what we fought for.

Our family.

The sleeping man in the chair, the one who has fought right alongside me for those things is hurting right now, and it's all my fault. I'm also the only one who can make it right.

Soundlessly, I place the album on the coffee table and grab the light throw off the back of the sofa. And after I carefully remove the empty tumbler from Edward's hand, I place the throw over him, gently kissing his forehead.

"I'm sorry," I whisper against his skin, closing my welling eyes. "I love you, and I'm so damn sorry."

Switching off the television and turning off the lamp, I leave the room. And as my foot hits the first stair, I swear I hear a murmured "I love you, too." But when I peek around the corner, he's still asleep, the only difference is that the throw is pulled higher on his chest. With a heavy heart, I climb the stairs and go to our empty room to crawl into out bed alone.

A/N: How are we feeling now? Any more hopeful? Less hopeful? These two have a ways to go. *sigh*

One of my main gals—DrivingEdward—has posted her first story, and I'm very excited about it! The Love of the Game is about baseball, a southern boy a few have coined Bravesward, and a soccer-playing Bella. It's fun and flirty, and if you're a baseball fan, you need to read this story! It's updating every two weeks.

Remember, the best way to stay up to date with what I'm up to, join in the discussion, and to see exclusive teaser pics, check out my Facebook group, Sunshine Fics. I'd love if you all could join us.

I hope to "see" you soon!

Be kind.
Stay safe.
Stay well.

Lots of love
~Sunshine