Good morning my fabulous readers! I hope your Sundays are off to a good start. Personally, I'm too impatient to get this chapter out to you to wait until this afternoon, so I finished my coffee, took my old golden retriever out on a walk up and down the street, and now here I am back on my laptop :)

A few of you mentioned Bella's moodiness in the last chapter. You're not wrong. She's emotional, but I do want to reiterate that she's only sixteen years old right now and has gone through a few years of somewhat stunted development. She's been hurt by her best friend, her surrogate family, and her mother. Teenagers are not always the most rational. Also, while weeks are going by in between my posting of chapters, in the story's timeline, Edward has only been back for one day. His reappearance has brought an onslaught of confusion and emotions she was not prepared to deal with. I've got two teenage girls at home, and sometimes they seem wise beyond their years, but other times I can not for the life of me understand what the heck they are thinking. Obviously, the point of a story is to have your characters grow and, in this case, mature. You will see that with all of the main characters in this story, especially the teens.

We're about to learn some of what happened to Edward. Again, he's a seventeen-year-old boy who has gone through too much for his age because of the way the world was the previous few years. He's not perfect and, like most teenagers, has made some dumb decisions. I hope you'll give him grace.

So, let's continue and let Bella listen to what Edward has to say...

The Braves game went into extra innings, but Charlie passed out during the sixth, worn from the week and sedated from the beer in his system. So, as soon as I receive Edward's text, it's easy to rush past where Charlie snores softly, stretched across his worn suede recliner.

Of course, I wasn't sitting around waiting for contact from Edward. No. I tell myself I turned my ringer up and repeatedly checked the bars on my reception for another reason.

I'm careful when I close the front door, turning the knob gently and letting it latch with a quiet click. I don't bother locking up. Robberies on the Island are rare, especially at the chief of police's house.

The grass is wet with dew and the leftover moisture from an afternoon shower. The air is thick with the scent of salt and brine and the electric anticipation of an unsettled atmosphere. Thunder rolls in the distance. It's clear that mother nature hasn't released us from her temper for the evening.

I lean against the robin egg blue siding by the front door, watching for headlights. The text from Edward says he left Jasper's ten minutes ago. My house is only five minutes away. When my thighs start to stick together from the humidity, and the clock tells me another five minutes have passed, I lose faith, cut my losses, and reach for the door handle. I'm ready to reacclimate myself with air conditioning while I commiserate over being a stupid girl who got stood up by a stupider boy.

But as I push off the wall, LED headlights illuminate my front porch. I fight the thrill that runs through me when I spot Edward's truck. Instead, I make sure to scowl. I want him to know I'm mad.

Breath, Bella. He's here. He kept his word.

I drop my head and scold away the conflict inside me as his tires kick up lingering water droplets in my driveway.

"You're late." My bitching is half-hearted when I climb the foot rail into the cab.

Edward has the decency to look sheepish, running his hand along the back of his neck. "Yeah. Sorry about that. I had to take Emmett home. He was drunk."

I hum and click my seatbelt into place. "His daddy must've loved that."

"That's what took me so long. I had to get him in his house without wakin' up his parents. I think I pulled somethin'. That fucker is heavy."

Edward's arm rests behind my chair as he checks over his shoulder and backs into the street. This close, I can smell the detergent from his t-shirt, along with the remnants of sand and sunshine from the beach. I hold my breath until he places both hands back on the wheel.

"Where're we goin'?" I kick my flip-flops to the floor and pull my feet onto the seat, wrapping my arms around my knees to protect myself partially from the chill of the air vents and partially from the awkwardness hovering around us.

Edward glances over before turning right at the end of the street. "I dunno."

"You wanted to talk."

"I know."

My eyes don't leave him as he drives, his profile illuminated by the streetlamps and patio lights we pass. His eyes are clear, not glassy like last night. I'm relieved that he stayed sober for me. He pretends not to notice my fixation, and for that, I'm grateful.

"Turn left," I mutter.

"What? Into the elementary school?" He side-eyes me but turns on his blinker and slows.

"You can drive on the blacktop and park behind the buildin'. No one's gonna come lookin' for us back there."

He nods and checks the road before he turns, searching for cops, parents, or whoever watches for teenagers causing trouble in the dark of night. It's dim and eerie behind the school. Shadows cast long lines that, as a child, my imagination would have turned into monsters and spirits. But now I only hope no raccoons or snakes wait for us in the tall weeds sprouting from the unkempt grass.

Edward kills the engine, and I hop out of the truck. He follows suit, his headlights lingering and lighting my way to the swing set we used to spend recess hogging in elementary school.

He chuckles when I sit, the old chains squeaking while I push off the ground to create a gentle sway. He brushes water from the swing next to mine before lowering onto it, pushing his foot lazily against the wood chips below us.

"Remember when Emmett accepted the dare from Mike to flip all the way around the top bar?" he asks.

"I remember Emmett losin' his grip and flippin' backward off the swing…"

"And breakin' his arm."

I smile, despite how traumatizing the situation was at the time. "Emmett's never been very bright, has he?"

Thunder rolls through the sky. Dark and light shades of gray mix with the black of thicker clouds, but the lightning is far enough away that the flashes barely illuminate the playground. We have time before the clouds open and the downpour begins.

The awkwardness seeps back in. Neither of us knows where we go from here- how to start to dissect years of confusion and pain. What words do you use to tell your best friend that they affected you in a way you may never recover from? Questions rack through my brain, and I wonder what's off-limits and what I'm allowed to know. But we're wasting the night, and I want answers.

"Why didn't you come home that first Christmas?" My voice is barely above a whisper. I'm scared I'll spook him. That he'll run, and another three years will go by before I have the chance to right this.

He pulls in air through his nose and twists his swing away from me long enough that I think he won't answer. "It wasn't my choice."

"I didn't think it was."

He releases the swing in a spin and glances at me before the chains twist forward, so he faces the school. His brows dip, and his lips purse while he studies the brick walls as if our joined past holds memories that will push us through this conversation. Eventually, he seems to gather his thoughts, the lines on his forehead smoothing as he dares another glance in my direction. "My dad had to stay. He was already switchin' to the new unit. His original research was bein' put on hold."

The answer isn't good enough. It's not an explanation that covers the division between us. "Couldn't your Mama have brought you down?"

"Pops didn't think it was safe. He didn't know much, but he was worried about travel." Edward's head shakes as if to loosen the memory. But I don't want it to escape his mind. I want him to understand what his absence meant- what the absence of all the Cullens meant.

I swing back, kicking my feet up while fighting away the memories of what that Christmas looked like for me. Renee and Charlie barely spoke over a meal of a dry roast, watery mashed potatoes, and over-steamed broccoli. I hid under my sheets that evening, drawing pictures of what a real Christmas should be. A fragrant pine tree with sparkling lights and shiny bulbs, not the fake plastic tree Charlie bought and Renee half-heartedly slapped ornaments on. No matter how much I begged, they couldn't find the time to drive me to the store to replace the broken strand of lights I found shoved in the back of the linen closet. Sometimes during the holidays, I flip that journal back open and think about the early years of my life when Mama Esme spent hours baking cookies with us. Then, listening to carols, we would decorate the Cullens' elaborate tree where ornaments made by Edward, Alice, and me hung proudly displayed.

I lost more than Edward the day they climbed into their cars and left me behind.

"Why couldn't you just tell me your father was scared? Why couldn't you have told me what he was working on?"

The greens in his eyes seem to glow in the dim lights from the school when he locks me in his gaze. "I didn't want to scare you." He pauses to swing, and for a moment, we're children again. Carefree and flying while he tries to match my pace. But he's too much taller than me to stay by my side for long. "I thought my dad would find an answer fast. I thought it would all be over soon," he explains, legs stretching toward the sky.

"You stopped callin'." The remnants of heartbreak make my chest ache, and suddenly flying feels hollow. I let my swing slow until my toes touch the ground, wood chips collecting between my foot and sandal.

Edward catches himself on his next down-swing, stopping and standing while the chains of his swing hang from his hands. "When I realized what was happenin', I didn't know how to tell you we weren't comin' back. It killed me, Bella. I wanted to tell you. I wanted to fix everything for you. But you cried so much when you found out we would miss one trip. I couldn't stomach tellin' you we would miss more."

It's not enough. His explanation leaves too much that I still don't understand. "You broke my heart."

"I broke mine too."

Our admissions hang in the air. How do I respond to that? How do I pick up the pieces and fix the fractures between us? Because, God, I want to fix us. I want my Edward back.

He's not yours anymore, Bella. You don't know this Edward.

If I keep down this road, I will lose my calm, and I can't do that in front of him, so I change paths, taking the road that led us to this playground in the first place. "Why aren't you goin' to baseball practice?"

"It's a long story," he sighs as the thunder picks up. The sky flashes, the lighter grays almost white this time, but when I count between the lightning and subsequent boom, I get eight seconds.

"I think we still have time."

He drops down to the seat of his swing and links an elbow over one of the chains so he can rub at his forehead. "It was the beginnin' of Baseball season when the lockdowns started. We'd only played a few games when suddenly we weren't even allowed to practice together."

I nod. March. When life went belly up. The beginning of his season. The beginning of my friendship with Rosalie. And the unpredicted end to our childhood.

"My dad built a gym in our garage. We had a treadmill already, but he ordered weights for me and a net so I could practice pitchin' in the yard. I was on a rigorous workout routine for about a month, sure the season was about to pick up at any time… but then it didn't.

"By the time summer rolled around, I was only workin' out every few days," he scoffs. "I spent more time playin' baseball video games than practicin' for the real sport."

My lip rolls between my teeth while I try to understand Edward's sorrow. "When'd you get to go back?"

He sighs and watches some wood chips scatter as he kicks at the ground. "Schools up there didn't go back in person until late fall. And when we did, we still weren't allowed to work out in groups. By then, I'd lost a lot of muscle and skill. I was rusty.

"But finally, the next spring, practice started again." His lips curve into a soft smile. The game runs through his blood. It's a part of him as much as my art is a part of me. Staying away from my sketch pads and pencils would be torture. I don't know how I would have coped through the last few years without the escape my obsession provided. "But the coaches didn't know how to bring us back." As quickly as his smile formed, it falls, and my brows dip along with it. "They were a high school level coachin' staff. They weren't used to rehabin' players.

"They had me throwin' too many hours at practice, too many innin's in the games." He swallows hard and looks away.

My heart drops because, for a moment, I understand. Something major altered the course of his life. "Edward, what happened?"

He takes a big breath, his eyes shut tight before he answers in a whisper. "Ligaments in my joints started to hurt. I ignored the pain thinkin' it was just the consequence of gettin' back in shape. God, I was stupid." He blinks rapidly, and I'm thrown back to his porch steps. Back to the days of lightning bugs and honeysuckle, when I had the same feeling I have right now- the need to comfort him. The need to throw my arms around him and hold him close. Tell him it will all be okay- even if that's not a promise for me to make. "In the first innin' of our fourth game, I threw out my arm."

I gasp, and I can't stop myself from reaching for him. But my hands only hover in the air before falling to my sides. I don't know if I'm allowed to touch, nor do I know how to comfort him from the trauma of having his dream ripped from his hands.

"I had two surgeries to repair it. My dad brought me to the best orthopedist in Atlanta, and they promised with physical therapy and patience, I would play again.

"I couldn't go without the game, Bella. I did everything they said. It started so slow, and I was so frustrated. All I wanted to do was throw that damn ball again."

"Is it okay now?" I'm completely sideways in my swing, facing him, caught in every word he's telling me.

He gives me a wry smile. "By the next season, I was throwin' hard. The movement on my ball was better than ever, and guys were havin' a hard time hittin' me. Scouts started lookin', and I even threw a no-hitter in front of a guy from the Braves."

"Edward, that's… amazin'."

"It was." Lightning illuminates the sky. The air teams with electricity, and only two seconds pass before the thunder vibrates through us.

We ignore the impending storm. Edward's words are too important. We're too important to stop now. "Everything was fallin' into place, you know?" he continues. "I saw my future, and it looked so good."

"So, what happened?" Wind rustles the trees behind us. A piece of Spanish moss rips free, tumbling across the ground by my feet. "Why aren't you practicin' with the team?"

The wistful look on his face falls, and he jumps when a streak of lightning shoots through the sky above us. "Because baseball wasn't the only thing in my life."

Thunder cracks overhead so loud I scream, and heavy drops of rain slap to the blacktop, bouncing before settling into the puddles that had formed in the late afternoon. "What does that mean?" I call over the sound of the storm as Edward stands from his swing, motioning for me to do the same.

"Come on, we've got to get inside," he yells back.

I chase him to the truck, throwing open the door while branches of electricity decorate the night sky. The lightning sticks to the clouds as though it understands that we need to escape to safety before it reaches down to the Earth. Water rolls off the windshield in buckets as Edward pushes the ignition to start the car.

We stay silent as he kicks the windshield wipers up as far as they will go. He's slow and cautious as he pulls onto the road, spine straight, leaning close to the glass, taking his time to double-check for traffic passing through. But it's close to midnight on a sleepy island filled with young families on vacation and residents who long ago retired for the night.

The cold air rushing through the vents makes me shiver. Edward notices and reaches for the dial, turning up the heat without taking his eyes off the road. I'm grateful for his careful driving, even though I chuckle at how much he reminds me of my grandparents.

My street is vacant, but even with the slowing rain, Edward takes his time passing by the cars parked in front of our neighbor's lawns. He pulls in next to Charlie's cruiser, shifting to park before unlocking the doors. But I pause, not ready for the night to end, to lose the little progress I imagine we've made.

"Oh, um, should I walk you to the door?" He runs a hand through his wet hair. The strands only push back briefly before falling in slight curls that frame his eyes.

"No. It's okay." I suck my lip between my teeth and stall. I need more. I know his story isn't complete. There's something he's not telling me. "Edward, what happened in Atlanta? After your surgeries."

His elbow rests on the ledge of his window as he pinches the skin of his lips between his thumb and index finger. "I made choices that had consequences I didn't expect."

"Edward…"

"Your dad's up." He grimaces and points to where Charlie stands in the doorway, arms crossed and glaring at the teenage boy's truck his daughter is riding in past midnight.

"Shit." I scramble out, knowing things will only worsen if I keep Charlie waiting. He shakes his head and turns to go inside when my feet hit the pavement, leaving the front door open for me.

Drops of rain hit my head, but I don't rush inside. I prefer to get soaked than scolded.

"Hey, Bella." I glance over my shoulder to find Edward leaning toward the open passenger window.

"Yeah?" I stop, crossing my arms over my chest, breaking out in goosebumps when a gust of wind pushes the damp fabric of my shirt against my skin.

"You still drawin'?"

I nod slowly.

"Good. You gonna do anything with it?"

God, he's already cut me to my core. He might as well rip me apart as well. It's the loaded question I've avoided for the past few years. What comes next? I dip my head as I answer. "I dunno."

"Well, you should." With that, he rolls up the window and carefully accelerates down the street, still driving like an old man and stopping for too long before turning the corner.

My face scrunches in confusion as I plod inside to my doom.

Maybe I wasn't the only one who lost Edward. Maybe, somewhere along the line, he lost himself.

My world is rocking, hanging off the edge of a dangerous precipice, and if I don't take every step with perfect precision, I'm going to fall.

Who will be there to catch me when I land?

A/N: Thoughts? Feelings? Are these two going to be able to come back together, forgive, and forget?

Please remember to follow, fav, and review. I'm going to be honest, I'm only human, and the more I know readers are enjoying, the faster I work :)

Next chapter should be out on Thursday. Have a wonderful rest of your weekend!