Playlist: The Man Who Can't Be Moved by The Script

Word Prompts: Right, write, rite

Chapter 13

I'm behind her, following in my car. I dial her number. "Come on, Bella. Talk to me."

She doesn't pick up, so I end the call.

We've turned onto Fourth, and we're home. Her home, anyway. I slam my door and follow in her wake. "You have to talk to me."

"Go home, Edward." She walks up her driveway and opens the front door, attempting to close it on me, but I barge inside. Charlie gapes at us from his chair in the living room, soda in hand. I don't even care that he's watching this mess unfold.

"You left prom for me, and I blew it. I know that. I made a mistake. Talk to me."

"I don't feel like it. I'm tired. I want to go to bed."

"It's Saturday. You're going to shower, put on your boxers and tank, get your knee socks on, and watch Nick at Nite, and you know it."

"You think you know me so well?"

"Yeah, I do."

"Then how could you be so stupid and say something so unbelievably insensitive to me? Do you know how much courage it took to say goodbye to Jake? To ask him to take me home early?"

"That must've been hard."

"Not as hard as this." She storms down the hallway, enters her room, and slams the door.

I growl my frustration and wrap my hands around the brim of my stupid team hat, crushing it.

"Looks like you shoulda asked her to prom to begin with," Charlie says from his chair.

"Yeah," I say and slump onto the couch.

"Rough night?" Charlie sips his drink and returns his attention to the TV like this is a normal night.

"Bella went with Jake to prom, I said something stupid, and now she hates me. Again." I throw my hands down on the couch cushions dramatically.

"Like I said, you need to fix it. And you really shoulda asked her to prom to begin with. With women, it's all about being proactive."

"I'm not a mind reader."

"No, but you've known my daughter your whole life. You telling me you can't do any better than this?" He throws his thumb over his shoulder, and we both jerk at the sound of the door opening. Bella's in her bathrobe. She glares at me, then at her dad—who shrugs—and heads into the bathroom.

"I'm not very good at this. I thought I was good with girls, but this is . . . different."

"That's because it's Bella," he says wisely.

"Yeah."

"Remember when my ma lived with us?"

"Of course; I loved Gran Swan. My dad's even instituted Sunday dinners."

"No kidding?" He glances at me with a lopsided grin. It reminds me of his mother.

I miss her.

"Nope."

"When she passed and we had that luncheon here after the funeral and Bella hid in her room and you stayed in there the whole time with her even though we had cookies and punch out here, that's when I knew for sure."

"Knew what?"

"That this would happen someday."

"What would happen? Bella'd be pissed at me?" I laugh without humor.

"No, that you'd find yourself falling for her, but Bella being pissed is all a part of the process. Besides, a girl going berserk on a guy is a rite of passage. I'm surprised it's taken this long, to be honest."

"You knew this would happen?"

Charlie swivels his head and simply gives me a blank stare like I'm an idiot, which I am. "I planted that bush, didn't I?'

"I hate that bush."

"I'm glad," he says proudly. "Best landscaping I've ever done."

"You don't have any landscaping; it's all dirt, incidental patches of grass, and Sandy's poop."

"Yeah, well. It keeps boys out of her room, so . . ."

"Sure it does," I mumble, thinking about the time Jake was in there.

Charlie catches on, and his eyes go wide. "Football players. You can't trust them."

"I interfered as much as possible. Even crashed dates."

"Well, good."

"So now what?"

"I don't know," he says, flipping through channels absently.

"You're not gonna help?"

"And have her look at me the way she just looked at you? No, thanks. I live with her. You're on your own."

"I already apologized."

"That doesn't matter."

"Gee, thanks."

"Well, it does, but they have to stew in it for a while. She's a bit like her mother that way, but she won't stay mad at you."

"How do you know?"

"Because you held her hand when her grandmother died. You ate her brussel sprouts for her when I demanded she eat them." He glares at me for that. "And you are not a quitter. I know this because when I started coaching you, you couldn't get a grounder if your life depended on it. And now look at you? Best short stop 'round these parts."

"Thanks, Coach."

"You're welcome. Now go home. I don't want to hear her yelling when she gets out of that shower and finds you on our couch."

"Okay. I'm gonna . . ." I indicate the back door, and he nods. I leave the Swan home, hopping over our shared block fence, and head inside. I can get my car later.

Dad's on the couch, reading, oblivious as always. "Night, Son."

"Night, Dad."

I brush my teeth slowly, trying to wrap my brain around tonight. It all just sucks. I change and lie in bed, twirling my phone in my hand before opening up my text window.

Please. Let me make this right. –E

-NSID-

"You should write her a letter, honey. All girls like that." Mom's been at it all dinner, trying to solve my problems for me. I'm beyond listening, though.

"Yeah," Garrett pipes in, "start with: how much of a moron am I? Let me count the ways." He snickers at his cleverness.

"I can't believe you even let her go with Jake to begin with." Katie can't stop with the redundant lectures. It grates on my nerves. I wish she'd go home. "You know if either of you had told me this was going on, I could've helped. I would've told you what to do. Bella's like a sister to me. I don't want her hurting like this. Not even from the likes of you. It's just —"

"Incest."

"Garrett, please," Mom scolds.

"She just said Bella was her sister. By definition—"

Dad clears his throat, and Garrett shuts up, thankfully.

I eat in silence and ignore them all. I don't want their advice. The whole reason I don't know anything about girls is because my family has failed to teach me properly. And they haven't even set a good example, with the exception of Katie, but even then, she complains about everything. Just tonight she was whining about Greg not pulling his weight around the house. He kissed her and told her he'd take out the trash when they get home. She muttered a "believe it when I see it" sentiment, and they're supposedly happily married?

I don't get it. I'm not sure I ever will. And if my dad is any way by which to measure my future—based on DNA—then I should just quit now.

But I am not a quitter. Just like Charlie said.

Besides, it's only been one day without any Bella contact, and my skin's crawling with anticipation to speak with her, to make amends.

After dinner I ignore the incessant chatter of my family in the living room. They're all getting along and playing board games. I excuse myself to go to bed early. All this thinking and sorrow and longing is tiring. Is this how Bella felt all these years? Wanting me but not having me? If so, she's right: it's exhausting.

-NSID-

Monday at lunch, I sit beside Bella, and she gets up immediately to leave. It hurts. It hurts like hell. I miss her. But at least she doesn't sit next to Jake a few tables away. I wait outside her front door after school, hoping she'll speak to me, but she never shows.

On Tuesday, I'm desperate for a hello, an I hate you, anything to know she'll speak to me again. I'll take her anger; I don't care. Anything but complete avoidance. Her refusal to acknowledge me is debilitating. Is what I did that awful? It was a joke. I wish she'd just talk to me.

I can't focus in class, I'm rude to my dad, and I let my teammates down. I'm not motivated to give baseball one hundred percent. We're pretty well ranked, but even so, I don't think we'll make it to State this year. The girls' team is doing amazing, though, thanks to Bella. I watch the end of her games when I can and cheer her on even though she ignores me when I try to congratulate her afterward.

When I don't have practice or games, I take to visiting my mom's apartment after school and watching movies until she comes home to make dinner. Dad approves since I'm with Mom, so there's no issue there. But I do take issue when he invites himself over. This is my time with Mom to be doted on, to be loved. Because no one else is doing that for me now, and I need it. I have to have it or I'll die or something.

"Well, that was fun," Dad says when we pull into our driveway after a meal at Mom's.

"Whatever."

"You didn't enjoy yourself? I love her beef stew and those rolls she makes. I really miss her cooking."

"I'm not there for her cooking," I say, irritated.

"Yeah, I know. Me neither."

"Why are you there?"

"Honestly?" he asks, a bit surprised.

"Yeah."

"I'm trying to get in on this. You kids have always had this secret relationship with your mother. I could never find my way in. Not sure why, but I'm trying."

He's right. He's opened himself up, made more time for us. He's doing his best, which is good.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" he asks, looking desperate for me to reach out to him.

"I don't think so," I say, shrugging and heading to my room. I can't do it, not this week.

"Your mother thinks you're in love," he calls after me. "Is it true?"

"Yeah," I admit, feeling defeated.

"Does she know? Bella, I mean?"

"I haven't said the words."

"I know I haven't set the best example of what a man should be like, but I do know one thing: if you have something to say to the woman you love, don't hesitate, don't wait for the perfect moment. Just say it and mean it. Sincerity, not the time or place, is the most important."

"Thanks, Dad." I turn into my room and tug my shirt off.

Dad's leaning on my doorjamb, looking at me. "Bella's a sweet girl. I'm proud of you for picking her."

I think on his words and dream about Bella. I tell her three different times in three different ways I love her, but none of them seem good enough. I wake up feeling discouraged, like it won't be enough. Like I'll never be enough.

-NSID-

Thursday after history, I pass Bella in the hall. She makes eye contact with me for the first time, and I panic, ducking my head and continuing on. I can't even look her in the eye, I'm so pathetic.

I ditch my last class and pick up some ice cream—mint chocolate chip—before heading to my mom's to do homework and have dinner. When I'm settled in front of the TV halfway through my pint, my phone rings. It's Alice.

What the hell?

"Hello?" I say quietly. She's never called me in my entire life. We barely know each other. Had a few classes here and there, but she's in student government and dance, and I'm a jock. We don't really mix.

"What did you do to Bella?" she barks.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

"I'm not sure what you're talking about."

"Look, I know you know who I am, and I know you know what I know. Bella told me. She told me what happened, and I can't believe you're just giving up, that you're just capable of walking away."

"I'm not walking away. I'm figuring things out. I don't know what to do, and she won't talk to me. She won't answer my phone or my texts, and she's never home."

"You live behind her. What is wrong with you? Set up a tent in her backyard if you have to. Bring her donuts and chocolate or whatever the hell she loves. And flowers. Every girl –even softball players—loves flowers, and you make this right, Edward Cullen, you hear me?"

"I want to. I'm trying to," I say, feeling beat up. Why are girls so confusing?

"She was crying, did you know? She was ready to talk to you, and you ignored her completely today. She ran into the bathroom bawling her eyes out. Luckily for you, I was there to talk to her. We're not friends friends, but if things were different, I know we could be, you know?" I have no idea what this means, but she doesn't explain and barrels on, talking incessantly at a rapid speed. "She's devastated. I don't know who you think you are, but you don't even deserve her. After all this time. I mean, she's amazing. Everyone knows it. It's ridiculous she still has a thing for you to begin with. But let me tell you, you've ruined her, you hear me? Ruined her."

"I love her, okay? I love her. What the hell do you want me to do about it?" I did not mean to yell like that.

"What do I want you to do? I want you to hang up the damn phone right now and call her and tell her. Go to her house and pound down the freaking door with a battering ram and kiss her until she kisses you back or slaps the hell out of you. And I want you to do it right now!"

"Okay, geez, I just . . ."

"Right! Now! Edward! Cullen!"

Click.

The line goes dead just as my mom opens the door to her apartment.

"I have to go," I say.

"You're not staying for dinner?'

"I'm in love with Bella; I have to tell her. Alice is right."

"Who's Alice?" Mom asks, but I don't have time to answer; I have stuff to do. I try to pass up Mom, but she yanks me into a hug and squeezes me tight, familiar and comforting, and I'm strengthened by it.

"Good luck, honey."

"Thanks."

Excited and a little antsy, I hop into my car and head toward home, dialing as I go. Straight to voicemail. At a stoplight, I text her.

It's an emergency, call me. –E

It's a cheap trick, but I don't know what else to do.

And it works.

"Edward?" She's panicked. "Are you okay? What's going on?"

"I have to talk to you. Please, don't hang up. I need . . . there's so much to say, so much you should know, and I'm terrified of screwing it up. I'm having nightmares about it, but I have to tell you I . . ."

"What? Edward? What?" Her voice is pained, tired. I did that to her. I made her feel so raw and sad.

I pass an old lady in a Buick and pick up speed. I have to get to Bella, see her, feel her in my arms. "I'm so sorry. For making you feel like you weren't enough, like you weren't noticeable all those years." I take a deep breath and let the truth out. "Because you were, you are. And if you let me make it up to you, I'll do anything, really. Whatever you need. I'm serious about this. And if I'm too late, then I'll have to deal with that, but I need you in my life. If you want to be friends and date other guys, there's nothing I can do about that. I just want you happy, and I want you to talk to me."

"Edward, I—"

"I know I messed up so bad, and it'll take a while, but you have to forgive me, you have to—"

Honk!

I jerk my eyes upward. I'm in the intersection, and the light's red. Another honk and a crack of metal against metal. My head snaps with the noise, hitting the dashboard, and my phone flies to the floorboard.

"Edward!"

"I'm sorry," I rasp out. A warm wetness above my eyes finds its way there, making my vision blurry, but I keep talking. She has to know. "I love you, Bella. I'm in love with you."

"Edward!" she screams in the distance, my name chanted over and over . . .