New Chapter...I think it will go Edward, Bella, Edward, Bella etc. So this is Edward! Kinda short and Kinda a filler to get the story going, but here goes...


. Edward's green eyes stared at the vast green field before him as he dug his toe into the water-logged ground, the rain having been pouring down constantly for two hours. The rest of the team had dispersed from the field nearly twenty minutes ago, and the stands were void of any life form besides the standard cleanup crew. Of course the Packers had won. There was no doubt in his mind that they would, but Edward was fuming, irate that he had to watch his backup catch his passes and take his points. He had to watch his team be cheered for by his fans while he sat on the trainer's bench being fussed over by the black-haired trainer wearing thick-rimmed glasses. The least they could have done was allowed him to sit by his team, but no, it was too much of a risk for him to walk. He ran a hand through his auburn locks, his shoulder protesting all the while. He scuffed his cleat against the grass, lifting up the green strands and revealing the fertile soil found beneath all of Lambeau Field.

. He hated that Vikings' player that had hit him. James was the name he had been told. James what? he wondered to himself as he watched the gray clouds pour cold droplets all over Wisconsin. He was still dressed in his jersey, his warm up jacket draped over his shoulders. He wanted to punch something, but his arm wouldn't allow it. His shoulder hurt so much he hadn't even been able to put on his own jacket. He stomped across the field, the field where so many idols' stories had begun, so many legends had stood, and so many had been hurt, injured like him. The ground sank beneath his feet, water seeping up around his shoes and squeaking as he walked briskly to the tunnel, keeping his head ducked, partly because of the rain, but mostly because of his frustration with himself. The click of his cleats echoed through the vacant tunnel as he booked it into the locker room, knowing most of his team had left to go celebrate their win.

. Oh, he had been invited, of course, but he didn't want to party because of someone else's win, didn't want to celebrate a victory that wasn't truly his. Edward was arrogant, prideful. He only cared about people as long as he looked good doing it. His nostrils were flared as he angrily tried to pull his jersey over his head. Having successfully pulled his good arm out of the whole, he ducked his head out of it and slipped it down his good arm, which hung limply at his side. He had refused the sling, refused the ice, refused any treatment at all. He knew that treatment meant that the coach would have thought he couldn't play and that he would have been benched. I was benched, though, he thought, remembering the Coach McCarthy's face as he neared Edward. The coach's expression was a mix of shock and fear, probably knowing without Edward, the Packers wouldn't be able to crush the Vikings. Coach McCarthy had known then and there that it was going to be a close game. And a close game it proved to be. They were down by six when Jacob threw that Hail Mary pass down to Paul, Edward's backup.

. Paul had bobbled it, nearly dropping it as he stepped into the end zone, and Edward couldn't help but think that the Packers would have never been in that situation if Paul hadn't dropped nearly ten passes that day, if Edward had been the one on the field, if Paul had been the injured one. Their kicker then sent the ball through the goal posts for the extra point, bringing the Packers home a victory. "Stupid," he growled angrily at himself as he tugged off his tight football pants using his good arm. If he hadn't been so shallow, if he'd just jumped into the crowd without worrying he'd jump into someone ugly, he would have been well. He'd have been able to play. He would have been able to take his own clothes off himself right now. He pulled on his black Nike sweats and pulled his jacket over his bare chest, not bothering to mess with the huge fuss of trying to get a t-shirt on would become. He dug through his green bag, looking feverishly for the key to his dark Lincoln Navigator. He began cursing as he heard the locker room door close, thinking someone had stolen his keys.

. "Hey," a female voice purred into his ear. He knew that voice all too well. He didn't turn as her hot breath snaked down his neck, making the blond hairs on his arms stand straight up in fear and nervousness. He didn't need to look to see it was Tanya Denali, with her straight blonde hair and sneaky blue eyes, with her pursed lips and long nose, with the beauty mark placed just above her thick red lips. He heard a jingle as she twirled what presumably were his car keys around her perfectly manicured finger tips. He was frozen in place, not even moving as her hand moved in front of his green eyes, showing his sleek keys dripping from a crimson lacquered nail. "You want these?" she asked seductively, and Edward immediately knew she was after something, something that would cause his shoulder and mental moral a lot of pain.

. "Tanya," he sighed, trying to snatch the keys from her finger. She snapped her hand around them, yanking them out of reach.

. "Ah, ah, ah!" she sang, a smile playing on her rather large mouth. "I'm your ride home." Edward groaned inwardly, hating that he was being babied by everyone. It was as if he couldn't do anything himself, as if he wasn't capable of doing the things he did on a daily basis.

. "I'm perfectly fine driving myself home, thank you." His voice was calm as he rejected her offer and reached for his keys with his good hand. They were out of the reach of his left hand, so he tried to grab them with his right hand, groaning in pain as he moved his shoulder. Tanya giggled, happy with her game of keep away.

. When Edward's finger finally brushed the cool metal, Tanya's face fell, but soon lifted into a sly smile. To Edward's dismay, Tanya lifted the keys high into the air, as if she was an older child taunting a shorter kid with a ball too high for him to reach. Shocking Edward, she dropped them into her mouth, smiling as she swirled her tongue around them. Edward suppressed a gag.

. "Ow, oo gaah eeh em ow?" Her words were torn apart by the metal flashing inside her mouth. Edward lifted his hand as he tried to shuffle around her.

. "You know what? Never mind," he dodged her outstretched arms. "I'll walk." She spit the keys into her palm and spun them around her index finger.

. "Eddie, you know you want to." Her tongue poked out to like her lips as Edward stared at the saliva covered keys. Edward hated her pet name for him. Edward couldn't find words strong enough to express how much he didn't want to, how much the past few times had been a mistake, so he just stayed silent, eyeing the slick keys in her hands, biting back acidic comments threatening to burst from his lips. Edward had met Tanya in a bar about three years ago, and after he had taken her home, she'd become obsessed with him, trying to get to him every chance she got.

. "Trying to seduce an injured player and getting shot down is not good for your ego, Tanya," he said blatantly, grabbing his keys from her hands and wiping them clean against his sweats. He slipped out the door while a shocked Tanya stood whimpering in the middle of the locker room, an oddity among the large lockers and metal ice baths.

. The parking lot was vacant, except for his car and the security guard, who greeted him and asked how he was feeling. "I'm fine, thank you," Edward replied, his tone blasé. He chirped the car unlocked and slid into the smooth leather of the front seat, running his fingers over the soft leather covering the steering wheel. His Lincoln was his baby, his first major spend of his NFL career. The security waved him through as Edward took to the streets of Green Bay, driving with his left hand in order to not disturb his right shoulder. Miles of road disappeared under the hood of his car as the radio played absently, filling the lonely silence of the car.

. Edward's mind was racing, thinking about whether or not he'd be able to play next week, whether or not his collarbone was broken. He was thinking about Emmett's sister, Bella. He had taken enough Spanish to know that the name meant beauty. But was she beautiful? Edward's taste consisted of curvier, model types with the standard blonde hair and blue eyes, not the milky brown waves that cascaded down Bella's shoulders, not the chocolate-colored eyes that had looked at Edward with so much concern. He slapped those thoughts away, connecting his iPod to his car and cranking up "99 Problems" by Jay Z, swearing to make it his new anthem. He pulled into the driveway of his countryside mansion about an hour later, happy when the gates swung open, happily awaiting his arrival.

. His house was made of stone blocks, stacked in colors of blue-gray, cream, and gray. The roof was shingled with gray tiles and loomed three stories with an oak tree in the front yard rivaling its height. It was his second big purchase of his NFL career. His doorman greeted him as he pulled up to the sidewalk. Throwing the car into park, he slid out and walked into his house, wanting nothing more than to call his buddies and have an all-night Xbox party. His plans were shot down as he opened his door and was immediately bombarded by his step-mother, cooing over his shoulder and asking how he was feeling.

. "Are you sure you don't want to sit down, darling?" she asked, concern flashing through her light amber eyes. Edward shook his head, standing in the entryway awkwardly, the chandelier flooding light over the room. He slid his shoes off and pressed his feet into the thick Persian rug, waiting for a bomb to be dropped.

. "Son," his father, Carlisle, looked at Edward with the same, clear green eyes. His light blond hair was combed perfectly, completing the dreamy doctor style his father was famous for. "We believe that you need someone to…look after you while you recover, you know, cook, clean, get the bills. Just simple things that will make your recovery process less painful." Edward's jaw dropped as he looked at his father. Carlisle of all people should understand how much Edward valued his independence. Carlisle had been emancipated when he was sixteen, not wanting to continue to live under his father's roof and play by his father's roof.

. "But, Dad!" he complained as if he were fourteen again. His eyebrows knit together in anger as he tried to dissect the meaning behind his father wanting someone to take care of him. He couldn't come up with anything, so he continued to glare at his father.

. "No buts, Edward," Esme piped up, her face flushed. Edward's green eyes met her amber ones, and he immediately dropped his gaze, slightly ashamed of himself. "She's just going to stay at your house until you can play again."

. "You just wanna make sure I don't do anything stupid," he retorted, earning a nod from his father.

. "You are correct," Carlisle muttered, looking toward the oak archway that lead to Edward's state-of-the-art, never-been-used kitchen. Edward's eyes widened as they connected with a set of chocolate brown irises belonging to a girl standing shyly in the kitchen, her expression unsure. "So no more complaining." Carlisle's voice was muted by the blood thundering in Edward's ears as his heart began hammering twenty times faster in his chest.

. "I'm not complaining," he muttered. And he wasn't, not anymore.


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