Chapter Sixteen
Edward called on a Thursday night at 12:47 a.m. I was sleeping, but I answered. I sat up straight, the phone pressed tightly to my ear.
"Are you okay?" I practically shouted into the dark, my heart pounding while I fumbled for the light switch.
"Do you have my hat?"
"Edward?"
"Sorry, I know it's late." His voice had this gruff grit to it, and I wasn't sure if it was the cigarettes or the lateness of the hour or what making him sound so... urgent. "I don't sleep so well. But I've been ripping my room apart and I can't find my hat. The one with the initials burned on the brim?"
"I have it," I said, resting back against my pillows. I had to brush the hair from my eyes so I could think clearly. "Do you want it?"
"No, I'm just trying to…I don't know. Put things in order. Back together. Or just…I have no idea what the hell happened to my old Nikes, either. Do you have those?"
"No? But your mom didn't throw anything away," I offered. The normalcy of this phone call made me exhale with relief. I heard rustling and a few thumps, and in my sleepy haze, it occurred to me I was just here. On the phone. With Edward. "Emmett threw your regional win ball thing on your birthday, though, in case you're looking for that, too."
"That fucker," he said under his breath, then kind of laughed. "Why the hell would he do that?"
"Umm, because it was symbolic and cathartic at the time?"
"You were there?" he asked, and it was silent on both ends for a moment.
"Yeah. Your birthday, you know? Emmett and I were together that day."
"I was watching Robocop," he blurted out.
"What?"
"On my birthday, I watched Robocop. It was on TV." It was quiet while I thought of that, thought back on that day, and now I knew. I knew what he was doing the moment I was thinking of him. I don't know if what I was feeling now was relief or renewed pain mixed with guilt and regret and that awful fucking hindsight.
"When I found out that it was him…Edward. I am so sorry. I am so-"
"Bella, that is- you can't do that. I can't do that. I mean, it happened, and for a long time I went over how I could have or should have and all of that, but…what the fuck is that going to get any of us?" I chewed on my lip before replying, my response slow and thoughtful.
"I know that logically. But we saw him that day and that motherfucker knew. We went on and had such a day…we laughed about him, remember?"
"Yeah. I remember all of it," he whispered. He cleared his throat. "Look, I don't want to think of him right now. I do that all damned day in therapy. So."
"Okay."
"I can't believe you two lost my fucking ball," he said weakly, but not without humor.
"I'm sorry." My laughter was easy, because this part was always easy. Light jokes at the other's expense. That I could handle.
"In the grand scheme of shit I lost, it's no big deal," he sighed. "I just ripped everything out of my closet. I have to start…putting it all back together, and that will take awhile," he said, and he sounded weighed down, tired. I wondered if there was more than just the obvious meaning to his words.
"Can I ask you something?" I said in a rush, before I could take the time to regret the line of thinking. "And just like the other day, when you spoke, no weight or expectations behind it?"
He was quiet for a second.
"I don't want to get into anything about the time I was away. Not right now. It's late, and I-"
"Not that."
"Okay."
"Why Tanya? Strictly out of curiosity."
"Bella Swan. What do you do to me?" he breathed out. "In some ways, you're the easiest person to talk to, but in other ways... you're the most difficult."
"I don't mean to make you-"
"It's not you. Nothing you do. Just who we were," he said. His voice was whispers and grit, quiet thoughts and maybe yearning. I breathed it in and listened. "But that's not what you asked. So. Tanya. The short of it is- she has no idea who I was before. She has absolutely no expectations of Edward being Edward. I didn't have to try to be who I was when she's around."
"You don't have to do that with me, either," I said, not in a pathetic grasp, but just so he'd know.
"Right," he breathed. "But what if you don't like who I am now?" The words hung there, full of fear and doubt and so sad I had to catch my breath.
"Edward. How can you even think that?" I asked, my heart turning into this big bruise for him, because of what he said and how he said it. So unsure, as if I could ever just not like him. So unsure of who he is now.
"Don't say anything you don't know for sure. Because your opinion of me matters like. The most. I just…need you and me to be a thing that was good,always. You know? And I need you to only know, really know, that guy. The guy I was before all of this- because remember?"
"Remember what?" I whispered, my lips barely moving.
"I was the best," he whispered, and I swear to God, his voice cracked the moment my heart did. "And you deserve the best, B."
"Please," I said, and my face crumpled, along with my body, until my forehead found my bent knees. I listened to him breathing on the other end. "Please don't say that."
Those words- our old joke- and the fact that it now had this new meaning, this terrible, untrue ring to it for him made me want to shout in his face, to wake up, to see it was never about Best, but Best For Me. Even if it were, he was still best.
"Listen for a second and don't try to disagree or whatever, okay?"
"Okay." I readjusted myself on my pillow, ready for whatever he had to tell me.
"For a long time, I looked at my face and I hated it. I thought of my talent- this fucking arm- and I hated it. I am what he was after. I, me physically, am the cause of this. And so, baby, it's been real hard to even live in this body. My own body was—is—I don't even know—foreign. Hurts in ways and places that…pffff. I look down at myself sometimes and it's like, not even me. It's this thing that caused hell and certain actual parts of me I have to carry forever. Some days that's okay and some days, I think of things that happened and I just. I don't expect you or anyone to not see that. I mean, I get what Jasper's issue was-"
"Edward-"
"Seriously, stop. I know this all sounds illogical. I know that. I'm working on that. It's getting better, it is. But how was I supposed to go to the best person I knew, the one person I held in the highest regard…and let her see me the way I saw me? The thing is, out of everyone, you knew me best. You knew me beyond baseball and smart ass remarks and the reckless driver…you knew me." He took a deep breath and said, "So you'll see the differences clearer than anyone else, too. And I didn't want you to. It's more than just me, Bell. How could I do that to you? I didn't want this great, dumb thing we had to be ruined for you, and I didn't want to lay all this really shitty baggage on you. You were dealt enough."
"But you shut me out," I said, and this ire and kind of blueness was in my voice. "I don't want to say you had no right to do that—I get that you had to deal and had to have…well. All the rights you wanted. But Edward, no one missed you like I did. I know your parents—you know what I mean. I know Emmett missed you, but not like I did. Not in the way I did. Not in the way my whole future and present disappeared when you left and Emmett got let right back in. And I'm glad. I'm glad you had him. But I didn't get why him and not me."
"It could have been him."
"What?"
"It wasn't necessarily going to be me. I mean, I was his first fucking choice but really, it was just—a toss of the fucking dice. I think if Em made it there first, it would've been him. Vouch had said…I just know that. Okay?"
"Does Emmett know that?" I whispered, my mind reeling.
"Yup. Came out at the trial."
And instantly—Emmett's defense of Edward, the way he hit Jasper for saying what he did, his understanding, his loyalty—everything made absolute sense. Emmett could have been Edward, and he knew it. Emmett was reacting on his own behalf as much as he was Edward's. And he must've felt the heaviest burden of…everything for that.
Edward had taken the fall for the team. In the worst way possible.
"I don't really want to get into that right now. But. That's why."
"I didn't know that."
"You couldn't have. And that's Em's deal. So."
"I'm not going to disagree with your feelings or whatever, but can I speak mine?"
"Yeah."
I took a breath and it occurred to me that the only person I wanted to talk to about any of this, even when I couldn't, was Edward. And here he was. Listening.
"I know that what happened changed you. I know it because it changed me, too. But I hope you see that it doesn't make you ugly or unwanted or any less of how great you were. I see you, and I still see the best."
"I feel different, though," he whispered. "In some ways. Hey? Tell me about it?"
"About what?"
"You. While I was gone."
For so long, I was afraid of seeming or acting or thinking selfishly, of making any of this nightmare about me. I took care that the focus was on Edward, as it should be. But that didn't mean I wasn't hurt or struggling or fucked over, too. The ironic part was, he seemed to be the only one to see that.
"It was really bad," I said, my voice cracking, but then it all came out. I told him about those nights of painful desperation, of knowing he must be out there, somewhere, but not being able to see his face or hear his voice. I told him about afternoons spent lying on his bed and minutes spent in the shower, crying until my knees gave out. About time I spent with his mother and time spent fantasizing about his return and of school dances where I wandered alone. I told him about the sharp but blunt facts of just missing him and all the while, he listened. He listened to every sad and desolate and aching feeling or thought I'd had while he was gone. He listened when I just had to stop and cry for all of it again. And I couldn't be sure, but I think he cried a little bit for it, too.
"I hate that knowing me did this to you," he said.
"Edward, no. Don't blame-"
"At the same time," he continued, "I'm sorry, but I can't regret it. I thought of you, mostly at night."
"You did?"
"Yeah. At first, I thought about you and everyone all the time, like this desperate panic to get home? After awhile, I'd only let myself think of you at night. I didn't want to… I didn't want for any part of you to be tied up with all of that. I couldn't think of you when I heard his voice or saw his fucking face—and I would like, look forward to night, to going to bed so I could just…remember. Make shit up in my head. Love you, I guess."
"I did that, too." He blew out a breath and I stopped and listened to his breathing. It's kind of stupid, how important hearing him breathe had become to me.
"Well. Anyway. To be honest, I don't like the Tanya thing, but I guess I get it."
"Hah. At least one of us does," he said with a tired laugh.
"What? Things cooling off?"
"They were never that hot."
"What?" I asked.
"I don't have sex. Or anything close to it," he said, and it sounded like a line he was pretty used to saying. I guess it made sense, but it shocked the hell out of me. "And she doesn't really go for that. So."
"You don't?"
"No," he said, kind of dragging out the word. Possibly teasing me. "She just…doesn't say much and so I didn't have to, either. It got me out of the house and I could be quiet with no one worried or looking at me like I'm not me. And then she wanted to, you know. Progress, which is fair and normal, but I'm neither of those these days. I haven't even taken my shirt off in front of…well. Anyone since the day Jasper and Emmett fucked up my hair. Listen. I'm gonna go, okay? I just destroyed my whole…everything trying to look for stuff. I've got a big fucking mess to clean up."
"Okay," I whispered. It was quiet save for a couple of thumps and some rustling in the background.
"Huh," he uttered, kind of distracted.
"What?" I asked, sniffling and running a hand under my nose.
"I found one of the shoes."
xxxxx
I called him the next night at practically the same time he'd called me. I had a flashlight in one hand and my phone, shaking, in the other.
"Bella?" he answered.
"Yeah, hello," I said, trying to shake off the nerves that were choking me.
"Hi?"
"Forever ago, you told me you'd follow me anywhere."
"Forever ago was—forever ago," he said with a small laugh.
"I'm holding you to it anyway," I said, trying for sass or moxie, hoping like hell I wasn't pushing him in a way that I should not.
"Well. Why the hell not?" he asked.
"Seriously?"
"Sure. I got shit else to do. Where am I following you?"
"Well."
Less than twenty minutes later found us standing in the middle of the field, hoods up, my flashlight the only beam of awake for miles.
"You okay?" I asked him as he gazed out at the field, his eyes guarded and dark. I almost called it off.
He nodded and jammed his fists in the front pocket of his sweatshirt. "I'm good."
I handed him an extra flashlight, one of Charlie's ancient, silver Mag-Lites that are heavier than shit that I pilfered ages ago. I swung my own identical light in wide arcs, the grass in the field seeming gray or maybe colorless in the rapid flashes of the dim beam.
"Are we telling ghost stories?" he said, turning his light on and pointing it upward at his face.
"No. We're looking for your ball." His face fell and he kind of shook his head before taking a step back.
"Forget it."
"I think if we just look in the general vicinity, I mean, no one goes back that far in the woods-" He cut me off with a baleful look and I closed my eyes, taking a deep, fortifying breath.
"I didn't even think…"
"It's okay," he said. "I like that you didn't think of it. But there is just no way to find that thing. It's been through seasons and fucking…wolves or whatever," he said, turning away from me. "Come on."
"No," I said, my feet planted in the muddy ground.
"I'm not leaving you out here alone."
"Good. Then you might as well help me look," I said, taking off in the other direction.
"Bella! This is pointless and I want to go back-"
I stopped and took a breath, really aware that I might be about to manipulate him in the worst way…but then. Greater good and all that. And really, I spent a long time not acting selfishly. So.
"You shut me out," I shouted, my voice echoing off the trees, the stars, and his ears. "I hurt, too! I am in this, too! I have cried and hurt and I lost me for you—then but even now, too! Still! I am tripping over you and not over it, not by a long shot. I have been patient and quiet and selfless, and I saw you with her. I saw you smiling at everyone else but you chose not me when I give and give up everything, and I do it with a fucking smile!" I went on, raving with shouts and angry tears, my finger pointed right at him. "And I have made myself okay with that for you! I let you—I gave you your time and don't get me wrong, I'd do it all again—I would do anything for you. It is so all about you all the damned time, so please. Do this for me. You…you. You owe me."
I could not believe the look on his shadowed, moonlit face when he pointed the flashlight back at me. Shock and anger and disbelief, the vein crawling up his neck looking ready to burst and for a second, I knew it was too much. I thought he might cry. I thought I may have just pushed him right back into regression or at the very least, into a strong hatred for me.
"I owe you?" he asked quietly, eyes narrowing.
"Yes," I said, not too sure, but I couldn't flounder now, so I held my chin up and crossed my arms, blinking the tears back.
"I owe you," he repeated, shining that light right at my face. "I cannot believe you just said that to me. Did you grow big brass balls while I was away?"
"No. I always had those," I sniffed. He laughed, a short, bark of a noise.
"I owe you," he repeated , shaking his head, spitting the words. "What are you gonna do, Bella? Hate me for it? Hate me for letting it happen to me? To you? I promise you," he sneered, his mouth curled, his eyes red with tears, "I hate myself enough for the both of us."
"I know you didn't let it happen!" I shouted back. "I know that, you giant, misunderstanding a-hole! I don't hate you. I don't blame you for what happened—to me or to you. I never have, and I could never hate you!"
"This is—this is exactly why I stayed away from you. Do you see that now? I didn't want you to think of me in this way. I can't stand to have you to think of me this way!"
"My anger with you right now has nothing to do with then and everything to do with the fact that you're currently acting stubborn, which, newsflash, is exactly how you were before!" And with that last shouted invective, we stared at each other, pointing beams of light in each other's faces, our breathing hard, my throat raw and his eyes wet.
"You're mad at me for being the same?" he finally asked. His mouth kind of ticked up on one side.
"You're being ridiculous. If that's not par for the course, then I don't know what is."
"You are the first person to speak to me that way. Since. Other than my shrink," he said with a bit of wonder, then he shook his head.
"You need to be held accountable. You said so yourself. It's this way," I said, then turned to walk again, my insides melting with relief when I heard him follow.
"That was…weirdly, really good," he said behind me.
"What?" I asked, because I was still pissed about it.
"To be taken seriously enough or stable enough to be yelled at," he said. We walked about twenty yards before I spoke again.
"I didn't mean you owe me," I said. "I meant more…."
"I know what you meant," he said.
"Okay."
We walked again, twigs snapping under our feet, the rustle of leaves and a not entirely bad tension between us.
"Why are we doing this? I don't really care about the ball. It's gone. Some things I won't get back. It's fine."
"And some things you will if you just look."
"Bella-"
"It's important. To me. Okay?"
"You realize if we find this ball, it's going to be destroyed and all fucked up," he said. "And we're never going to find it."
"Yeah well. I've been told that before," I muttered. From the corner of my eye I saw his beam of light go still for a moment before he sighed.
"You think it's this way?" he finally asked.
Onward we went, sometimes side by side, sometimes veering apart, but never too far from the other.
"If my mom wakes up, she's going to die if I'm not there," he said after some time. A long time.
"I know," I sighed, near giving up. "I know."
"Look, it's okay," he said. "I gotta get back, Bella. I can't just not be there. My mom is…pfff. She forgets that I'm a legal adult. Which I get," he said, then turned his light on me and kind of smiled. "But I gotta get the fuck outta here."
"What?" I asked.
"I understand she's worried all the time. Obviously. But she's going to just hover over me like I'm ten years old, and I get her need to do that. I do. At the same time…I'd like to be an adult someday," he laughed.
"Where?" I rasped out. "Where are you going?"
"Oh shit. I don't know. I have no plans. Just. It's coming. I can feel it. I can't stay here. You know? I can't stay here."
"Yeah," I said, then turned the beam away from him pretending to scan the woods.
"I'm going to Chicago next week, though."
"You are?"
"Yeah. My grandparents… Gramps can't travel, and they've been wanting to…I don't know. Feed me cookies. I'm going for a weekend with my parents. They say it's for them, but. Between you and me?" he said, then I turned and he leaned forward and made a show of mock whispering, "I think they want to get me out on a supervised trip."
I blinked back at him. He looked like a grown up man, hood up, a shadow of a beard showing, eyes tired from seeing far, far too much. And here he was, being regarded like an invalid child. It had to be so damned hard. To be him.
"Will they pack you juice and goldfish crackers for the trip?" I asked, and it sounded so serious and grave, because I meant to say something serious and grave. But I don't know. It was him and it was me and that's what came out.
The thing about change is it happens. People and circumstances and hell and miracles happen, and you just change. Courses and thoughts and ideals and plans—but. We were still fundamentally us. These foundations do not change because you cannot rewrite history. When you least expect it to? That part that is the core of you just pokes through.
"You're still an asshole."
"Yes," I confirmed with a nod.
"I'm glad that hasn't changed. And it'll be animal crackers and milk."
"Yum," I sighed. "We can go back."
"For what it's worth, I appreciate the effort," he said.
"Edward. No you do not. You thought it was a shitty idea from the get-go."
"It was a shitty idea," he confirmed, lifting a hanging branch out of his way, then holding it up for me.
"Go back to humoring me."
"Do I owe that to you?" he scoffed. "Because if I owe you-"
"I didn't mean it that way!"
"I know. But I think I missed giving you shit."
"Oh, good. That part remains unscathed. That's great, that's just-" Before I could finish my fake tirade, I tripped and yelped, reaching for the back of his shirt on my way down. He jerked at the sudden touch, dodging my grabbing hands. He swore loudly and turned fast, trying to grab for me on my way down, but it was too late. I landed on my palms and knees, my Cop light tumbling and rolling away.
"Shit! Bell, I'm so…" He squatted down in front of me, and I saw that his eyes had gone from the easy way we had to a kind of startled, wild look. "I'm sorry. I—you grabbed and I'm not—my nerves are still kind of shot," he finished quietly. It was plain to see.
It was plain to see that while his confidence was coming back, his fun and his easiness was still there, just blanketed and so easily overtaken- by anxiety, by insecurity, and by a marked uneasiness that could surface at any time. It was getting better, but still far from over. And it might never be.
"It's okay," I said, wincing as I rose to my knees and rubbed my palms onto my thighs. "I fall all the time, you know that. I've got callouses and man hands..." I trailed off, all attempt at jokes falling flat. He said nothing. His eyebrows furrowed as he slowly reached for my hands and I held them, palm up.
"Dammit," he whispered, squinting at the dirt and muck. "I'm sorry."
"You don't have to—I'm fine," I said with a smile, reaching for my flashlight before he made contact because it seemed like he really was hesitating with it, like his heart was still pounding, his face flushed.
"Okay," he said nodding, then repeating in a whisper, "okay."
"Ugh, this mud—what?" I asked, seeing his widening eyes, staring just past me, his own beam of light over my shoulder. "Oh God, is it a wolf?"
He didn't answer, but that quick arm came over my shoulder and he hovered over me for a second before sitting back, then scrambling for the flashlight to our left.
In his hand, between us, was that ball.
"Holy shit," he breathed. I looked to his face, then back down to the ball.
His fingers started to slowly peel back muck, leaves, mud, slime and even some moss. He patiently and carefully worked away all the damage that had been done. Then I joined in, my movements much quicker and rushing his slow hand.
It was destroyed. By animals that lurk in the sun and in the dark, by harsh and cruel elements…but it was there. After we cleaned it as best we could, it was still fucked up, but it was easy to see it was still the same ball, still right there underneath all of that damage and destruction.
"This is crazy," he murmured. He smiled up at me, his head tilted to the side, his eyes so happy. Then his brows drew together and he shook his head. "Thank you. I guess I didn't realize how much I wanted it. Thank you for…"
"I'm only going to admit now that I really didn't think we'd find it," I said with a rushed, relieved laugh.
"And I thought we might," he said hopping up and brushing off his hands.
"You did not," I laughed, getting to my feet.
"Sure I did," he said with real confidence. He tossed the ball up and caught it quickly with one hand, still beaming from our find. "I just thought it'd take longer."
"Really?" I asked, taking the ball from him.
"Gotta have faith, B," he said. He pulled his hood up and wandered ahead of me. I watched him mosey along, a stupid smile on my face.