Many thanks to my fabulous beta, Tiffanyanne3.

Chapter 3

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My lungs feel like they're being crushed, and I can hear my heart pounding in my ears. In addition to feeling physical pain at the mention of his name—Edward Cullen—I'm mad. Mad that those two words alone still warrant such a strong reaction from me, even after all these years.

My mind races with a myriad of thoughts and scenarios, and I try desperately to wrap my brain around why he would be visiting Emmett's bank. Was it a coincidence? Did he want to speak to Emmett? Did he want to speak to Emmett about me? Or—I choke on a sob—Ava?

The ringing of my cell phone snaps me out of my daze and forces me to pull the first deep breath I've taken in what must have been minutes. Emmett's name blinks out a pattern on the screen, and I stare at it until my eyes blur.

"Hello?" I answer, my voice sounding tiny and far away in my own head.

"Where'd you go, Birdie?" Emmett asks as soon as he hears my voice. "Did you see my text? I wrote to tell you that Edward Cul—"

"I got it, Emmett," I manage to grind out. "Jesus."

"Oh, come on, Birdie," Emmett's voice takes on a singsong quality. "Are you pissy? Don't be. He asked about you. Said to tell you hello…."

"Hello!" My free hand loses its grip on the steering wheel and curls into a fist in my lap. "Are you fucking kidding me, Emmett? HELLO?"

Emmett sighs heavily through the phone, and I can envision him rubbing his jaw sheepishly the way he always does when he knows he's in trouble. "Bella, come on. It's not like that. He's changed. Seems like he's in a good place."

"I can't do this right now," I hiss. "I'm on my way to school, and then work. And after that, Emmett, I'm heading home to eat dinner with my daughter. You know, my daughter? The same sweet little girl that Edward Cullen has wanted nothing to do with from the start?" My voice gets louder and louder as I unleash six years' worth of pent up emotions on my brother.

"I know," my brother says with a sigh. "I just—"

Exasperated, I interrupt him before he can make his point. "That's just it, Emmett, you do know. You've been there every moment of Ava's life. You stepped up when he didn't, which is why a fucking 'hello' from him doesn't mean shit to me." I glance briefly at the clock on the dashboard and let out a pained groan. This unpleasant trip down memory lane has stolen ten minutes from my life and has guaranteed that I'll be late to my first class.

"You're right," Emmett concedes. "We'll talk tonight, Birdie, alright? Don't sweat it."

On the drive to school I feel torn between irritation with my brother for having mentioned his visitor, and guilt for being the reason that Emmett's relationship with Edward, his former best friend, has become nothing more than an occasional run-in.

.

.

Edward spends so much time at our house the summer before he and Emmett are due to leave for college that he might as well live here. It never occurs to me to ask him what his parents think of his obvious absence. I just assume that they must be okay with him sleeping on the couch in Emmett's room, eating the food that my mom continually forces on us, and showering in the bathroom that my brother and I share.

He leaves his baseball caps—all faded and worn, the bills curled in so much the sides almost touch—on the counter, and his toothbrush sits next to mine. One day, just before I stripped down to step in the shower, I pulled one of his caps down low over my eyes, just like he wears it, and stared at myself in the mirror. I instantly felt like a weirdo, and snatched it off my head. I set it back in the exact spot he'd left it, hoping he'd never notice.

I ponder my…obsession-for lack of a better word-with him on a near daily basis. He's done nothing to warrant such adoration from me, aside from being heartbreakingly beautiful. He rarely pays me any attention at all, unless it's to join in when Emmett's teasing me, which is often. I hate that he thinks of me as a kid—Emmett's little sister—so I spend each morning blow-drying my hair and putting on makeup to cover my freckles and sun-pinked cheeks, in a feeble attempt to look older and more mature like the girls that Emmett and Edward invite over. Their occasional visitors are a source of stress for my dad, and he gripes to Emmett every night at dinner to "tell 'em to put some damn clothes on," but nothing ever changes. On the contrary, in fact. I think Lauren Mallory's bikini gets a little smaller with each visit.

After checking my reflection once more in the fogged mirror, I open the bathroom door and step out into the hallway. Steam from my shower billows out around me, and once it clears I'm shocked to see Edward leaning against the banister across from me. While I did manage to put my makeup on and make sense of the mass of curls that adorn my head, I'm painfully aware that I'm wearing the same knee-length cutoffs that I wore the summer I turned twelve and one of Emmett's giant, old baseball t-shirts.

Edward's eyes roam over me lazily, and he snorts through his nose. "You look so much better without all that shit on your face," he tells me.

I turn ten shades of red, I'm sure of it, and stammer out an unintelligible string of syllables that are meant to sound like a defensive response.

He smirks at me and slowly pushes himself off the banister to walk closer to where I'm standing. So close, in fact, that I can see the blond in his eyelashes. He smells delicious, like sunscreen and syrup, and it makes me woozy. My palms are sweaty as he stands before me, looking down at me and studying me closely. When he slowly lifts his hand to my face, I'm worried I might pass out. I'm a mess of internal worry as his hand looms closer, wondering if he's going to stroke me, caress me, hug me….

His thumb makes a firm sweep from the bridge of my nose, across my cheek, to the outside corner of my eye.

He pulls it away from my face and holds it up for me to see. I'm mortified to see that his thumb is caked with makeup, and even further embarrassed when he smirks at me and says, "See? Much better."

My body is incapable of moving, so only my eyes follow his retreat into the bathroom. I wince slightly when he closes the door firmly behind him, and then I turn and make a beeline towards my parents' bathroom to wash my face.

.

.

I can't seem to snap out of the funk that hearing Edward is back in town has put me in. My school day proves worthless—my mind is too preoccupied with wondering why he's back. What's his goal? Why's he here? I mix up two orders at work and finally decide that my shift can't end fast enough. By the time I pull into the driveway of the little house that Ava and I share with Emmett, I'm nearly sick with worry.

Edward's arrival in town isn't all that mysterious, I reckon with myself. His mom and dad still live here, after all, and last I heard his sister has moved back, too. After some thought, I finally decide that it's his visit to Emmett's office that has me sweating the unknown. What could have potentially been an innocent attempt at playing catch- up with an old friend, carries much more weight since he impregnated that old friend's sister a handful of years ago, and decided he'd rather not play dad to their little girl.

After parking the car, I lean my head back heavily against the headrest in a futile attempt to compose myself before walking inside to greet Ava. She deserves nothing but the best from me, and I refuse to let her see me so obviously riddled with anxiety and fear. I'm certain I look a mess, a suspicion that is confirmed when I tug harshly at the rearview mirror and bring it down to my level. My eyes are red and swollen and I think I've aged another ten years just today. Smoothing my hair back from my face and wiping away the smeared mascara from under my eyes, I decide I look presentable enough and instead switch my focus to preparing myself mentally.

What will I say if Ava notices my less-than-perky mood? How will I answer her if she asks me what's wrong? She knows little more about Edward than the fact that he's not around, and I'm overcome with the realization that I'm just not ready to shatter her perfectly crafted bubble by letting pieces of information about him seep in.

Pushing open the front door, I'm greeted with a rush of cool air that brings with it the smell of the dinner Emmett's cooking, along with the natural smell of our house. Our home. The thought is enough to bring me to my knees. We've worked so hard for this, Em and I, and although times have been nothing but tough for the past six years, there was never a single moment when I questioned whether it was worth it.

"Mama!" Ava comes tearing around the corner and hugs my waist tightly. I put on my best smile for her and hug her back tighter. After a day like today, I'm more appreciative of the weight of her warm body pressed against my legs than ever before.

"My bug," I say. "How was your day?"

She simply shrugs, not one to ever elaborate about her school day. "Come see what we made you for supper!"

Her tiny hand tugs at mine, and instantly I feel the weight of my day roll off me in waves. I'm comforted by her presence, her touch. I follow her into the kitchen, where I find my brother standing at the stove, wearing my favorite red gingham & lace apron and stirring the mixings of something suspicious.

All day I've thought and thought about the past, the present, the future, and as I watch Emmett at the stove, I'm blindsided with pride and gratitude for everything he's done for Ava and me. After making my way over to the stove, I stop beside him and rest my head against his arm.

"Sloppy Joes for you, Birdie," he says and kisses the top of my head.

I wrinkle my nose in faux disgust. They're my favorite.

Ava tells me a little about her day while we set the table, and Emmett fills our plates high with slopped meat. Eventually, the three of us sit down to eat, like most nights, but after such a long day, today feels different. I can't help but stare back and forth between the two of them in adoration.

We're in the process of dissecting Ava's day when the phone in the kitchen rings shrilly.

Our parents are the only people to ever use our home phone number, so I internally roll my eyes at their bad timing and hop up quickly. The old wall-mounted phone rattles as it rings loudly once more, and I snatch it up fast, wrapping the twisted cord around my fist in habit.

"Hey…" I pause briefly to allow my mom or dad a chance to relay whatever message they've deemed important enough to interrupt our Sloppy Joe dinner.

"Bella? Um…Hi? It's me. Edward."

I pull in a sharp breath and stagger back from the receiver as though I've been burned. Outwardly, I'm all shaky hands and dropped breaths, but inside, my thoughts are flittering so fast that they're morphing into one long, low, buzzing sound.

Finally, after too much time has passed, I bring the receiver back to my ear and draw in a deep breath.

"How did you get this number?" I try to sound assertive, but it just comes out raspy and weak.

"Um…well…from Emmett, actually. I hope that's okay…I stopped by his office today and—"

"Fucking Emmett." I seethe.

"Huh?" He sounds confused.

"Did you need something, Edward? Did you want to speak to Emmett?" I'm nice. Too nice. I'm hoping to literally kill him with kindness.

"Uh…no. No, that won't be necessary. I was actually calling to speak with you, Bella." It's not lost on me that his voice wavers, and he sounds uncertain.

"Oh."

"I just—I just….well, I…." He's fumbling and stuttering all over the place, and suddenly my shock and anger turns to pure irritation.

"Look, Edward," I say. "We're in the middle of supper right now. I've got to run."

"Is there a better time to call?"

I let out a slow breath I didn't even realize I was holding. "I don't know. No…not really…."

"I'd really like to speak with you, Bel—"

"I've got to go, Edward. See you later." I gently place the phone back in its cradle and lean my back against the wall. My mind is such a vast array of what-the-fucks that I can hardly form a single clear thought.

After trudging slowly back to the dining room, I round the corner to see Ava and Emmett eating peacefully at the table, completely unaware of the shift my life…our life…has taken today.

Emmett leans back in his chair and rubs his stupid stomach. "Everything okay, Birdie?"

I gather every ounce of negative energy I have in me and throw it all his way in the form of a vicious scowl.

Fucking Emmett.

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