A/N: I've spent the past few months slowly reworking (and in some cases, rewriting) previous chapters in this story. I was struggling with the way I wrote/planned things, and I just couldn't get motivated to write anything new until I'd fixed those prior bugs. Regardless, thanks for your patience.

A quick reread is probably warranted, though, because a) It's been a hellova long time, and b) I changed shit.

Here we go, then. Yeah?

Chapter 14

-0-0-0-

I'm uncomfortable standing here, and I wonder briefly if this is what Edward must feel like; taking the first step, making the first move, feeling vulnerable.

I ring the doorbell once and follow its chimes with a series of rapid-fire knocks. The tale-tell sounds of scuffling coming from behind the door make it obvious someone is home. I'm no fool; this has bad idea written all over it. I've never been to Edward's house—condo, rather—and I would certainly never have thought that my first time would put me standing, uninvited, on his front stoop at ten o'clock in the evening.

After putting Ava to bed a few hours ago, I'd chewed my nails to the quick while mentally replaying my fight with Edward. On a whim, I'd decided that I wouldn't be able to sleep without properly apologizing for my outburst, and I set out to find his address. Rose had tried—and failed— to talk some sense into me, but I could not...would not be deterred. The rest, as they say, is history.

And so here I stand.

The door swings open suddenly and, although I was obviously waiting for a similar occurrence, I'm startled and lunge backward.

Edward stands in the space between his door and its frame. Rumpled and wary, he eyes me hesitantly.

His eyebrows furrow in confusion, and his hand leaves the door to tug self-consciously at his hair. "Bella," he says. "What're you doing here?"

"Hi," I say stupidly, shrugging. "I wanted to come by and apologize for the way I acted earlier."

The door opens wider and Edward steps toward me, one hand resting against the back of his neck, the other folded across his chest. "You want to apologize? To me?" He barks out a laugh and shrugs his shoulders. "What for?" He sounds perplexed, and a look of complete confusion overrides the tiredness of his features.

"I don't really know," I begin, because I figure it's the truth or nothing at all moving forward, and—truth be told—I really don't know why it bothers me that I insulted him or hurt his feelings. I'm hoping to figure that part out myself. "Because I was intentionally hurtful, I guess."

"Bella, no," he closes his eyes briefly. "You don't owe me an apology." He seems to realize at that moment that he's still inside the condo and I'm still on the front porch, because he steps aside and holds the door back for me. "Please," he says softly, "come in."

Stepping cautiously past him and into his entry way, I'm overcome by the intoxicating smell of him, and my heart squeezes bittersweetly at his familiar and comforting scent.

He leads me through a sparse entryway and into a family room where a television screen on the largest wall flashes with bright colors, and a low, muffled voice filters through two small speakers sitting on bookcases flanking a cozy fireplace.

A plush, tan couch faces the television, and a book-covered ottoman is pulled haphazardly toward it. The walls are blank, mostly, but the room has the same familiar feeling of warmth and comfort that Edward exudes, leading me to wonder if Edward himself is responsible for bringing this feeling into the room, or if it's just the decor.

"Wait a minute." I pause mid-step behind the couch and nod toward the T.V. "Is that...? Are you watching Crocodile Hunter?"

He gapes at me appallingly. "That is most certainly not Crocodile Hunter," he says, walking toward the ottoman and grabbing a large remote control. He presses a button and the picture pauses, the skewed face of a khaki-clad man in the middle of a jungle standing frozen on the screen. "That is Jeff Corwin. He's legit. Steve Irwin was...not."

"Right," I say, chuckling. He's surprisingly passionate about his men in khaki, and I can't help but notice how very...human he seems in this moment, wearing only a white undershirt and a pair of gym shorts. My favorite moments with him, I'm realizing, are when his guard is down and he's a softer, less guarded version of himself.

Edward tosses the remote back on the ottoman and throws himself down on the couch, his head leaning against its back, his legs spread out comfortably wide. "Have a seat," he says, gesturing to the connecting chaise lounge on his right.

I walk around the back of the couch and sit tentatively, keeping my back straight and both feet on the floor.

"So," he says, once I'm settled. He raises his eyebrows and waits for me to elaborate as to why I'm here, no doubt.

Not really understanding my reasons for this visit myself, I'm stuck wondering if this might have been a bad idea. Edward waits patiently while the thoughts in my head flitter back and forth between leaving—having said nothing at all—and laying everything out on the table.

I choose the latter.

"So," I say, and take a deep, cleansing breath. "I'm just going to say what I'm thinking, because, like you, I'm tired of all the back and forth stuff."

We stare at each other beneath the soft glow of the lamp in the corner of the room until I break his gaze to examine my nails with unnecessary concentration. "Because...I mean...I think you're really great, Edward," I say, glancing up quickly to catch his intense gaze. "The new you, that is. The old one...not so much." The tension is immediately lessened when we both laugh comfortably.

I relax a bit and lean back against the cushions, pulling one leg up and wrapping my arms around it.

Sitting forward, he rests his elbows on his knees and rolls his hands as if to say move it along. "But..."

"Yes, but," I say, matching his tone. "I'm not really sure what your goal is here," I finish, waving my hands between the two of us.

He doesn't say anything for a moment, and I blunder on in an attempt to lessen the amount of awkward silence between us. "I mean, we're friends, obviously...and I really enjoy being around you...but friends don't get all weird when they run into each other while they're on a date," I say softly. "With someone else."

His cheeks flush at the realization that I'm talking about his reaction to seeing me at the restaurant a few nights ago. "Right," he replies with a small grimace. "I'm sorry about that."

"Please don't be sorry, Edward," I say, leaning toward where he's now perched on the edge of his seat. "I'm not looking for an apology. Not at all. I just want to figure this out so we can move forward together..." I pause, embarrassed by the implications of what I've just said. "...or whatever. Drama free."

He's always such an intense listener—a trait of his I really admire—and now is no exception. I'm completely taken aback when he suddenly clasps his hands and gives his shoulders a relaxed shrug. "Drama free is good. I can do that," he says, smiling gently. He takes a deep breath and glances at me warily, as if he's worried about how I'll handle what he's about to say. Immediately, my palms start to sweat and my stomach begins to flutter.

"It's pretty simple, for me," he begins. "I want to be in your life. I want a chance to know Ava, make up for all the time I've missed with her. With you. I want a chance to prove to you—to myself—that I'm a better person than I was at eighteen."

Eyeing me somewhat apprehensively, he shrugs as if to indicate that's really all there is to it.

"You're proving yourself all the time, Edward," I say, and he looks somewhat mollified. "But, these things take time. Lots of time, in my case. It's so important to me that I protect...our daughter." It's the first time I've called her ours in front of him, and I'm surprised how easy it feels and how good it feels to say it. If the way the corners of his mouth turn up is any indication, I think he likes it too.

"I understand," he says hesitantly, his small smile replaced by a look of concentration. "But, just..." He frowns as he looks down at his hands, flexing his fingers open and close. "What?" I prompt him. "Just know that you don't have to protect her. Not anymore. Not from me." His face is so pure and vulnerable in this moment that it hurts my heart. I've wanted him to want her for so long.

"I trust you," I tell him, and reach out a hand to close it around his. Squeezing, I give him a reassuring smile. My words have likely surprised him as much as they've surprised me, but they're true. I do trust him, and I do see that he's changed.

He tugs my hand and pulls me lightly until I'm kneeling next to him. Before I even have a chance to fully panic about the closeness of our proximity, he wraps his arms around me and pulls me against his chest in a tight hug. Smiling against his shoulder, I hug him back.

-0-0-0-

"So can I ask you an uncomfortable question?" We're side-by-side on Edward's leather couch, each of us clutching a mostly-full beer. It feels good to have something to do with my hands, and I peel away at the label while I consider what Edward intends to ask me. Leaning my head against the back of the couch, I raise my eyebrows expectantly, indicating that the floor is open for conversation...uncomfortable questions and all.

Edward leans forward and swings his beer bottle between his spread knees. I can see his jaw working from my spot on the couch beside him, and I know him well enough to know that he's really thinking hard about what he wants to say. "I'm an open book," I tease him, poking my socked toes into his side. He grins and squirms away from me, setting his still-full beer bottle on a nearby side table in the process. Turning to face me, he mirrors my pose and leans his head against the couch, as well.

"I'm just curious," he prefaces, "And you don't even have to answer if you don't want to..."

"What?" I interrupt. "Just spit it out."

I watch the corner of his jaw jump as he considers his words. "I just wondered if she's ever asked about me." The apples of his cheeks turn pink, and he picks at an errant thread on the hem of his shorts. He cares, I think as he shrugs sheepishly and avoids my eyes.

"All she's ever known is Emmett," I answer him quietly, and I wonder if my words comfort him or heighten his regret. His face shows his disappointment, and I rush to fill in the blanks. "It's for the best, Edward." I wedge my toes under his thigh, hoping that my closeness will help to soften my words. "Ava's had Emmett by her side since before she was born. He's all she's ever known, and he's filled a void in her that she doesn't even realize she has. I know it's hard to hear, but it's a good thing she doesn't ask about you. It means she's happy, and that she's not aware of our past mistakes." I watch his face as he digests what I've said. We're at a point, I think, after the ups and downs of the past few days, where we can finally be completely honest with each other. Some things hurt to hear, but they need to be said.

"My turn." I nudge him with foot. "Can I ask you a hard question now?" He wiggles a bit like he's settling in and closes his eyes; head tilted back against the cushion. If possible, his jaw seems sharper from this angle, and I clasp my hands and tuck them in my lap to keep from touching him. "What made you change your mind?" I ask. Then, to clarify, "I mean, about coming back for us." I squeeze my eyes against my embarrassment and try again. "Sorry. That didn't come out right. I know you didn't come back for us, but-"

"I know what you mean," he interrupts me, relieving me from having to talk my way out of my own mess. He sighs deeply and turns to face me. "I know it seemed like I never cared, but I did," he says, grabbing my ankle and holding it tightly. "I cared so much it scared me. And—since we're being honest here—I was just a selfish kid. I didn't want to care because caring meant giving up my future plans, and I was too selfish to do that." His hand squeezes my ankle, his thumb brushing circles against my skin. "But that doesn't mean it was easy to leave you. And it doesn't mean I haven't thought about you every day since then."

It hurts to hear him talk about choosing college over involvement in the life of our baby, but I appreciate his honesty, and it's obvious that he's given this topic quite a bit of thought. "I came back," he continues, "because I obviously chose poorly. I have a daughter, and she doesn't even know I exist." His voice shakes with emotion on the last word, but the irony of this situation is not lost on me. I cried for years because he choose a life in which Ava and I did not exist. I know how much this hurts.

"What a mess, huh?" I sigh and lean my head against his shoulder. He chuckles, the rumble in his laugh vibrating my head. "You want a fresh drink?" he asks me after a few quiet moments, nodding his head towards my still-full beer.

"I'd better not," I say with a sigh. "It's getting late; I should head home." Stretching, I move toward the edge of the couch, but Edward stills my movement with a warm palm on my denim-covered knee.

"Hey, Birdie?" he says softly.

"That nickname," I groan. "I want to kill Emmett all over again each time I hear it." I turn to look at him, noticing the way his eyes dance with mirth and how they appear clear and light for the first time tonight.

He grins at me and pulls me in for a hug, tucking my head under his chin. "Thanks for listening," he says, squeezing me tight. "I'm really trying hard to fix my mistakes." Pulling back, he eyes me warily, searching my face for permission to continue.

"What?" I ask quietly.

His hands rest lightly on my knees before he squeezes them both in tandem. "I'd like to meet my daughter," he whispers.

I place my hand over his, threading our fingers and pouring seven years of hope, pain, and chance into my answering squeeze. "I think it might be time."

Thanks for reading.