Chapter 21

I'm tangled up in sheets and limbs when I wake up the next morning. Ava's tucked against my side, one hand clutching the strap of my tank top, the other stretched out and holding on to…Edward.

Disoriented as I am, it takes a moment for my early-morning brain to catch up with my eyes, and when it does, last night's events begin splashing through my mind with vivid intensity. My date with Sam; Edward's phone call; returning home, post-date happy, to find him asleep in my bed with Ava.

Asleep.

In my bed.

I untangle from Ava's clutch and turn over gently, my experienced movements allowing me to clamber and climb without shifting the mattress and waking my girl. My bed feels different this morning, and my body can sense his warmth, but Edward's sleepy green eyes are a shock nonetheless. Sleep-tousled and soft, he's lying on his stomach, arms extended beneath his pillow—my pillow—still clutching the hand of his daughter. His smile for me is soft, but coupled with the way his long, lean body eats up all the empty space in my normally extra-roomy bed, my cheeks flush with heat, and I have to look away.

I've never woken up next to him before, and I don't know what comes next. Does he want to slip out quietly? Does he…shower in the mornings? Does he eat breakfast early or wait until later?

"Coffee?" I mouth, nodding my head in the direction of the kitchen. Edward's eyebrows slide upward in agreement, and he drops Ava's hand to lift his arms above his head in a pre-dawn stretch. His shirt climbs, his stomach shows…and I hurry forward with the delicate task of dismounting the bed without disturbing our daughter, keeping my back turned to give him privacy.

After making sure Ava's tucked and covered, I tiptoe to the kitchen and ready the pot for coffee, smoothing down my bedhead and righting my sleep-rumpled pajamas while I scoop and fill.

"Smells good," Edward comments a few moments later, sidling up beside me at the counter. "What can I do?"

His jaw is covered in day-old scruff and no two hairs on his head are pointing in the same direction. I'm sure my hair's doing a similar thing, but something tells me it probably doesn't look nearly as good on me as it does on him.

"What?" he asks, running his hands over his head bashfully. "That bad, huh?"

Laughing, I grab a cup of freshly brewed coffee and pass it to him. "It's…cute," I reply, shrugging.

"Cute," he grumbles, sipping from his mug. Wincing, he wrinkles his nose in distaste. "Creamer?"

"Coconut milk," I say, turning back to prepare my own cup. "It's in the fridge."

After rifling through the refrigerator, Edward finally finds the carton and squints at it curiously. "What…is this?"

"Exactly what it says." I laugh, pointing out the bold letters printed on the cardboard, "C-O-C-O-N-U—"

"No, yeah, I can read it, but…is this what you use in your coffee? No normal creamer? No sugar?" Carton in one hand, coffee mug in the other, he looks between them and me with distaste.

"It's less expensive," I point out. "And it's good for you." I move to pinch his waist, but there's absolutely no fat to be found.

"Less expen—Bella, this is exactly what I'm talking about." Our previously playful morning turns serious as he places his mug on the counter and closes the refrigerator door softly. He rounds on me, his heavy eyebrows wrinkled in concern. "Let me help you," he pleads quietly. "I hate the thought of you nickel-and-diming everything."

I reach past him and reopen the door, grabbing the carton of milk and twisting its lid. "I'm not nickel-and-diming everything," I state firmly. "It's healthier. And there's nothing wrong with me trying to cut costs where I can."

"I know. And I respect that…probably more than you'll ever know, but there're two of you and only one of me…I can help if you'll let me. Bella." He waits until I meet his eyes. "I want to provide for my daughter. Please."

Much more than money, this is about pride and control for me. Aside from my brother, I've needed very little help from anyone since I chose this path years ago. I wanted to prove that I'm capable and competent and willing to provide for my daughter…and I have. Maybe Edward just wants the same chance.

"Okay," I agree softly. "If stuff comes up for Ava, I'll let you know and we can talk about it together."

His shoulders relax, and he nods his head in agreement. "I'd like that," he says, smiling warmly. "This, though—" He points to the coconut milk. "I have to draw the line with this."

Happy at the change of topic, I laugh and swat his shoulder with my free hand. "Just try it!" I prod. "It's not that bad."

He grimaces exaggeratedly as he pours a tiny drop of milk into his coffee. "Does Sam drink coconut milk?" he asks playfully.

It's strange thinking of Sam while I'm sharing space with Edward. My daughter's father consumes me—he's a part of my memories and a part of my future, and there's a little piece of him sleeping in the next room. I don't have any of those connections with Sam, but that's appealing, too. A blank slate is refreshing. Sam doesn't remember me, young and dumb at fifteen—he doesn't know what I look like when my heart is breaking.

"We haven't gotten as far as comparing dairy-free milks yet, Edward,'' I say dryly. Chuckling, he follows me as I move to the breakfast room. The morning sun warms the table and chairs there, and I fold myself into one, tucking my bare feet beneath me.

Across from me, Edward sits and stretches his long legs, balancing his coffee cup on one thigh. "How'd it go last night?"

Not entirely comfortable discussing my date with him, I shrug casually. "Good," I say finally, blowing the steam from my mug. "He was very nice. A perfect gentleman."

He snorts quietly, which I meet with narrowed eyes and a raised eyebrow. Taking a huge gulp of coffee, he hides his smile behind his cup. "How do you know him, anyway?"

"Rosalie," I reply, tracing the sun's patterns on my bare legs. "They work together."

"Ah," Edward nods. "Rosalie. I should have known."

"Known what?"

"That Rosalie was behind all this," he replies, waving his hand up and down in my general direction.

"Behind all what?"

He sips his coffee calmly, then shrugs as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "She hates me," he states simply. "So it makes perfect sense that she would want to set you up with him. The perfect gentleman."

I laugh, even though he's mocking me, and shake my head. "She does not hate you," I correct. "She's just protective of me, and you—" I narrow my eyes at him "—have a track record of being decidedly un-gentlemanly."

His cheeks turn pink, but he chuckles good-naturedly. It feels nice…freeing, even, to make light of the issues that have weighed us down for years. I'm tired of being serious, and there's something comforting about being this open with Edward. Likewise, he seems happy to have moved beyond the guilt and remorse phase of our…relationship. Dysfunctional as it may be.

"So he has Rose's approval." He holds a finger up as if he's counting. "What about Emmett? Your parents? What do they think of him?"

Though it's obvious he's digging for facts, insecurity suits him. It's rare and new and decidedly…charming. "Emmett's fine, I guess," I say, shrugging. "And my parents don't know him."

Setting his coffee cup down gently, he rubs his hands on his thighs. My eyes follow the path they make, watching his muscles flex under denim. His leg begins to bounce quickly—his nervous tell. "Do they…uh, know about…" He trails off, waving a hand back and forth between us.

"They do, yes," I answer, watching his reaction closely. Not surprisingly, his eyes widen slightly and he swallows thickly. "No details," I point out quickly. "Just that you're Ava's dad. I mean…that part's pretty obvious."

"Christ," he whispers, blowing out a breath. "So they obviously hate me then."

There's no use lying to him or making light of a formerly dark situation, but as much as my parents hated what happened seven years ago, it's hard to imagine a world without Ava in it. They love her, and they've moved on. We all have. "You'll probably have a fair amount of proving yourself to do," I say honestly. "But they kind of failed at the whole responsible parent thing…They don't throw many stones."

"I think about that sometimes," Edward says softly. "About how easy it was for us to…to—"

"Yeah," I agree. "I can't imagine letting Ava raise herself at sixteen."

"Man." Edward blows out a breath. "No kidding." My heart swells at his natural ability to think like a father, to picture what sixteen-year-old Ava will be like and consider the steps we should take in parenting her. Despite his journey and the lapses along the way, being a good dad seems effortless to Edward, and I wonder if it's because Ava's so easy to love, or if he had a better example growing up than he likes to admit.

"What about you?" I ask unceremoniously. "Do your parents know?"

He eyes me warily, chewing on the inside of his lip. "They don't," he answers finally. "Not yet."

My protectiveness over Ava lights up like a flame, and I'm suddenly repulsed at the thought of her being anyone's dirty little secret. I didn't expect a different answer from him, but it stings a little regardless. "Do you plan to tell them…or—"

"Of course," he blurts, sitting up straight and bracing his hands on his knees. "It's not what you think. I'm not hiding her…or you. I'm not embarrassed or ashamed…It's just," he sighs in aggravation, tugging harshly at his messy hair, "I've kept it hidden for so long, and that was easy, you know? Just another secret. But now that I've met her…now that I know her, I—They don't deserve her. I'm scared they'll blame her for the mistakes I made, and I won't be able to handle that."

I want to tell him that I do understand, because I worry about the same things—that I know exactly how it feels to want to protect her and keep her safe. But after six years, Edward's parents deserve to know about their son's daughter. It's unfair to purposely withhold her existence from them. "You never know," I urge him gently. "She's pretty special. It's hard not to fall in love with her. They might be angry with you, but I think it would be hard for anyone to blame Ava."

"You haven't met my father," he scoffs. "He's a total ass."

"You have your own family now, Edward," I point out, then quickly realize what I've implied. "Well…your daughter. She's your family. I just meant Ava is your family, not—"

"Bella," he interrupts, snickering. "Breathe."

"Right," I agree, chuckling nervously. "Let me start that over." I take a deep breath and begin again. "Ava is your family now. Even if it goes terribly and they decide they don't want to be a part of her life, does it really matter? She adores you, Edward. She's doesn't care whether or not your dad's mad about a dumb, immature decision you made. It doesn't matter to her that you were stupid and selfish and scared and—"

"Okay, okay." He laughs. "I get it."

Time flies when you're counting your life in weeks. I'm twenty weeks pregnant when I apply to finish high school online and twenty-four weeks when the first letter from Edward arrives. Addressed to Bella Swan, there are six neatly folded twenty dollar bills inside and a handwritten note scribbled on a rumpled sheet of paper torn from a spiral notebook. He didn't even remove the flyaway scraps of paper from its edges.

Hope you're doing well.

My brother stands above me while I scan the paper once, and then again once more. He watches sadly as I fold it tightly into a tiny square and drop it neatly in the trashcan beside my bed. I place the wad of cash in his hands, then beg him with my eyes when he shakes his head in refusal. Our parents don't speak to me, but they still support me financially. My brother, on the other hand, works a part-time job to put himself through a local community college because I ruined his plans for a university education; no one is more deserving of his former best friend's money than him.

That night, after each member of my family has retreated to their own corner of hell, I sit alone in the dark at my desk, scrawling manically on yellow legal pad. The house is still and quiet. The only sounds come from the rapid scratch of my pen as I work it across each pale, blue line.

While my baby rolls gently in my belly, I write to Edward. I tell him about my GED program and how I never leave the house. About my parents' silence and the guilt I feel for what I've done to my brother. I ask if he's enjoying college. If he misses his best friend. I tell him I'm sorry I told him to go; I didn't mean it, and I'd do anything if he'd just come back.

I write that our baby is a girl, that her heart is strong and steady. She's due in April, I tell him, and her name will be Ava.

My pen runs out of ink long before I'm done sharing, but it doesn't matter. I'll never send it anyway.

I'm the happiest I've been in a long time in the weeks that follow my date with Sam. He's kind and smart and just so…easy. We've managed to snag another two dates, but with my quirky schedule and his long days at work, time alone is hard to come by. He's been amazingly understanding of my need to put my family first and of my less-than-conventional relationship with Ava's daddy. We've yet to have a date that doesn't involve a phone call or text from Edward, though—an issue I can thank my big brother for, I'm sure. He and Edward are as bad as a couple of old ladies, the way they spread gossip about me.

Rose is taking Ava to a movie tonight while I'm with Sam, then bringing her home and sitting with her while she sleeps. My brother and Edward have plans to grab a beer at the little pub down the street from our house. Like Ava and I, Emmett has slowly rebuilt his relationship with Edward. The days of bloodied knuckles and torn shirts seem like a lifetime ago, and despite their sketchy history, there's still the foundation of a strong friendship between them.

"What's Ava up to tonight?" Sam asks, slipping one arm around my waist and moving me to the inside of the sidewalk. See, Edward? Gentleman.

"She's with Rose," I say, smiling up at him. "Although, admittedly, she'd be so disappointed if she knew where I was."

Sam's an avid baseball fan, and it was his idea to bring me to my first ballgame. The local minor league team isn't known for their impressive wins, but none of that matters when there's a stadium nearby buzzing with excited fans. The evening air pulses with energy as we near the entrance gates, and the smell of cooked hotdogs and popcorn makes my mouth water. "Maybe we can bring her along sometime," Sam says, squeezing my hip gently.

It's not the first time he's mentioned including Ava on our dates, and it makes my stomach hurt each time. I can't envision anyone but Edward and Emmett playing with her or knowing her or loving her. "Oh, look," I say, shifting the subject to something more comfortable. "Foam fingers! It's actually a real thing."

Sam laughs and slides his hand from my hip to grab my fingers in his. "It's a very real thing," he agrees, tugging me along. "They're a rite of passage. Come on, let's get you one."

Thirty minutes and twenty dollars later, I'm holding my foam finger in the air to get Sam's attention. With two beers in each hand, he expertly navigates the stairs in search of our seats. Finally, he spots me and grins, nodding his head to let me know he's seen my signal. I watch him pass through the line of people at the end of our row, admiring the way he looks in his baseball cap and how his t-shirt falls just above the band of his jeans, showing a hint of his boxers each time he lifts his arms to balance our drinks.

"Just in time," I say when he reaches our seats, leaning out to relieve him of the beers. Smiling, I thank him and settle back in my plastic chair to admire our seats.

Sam returns my smile, extending one hand over the armrest to squeeze my bare thigh, leaving it there while he takes a swig of his beer. "These seats are prime because we'll be out of the sun until it sets," he explains, pointing to the section across the stadium where people shield their eyes with hats and raised hands.

"I'm thankful for that," I say, pointing to my bare shoulders and legs. "I'd burn for sure."

He scans me from head to toe, his scrutiny making my skin flush. "I think you chose well," he says finally, eyeing my jean shorts and grinning widely.

We stand through the National Anthem and sip our beers while we watch the first few innings. The sun begins to fall behind the stadium's walls, the field's bright lights throwing bold shadows over Sam's hat and across his face. "I can't see you," I tease him, touching the bill.

He plucks the hat from his head and sets it on his knee, running his fingers through his short, neatly trimmed hair. The opposite of Edward's. "Better?" he asks, wrapping his arm around me and pulling me against his side. He's warm and hard and just so…nice.

My cellphone lights up from its place on the chair beside me just as I'm making myself comfortable at Sam's side. "I'm sorry," I say, reaching for my bag. I know he knows that I can't ignore calls from my family when Ava's with them, but I feel badly that I've been distracted by a phone call on each of our dates. He smiles at me kindly while I fumble for my phone, then politely feigns interest in the game when he notices Edward's name on the screen. Rosalie, Emmett, and Edward are all involved in Ava's care tonight, so I can't not answer it.

"Hello?" I say quietly, bending down in my seat to block out some of the noise from the game.

"Birdie!" Edward shouts, and in the background, my brother parrots, "Birdie!"

Wherever they're at, it's loud; they're obviously not at my house, and this is obviously not an emergency.

"Yes?" I say impatiently. The crowd roars in response to some action on the field, and I wait for the noise to settle before speaking again. "Edward? What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he semi-slurs. "Always with the worrying, Birdie. Chin up!"

"Are you…" I look over my shoulder and see Sam watching me curiously. "Are you drunk dialing me?" I hiss, leaning farther away in search of privacy.

"What?" he giggles. "No! Never. I could not, would not ever."

Silly, playful, and chatty. He's drunk. "What is it, then?" I ask dryly. "I'm busy."

He hums agreeably, like we're two girlfriends sharing stories. "How is Sam, anyway?" he asks. I hear my brother in the background hooting loudly. "Still a perfect gentleman?"

"I really wish I'd never told you that," I mutter. "Did you need something?"

"Yes. I was calling because I forgot to tell you that I saw a Groupon for horseback riding lessons the other day. Ava's been wanting to ride…"

The noise level of the game rises, and so does my voice. "Edward!" I shriek. "Stop interrupting my dates. If it's not an emergency—a real emergency—just wait and ask me when I get home!"

"Geez," he teases, his voice playfully lilting. "So sorry to interrupt your dates."

"It's fine" I sigh. "Have you checked on Ava?"

"Yeah, Emmett just called Rose; she's already asleep." He hesitates for a moment. "Em said I could crash at your place, if that's okay? So I don't have to drive?"

I shoot Sam an apologetic look, then duck my head again. "Sure, whatever. Listen, I've got to go," I whisper, hurrying him along.

"Tell Perfect Gentleman to be a perfect gentleman."

"I'm hanging up now, Edward."

Dropping my phone back inside my bag, I offer Sam a smile. "I'm so sorry," I repeat. "I had to make sure everything's fine with Ava."

He gives me a small smile of his own. "And was it? Fine with Ava?"

"Oh. Um…" I lean into the open space under his arm, and he wraps it tightly around my shoulder once more. "Yeah," I reply. "Everything's great."

"Cold?" he asks quietly, rubbing his hand up and down my goosebump-riddled arm.

The temperature dropped significantly when the sun went down and, as usual, I'm not prepared. "A little," I admit.

"You wanna go?" he asks, placing his hat back on his head and peering down at me. "I don't even have a hoodie or anything to offer you…"

I shake my head. "Oh, no. The game's not even over yet. I'll be fine."

"I've got season tickets, so it's not a big deal," he says, squeezing me tighter. "We can come anytime."

"Yeah?"

He nods. "Yeah."

We gather our trash and souvenirs and navigate our way back through the stands and stadium and out to the parking lot. "Thanks for bringing me to the game," I tell him, swinging our clasped hands between us.

"I'm glad you had fun," he replies quietly, despite the fact that we're the only people around. We slow to a stop as we near our cars, and he tugs my hand so that we're face to face. "I'm not ready to say goodbye yet. Can you get a drink or something?"

He drops my hands to wrap his arms around my shoulders, pulling me to his chest in a tight embrace. My arms reach around his slim waist, grabbing his t-shirt while I count back tonight's drinks in my head. "I shouldn't," I confirm. "I've already had two beers, and it's a bit of a drive back to my house."

We stay locked together, swaying slightly side-to-side. Sam's chin rests easily on the top of my head, and I lift my face slightly to breathe in the scent of the warm skin under his jaw. I've missed that smell—so overwhelmingly male. I've missed soft touches and anxious glances; missed the feel of being wrapped up in someone bigger and more powerful than me. Pulling back, he places a soft kiss to my forehead, then rubs his nose down the side of mine. "We can hang out at my place," he whispers, eyes searching mine. "Watch a movie or something?"

I don't bother to think about the implications of this new change of plans, or fret over the fact that I've never been in a guy's house alone, save for Edward—

"Yeah," I breathe. "Okay."

It's nearly 2am when I pull into my garage that night, and although someone left a small light on in the kitchen, the rest of the house is completely cloaked in darkness. I tiptoe through the stillness, stopping at the refrigerator to down a glass of water, then pausing to check the timer on the coffee pot.

Anxious for bed, I make a beeline for my room. If I'm lucky, Ava will sleep in and I'll manage to steal at least five or six hours of slumber. "Shit," I hiss, narrowly missing a tiny, plastic brush camouflaged in the living room's carpet. I kick it to the side, making a mental note to have Ava take her toys to her room—

"How was your date?"

Startled, I swallow a shriek and spin around, placing a hand over my mouth in surprise. "Jesus, Edward!" I admonish. "You scared me." Despite passing his car on my way into the house, I forgot that the couch is the only viable option for guests; Ava, Emmett, and I occupy all three of our house's small bedrooms. "Are you waiting up for me?" I ask, gingerly making my way through the darkness to where he sits on the couch, reclined and shrouded in darkness.

His shadowy shoulders shrug. "How was your date?" he repeats.

I drop onto the cushion next to him, suddenly exhausted. "Nice," I reply, hiding a yawn in my hand. "We went to the baseball game."

"Until two in the morning?" he asks, his earlier jovial tone nowhere to be found.

My cheeks burn, and I'm thankful for the darkness that hides their flush. "No," I admit, unwilling to elaborate.

"Are you sleeping with him?" he asks boldly.

Unprepared for his questioning, I can only stare. "I'm sorry?" I stammer, confused.

Unabashed, he meets my eyes brazenly in the darkness. "I said, are you sleeping with him?"

"That's absolutely none of your business, Edward," I scold, appalled at his audacity.

He snorts, a sound almost self-deprecating in its dryness. "It's a little bit my business; you're sleeping with some guy who's going to be around my daughter."

Anger flares inside of me, so strong in its intensity that warm tears instantly flood my eyes. I bite hard on the inside of my cheek to keep them from falling. "Ava doesn't even know he exists, you asshole," I spew, my words dripping with contempt. "And what about the hundreds of girls you've fucked? What would Ava think of them?"

He shrugs. "I told you I don't do that anymore."

"Oh, yes," I say sarcastically. "I'd forgotten about your three months of celibacy. How big of you."

Edward leans forward, rubbing his stubbly jaw in frustration. "I don't like him," he says firmly.

"You don't know him."

"He's ruining my family!" he whisper-yells, voice thick with desperation.

I'm grateful for the darkness; thankful for the privacy it allows the tears that flow freely down my cheeks. "Edward," I say softly, reaching for his fisted hand. "I can't play house with you." This strikes me as familiar, and I realize I've borrowed his words from that awful day, years ago. "It doesn't work that way."

He shakes his head. "I'm not playing. Ava's my family." He pauses, tightening his grip on my hand. "You're my family."

"I'm your daughter's mother, and—"

"You're so much more than that," he interrupts. "To me."

We're nearly face-to-face now, and my head is spinning at his closeness and his words. My evening with Sam feels like a million years ago. "Edward…"

"I'm serious, Bella," he interjects, dropping his voice to an intense whisper. "I fucked up. I get it. But I won't lose either of you again. Not to him. Not to anybody. I'm not going anywhere." He tugs my hand so I'll look at him. "I'll wait as long as it takes."

"Edward, please," I say on a sigh. "I'm so tired. I…I can't do this right now."

He shrugs his shoulders sadly. "I had to tell you. When you're with him, you have to know."

I grab him in a tight hug, unsure of any other way to show him that I know how he feels; that I know what it's like for a heart to hurt so badly you feel it in your bones. I can't offer him much right now—new as we are to this co-parenting life—but I can give him friendship and understanding. "Goodnight, Edward," I say softly.

His arms are banded tightly around my body, his face buried in my hair. "Night, Bella," he whispers.

I detangle myself from his arms and stand, avoiding his eyes while I gather his blankets and lay them softly in his lap. At the door, I turn back once more to find him staring out the window into the darkness.

I wash my face and change into my pajamas, bone weary and exhausted by the time I slide between my sheets, though tired as I am, I can't sleep. Edward's presence in the next room dominates my thoughts, and his words weigh heavy on my heart.

Acknowledgements: Tiffanyanne3, for being a wonderful friend and the ultimate teacher, and Rochelle Allison, for recommending my little story to The Lemonade Stand. I'm still in shock!

Thanks for reading. xo