Disclaimer: A long-ish one this one. And only a little bit more teeth rotting stuff. Promise. That's not really a disclaimer is it?

Twenty-Seven

The morning of the competition, Edward is up and out of bed before the sun even thinks about appearing over the horizon. After lying there for over an hour after he leaves, unable to get back to sleep, I decide to get up and head down to the beach for a swim.

With summer behind us, the days are still warm, but the mornings are beginning to cool again, the nights bringing relief from the heat. The morning air is brisk and the water is fresh, even in my wetsuit. I don't go far, especially since I'm on my own, just far enough to wake me up and get my head clear.

At home, I peel my suit off and rinse it out. The swim has calmed my nerves somewhat, but now all I want to do is get down to Bells and see Edward. Lost in thought, I move into the kitchen, ready to have some breakfast, only to stop short, surprised to see a set of skinny legs at the bottom of one of Jasper's crappy Bintang singlets.

"Oh, hey," says Alice, her hands wrapped around a glass of water.

I look around, searching for Jasper. "Heeeyyy."

She looks completely different from the other times I've seen her. Her hair is wild; short, dark locks sticking out at random angles, and her normally perfect makeup is gone, her skin fresh and clean.

"So…" I'm a little lost for words. "You're in my kitchen."

She nods, taking a sip of water. "Yeah."

"Did you stay the night?"

Alice grins sheepishly. "Yyyyeah. Listen," she rubs a hand through her short hair. "I have to apologise for being such a bitch." I shift my weight to one hip, listening intently. "I'm not very good…socially. I get awkward, and sometimes that comes out being bitchy. Sorry."

Clearly she's nervous; her apples of her cheeks are pink, and she keeps brushing her hair behind her ear even though it's already there. I'm not quite sure what to say – half-naked apologies aren't something I'm used to.

"It's cool." Shitty answer, but it's all I can come up with at eight o'clock in the morning.

Jasper suddenly appears from behind me, snapping the string on my bathers. "You going to the Pro in your bikini, Bella?"

"What?"

I'm struck dumb as he bends to give Alice a kiss, which she reciprocates with a smile.

"You guys have met, yeah?" says Jasper, gesturing between the two of us.

Alice and I nod, but she's not even looking at me anymore since Jasper has his hands under the back of the t-shirt she's wearing.

Leaving them to their kitchen pash session, I back away slowly. "I'm going to jump in the shower to – uh – shower…in there."

I don't think Jasper even heard me.

"Well, apparently she stayed the night!"

Rosie swivels around in her seat beside me, a smoothie in her hand. "Alice? As in, the Ice Princess? With my brother?"

I nod, slurping my own breakkie smoothie; complete with bananas, muesli and honey – only the best thing in ever.

"I can't believe he didn't tell me!" Rosie yells, wrenching her phone out of her bag. Her thumbs fly over the screen, a long and no doubt ranty SMS on its way to a certain tattooed brother of hers.

The drive to Bells Beach is relatively short, only thirty minutes or so. The day is clear and sunny, the conditions for surfing beyond perfect. I know this because Rosie and the boys spent half an hour talking wind directions and ground swells before we left. Meanwhile, I tried to decide whether to take a hat or not.

As we near the beach, the nerves begin anew, and when I can't find a park anywhere, it takes all I have not to just leave the car in the middle of the road and make a break for the beach.

"You shitting yourself?" I ask Rosie, who looks calm.

"Fucking oath," she replies, taking a deep breath.

The first thing I can hear as we approach is the loudspeaker, the echo of the announcer's voice bouncing off the water and the cliffs below. As we round a corner, four grandstands appear, huge structures looming high over the beach; filled with camera crews, sponsors, announcers and judges. Surf brand logos are splashed everywhere, from the flags flying high on the grandstands, to the tents on the sand below.

Flashing our very special wrist bands, Rosie and I make our way down the sandy steps. The wind off the ocean is fierce, whipping around my face, stinging my eyes. I'm glad I wore my hair up and decided against the hat.

"Do you think the view would be better up there?" I ask, pointing to the grandstands.

"Nah. I'd much rather be down here than up there. I feel closer to Emmett down here for some reason." It's rare that Rosie makes comments that so bluntly speaks of her feelings for Emmett, and they still take me by surprise.

Riley and Jacko are already on the beach, flanked by Embry and a couple of other boys I've seen around.

"Good timing," says Riles. "They're about to start."

I settle in beside Riley and Embry, who shifts over to make room for me. He still blushes a bit, even though it's been ages since I kissed him. Apparently he is the spitting image of Edward at that age. Completely and utterly devoted to the sea and his board, I don't think Embry even understands the effect he has on girls his age. His long legs are bent up in front of him, his arms resting on his knees. As he talks to me about how the competition works, I find myself drawn to the silvery scar running the length of his shin, his tibia bone an odd shape where the cancerous tissue was removed. Below the scar lie four string-woven anklets, each a different colour, each representing a member of his family. The bright red one is Edward, I know because he was the one who gave it to him. The string is worn and stretched, hanging loosely around the protruding bone of his knobbly ankle. Even at the tender age of just eighteen, Embry could be out there with his brothers, doing what he loves for a living. But it's not the fame of a world title Embry wants, it's the rush of big wave surfing. He wants to barrel in on the kind of waves that his brothers would be afraid of; Mavericks in California, Cyclops in Western Australia, Waimea Bay in Hawaii – these are the kind of waves that shred you up and spit you out, drag you across the rocks like a fucking cheese grater until you're nothing but a bloody mess on the other side. You have to be ten kinds of crazy to want to launch yourself onto a wave like that, and something tells me Embry is the crazier of the three older Masen boys.

Heat one starts with little introduction, and we watch with mild interest as some of the other surfers take the water. Mostly, I spend my time scanning the crowds for Edward and Emmett, waiting for them to arrive. After six or so runs, Edward's name is called, and he appears from the competitor's tent, his board under his arm, his broad shoulders clothed in his black suit. They call his name a final time, and he raises his hand in the air for a brief wave, his eyes meeting mine for a heartbeat before he takes the water. As the cheering dies down, and the clapping subsides, I grab Rosie's hand, squeezing tightly.

"Calm down. Otherwise, you're going to bust a valve before the day is out," warns Rosie with a chuckle. "He's got this, okay?"

She's right. Edward's run is easy; the waves are perfect, and he takes them with ease, advancing to the next round without breaking a sweat. Dripping wet and smiling, he exits the water minutes later, wiping the salt water from his nose, and throwing a smile and a wave my way before disappearing into the swarm of trainers and officials.

Emmett competes not long after, his run much the same; easy, smooth, perfect. It's only when Jared Cameron takes the water that a hush falls on the crowd. I might be a noob when it comes to actually surfing, but even I know who Jared Cameron is. Often ranked world number one, and the defending champion of the Rip Curl Pro at Bells Beach, the American surfer is more celebrity than sportsman. Supermodels and actresses, his list of romantic counterparts garners him just as much attention as his surfing does. Plus, he's pretty fucking good looking too.

The day wears on slowly, heat after heat, round after round, and I can see how sitting through these events day in, day out, could be a drag. The boys find us between heats though, and I get myself a salty-lipped kiss hello.

"You okay down here?" he asks, sitting beside me in the sand, his wettie on his hips.

"Yeah, I'm good. You doing okay?"

Lifting his knees, he rests his elbow atop them. "Yeah. Rather be down here though with you guys though."

Smugly, I wonder if Jasper has a hat, and whether it tastes any good.

After a little while, Marcus, Edward's trainer, comes to whisk him away, and it takes everything I have not to follow him into the tent.

"See you soon." He gives me one last kiss, squeezing my hip briefly.

Love you. It sits on the end of my tongue, pressing at the back of my teeth, vanishing into thin air as he walks away.

Jasper arrives during the second round, right before Emmett takes the water again. He brings fish and chips, a few bottles of Coke, and Alice. It turns out, after we talk to her, that she's actually not that bad. Studying law at Melbourne Uni, she's quiet, smart, articulate, and for some strange reason, completely smitten with Jasper.

Edward and Emmett are in and out of the water a few more times, knocking out contestants as they advance. It isn't until round four that things begin to get interesting. From almost forty surfers, only twelve remain, two of whom are our boys. If either of them make it through round four, even if they're knocked out, they'll receive points towards their rankings, and some pretty substantial prize money. Carlisle and Esme join us on the sand, sans kids, and suddenly I can see Esme as this gnarly surfer babe, rather than a hectic mum of five.

"How can you stand this?" I ask, burying my head in my knees as Edward takes the water again.

"You'll get used to it," she assures me, wrapping an arm over my shoulder and pulling me tightly against her side.

We watch on as Edward surfs well, and Esme is beside me the whole time, whispering under her breath. "Stick to the inside. Nice. Watch your take off – watch it, Edward!"

I wonder if maybe Carlisle wasn't the one to teach Edward to surf.

The scores are announced, and we all exhale a breath of relief as Edward continues on. It's no surprise that Emmett advances, and soon there are only eight of them left, and we're all settling in for round five – the quarterfinals. Only four surfers will remain after the quarters, and the buzz is all about Emmett and Jared, about who will clinch the title at Bells.

After a blistering run from Jared that blows his opponent out of the water, its back to Edward, only this time, he's competing against Emmett. Esme takes a deep breath, and it's my turn to comfort her. With Rosie on one side, and me on the other, the three of us watch as Emmett takes the water first, his face determined.

It's late-afternoon but the sun is still bright – the final hours of light always the brightest before the sun begins to disappear, and the light starts to dip and grey. Emmett carves into the four-footers, nailing a couple of turns and just generally doing a good job. There's something about the way he handles himself in the water that's different to Edward. In the water, Emmett is all power and drive. The boys have likened him to a great white; dangerous and single-minded. Emmett's legs propel him through the waves, throwing a tonne of spray as he moves, like he's using everything he has, every cell of every tissue in his body, to push him that little bit further. It all pays off as he completes a near-perfect run before splashing down into the water.

Edward, on the other hand, is graceful. His run affords him the space to swoop up and down the back side of the waves, his board an extension of his legs, his body dipping and curving with the water. My heart clenches as he rises over the crest of a wave, his board airborne for a moment before slipping back into the water effortlessly, earning him a cheer from the crowd. Back and forth, he slices across the wave, floating across the lip and down again, his legs pumping the board beneath him, his centre of gravity low. The twenty-minutes he's in the water feels like an eternity.

Finally, the crowd cheers again as he finishes. I have absolutely no idea who won the round. The next heat starts without the results from Edward and Emmett's heat being announced, so for twenty-minutes, we wait anxiously, half watching the action in the water, half in our own world as the nerves eat away at our sanity. Finally, the loudspeaker crackles and the announcer reveals the results.

"Round five, heat two. Emmett Masen – Australia, versus Edward Masen – Australia. Winner: Emmett Masen."

I'm not sure whether to cheer or be upset. Edward lost, but Emmett now moves onto the semifinal. Not to mention the fact that, even though he lost, Edward has come tied for fifth position, better than anyone had expected him to do.

Esme is a bubble of excitement beside me. "Fifth!" she giggles. "He's going to be so stoked."

"Will we get to see him?" I ask, standing already, on my tiptoes in the sand, looking for him.

Esme places a gentle hand on my back. "No, no. If I know Edward, he'll stay in the tent until Emmett is done. He's always a mess at these things, he's worse than I am."

As we sit in the sand again, I imagine him hunched at the back of the competitor's tent, wringing his hands, digging holes in the sand with his feet as they worry the ground beneath him.

An hour later, the semifinals are over, and it's down to just two surfers; Jared and Emmett.

I can't watch as Jared surfs. With my head in my knees, I listen to the crowd cheer around me, my hand clasped tightly around Rosalie's. She's quiet, her nerves passing that point of excitement and into stony silence.

Once his run is over, I lift my head.

"How'd he go?"

Rosie shrugs, her lips thin as she stares out at the water, waiting for Emmett to dive in. Her leg jiggles rapidly as she watches him cut through the water. My heart is beating so hard it feels like it's in my throat. I just want it all to be over.

I don't know what he does, but a few times the crowd erupts into bursts of cheering, and Rosie tenses on the sand beside me. The announcer says something about lay-backs and front-sides and all I know is that he somehow maneuvers his board in a complete circle in the air, which earns him a round of applause so loud it's almost deafening. As the final siren blows, he appears at the run-out, the barrel crashing behind him, washing out to nothing, and the crowd erupts. Somehow, everyone knows that Emmett's run has won him the comp, and he fist pumps the air, holding them above him as his board slows and finally dumps him. The boys are on their feet, clapping and yelling loudly, whistling and carrying on. It takes Rosie and I a moment to gather ourselves, she's still frozen solid, a smile blazing across her delicate features, her blue eyes glossy with tears.

Sand flies up around us as we embrace, laughing and smiling. Emmett has done the one thing that he's always wanted. Forget the money and the trophy. Forget the glory and the title. He's just won a world ranking on home turf, just kilometers from his hometown with his family and friends watching on. The happiness around me is palpable, and suddenly I can totally understand why these guys go through all the shit they do. The training, the food, the early mornings, and the tension – it's so very worth it. And I'm not even the one competing.

By the time Emmett emerges from the ocean, Edward is already at the water's edge, practically gagging to get to him. Pushing past some officials, they grip hands with a loud slap and embrace in a manly hug, complete with back slaps and stupid-silly grins. Esme and Carlisle barely get a look in before Rosie finds Emmett, ignoring the water dripping off his suit as she throws her arms around him.

Dry, and in normal clothes, Edward slips out of the melee to find me, scooping me up and squeezing me so hard I can barely breathe.

"Hey," he says as he puts me down, keeping me close as people come and go around us.

My hands flap around as I wiggle excitedly. "Oh my fucking God! You were awesome. I'm so excited." I press kiss after kiss on his lips, congratulating him as he laughs, accepting the loud smack of my lips against his cheeks and mouth and neck, and anywhere else I can get to.

"I'm so proud of you," I say quietly, holding his face in my hands. With his arms wrapped around me, he ducks his head, the skin on the back of his neck and the tips of his ears turning a little pink.

"Come on," I say, grabbing his hand. "You hungry? Stupid question. You must be knackered too. Do you have a ride home, or do you want to come with me and Rosie?"

Edward clamps a hand over my mouth. His eyes are bright against the stark white of his t-shirt – one of at least a dozen new sponsor-branded t-shirts he's got – his hand cool against my face. "I'm going to tell you something, okay?"

I nod.

"You have to promise not to freak out."

Slower this time, I nod again.

He takes a deep breath and opens his mouth. And then shuts it again. And then opens it and makes a long, deep groaning noise. "Fuck. Why is this the most nervous I've been all day?" His hand is still pressed over my mouth, but he steps forward a little.

"I love you."

It's my turn for the skin of my face to heat. And it does, warming beneath his touch. I blink a few times.

"You're s'posed to say something," he says, looking nervous.

I point to his hand, still firmly clamped over my mouth. He removes it, keeping his arms wrapped around me, as though he's worried I'm going to bolt.

"I don't know how to answer without sounding corny or stupid."

He scrubs a hand over his head. "Well, you don't have to say anything, I guess…"

"No! I…I just don't want you to think I'm saying it to make you feel better or something, 'cause I'm not. I do. Love you, I mean. I'm in love with you."

The tension in his shoulders evaporates before my eyes, and his head sinks to my shoulder, his forehead pressing against my neck. "Thank fuck for that."

It's not particularly romantic, or earth-shatteringly poetic, but as the warm sand seeps between my toes, and the sun shines on my shoulders, I really couldn't think of anything else more fitting for Edward and I.

He lifts his head from my shoulder, giving me a quick kiss on the cheek. "Can we eat now?"

*Note: I've taken some liberties with the way things work here. I've never been to a surfing competition, so have no idea how they work other than the small amount of research I've done.

Bintang: If you've ever been to Thailand (which a lot of Aussies have since it's relatively close), you'll know what Bintang is. It's the local beer over there, and it seems you can't leave Thailand without buying a crappy singlet with the logo emblazoned on it. I might have a few.

Welp, I know I said we wouldn't be here until way after Christmas, but it is what it is. But, we're on the downward hill home, so hold on!

Thank you to Thimbles, Tiff and Ink for still having their teeth, since I'm pretty sure I'm rotting most of your teeth with all this sugary fluff.

Okay, I'm off to scour the internet for Rob sightings. HE'S IN MY COUNTRY, YO! xx Wink