Lovingly beta'd by the fantastic Wednesday in LA. My thanks to you, and anyone reading, are endless.

Chapter Thirty-Four

"I feel you, love, like a punch in the heart, 'cause every time you're near, I'm back to the start."

"Punch In The Heart (feat Katy Steele)" – Josh Pyke

There are moments you look back on with the realization that they were turning points. That the path you took, or the very future you live in, was defined by that one particular moment. Pinned like a butterfly beneath Edward's unwaveringly serious blue eyes, it dawns on me that this is one of those moments — right here, right now.

Come with me. Something inside me knows that the outcome of the choice I make will be significant — it will be a decision that changes my life.

My heart is beating so fast I can feel it on the back of my tongue, swelling in my throat until I think I might choke on it. Edward leans down to press his lips to the skin of my shoulder, and the beating of my heart stumbles slightly, trips on the sensation of having him close again.

"Please?" he whispers, the breathy word rushing over me and sinking deep into my bones.

I don't know how much time passes – ten seconds, a minute, an hour. All I can do is lie there staring at him while he stares back at me. It's not like we haven't had this conversation before. We have. But it was never anything more than flippant remarks, sad jokes we made, trying to make ourselves feel better about the distance between us. The weight of the moment crushes the breath from my chest, squeezing the words from my mind until it goes completely blank and I can't think of a single intelligent thing to say. I force my body to relax, letting Edward's proximity anchor me and calm my nerves. The gentle intensity he's so good at floors me. It's the same look he gets on his board, the same unflinching gaze he wears in the poster on Jasper's wall.

Thankfully, he lets me be for a moment, his fingers tracing circles in the crook of my elbow as he waits patiently for me to say something. He watches with interest as my mouth opens and closes a few times. He's ready for the fight. He's ready for every reason I'll give not to pack up and leave with him.

"Shit, Edward." Like clutching at the clouds, I try to grasp words that aren't there. "I… I need to think about it."

He smiles. He smiles and I can't look at him, because I know that, if I do, I'll say yes. He'll smile that bloody smile that sends me spinning, and I won't think twice. I won't think about what it means for my future, I'll just take one look at him and be out the door.

"Well," he says quietly, a confident smile forming on his lips. "My flight leaves in nine hours, so you've got some time."

When I turn to face him again, his blue eyes are soft and warm, but I can see the resolve behind them. He knows what he wants, and he's going to fight me for it.

My stomach flip-flops at the mention of his leaving. "You seem pretty sure I'm going to say yes."

Chuckling, he rolls onto his back, tucking an arm under his head. He's so at ease, so relaxed, so decidedly Edward, as though he hasn't just turned my life inside out, upside down. "It's just a hunch."

Trying my best to ignore the internal struggle that threatens what little time we have left, I curl my body up beside his, basking in the feel of his hand against my lower back, and the smell of his skin beneath my cheek. The ache of missing him ebbs and flows in the mixed-up beat of my heart, my emotions an eddy of fear and love and happiness. Even as Edward talks about the tour, about the endless beaches and the rigorous training, I can sense something swelling beneath the surface. Something inside him knows that with just a little push, with a nudge and a good enough reason, I'd follow him anywhere, any time. If only it were that easy.

He reaches out of bed and slips his fingers between the blinds, stretching them apart to look at the sky outside.

"Wanna go for a burn before I go?" he asks. "Weather looks pretty good."

The thought of being out on the water with him sends a burst of happiness through me. "Sure," I answer, with a nod. "There was some decent swell out at Black Rock last week."

"Sounds good," he says. "I've got some boards stashed in Jasper's room. Might be a wettie in there, too."

He flips back the doona, and the loss of his warmth in the bed is instant. Moving quietly around the empty house feels almost rote, like we've fallen right back into routine. I slap together two vegemite and cheese sandwiches for Edward, and a peanut butter one for me. He grabs his suit and boards and packs them into the car. While a part of me is somewhat comforted at the normality of our routine, there's also a part of me that wishes we could be spending what little time we have left doing something – I don't know – more. My throat constricts at the thought of his leaving, and a wave of panic rushes over me.

I don't know if I'll survive watching him walk away again.

"Ready?" he asks, holding the front door open, the morning light shining behind him. My chest clenches at the sight of him, all crumpled and eager.

Standing there in my kitchen, I come to the stark realization that there is only one thing I know for sure, and that is: I'm so in love with Edward, I'd follow him anywhere. I also know that he loves me enough to fly thirty-something hours across the world just to spend one day with me. I have to wonder what his future holds if I'm to stay here. Would he give it all up and come home? Would he give up every dream he's ever had, and walk away from his career for me?

He would. And that thought scares me more than anything.

Swallowing the rising panic, I shove the snacks into my backpack, plaster a smile on my face, and follow Edward out to the van.

The afternoon is clear and beautiful, the sky a pale baby blue. Until now, the weather has been miserable every bloody day. I swear, it's as though this boy brings the weather with him. Edward: the sun at the centre of his very own weather system.

We zip up in silence, and I watch as he shakes one of his old boards out of its cover. His long fingers sweep over the fibreglass deck with reverence. It's old, the sides are covered with dings and scratches, and the logos are faded almost entirely. His eyes traverse its length, his hands feeling all the little bumps and dents. If he hadn't looked at me in exactly the same way not hours before, I might be jealous. After his little bonding session, we power into the surf, our hands brushing occasionally as we paddle out.

Wetsuit or not, the water is frigid. Edward barely notices, but the shock of it still pushes the air from my lungs.

Black Rock is deserted, and the long stretch of beach is empty save for a few people walking dogs or running along the sand. For the first time in ages, the surf is perfection. I'm not even half as good as Edward on a bad day. I still wipe out more than I stand up, but he's totally stoked at my progress, and it makes me feel like I might actually be getting better. He gives me pointers between sets, telling me to settle onto my back leg more, to relax my shoulders a little, to aim for certain parts of the wave for the easiest ride. Meanwhile, he surfs like he has nowhere to be, like he doesn't have to leave in a few hours. His face is calm and peaceful, his body relaxed, and that painful ache that I've squashed down into the deepest part of my stomach comes racing back so hard I almost burst into tears in the middle of the ocean.

Could I follow him?

What kind of girl would I be if I just up and left?

I'd be a girl in love.

Is that enough?

What else is there?

I sit quietly while my head argues with my heart, watching Edward paddle back toward me. He dips the nose of the board forward under a wave and disappears for a moment before popping back up just metres from me, shaking the water from his hair and face.

"What's up?" he asks, pulling himself up beside me.

I manage a wobbly smile, hiding the pathetic attempt by looking down. "Nah, nothing."

"Bull," he says, and I hate the way he knows exactly how I'm feeling. I hate that my face is like an open book to him. I hate that there even needs to be this raging argument inside of me when all I need to do is say yes.

But instead I lie. "I'm fine. Just tired."

"Shove over," he says, and I move my body forward on my board so he can slide up behind me.

The water is freezing, but his body is warm, and I shiver as the heat of his chest floods my skin, even through layers of neoprene and salt water.

"Dunno know why you've been complaining about the weather so much," he says quietly. "It's bloody perfect out here today."

Rolling my eyes, I squeeze the hand he's left resting on my thigh. "It was shit until you turned up, Sunshine."

"Sunshine, hey?" he says, with a laugh. "I like that."

We sit in silence, listening to the sounds of the seagulls and the waves. If you'd told me just the day before that this is where I'd be only twenty-four hours later, I would have told you to piss off. As it is, I can still hardly believe he's here.

"Can't believe how good you're getting," he says, and I snort, rolling my eyes. "I'm serious! A few more months and you'll be golden."

I smile. "Maybe I'll give those female surfers a run for their money."

He laughs, his chest rumbling against my back. "Steady on. Let's not get ahead of ourselves."

"Jasper is a good teacher," I say. "Not quite as patient as you are. Plus Embry's been giving me a few tips."

"Yeah?"

I nod. "I've seen him out here a few times. You know it's about to get hectic when he makes an appearance."

Edward shakes his head. "That kid's insane."

There are only a handful of people crazy enough to take on some of the bigger waves that hit our coastline, and Embry is one of them. He gets Maytagged more often than not, and has had more concussions and bruised ribs than half the footy players in town, and yet he still wants nothing more than to chase those elusive big waves. Waimea Bay, Cyclops, Mavericks. Edward's right; that boy is a special kind of insane.

"He misses you something fierce," I say. "Emmett, too."

Edward sighs. He's quiet, and I can tell it's because he misses Embry and his family, too. Coming from such a big family is still a foreign concept to me, I can only imagine how hard it is on him to be away from his younger siblings.

"Tell me about California," I ask a moment later, already missing the sound of his voice.

"What do you wanna know?"

"Everything."

He wraps an arm loosely across my hips, keeping me flush against his chest as he talks. He talks to me about the competitions, about the long flights and the hours spent waiting in airports. The days spent training or sleeping, too busy or tired to explore the exciting new countries he finds himself in. He also tells me about San Diego, and about Trestles, the spot on the coastline where they hold the competitions. He speaks of days of endless sunshine and sand, of the fierce rivalry between the Aussies and the Americans when they're on home soil.

"How many times have you been?" I ask.

"This is my sixth time surfing the Pro at Trestles. L.A.'s a trip — totally weird and awesome."

"Have you been to Disneyland?"

He chuckles. "Yeah, a couple of times."

"Did you go on all the rides? Did you see Mickey? Is it as fun as they say?"

Edward rests his chin on my shoulder. "Heaps better."

I sigh wistfully, swishing my legs back and forth in the water. "Take me one day?"

Warm fingers move my hair from behind my ear, and a moment later I feel his lips touch my skin.

"Yeah. Come with me."

"Edward— "

"I'll take you to Disneyland every fucking day," he whispers, his warm breath against my cold skin sending shivers all the way to my toes. "And then we'll drive up to San Fran or Vegas, or even to Mexico. I hear the beaches in Mexico are killer."

"You've never been?"

"Nah, never really had time. The tours are pretty hectic."

Visions of cold Mexican beer and hot sweaty nights flash before my eyes. "Mexico would be pretty cool."

"So come with me."

I laugh, because if I don't, I'll cry. "Sure. I'll just hop on the plane tonight and call everyone from the middle of woop woop, will I?"

I feel his smile against my neck. "Why not?"

"Because."

He sighs, resting his forehead on my shoulder, letting my stupid response slide. But I feel it echo across the water and slam back into me.

Because?

What an idiot.

"Better head back in," he says a minute later, and my body feels the loss of him all the way to its core as he moves from my board back to his. I can't help but feel like I've just ruined what could have been a really great moment. Again.

A decent set lines up, and we both hit the same wave at the same time. I get dumped pretty early on, probably looking like a total kook in the process. Meanwhile, Edward takes the wave like it's nothing and, as he reaches the washout, practically steps off the board and back into the water.

We dry off on the beach, and our walk back up to the van is slow. I pretend not to notice Edward's long backward glances at the beach as we stand beside it, wriggling out of our suits and into dry clothes.

"Do you miss home?"

He looks at me incredulously, shaking out his wetsuit. "Are you kidding?"

"I mean Australia," I say, rolling my eyes. "Do you miss Australia?"

His shoulders relax, and he slides the door closed. "The food," he says with a sigh. "I miss hamburgers — like, really fucking decent burgers with a fried egg and beetroot — and a potato cake, or fried dimmies. And fucked if you can find a really good bakery with pies and salad rolls and stuff. Emmett's constantly fangin' for a potato pie and a strawberry Big M."

I snort. Even after having known Emmett for only a short amount of time, I get the feeling he's a bit like a five-year-old, wrapped in the body of an adult. I don't know anyone over the age of five who still drinks strawberry-flavoured milk.

Edward rests against the passenger-side door and scrubs his hands through his short hair, shaking droplets of seawater everywhere. "And Vegemite, of course. White bread, Vegemite, butter—"

I slap a plastic-wrapped Vegemite sandwich against his damp chest.

"Is this—?" He looks gobsmacked.

I nod.

"Did you... oh fuck — there's cheese, too." I giggle as he pulls me forward by the towel that's wrapped around me. "God, you're good to me," he says, smiling into a kiss.

We slide into the front seat while Edward munches on his sandwich, and he turns the engine over quickly before switching the heating on. Sunny it is, but warm it's not. We both hold our hands in front of the vents, warming our frozen fingers.

"How's Rosie?" he asks, around a mouthful of white bread and Kraft cheese.

Carefully unwrapping my sandwich, I nod slowly. "She's okay. You know what she's like; she thinks she's stronger than she really is." Edward nods. "I think this time around is really hard for her — even with me to lean on."

"Yeah." He's quiet for a moment, his eyes trained intently on the food in his lap. "Well, I don't know how much longer Emmett will keep touring anyway. I know he wants to, but his knee is playing up and he's pretty fucking knackered."

I pick at the bread with my fingers. "I didn't know he had a dodgy knee. Does Rosie know he's thinking about retiring? Does she know you're here?" A thought suddenly slams so hard into my brain that I almost drop my lunch. "Does anyone else know you're here?"

Edward swallows, looking a little sheepish. "Yeah, nah, not really. Just Rosie and Jasper."

The food turns to glue in my mouth. "Oh."

"Only came to see you." He balls up the plastic-wrap and chucks it into an empty cup holder, his cheeks tinged pink.

"He's not retiring anyway," he says, snagging one of my crusts. "He just needs to give the knee a break, maybe have it checked out properly. He'll keep touring till he can't drag his wrinkly ass out there anymore."

"Yeah? What about you?"

He takes a deep breath and shrugs slowly, shifting the van into reverse. "Dunno. I've got another few goes in me I guess. We'll see what happens."

By the time we get home, it's late afternoon, and I'm surprised to find the house still empty. I guess both Rosie and Jasper are keeping their distance. A part of me feels bad that his best friends won't get a chance to see him. But a bigger part of me is completely consumed with selfishness, and I find that, more than anything, I just want to spend what little time we have left together.

He stashes the boards away while I hose out the wetsuits. I'm just stepping out of my bikini when Edward steps into the bathroom behind me.

"Good timing," I say, chucking my wet bather bottoms at him.

He grins, his eyes practically twinkling under the heat lights. It takes him half a second to slip his shorts off and join me under the spray. My hair is barely wet before he kisses me, the warm water mingling with the dry salt on his lips. I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him closer, and I have to stifle a squeak when he pushes me against the cold tiles.

Fire ignites across my skin, but as much as I want him, shower sex has never been something we're good at. I'm just that little bit too tall, and the shower is just a smidge too small. So when I slide to my knees in front of Edward, he groans, his wet hair falling over his forehead as he looks down at me.

The shower tiles are hard and unyielding under my knees, but the look in Edward's eyes as he watches me negates any pain. His thighs are lean, and I can feel the bands of muscle twitch beneath my fingers as I run my hands up his legs to his hips.

"Do you know how many times I've thought about this?" he says, as his fingers drift across the top of my shoulder before he presses his palm softly against my cheek.

I look up, smirking. "A lot?"

He nods, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth. "Yeah. A lot."

His hand tightens a little as I take him into my mouth, and the sounds he makes echo around the bathroom, vibrating across my skin like tiny ripples of desire. By the time he's close he's practically leaning over me, his palms flat against the tiled wall behind me, his knees shaking. He groans, and it sounds like it comes from somewhere deep in his chest. He says my name, drawing it out long and slow as he comes. A moment later, all wobbly smiles and heavy eyelids, he slides down the wall to sit beside me.

"Fucking hell."

"Better than your imagination?"

He smiles lazily at me. "It always is."

We spend the rest of the late afternoon lying on my bed. Edward is still messed up from the time differences and the flight to Melbourne from Rio, so he drifts in and out of sleep until I wake him up about an hour before he has to leave.

He looks at the time on his phone before tossing it onto the bed beside him, groaning. "I better go soon."

"Have you packed your stuff?"

He stands and looks around my room. "Not much to pack."

I watch as he grabs his hat and shoves it on, and then stuffs a few of his clothes into the black backpack that he's dumped on the floor.

"You seen that white shirt I was wearing before?"

He looks around, picking up a few things.

"Yeah, that's mine now. Sorry."

His head snaps up. "Huh?"

I shrug. "It smells like you."

His face softens, and he sits down on the bed beside me.

"Promise I'll give it back to you when you get home."

He's quiet again, staring down at his hands, the little muscle at the side of his jaw ticking.

Finally, he looks up at me again, his eyes intense. "I don't have to tell you I love you. You know that, right?"

I nod, and he nods, too, taking a deep breath.

"I'm going to give this one more shot, and then I won't ask again." He continues on, not waiting for my answer. "When I left to go back on tour, I thought it would make me feel better. Not better, but, like, complete or something. I don't know, maybe when you left Forks, that was how you felt, you know? Like it was something you had to do?"

I agree, remembering the feeling of wanting I'd had in Forks, that inescapable voice in the back of my head, telling me to do something.

"And fuck me if leaving you wasn't the hardest thing I've done. The flight to the first leg of the comp was fucking torture. I swear Emmett almost strapped me to the seat, I was so on edge. But, even then, I thought that once I got on solid ground, or in the water, that I'd be okay. But I wasn't. It was like there was this brand new hole inside. God, that sounds fruity. Whatever. Anyway. That's what it felt like."

He rubs his sternum gently, looking at the floor between his feet.

"I want you to be the first person I see when I wake up. And I know it's selfish, but I can't handle being out there, knowing you aren't on the beach watching. It fucks with my head so much that I can't concentrate sometimes, and I don't know what else to do but to bring you with me. Come with me, Bella."

He looks up as I slide off the bed beside him and into his lap. "I love you, Edward. You know that no matter where we are that I love you, right? Fiji, California, Rio, Russia, Timbuk-fucking-tu; you're mine and I'm yours." He nods. "I thought I'd been in love before – with Jake – but... that was... that was nothing compared to this."

Edward watches me, his eyes hopeful, and my stomach sinks. "But... I don't... you can't ask me this now, Edward."

He drops his forehead to my shoulder, his hands clutching at my sides.

"Maybe next year," I say, through a tight throat and shaky breaths. "I don't know. There are so many things I have to think about. I can't just leave—"

"I get it," Edward says, lifting his head. "Like I said, it was a long shot, but I had to ask. I had to know, otherwise I would have gone back on tour wondering, and that's worse, I think."

He won't look at me, but even so, I can see the glassy look in his eyes. When he sniffs, swallowing thickly, something inside of me breaks, and the tears I've been holding at bay for weeks finally let loose. This boy, this beautiful sunshine boy who wants me, who chose me out of every other girl in the world, is breaking right in front of me, and it's all my fault.

"Please don't cry," I say around my own tears, wiping at my cheeks furiously. "Please."

Edward looks up, and a shuddering sob racks my chest. His eyes are shining under damp lashes, their brilliant bright blue filled with worry. "Fuck. Don't cry."

I try to smile, try to will away the tears. But they don't stop. "I don't know if I can stop now."

His arms wrap around me tightly, and I bury my face in his neck. I want to beg him to stay, but know without a doubt that doing so would be selfish and stupid, because he would.

"We'll be fine," he says, slipping his hand under my hair and resting it against the back of my neck. "Please stop, babe. I can't handle it when you cry."

His t-shirt is wet, and my eyes are puffy, and it takes a few more minutes of my silent tears and his quiet reassurances for me to peel my face off his shoulder.

"I love you," he says, kissing me softly, and I wish the words could repair the split in my bursting heart, but they can't.

"I love you, too. So much."

We sit like that — me on his lap, cradled against him — until the alert on his phone goes off and it's time for him to leave. The walk to his van is slow. In fact, I'm surprised he can walk at all with me clinging to him like a mollusc. He chucks his backpack onto the passenger-side seat, and turns to kiss me goodbye. For the second time.

This is it.

"I'll see you soon," he says, the pain I'm feeling mirrored in his expression.

I nod, but can't speak. My mouth is glued shut, and suddenly my palms are sweating and my pulse is racing.

Don't you dare let him leave.

He reaches up to pull himself into the driver's seat, and my brain is firing and my heart is in my mouth and—

"Wait!" My heart is beating so fast I'm having trouble breathing. "Wait."

Edward steps down and stands beside the van. He waits patiently as I wring my hands in front of me, ignoring my brain and listening only to the impulse and the driving thump of my heart.

"What time does the flight leave?"

I can see a smile fighting to lift the corners of Edward's lips, but he keeps them pressed into a straight line. "Twenty to one."

Swallowing hard, I calculate exactly how much time it would take me to shove my clothes into a backpack. To call my parents. To call Rosie. To let work know I won't be able to make the lunch shift tomorrow afternoon.

"I guess I have enough in my bank account—"

"I can pay for your ticket."

"Don't be stupid."

Edward nods, his eyes wide.

"Well, I'll have to find my passport."

Glossary

"Steady on" — Basically like saying "Wait a minute."

"Maytagged" — Getting wiped out, and being thrashed about by the white wash.

"Bull" – Short for "bullshit."

"Woop Woop" – refers to somewhere that's in the middle of nowhere. Also knows as "the middle of butt-fuck nowhere."

**Food – Aussies do takeaway food like no one's business. We put tinned beetroot in our hamburgers, as well as fried eggs, pineapple (gross), and pretty much anything else we can think of. Potato cakes are deep-fried, battered slabs of potato — kind of like a big, flat potato chip, but in batter: salty, potato-y goodness. "Dimmies" are Dim Sims — egg-sized Dim Sims that are thrown in the deep fryer. I don't even know what's inside of them. "Meat," I'd say, mixed with some cabbage. Potato cakes and dim sims are a staple of Aussie take away food. Wrap them in some paper with some big fat chippies and some fresh fish and that's Friday night dinner sorted.

Thank you so much for reading. And for the lovely reviews I'm still getting. Always always appreciated.

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