Chapter 14

~Edward~

As I hammered each nail into the battered wood, careful to avoid fingers like I still had something to save them for, I thought about what just took place in Bella's kitchen. That curly-haired farm boy was arrogant, full of piss and vinegar. Didn't bother me any that he puffed up his chest at me like any man would. Hell, if he hadn't, I'd have thought him soft.

What bothered me was he acted as though he was in charge there, like he was taking care of things. The rusty, old enamel stove tilting on its side and the half-broken light fixture above the warped table said otherwise.

I thought about the field that separated our houses and how it was creeping in and taking root in the cracks and crevices of the dusty plaster walls that were already abused. Her house was truly eating her alive.

If it was indeed that arrogant Jasper's job to look after her, he was failing worse than a pig in a schoolroom. The wood splintering beneath me raised up and said "amen" to that statement and lodged a thick, spiky splinter right through my shutter finger.

Panic at first, at the thought of the discomfort I'd have hitting the shutter button repeatedly, and then a sort of a nothing emptiness when I remembered I don't do that anymore. I could hammer my thumb as flat as a sliced mushroom, and it wouldn't matter, not anymore. Sticking it in my mouth to suck, I heard water running from somewhere above: the gentle, steady sound of a faucet. I looked up to see the window on the second floor cracked open, and with a quick mapping of the floor plan our houses shared, I realized it was coming from the bathroom I'd glanced at yesterday while fetching medical supplies.

Sitting on the porch, I wiped the sweat off my forehead with my shirt and closed my good eye, listening to the calm rush of water and then the unmistakable splash of someone using that water. My mind conjured a picture of her sticking a toe in what I assumed would be the same iron claw- foot tub that was in mine. Her arms would be pulling that flimsy dress up and over herself before she lowered herself in, scrubbing at the skin I knew would be slick from soap, same as it was in the pond.

My thumb pulsed as I looked at it, taunting me because I wasn't paying attention as I swung that hammer while thinking of something else. Something that wasn't my business, shouldn't be my business. That Jasper prick felt he had the right to talk to me like that? To lay down orders where Bella was concerned when he obviously had no control over anything? And to do it right in front of her like she wasn't even there?

No, I didn't like the way he spoke to her. Like a girl he was in charge of taking care of. Like he owned her and had a right to tell her what to do. Like he was disappointed with choices she made.

He spoke to her like a child.

But the Bella in the transparent dress, the Bella naked in the creek, and the Bella naked above me sure as shit was no child.

Twenty. Calm down, Edward.

I shook my finger out in front of me, assessing the red, angry wound and tried to get the images of her in the bath out of my head. Wet and slippery, her skin warm, and her eyelashes holding tiny droplets of water as she raised her arms to suds up her hair. Images like that would lead me nowhere, a useless line of thinking. She was just a neighbor I was helping out, not someone I wanted to get involved with in any way.

She was nothing but a charity case, an orphan. Someone who the part of me that was trying to make up for past sins had decided it needed to help.

The words from the old men at the hardware store circled around, and I thought about that picture I found, the one of the woman in Bella's dress holding a baby. The baby looked real in the picture, and I couldn't quite guess at what they meant when they were talking about dolls.

I don't know what made me so angry and possessive of her in that moment and the brief encounter with Jasper. Maybe there really was a good part of me left, still buried inside, who knew someone had to watch out for her lest this behemoth of a landmine crumble around her and take her with it into the ground. Or maybe the selfish blood was still running through me, and I figured the house would take down my property value with it. That was a thought that felt more at home, but it ran cold all the same.

The splish-splash of the water continued, so I went back to banging nails into the rotted wood, the ache in my finger a dull roar.

The last nail entered the last board, and I stood to stretch, my back protesting and making a satisfying cracking sound. Groaning a bit, I twisted to loosen up the knots, and that's when I saw her, shivering and wet, on her top stop, sitting and staring at me.

And she was as naked as the day she was born.

My eye saw too much skin, a hint of color at her breast. I could feel my face heat as my fingers clenched together, forgetting the sting of the splinter as I turned away to swallow.

Turning back slightly, so as not to look at her full on, I muttered. "You better go put some clothes on." I flung my tools into the box with more force than necessary.

The clatter of iron tools masked her approach, and I froze as I felt her hand on my arm. I looked at it, the dampness lingering from her bath burning my skin like holy water. My eye snapped to her. Her skin was pink, her hair slicked back and starting to dry on the ends, and I did the second worst thing I've ever done in my life.

I leaned in.

I wanted to kiss her.

My dick twinged as a little gasp came from her lips at my approach. I couldn't stop my hand from curling around her neck, tangling itself in the wet hair that tickled my knuckles. My eye and mind traveled to how the pink of her nipples mirrored the color of a brilliant sunset captured at the end of the world, and her silky skin held droplets that would reflect the light of a flash to shine like diamonds in black and white.

She moved closer, her hot little body almost flush against mine. I thought about how clean and pure she was, pressed up against my dirty clothes, and that fact turned into the metaphor for everything that was wrong with me.

Just before I let my mouth touch down to hers, I pushed her away from me. Not enough to make her stumble but enough to put distance between us.

Without another look, I carried that heavy box all the way across the field, making my arms ache. What did she think she was doing parading around like that, walking around with not a stitch on? Maybe those townies were right. Maybe there was something wrong and crazy about her.

The tools hit me hard in the thigh and made my swollen thumb sting with each bump as I stomped across that field, angry at myself for getting sucked in. Who did she think she was, making me worry about her house? What the hell was I supposed to do now that I'd set it up that I could be relied on for anything?

Confused and eager to take out my frustrations, I stormed to the battered shed and began throwing items out on the gravel driveway. Decades-old rusty metal and car parts, broken window frames and expired license plates—they all got tossed out on the ground in my frenzy to rid my mind of the damn girl across the field and her stupid life. The reason I came here, to shut myself away and be alone, roared to the surface with a new vengeance. I needed to concentrate on my house and my things and my screwed up life. Can't worry about deer that think they're human or vines that creep in and eat everything they cover.

And I especially couldn't worry about soft, young, sweet lips that would taste better than anything I could remember in a long, long time.

I spun in my uncertainty and rage, kicked a rusty crate, then sat down on it hard. I dropped my head in my hands as it ached, full of all my fucked up thoughts.

Mad love to LayAtHomeMom, Hadley Hemingway, and CarrieZM for making us pretty.

Enjoy, and leave us your thoughts!

HB&PB