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Word Prompts: Notorious, victorious, inglorious

"Hi." I smile stiffly up at him, shaking his hand.

He eyes me, smiling the tiniest bit as he stands aside. "It's freezing."

"That it is." I brush past, abruptly aware of my harried appearance: frumpy layers, red face and messy hair. I probably look like Charlie after she's been roughhousing with Makenna and Embry.

"So you're Emmett's sister," he says, and I swear there's amusement in his voice.

Wondering what my idiot brother could possibly have told this guy, I peel my coat off and leave it beside my wet boots. "Yeah, that's me - the notorious Bella Swan."

He starts toward the kitchen, slow, sexy strides...maybe it's more of a saunter...he's saying something. But I like his sweater. It's fitted, and soft looking, like his jeans, which sit low. It's all very nice. Very nice. I mean, if you enjoy spending tons of money on clothing. He seems like he would be the type. I bet his underwear are designer, too. Edward plays soccer; I bet he wears boxer briefs. Yeah, I've seen those David Beckham ads -

In the kitchen, he pauses, leaning against the counter, arms folded. His eyes...green...verdant...lush like Em and Rosalie's backyard in the summer...narrow. "Everything all right?"

He's got the slightest touch of an accent; just barely.

"I'm really sorry; I'm a little out of it," I say, realizing he was attempting to converse while I was busy judging and ogling. "It's been a long night, long day. Could you repeat that?"

"I said, it's nice to finally meet you. Em speaks highly of you."

"Ah. Thanks. He's been...great." It's an understatement. I remember finishing college, about to give birth, and knowing there was nowhere for me to go but home. Em and Rose, my father and Sue...they are my tribe. My family. They are Charlie's dad. "We got really close after college."

He nods, pushing his hair back from his face.

An awkward silence descends. I struggle to find something to say, some common ground, but there is none. We couldn't be more different.

"So you play soccer," I blurt out.

He nods shortly, face impassive.

"That's really cool. Are you on a break or something?"

"I tore my ACL a while back. It's a lot better, but there's still pain."

My eyes drop to his knee, and I realize that what I thought was swagger was probably extreme caution...and a slight limp. "Oh. That sucks. I'm sorry."

"So am I." He shrugs, dropping into a chair at the kitchen table. "I've had injuries before, but this, by far, has been the worst."

"Will you be able to play again?"

Edward's jaw tightens. "That's the plan."

His displeasure with the situation is obvious, and, eager to lighten the mood, I open the fridge. "Want a beer?"

"Sure...?"

"No worries; I practically live here." Straightening up, I open a bottle of Rose's latest IPA obsession and hand it over. "Welcome home."

Smiling a little, he clinks his bottle to mine. "Thanks."

Somehow I get roped into cooking dinner with Rose. Funny how good beer and even better company can do that.

Emmett, Mike and Edward are catching up in the living room, supposedly "keeping an eye on the kids", who are whooping it up like savages, thanks to sugar and - on Charlie's end - no nap. The TV blares obnoxiously, complimenting the screaming, laughing, and occasional crashes.

"They're ruining the house."

Rose shrugs. "Wouldn't be the first time, and anyway, Em's got 'em."

"I hope so."

Music starts up, loud. Charlie's hysterical giggles follow - at this rate she's probably not even going to make it to dinner. Rolling her eyes, Rose slides me my beer. "Relax."

Same conversation, different day. It's what we do. She and Em are forever encouraging me to just chill! as if it's that easy. As if I can just switch gears. Charlie's all I've got. I mean, my family is mine, but Charlie is mine. Sometimes it feels like some weird dream or cosmic joke that I have, in fact, been given this little person to raise; I keep waiting for someone to see me as the fraud I must be.

"I'll try."

Rose nods. "Try harder."

"Mom."

I fluff her pillow, tuck the blanket in a little tighter. "What's up?"

"Edward is in trouble."

I frown. "Why?"

"He colored all over himself. Even his neck. Even his belly." She purses her lips, watching how I take the news of such inglorious offenses.

"How'd you see his belly?" I ask, trying not to think about how sexy that part of him probably is.

"Uncle Emmett," she says, stressing the "t". That's her new thing. Emmettttt.

"Uncle Emmett showed you?"

"Yah. A picture on the internet."

When I finally get her settled down, after we've said prayers and adjusted night lights and left the door halfway open, I grab my laptop and flop into bed.

Google: Edward Cullen.

My stomach flutters. I feel slightly intrusive, like I'm cyber stalking this guy. I mean, I Google people all the time, but it's definitely different when I kind of know them. None of that matters when oodles of his images pop up on the screen, though. There he is, in his cocky, inked out glory, strutting around soccer - sorry, football - fields over in England somewhere.

His body, what I can see of it beneath his panoply of tattoos, is flawless. As it should be. I mean, if I got paid to exercise all day maybe I'd have a six pack instead of this soft, still-blaming-the-baby belly.

Looks like he's had a good go of it, too, his team having one victorious season after another. There's an article about his injury, which I skim briefly. It seems optimistic he'll be able to return eventually, but then I look at the date and realize that it was written a year ago.

I'd wonder what he's doing here, but I think I know. I know what it's like to have Big Plans, only to have them derailed in an instant. Sometimes you just have to go back to where you started, go back to the people who support you the most.

I think of his face at dinner, how much he and my brother laughed as they reminisced. I hope he finds whatever he's looking for here, whether it's peace and healing or a new life altogether.

xoxo