A/N: These two are just not talking to me lately. Anyway, this chapter hasn't been edited or pre-read, so it's me in all my unmitigated imperfection.
Hope you enjoy.
Hoodwinked
Chapter 28
Edward's MRI scan and x-ray both come back clear. No hematomas, no swelling, and no brain trauma. Aside from a few cuts and bruises, and one minimal hairline fracture on his fourth rib, he's completely fine.
He got lucky, considering he was hit from behind and lost consciousness; it could have been so much worse. Not that he'd ever admit to it.
"Three hours sitting in a doctor's office only to be told what I've been trying to tell you all along," he says wryly, draping one arm around my shoulders and clamping my nose with the other.
"It's called peace of mind," I point out, brushing it away.
"Let's get lunch—I'm starving," he adds as we make his way back to his car. He insisted on driving again, as if he'd get separation anxiety if we took mine.
"You have two personalities, hungry and horny," I say ruefully, rolling my eyes.
"You have three," he responds, bending slightly to speak teasingly against my ear. "Bitching and bitching, and my personal favourite, bitching."
"I do not bitch!" I retort, coming minutely close to shoving my elbow in his side before I catch myself.
"Sure thing, boog. Hungry Jacks?" he puts to me.
"No—ugh. I have no idea how you can exist solely on grease and sugar," I say.
He sighs in exasperation. "Well, what do you feel like, Cinderella?"
"I'm not really hungry," I answer, becoming distracted. My thoughts are still brimming with his father's imminent return. Edward's nowhere close to healing after Saturday night, and I can barely stand the thought of anything else happening to him.
"KFC?" He prods, regardless.
"Yeah." I shrug a non-committal shoulder.
He sighs again with impatience this time. "Okay, what are you bitching about this time?"
"I'm not bitching," I insist.
"So, what's going on in that head of yours?" He flicks my forehead in emphasis.
"Nothing." I over exaggerate it. "I'm just...tired," I add not sounding the least bit convincing.
"Righto," he mutters dubiously, half rolling his eyes. It's not exactly easy to get anything past him, but then I'm starting to suspect he knows me more than my own mother.
"Macca's?" he suggests after pulling himself behind the wheel of his car and yanking the gear stick into reverse.
"We had Macca's the other day," I remind him dryly.
"Subway?"
I hesitate; something he takes as conformation. "We're not getting takeout for dinner," I insist. "I'll cook something."
"Yeah?" he turns to me, a broad smile spreading warmly across his face.
"Yeah," I tease him in imitation. "What do you feel like?"
"Hmm... Spag?"
"Sure," I say simply. "We'll need to stop and buy groceries, though."
"No worries. You're not a bad cook, boog," he notes, his smile turning to a grin, but what over I decide I don't want to know.
"I learned early on. Cooking is too much of a commitment for my mother," I reply, smirking.
"Your old lady..." he murmurs to himself. "I'm glad you take after your old man."
"So am I," I say emphatically.
"You're going to stay over tonight, still, right?" he changes course without missing a beat.
"I said I was, didn't I?"
"Your old man won't mind?" He turns and cocks a single brow.
"What do you think?" I reply, my expression mirroring his.
"I think he likes me." He breaks into another grin as mine quickly follows.
"He likes you a lot more than he did. How many times has he busted up a party that you were at?" I ask, suddenly curious.
"Hmm, a few..." he answers, his grin turning inward.
"Hellraiser," I prod him with too much affection.
"You're already mellowing me, boog. I'd rather spend my weekends fucking you than getting pissed," he says a little too candidly as I almost choke.
"Can you not say it like that?" I voice my objections
"Like what?" he tilts his head, but his smirk is giving him away. He's messing with me again.
"Fucking me—it sounds cheap."
"Oh, I'm sorry—making love with my girlfriend boog," he mocks me, breaking into laughter when I scowl at him.
"You're hilarious," I mumble begrudgingly, but I'm not angry at him and he knows it.
Because Edward and I are nothing if not creatures of habit, we once again stop at the mall, and after eating lunch, we head back to Woolies. Naturally, we run into a few people from school who all stare at the two of us curiously, but thankfully, Mike and Jessica aren't among them. Edward might be pretty laid back in general, but he can snap in a heartbeat when it comes to my ex-boyfriend.
After grabbing the ingredients for dinner, as well as more ice-cream, Edward hurries me along.
"I have to get home and mow the grass or there'll be hell to pay," he mutters in explanation.
I turn to stare at him aghast. "You're in no shape to be mowing the lawn!"
"Who else is going to do it?" he asks, draping an arm around my shoulders as we head back to the parking lot.
"I can ask my dad. He won't..." I suggest when he cuts me off.
"No!"
"Why?"
"You know my old man," is all he offers.
"You're hurt!"
"I'm fine," he immediately counters, rolling his eyes no doubt thinking I'm being melodramatic again.
"I'll ask dad to loan you our ride-on," I continue regardless.
"Bella..." he complains, expelling a heavy breath. "Stop being a pain in the neck."
"I'm just worried about you," I confess with an audible sigh.
"Over a mild concussion?" he challenges me. "I've had real concussions before. The last one I slept forty-eight hours straight," he openly admits as my breath sucks in on complete impulse.
"You're not supposed to sleep when you have a concussion, you idiot!" I burst, horrified.
"I'm still alive, aren't I?" he says matter-of-factly, clamping my nose again, and this time I push his hand away impatiently.
"You have to stop being so reckless. I can't live worrying about you all the time." I stop and turn to him, and I'm serious. Deadly.
He looks down and raises both eyebrows, flashing me an all-knowing smile. "Aww, boog. You're cute when you get all motherly on me."
"I'm serious, you idiot!" I snap hotly.
"Will you relax?" he says, not taking me seriously at all, and grabbing my hand, he pulls me after him.
. . .
"Can you give me a hint?" I breach, after we're heading home again.
"Hint...?" He turns to me, his forehead knotting.
"You said you told me about it," I elaborate in a small voice, and I watch as realisation burns behind his eyes.
He clears his throat stiffly and turns his gaze back to the road. "I didn't really tell you about it. You were there," he clarifies cryptically, his voice notably tense.
"Does Alice remember?"
He shakes his head, his frown deepening. "If she does, she never mentions it."
"Why can't you tell me?" I appeal to him, because it would make things so much easier if he did.
"Bella..." He expels a heavy breath. "I told you not to ask me about it." Releasing a hand from the steering wheel, he rubs at his brow with the heel of his palm.
"I know, but...I feel terrible that I can't remember," I disclose quietly.
"I don't want you to feel terrible," he says lowly without turning back to me, and he's immediately...off. This is still such a sensitive topic for him, after all.
"I'm sorry."
He huffs this time, sounding irritated. "Didn't I tell you to stop that?"
"I know."
"You'll remember," he assures me after a pause, making an obvious effort to lighten the mood.
"Yeah," I humour him, but I'm not so sure. I don't recall a lot after Mrs Cullen died; I'm positive it was something my young mind deliberately blocked out. I barely remember attending the funeral, and the first twelve months after are hazy and full of holes.
Often times certain things jog my memory and it comes crashing back to me, and I'm hoping that will happen this time. All I really remember about Edward after his mother's death was hearing him sobbing in the tree house alone, and the thought of it tears my heart out.
"You don't have to say it, Edward. I know how you feel," I say gently, despite the fact that my voice is still overrunning with guilt.
Flashing me an almost tender smile, he reaches over and clamps my nose again; his trademark act of affection. "Shut up," is all he says in reply, but he can't disguise the warmth in his tone, and it's enough.
. . .
"I'm helping!" I insist stubbornly, following Edward into the garage even as he ignores me.
"You can help by not being a pain in the neck. I'll finish it a lot quicker if I don't have to fix shit that you'll mess up!" He turns to me and props his hands on his hips as I glare at him indignantly. "You ever done this before?" he calls my bluff, and he has me there.
"No..." I confess.
"Then how would you be helping me?" He arches that brow again and I huff.
"Jesus, Edward!" I burst, because he has a point, and because his ego's the size of China.
"Go hang with Alice," he says with a weary sigh; it's an emotion he doesn't often portray and I immediately pause.
"Fine," I concede. "Want me to get you a drink?"
He breaks into a reluctant grin and flicks me square in the forehead. "Yeah."
Relenting, I make my way back inside and head toward Alice's room. Without hesitation, I open her door and am confronted with the sight of her and Jas having sex. I almost jump out of my skin and immediately exit, beyond mortified.
"Sorry, Al," I offer sheepishly from behind the door again, fighting off the full-bodied convulsion, and without waiting for her answer I head home.
"Where are you going?" Edward asks over the thunder of the mower's engine as he pushes it along the front lawn. He's shirtless like he always is, and I honestly can't fault my mother for perving on him. I just shudder to think how long she's been doing it.
I point to my house in answer.
He nods and winks, and removing his baseball cap, he replaces it backwards before continuing. He's still conscious of the bruise along his ribs, but pointing it out will only frustrate him, so I pretend I don't notice and attempt, unsuccessfully, to push it from my thoughts.
I'm always going to worry about the shithead, though. Whether I want to or not.
"Hello, sweetie," my mother greets me as I come through the door. "I feel like I hardly ever see you anymore." Planting both palms to my face she kisses my cheek. "How's Edward feeling?"
"He's okay. Being stubborn, as usual," I reply. "I'm just going to have a shower."
"No worries—how's everything south of the border?" she asks after me casually, as though she were enquiring about school.
"Fine," I reply, attempting to keep the cringe from compromising my voice as I hurry my step toward my room. Alice and my mother in the space of five minutes is too much for anyone's psyche.
"You okay, sweetie? Do you have your period?"
"No!" I insist. I don't want that happening just yet, after all.
By the time I wash my hair, brush my teeth, and pull on fresh clothes, Edward's moved onto the backyard. My mother has her binoculars out of course, and is discreetly watching from the safety of the back covered patio.
"Mum!" I protest! Perving on him when he wasn't my boyfriend was bad enough, but now that he is...? That's when I realise; in tandem with the roar of the mower is the sound of the line-trimmer. And the person operating it is who my mother is actually perving on.
My father.
In silence, he works alongside Edward, and I immediately pause suddenly close to tears. It moves me more than I ever thought possible to see him reach out to Edward in such a way.
Even Jas is helping, raking up the debris of weeds and severed blades of grass the line-trimmer leaves behind.
"See, sweetie?" Renee moves beside me and wraps her arms around my shoulders, squeezing me. "I told you your father would come around."
I nod, feeling the imminent sting of tears behind my eyes and preparing to wipe them dry the moment they escape. My mother will completely misconstrue my emotions as some kind of post lost-virginity come down.
"Mum?" I speak up, my voice hopelessly wavering.
"What is it, sweetie?"
"Can you get Dad to invite Edward to stay tomorrow night? —he won't ask on his own," I hastily explain.
"Of course, I can," she assures me, her voice softening. "Leave it to me."
"Thanks," I whisper, and I don't need to tell her why I'm so anxious for him.
"No problem." She squeezes me again. "Would you like a B12?"
It's my mother's answer for everything, and I have no idea whether they work as she presumes. She's been giving them to me for so long, I'm positive I've developed some kind of immunity.
"Yeah," I appease her nonetheless, nodding my head and echoing her smile.
My mother prepares the drinks, delivering them in person with a deliberate sway of her hips. It's all for my father's benefit, thank god, and going by the smile on his face, he knows he's going to be richly rewarded tonight. It's a good thing I'm staying with Edward again.
"You all done?" I ask him softly as he gulps down the lemonade. His hands are shaking, he looks exhausted, and it's obvious he's stiff and in pain.
"All done," he replies, flashing me a quick grin.
"Do you have some Epsom salts, sweetie?" my mother asks him, drawing his attention.
"Ah, I don't know." Edward scratches the back of his head, suddenly looking awkward, and I have to force myself not to laugh. No doubt he expects my mother to give him a sponge bath, or something to that effect.
"I'll send Bella over with a box. You should have a bath," she explains as my father pointedly clears his throat. "Alone obviously, honey."
"Erm...thanks," Edward mumbles, his face flashing hotter than it already is before he turns to Charlie. "Thanks for your help, Mr Swan." He extends a hand and my father takes it easily.
"No worries, mate." And grabbing Jake as he runs past, my father hoists him onto his shoulders and returns to the house.
"I'll send Bella over in a moment," my mother adds, grabbing my hand.
"Mum—what?" I ask, as she drags me back inside with her.
"You're not coming home tonight, are you?" she asks covertly in my ear only to lean back and wink suggestively.
"No," I reply, unsure whether I want to cringe from her innuendo or scoff.
"Good. The Epsom Salt's in the main bathroom."
. . .
"You gonna have a bath with me?" Edward asks with a cagey grin after opening the front door to me and taking the small blue box of magnesium sulphate.
"There's no bath in your bathroom," I remind him.
"And...?" he asks with confusion, wrapping his arm around my back and leading me inside. He's sweaty and smells of dirt and freshly cut grass, and I had no idea how appealing it is.
"And there's only one in Alice's. I don't want her walking in on us, as well," I elaborate.
"As well?" he echoes, arching a questioning brow.
"I was reminded why you should always knock first," I say ruefully as Edward's expression morphs into one of repulsion and slight amusement.
"Fuck that," he mumbles, chuckling through his nose regardless.
"Nice, Bella!" Alice declares, emerging from her room right on cue; she's not angry, though.
"Sorry, Al," I repeat my apology.
"Ever heard of a lock, midget?" Edward adds, planting his palm to her forehead and shoving her out of the way.
"You two went out!" she justifies, shoving him back. "God, you're a child—what's with all the food? Gonna cook are you?" she mocks him.
"Boog is," he answers.
"Oh, then I forgive you, Bells," she says, grabbing my hand with a broad grin. "Make some for me and Jas, too?"
"Of course," I agree, my smile following hers before it quickly fades. "I really am sorry, Al. I should have knocked." And it's not exactly an image I'll be able to erase from my mind any time soon.
"It's fine." She waves her hand dismissively. "So, our last night of freedom. What are we gonna do?" She directs her question to Edward who shrugs a disinterested shoulder.
"You can do your own shit."
She scoffs, and turns to head back to her room. "You two will get sick of the sight of each other."
Edward only snorts, and taking my hand he pulls me down the hall to his bedroom. With a loud groan, he shoves open his door and drops lazily to his bed.
"I won't get sick of you, boog," he promises, rolling to his back and flashing me a smile with deliberate undertones of affection.
"Hmm..." I reply, taking his hand when he offers it.
He pulls me down beside him, and curving my hand around his bare shoulder, I rest my head against it.
"Hey," he murmurs, after turning and resting his nose and lips against my forehead for a moment.
"What?"
"You really grew up a lot these last couple of weeks."
I tilt my head and gaze at him. Normally he'd say something like that in his usual smartass tone, but he's serious, I realise.
"What do you mean?" I ask curiously.
"You no longer treat me like I have Swine Flu." And finding amusement in his own joke he laughs softly through his nose.
"Shut up." I nudge him, my lips twitching in response to him. "I told you. I just...lost sight of you for a while." My voice softens and I contemplate it for a moment. I still can't grasp how he went from my best friend, to the annoying boy next door whose sole purpose in life was to torment me.
. . .
I force Edward to take a bath, bribing him with all kinds of sexual exploits to get him to comply, while I start on dinner. Alice helps, and I take the opportunity to attempt to crack her for information.
"Edward says I was there, but I don't remember anything," I relay in a whisper because he has the hearing of a bat.
She hums, her brow knotted and her head angled in thought. "I don't know, Bells. I don't remember a lot from back then," she says in apology.
"Either do I," I mutter with an edge of frustration as I grind up beef mince with spaghetti sauce over the stove, "but it's obviously important to him."
"It's cause...that's when Dad started getting hard on him," Alice adds, sounding increasingly troubled.
Releasing a worried breath, I turn to face her. "Al, your dad won't hurt him, will he? —when he comes home tomorrow?"
She sighs in a way that all but confirms it, and I feel like holding my breath. "It's hard to say," she eventually answers. "Any little thing sets him off, and if Edward retaliates, he gets...physical." Her voice drops to a whisper as a frown heavily knots her forehead.
"What do you mean retaliate? Edward says he doesn't fight back."
She scoffs, and hedged with her sarcasm is what sounds like irony. "But you know what he's like. He'll roll his eyes at him, or scoff, and dad just...snaps."
"Does he see anyone? Your dad? A psychologist, or something?" I venture.
She shakes her head, and snags her bottom lip between her teeth. She's beginning to look increasingly troubled, and it's not exactly reassuring. "I don't know," she admits. "Bella, if you could talk to Edward and convince him not to provoke him..."
"Al," I reply regrettably, "there are some things he refuses to talk to me about, and your dad is one of them."
"Edward is...Edward," she says sounding suddenly frustrated. "He and dad have always been pretty rocky, but..." Shaking her head she stubbornly abandons it. "Sorry, Bells."
"It's alright," I mumble, as my thoughts continue to stray. I never realised Edward's relationship with his father had broken down. Not until years later. I was so disconnected from him, and I can still barely comprehend any of it. He was so important to me, and then...I just let him go.
"The moment Edward gets home tomorrow, get him out of the house, okay?" she suddenly appeals to me. "Because the second Dad sees him, he's going to freak."
"I will," I vow as my heart clenches; reminding me again that my concerns are completely justified.
"Just keep him out of the house as much as possible. Dad gets so pissed off when Edward gets into fights." She sighs heavily, and shakes her head to herself a second time. "He's too old for it now, though. He really needs to grow the hell up."
I nod my head dully even as my thoughts remain plagued. As at ease and in control as Edward likes to portray himself as, I'm really beginning to suspect he's in a world of pain and he's just barely hanging on.
"That's where you come in." Alice breaks into my thoughts, wrapping an arm around my shoulders.
"Huh?" I utter blankly, turning to face her.
"You're the only one who keeps him grounded," she says with an encouraging smile.
. . .
I knew Edward wasn't physically ready to do anything so strenuous. Even with Dad helping, it wiped him completely out, and by the time we finish dinner he's so exhausted he's practically swaying in the dining chair.
"Wanna have an early one?" I put to him softly, grabbing his hand beneath the table.
He turns to me and smiles gratefully, his eyes burning a little too brightly; only reiterating how tired he really is. "Alright." His voice is rustic and it catches softly.
I have to practically heave him up out of his seat, and when he curls his arm around my neck, I realise it's to lean his weight against me.
"Can you guys keep it down?" I ask Alice as we pass, my worried tone explanation enough.
"Sure," she says with a smile, nodding her head in reassurance.
"Your turn to do the lights, midget," Edward reminds her, but there's no conviction, or smartass undertone behind his voice, that even Alice pauses and gazes at him with obvious concern.
"I won't forget," she answers.
"Bell..." Edward murmurs after crawling to the centre of his unmade bed and collapsing against his pillows, "it's tomorrow and we didn't have sex."
"I know," I say gently, lying beside him and reaching up to wipe his hair off his forehead. "It won't kill us."
He groans languidly, and closes his eyes against it. "We got time for a quickie?"
"You might fall asleep on top of me," I joke lightly, leaning closer to plant my lips to the side of his neck.
He takes a breath and releases it into a long-winded hum. "That's a definite...possibility... Shit."
"We've got plenty of time," I promise him. "Go to sleep."
He groans again, but he sounds mere moments from unconsciousness. "In the morning?"
"'Kay," I agree, frowning as I consider it further. Two hours of exercise today did this to him, so I hate to think how he'll manage a full day at work.
"Stop it," he mumbles.
"Stop what?"
"You, over-thinking shit all the bloody time." He takes another humming breath, and moans huskily with it this time.
I laugh lightly before smothering it beneath my breath. "How the hell do you know me so well?"
"I've always known you so well." He smiles behind his closed eyes and I can only marvel at him. Even half asleep he's still capable of mocking me.
"You're a shithead," I tease him in turn, my voice hopelessly overdrawn with affection.
"Hmm..." His voice becomes deeper, even as the sleepy smile lingers on his face. "Kiss me."
I do. Stretching up, I plant my lips tenderly, but briefly over his.
He moans again. "Morning," he reminds me, in a voice that's barely a whisper, and just when I was positive he'd fallen asleep.
"Morning," I echo wryly.
"Don't...forget..."
"I promise."
"Good. Shut up. Pain... in the... neck..." He's asleep not three seconds later.
I wait several more minutes until he's softly snoring beside me before I pull myself carefully out from under him to turn out the lights. That's when I notice it. As I move to shut down his computer, I immediately pause; realising what's suddenly missing. The busty blonde who normally fronts his screensaver is gone.
He replaced it with a photo of me.
A/N: Thanks for reading.