-:-
I wasn't entirely sure what woke me first—the dull ache that was pulsing in my head or the sound of thunder rumbling outside. But as I slipped back into consciousness, I hugged my pillow and buried my face in it, only to realize that it had turned solid. I blearily blinked in the dim light of the room and suddenly froze in disbelief.
Edward cleared his throat quietly and said, "Hi."
He was half-sitting, half-lying down beside me, and I was snuggled up to his torso like I was seeking heat.
"Hi," I whispered breathlessly. "You're… in my bed."
He chuckled, curling his arm behind his head with a slight grimace. He had to be uncomfortable at this angle. "I knew I would end up having to explain myself. I figured you weren't going to remember."
In my foggy thoughts, I tried to go back and pinpoint the moment when he'd gotten into bed with me. Though, I didn't think that was something that I'd miss if I were awake. He didn't seem the type to slip in by himself, so I hoped I hadn't developed a sort of sleepwalking or sleep-sexmonstering talent and pulled him into bed. Maybe I had a nightmare and he came over to comfort me, and I just forgot.
"What did I do?"
I wasn't sure if I really wanted to hear the answer to that, but my curiosity outweighed my hesitation. Also, I wasn't all the way convinced that this wasn't another side effect—a hallucination of some sort from my concussion. Though, if I were having a fantasy illusion, I would have imagined him under the covers with me—not on top of them, as he was now.
"Well, Dr. Cullen told me to wake you every hour or two to make sure you didn't have any new symptoms," he said. "And you seemed fine, but when I leaned over to ask how you were, you grabbed my shirt. Then, you kind of… pulled me in."
Yup. I was a slumber-whore.
Realizing that I still hadn't let go of him, I tried to push myself up so I wasn't sprawled over him anymore. For a few moments, our heads were level and our eyes met; if we had been any closer, our vision would have probably blurred. Seconds ticked by before we looked away, and he raised himself up to a full sitting position.
"I'm sorry," I said, giving him an apologetic look. His hair was boyishly falling into his eyes. I wanted to brush it out of his face, but I figured I'd touched him enough for one night. "That probably wasn't good for your back."
Not to mention my self-dignity.
"It's okay," he said, sliding away from me and off the bed, taking his warmth with him. I propped myself up on a few pillows and crossed my legs, glancing down at the plain, white sheets. This was much less exciting.
"Also, sorry for making you my pillow."
He laughed, taking a seat in the chair he had last been sitting in and stretched. "It's fine, really. You weren't conscious."
"What time is it?" I asked, changing the topic.
"A little after four-thirty," he said, glancing at his watch. I felt guilty at how exhausted he looked. It hadn't been a long night for only me, after all. He'd been the one playing chauffeur, babysitter, messenger, and even Prince Charming, having carried my incapable ass up the stairs—all four flights of them.
I sighed. "Edward, you've got to sleep."
"I will," he answered with a shrug. "Later tonight."
"That's ridiculous," I mumbled, reaching over to the nightstand to retrieve my water, and opening it. "I hereby relieve you of this boring requirement that you got yourself into. Go to bed."
"Thanks, but I was just in one." He grinned and I made a face, sheepish. "Do you want anything else to drink?"
I sighed. "No, thank you." I sipped the water and looked around the room, eventually looking back at him. He raised his eyebrows at me. "What?"
"Aren't you going back to sleep?" he asked.
"No," I answered, even though I probably could have easily done so. "I want to know what I said."
"What you said?" he repeated, raising his eyebrows.
"I can tell by the look on your face that I was talking in my sleep," I said. "You look amused. That can't be from sitting in a silent room for five hours. What did I say?"
He ran his hands through his hair. "Quite a bit. I think you may have even recited a poem at one point."
Horrified, I stared until he smiled and shook his head.
"I'm kidding. You were quiet, but you did say Charlie's name. And something about 'the hose.' Which was funny, because I thought you meant prostitutes until you said 'the water's cold' and then I understood."
I had to laugh at that. "He used to chase me with the garden hose and pretend he was a Spray Monster."
"Ah," he said. "That's a nice memory."
"Did I say anything else?" I asked, fiddling with my blanket.
He creased his forehead, pressing his lips together. "You said my name."
"Oh." Shit. "Sorry. Does that make you uncomfortable?"
He gave me a half smile. "You're serious?"
I squinted slightly. Was he teasing me?
"After all I've said to you, hearing you say my name out loud isn't exactly distressing. It hardly deserves an apology."
"I don't know," I said. "Since I just met you and all."
He leaned forward in his chair, appearing curious. "If I said your name in my sleep, would that make you uncomfortable?"
Honestly, it probably would make me fall backward and have an orgasm.
I tried to hold back a snort and shook my head. "No. It would… make me feel trusted. I wouldn't mind."
He narrowed his eyes and pondered my answer. "You think I don't trust you," he stated.
I shrugged. "Well, I don't know. We haven't known each other long, so I don't blame you. Maybe in some moments, you do. Other times, I'm not so sure."
He seemed troubled by my response. "Only moments?"
"I mean that you have moments when you let your guard down and let me in a little. Other times, you'll speak to me, but I can tell you have a shield up. Like last night, you were so honest and open one minute but then pushed me away the next. I know you said you were protective of yourself, but it makes me sad that you feel like you have to protect yourself from me."
Edward considered that, nodding slightly. I figured I wasn't telling him anything that he hadn't heard before. "I… I've been trying," he said. "You're right, I don't let people in easily. Like I said yesterday, I've given you more than I'm used to. It's not that I don't trust you, it's—" He sighed, not finishing his thought.
"I understand," I said honestly. "But I'm not going to hurt you, you know."
Well, let's not be too confident, Bella Swan-dive.
"Well, not emotionally. Physically, I could accidentally spill coffee on you, or trip over something and stab you with a fork."
He cracked a smile, no doubt picturing me stumbling over my own feet, dishes flying, and people lunging for cover. But his smile faded and he put his fist to his mouth, his eyes becoming serious again, like little green stones.
"Edward, you confuse the hell out of me," I confessed. "What is that about, anyway?"
He looked up quickly, surprised by my sudden change of tone. "What?"
"You called me out for acting like a martyr, so now I'm calling you out," I said, shifting to the side of the bed so I was facing him. "Like right now, you smile like it's a privilege, not a freedom. But sometimes you slip and light up completely—your eyes, your face—and it's genuine. But then it's like you remember that you shouldn't be happy, and you swallow it down. You end up looking sad, like you're miles away."
His eyes were on the floor as I finished speaking, and he'd tucked his arms across his chest. I had either offended him or was exactly right.
"You're doing it right now," I pointed out. "So, why?"
He stared at the ground a little longer before looking up, his eyes just as melancholy as I knew they would be. I sighed, surrendering myself back under the covers with my head resting on a pillow. He had asked me to be patient, but I wasn't exactly a saint. "Can I ask you one more question?"
Edward did his habitual hand-in-the-hair routine, and said in a thick voice, "You're entitled to that."
It was difficult to choose one question from the pile in my mind, but I just wanted to hear something real, something that I had wondered about more than once. "What were you dreaming about the night we met?"
I regretted choosing that question immediately, after I saw how visibly uncomfortable he became. His hands fell into his lap and he started wringing them together. After clearing his throat, he said, "A kid who used to live on my parents' street. He died a little over a year ago."
"Oh," I said quietly, after a moment. "I'm sorry. Were you close?"
Edward silently shook his head, looking worn out. "His face just haunts me sometimes."
The longer I looked at him, the stronger the urge got to pull him into my bed again, consciously this time, and just hold him. I'd never seen someone so in need of a hug, except maybe Renée during the time of her second divorce. I was in the process of pushing myself up so I could get out of bed to do God knows what when he spoke up.
"You should try to go back to sleep," he said, straightening his back. "A few more hours would be good for you."
Change of subject. Conversation over.
"I will if you will," I said, feeling disheartened. I lowered myself back down on my bed. Once again, he had beat me to the chase.
"I'll be fine." Edward lifted his head up, suddenly determined to appear less discouraged.
I placed some of the pillows back on the original side of the bed and pulled my blankets back up. "You know, this is a big bed," I said matter-of-factly, smoothing the sheets.
Edward raised his eyebrows and stared at me until I finally realized that sounded like a bad porno line.
"I mean you can lie down if you want to. Not against your will this time. I'll stay on my side, I promise. I just don't want you to get a stiff neck or something. You've got to be sore from sitting there. I mean—"
Stop. Stop talking.
"I'm okay, but thank you," said Edward. If he was amused or even surprised, he wasn't showing it anymore.
"Okay," I said quickly, embarrassed, and started to position myself more snugly under the comforter.
"Do you mind if I—" He gestured toward the stack of books from the lobby sitting on the desk.
"Oh, sure," I said, supposing that he was going to continue to be stubborn and stay awake. "Help yourself. They might not be your kind of thing, but yeah. Go for it."
"Thanks," he said, picking the first book off the top of the pile. Robert Frost. "Do you need anything?"
"No," I mumbled, rolling over so I wasn't facing him. I hugged my pillow again and tried to relax, though it was difficult with the lamp light right in my eyes. "You should read over here where you can see." I wouldn't have exactly minded him in my eye line where I could peek at him, either.
"I'm fine," he replied softly.
Of course.
We were both silent for a long time. I listened to him flip a few pages of the book once in a while and adjust his posture in the chair. I didn't move or look back, I just stayed still with my eyes closed, wondering what he had been through that he found so difficult to talk about. As my eyelids finally grew heavy, I gave a little sigh, wondering how different things would seem when I woke up again. It was hard to guess.
I thought I heard a voice tell me good night before I drifted off.
-:-
Tylenol, my head said. Now.
I had awakened to an irksome, phantom finger prodding my brain and something wrenching my bones and muscles. My body was begging for aid and throwing up a white flag in surrender as my eyelids cracked open.
Drugs. Get them.
I groaned and stretched, relieved to see that my room was now filled with daylight instead of just the lamp's glow. My body ached all over, but it wasn't terrible. As long as I'd be able to walk straight, I would be happy. As I got out of bed, I switched my lamp off and ran my hand through my messy hair, thinking that I was in desperate need of a shower. And then I stared.
I'd forgotten that Edward was still in the room. Usually, upon seeing him without warning, I would have gotten warm all over, but now I just wanted to laugh.
He was half-curled up in the wooden chair—one leg on the floor and one loosely pulled to his chest. He had one arm resting across the back edge of the chair with his head face down into the crook of it, while his other arm lay draped across his lap, the book of poems still clasped in his hand, looking as though it was about to fall. He was asleep and quite adorable.
My pain suddenly forgotten, I soundlessly tiptoed across the room to unplug my phone from its charger and then went back to where I had been standing. Unable to help myself, I snapped a quick picture of him and bit my lip to stop from giggling. I was so Jessica Stanley right now.
As cute as he looked, his position didn't appear to be very comfortable, especially in a hard, wooden chair. I would have let him stay there if I hadn't thought that he would develop a muscle spasm at some point. I tapped him on the shoulder gently, afraid that he would awake with a start and fall off, but he didn't even move.
"Edward?" I said quietly, rubbing his arm. "Hey. It's morning."
To my relief, he woke slowly and grumbled quietly as he lifted his head. He looked up at me, blinking drowsily. "Hey," he said, his voice husky from sleep.
"Hi," I said, smiling. "I see you took my advice. Though, I think a bed would have been more appropriate."
He uncurled his position and took a short breath, looking surprised. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to fall asleep."
"Yeah, how dare you?" I joked.
"I'm not a great babysitter, huh?" he said, fighting a yawn as he placed the book he was holding on the desk. The side of his face was pink from being pressed against his arm, but a strange shadow on his cheek made me look closer, and then my mouth dropped. "What?" he said quickly. "Are you all right?"
I reached out and touched his cheek. "I think I gave you a bruise last night. Did I punch you?"
I could have sworn I only slapped him (by mistake, mind you), and would be appalled if I'd used my fist.
"Oh," said Edward, looking faintly amused, mirroring my touch to his cheekbone. "Well, I'll admit, you pack heat behind your swing."
"I'm so sorry," I said sincerely, feeling like I had just tarnished a pretty statue.
"Please don't be," he laughed. "You didn't do it on purpose. It doesn't even hurt."
"How about this? I'll stop apologizing if you do."
He sighed and shrugged his shoulders. "All right, deal," he said, leaning over and offering me his hand.
"Deal," I repeated, taking it, feeling a flutter of attraction spreading through my chest, and then I couldn't ignore the chaotic wreck of his hair any longer. He looked like a little boy with a trio of cowlicks. "Your hair," I snickered, reaching to smooth it down. It was softer than it looked.
"Your hair," he replied with a chuckle. "You look like you've been electrocuted."
"Yeah, well, you look like the Statue of Liberty."
He grinned, and mimicked my gesture, flattening some of his rogue tufts. It was funny how we bounced from being so serious to easy-going and lighthearted, like an emotional tennis match.
"I think I could use a shower," he said, standing up slowly. Now that he said that out loud, I was annoyed at the wall that separated our rooms.
"Yeah, I'll get in, too." As soon as I said it, I groaned. "Not in yours. I didn't mean it like that."
"Uh-huh. Sure. You actually talked about that in your sleep, too." He let my panic set in for a few moments before chuckling. "Sorry, that was too easy."
I let out a breath and had to brace my hands on the desk before the rush of humiliation made me dizzy. I shook my head, about to tell him that was a good one when he quickly moved forward.
"Bella," he said anxiously, sliding his arm around my back and bracing me upright. "Are you okay? Look at me."
I looked up at him in surprise.
"Can you hear me? What's my name?" he continued. While confused, I fought the urge to joke, 'Shouldn't that question be reserved for when we're up against the wall?' but I was too distracted by the semi-panicked look on his face.
"Huh? What are you talking about?"
"Do you remember my name? Do you know what day it is?" he asked, tilting my chin up.
"Yeah," I said, bemused. "It's Sunday, Edward. Why? What are you doing?"
"I'm checking your pupils." He exhaled shakily. "Are you okay? You're not going to pass out?"
Oh. He thought I was having concussion complications. I laughed nervously as I stepped away from him, regaining my balance.
"I'm fine, I promise," I said, willing the blood to withdraw from my cheeks. "That was just… I thought you were serious about the shower thing and I thought I might literally sink into the floor from embarrassment if I didn't hold onto something."
I was smiling, but he seemed uncertain. "Are you sure? You looked unsteady."
"I look like that even when I don't have a concussion," I said teasingly, dismissing his concern. "Honestly, I'm okay. I'll prove it."
I stood with my back straight, head up, and feet together.
"My name is Isabella Swan. My birthday is September thirteenth. Your name is Edward Masen and I met you in the hallway in my pajamas when I was bleeding from the head. And as weird as that sounds, I think we might have become friends. And I've made it through saying this without falling. Is that good enough for you?"
As he watched me, his expression wavered between worry and amusement. "Yes, but… try not to give me a heart attack," he said, running his hand over his eyes. "I already watched you get hit by a car, so… no fainting."
"I guess I'm still on medical watch all day," I said, tilting my head upward, close to him, "but you can still check. Are my eyes okay?
I was being a smartass, but put his hand around my cheek and leaned forward, looking straight into my eyes. "They're…"
"Still there?"
"Lovely," he finished.
I had to swallow before I could reply. "Thank you," I said softly, feeling as though I might need to hold onto the desk again.
He slowly pulled his hand away and ran it through his hair. "Your pupils are fine, too," he added quickly. "They're the same size, so that's a good thing. That's what your home care pamphlet says is normal, anyway. But, uh…"
"Right," I answered, pulling at my t-shirt. "Well, good. Proof enough."
Edward nodded and moved to pick up the book by his chair, setting it on top of the little stack of other books. "Will you be okay? Do you want me to wait here in case you need help?"
"Help? In the shower?" I said, raising my eyebrows and grinning.
"I guess I'm worried that you're going to slip," he said.
Ah, okay. I couldn't blame him there.
"I'll be fine," I assured him. "How about I meet you downstairs in maybe thirty, forty minutes? Unless you want to go back to sleep. Doris would probably be a good babysitter substitute."
"I'm sure she would," said Edward, giving his shoulders a final stretch. "But I don't break promises, remember?"
"Yeah, sure," I said. "I wonder if Jessica's here this morning. I'm sure she's still remembering that you don't break promises either."
He narrowed his eyes at the mention of the little spit-skank. "On second thought, maybe we should stay up here. You're supposed to be resting anyway."
"Nice try," I said with a laugh. "I've been sleeping forever. Besides, I don't want to miss Angela if she stops by."
Edward raised his hands in surrender. "All right," he agreed. "I'll meet you in a bit."
With that, he collected our leftover, empty bottles, and cups and went out the door, leaving me to fend for myself. I breathed a sigh and looked around at my stuff, noticing a difference. Papers were stacked, clutter was straightened, my bags were in a neat line… Jesus Christ, he'd cleaned. That was kind of mortifying, too.
I picked up my phone again and checked the time. It was ten thirty-two; I'd practically slept the whole morning away.
The past twenty-four hours had been a blur. Yesterday morning, he knew almost nothing about me. Since then, he'd seen me nearly have a catfight with a jealous chick who spit in my food, get hit by a car, go unconscious, bleed, cry, and now knew my biggest secret. Some marriages didn't even include all of that.
I fumbled in my suitcase for a fresh change of clothes and stripped off my pajamas and penguin underwear, making sure to stuff them deep inside the duffel bag I'd been using for laundry. I sincerely thought it might be time to get rid of them to save myself further shame, but then decided against it, in fear that they would accidentally be discovered in the wastebasket by whoever came to change my sheets. I hoped to God that Jessica or Lauren wouldn't ever be in charge of that. If they were, I'd probably pull back my blankets one evening to find an animal carcass waiting for me.
In the bathroom, I checked myself in the mirror; I looked like I'd been the test target for a paintball gun. In the shower, I cursed like a sailor every time shampoo or soap trickled into one of my cuts and decided to cut it short, thinking maybe I'd let myself soak in the huge claw-footed bathtub later to soothe my muscles. Maybe it would calm my naughty fantasies, too.
By the time I'd gotten dressed, popped a pain pill, covered the worst of my cut on my head with Band-Aids, and fixed my hair, it was eleven-fifteen and I was late. I was also hungry.
"No food for you," I said to my growling stomach, sad that I had to stick to nothing but clear liquids until dinnertime. At least I'd be able to get them myself, so I had no reason to be suspicious about any phlegm-coated things. I should have just tattled on Jessica's snooty ass to Doris, but then I'd probably get attacked by a mob of her little cronies with flaming sticks and beat with Gucci bags. I wondered how Edward would plan to save the day then… Probably distract them all by taking off his shirt and/or pants and announcing that there was a 50%-off sale at Urban Outfitters.
There was a knock at my door, and I figured it was Edward coming to tell me Jesus had been reborn while I was taking so long. Sure enough, he was out in the hallway, freshly showered and looking stressed.
"Sorry," I said. "I'll be out in—"
"Can I come in?" he asked quickly.
"Yeah… of course," I said, stepping to the side as he came in. I peeked down the hallway, curious about his rush. "Is Lauren screwing someone up here again?"
"No," he answered, striding over to the desk and squatting down on the floor.
"What's going on?" I asked, closing the door.
Edward glanced up, looking uneasy. "Have you seen my wallet?"
I narrowed my eyes and glanced around the room. I hadn't seen it since he'd taken it out to pay for dinner the previous night. "No. Did you look in the jeans you changed out of last night? Or could it be in your car?"
"I checked both," he said, sounding anxious, looking under the desk and along the floor where he had been sitting earlier.
Not wanting to remain still, I pulled back my comforter and checked under the sheets and pillows. After all, I had pulled him into my bed last night—not that I was wild enough to make inanimate objects shoot out of his pockets, but who could ever be sure when it came to me?
"It's not in my bed," I said, sounding like a call girl.
After a few moments, he stood up and raked his hands through his hair, blowing out his breath. I felt bad for him. I understood that losing something like a wallet was a cause for concern, of course, but he looked like he just lost someone's kid.
"I could ask Angela," I said, trying to stay positive. "Maybe you left it at the hospital. Do you remember taking it out?"
He shook his head. "I don't think I did. They never asked for ID, but… I don't know."
"Well, let's go look for it," I said, eager to put his mind at ease. "We could go to—"
"We can't," he said, still sweeping the room in a search. "You got hit by a car last night. I'm not making you run around all day looking for my stupid wallet when you're supposed to be taking it easy."
"If you're driving, then I wouldn't really be running—" I stopped at the pointed look he gave me. "Okay, geez. I'll call the hospital and you call the restaurant where we had dinner. If you dropped it, it's probably at one of those places."
He nodded, looking mildly reassured. "Okay. I'm sorry. I just—there are things in there that I can't bear to lose."
"I understand," I said while trying to think of what was in a man's wallet that he 'couldn't' lose. Though it was a hassle, credit cards and a license could be replaced. Maybe he had some sort of personalized super condoms because he was a sex addict. Maybe that was his secret, and his glove compartment was home to the little black fuck-yourself-box.
I shook myself out of my stupid thoughts and pulled on his hand. "Come on, let's go downstairs," I said, opening the door and walking out into the hall. "Maybe Doris found it."
"I asked her," he replied as we walked down the staircase. "She hasn't seen it. None of the staff turned one in, either."
That bitch Jessica probably found it and had it stashed away in her closet, The Shrine O' Edward.
The lobby was warm and bright as usual, though emptier. It was half past eleven—most people probably left after breakfast. As we walked closer to the café, Doris waved us over from her desk.
"Good morning, Isabella!" she said pleasantly, giving me a warm smile. "How are you feeling after last night?"
"A lot better, thank you," I said. "Edward has good chaperone skills."
Doris chuckled and glanced at Edward. "Any luck with your wallet, Mr. Masen?"
"No," said Edward quietly. "May I borrow your phone book, Doris? I just want to call a few places and see if I left it somewhere."
"Of course, dear," she said, smiling at Edward as though he had just won a prize, and turned to some shelves behind her.
As we waited, I heard a friendly voice from the back of the café. I turned around to see Angela chatting with Tom at the kitchen door. God bless that freaking girl.
"Angela's here," I said to Edward. "I'll go see if she can call the hospital."
He nodded and I walked over to the café and through the tables. When Angela noticed me, she said a quick goodbye to Tom.
"Hey, Bella," she said, meeting me halfway and smiling. "You're finally awake."
"Yeah, I feel like I've been asleep for days," I said, returning her grin.
"How are you doing?" she asked, going into nurse mode and examining my head. "Any pain?"
"Not too bad, thanks. I took one of those pills Dr. Cullen prescribed, so, so far so good," I said, shrugging. "Before I forget—Edward might have left his wallet at the hospital last night. Do you think you could call over and see if anyone might have turned it in, either in Emergency or Recovery? He seems pretty anxious about it."
Angela looked over my shoulder to where Edward was standing. He was on the phone.
"Oh, sure," she said, pulling her phone out of her purse. "What does it look like?"
I thought back to the times he had pulled it out of his pocket yesterday, which reminded me that I needed to think of a way to pay him back, especially since he had just watched over me all night. "Black leather, I think. It was a billfold."
Angela nodded and dialed a number and I glanced around the room. No sign of Witch and Bitch. At least that made the morning seem a little brighter. I made myself a cup of tea and sat at one of the tables, proceeding to stir a packet of honey into the mug. I watched the steaming liquid swirl into a mini whirlpool, wondering how much money Edward must have had stashed in his wallet to be so frantic.
Maybe he had robbed a bank or something. Maybe that little black case had contained a ski mask and a gun, and he had stuffed a roll of hundred-dollar bills in his wallet. Maybe he wasn't just upset—maybe he was pissed that he'd lost a piece of his hard work.
Or maybe he was a junkie. He didn't seem to sleep much, after all. He'd been socially withdrawn with most people, according to Angela, and his moods seemed to go dizzily from one spectrum to the next—back and forth, hot and cold. Maybe there were a few little bags of coke in his wallet and he was desperate about getting his next fix. Maybe that would explain why his eyes always seemed to have a life of their own.
Or maybe he was in the government, and had lost a bunch of nuclear warhead detonation codes—
"Are you going to drink that?" Angela's voice interrupted my thoughts. I was aimlessly clanking my spoon around in my cup to an annoyingly loud degree. She looked at me curiously, raising her eyebrows.
"Sorry," I said, pulling the spoon out of my mug and setting it on a napkin. "I was just thinking." About some really weird shit.
She pulled a tangerine out of one of the fruit baskets and sat down with me. "About someone in particular? Perhaps an oh-so-charming someone who beat the crap out of a bunch of guys for you last night?"
"You're getting a kick out of this, aren't you?" I asked with a laugh, stealing a peek over at Edward, who was still on the phone.
"Sorry. It's too tempting when your face is beet red like that," she said with a smile as she peeled pieces of the orange skin off in chunks. "So, what exactly were you thinking?"
I took a sip of tea and tapped my fingers on the mug. "I can't really figure him out. He seems to have a lot of layers, but every time I think that I might have peeled one back, he puts three more on."
Angela put a slice of fruit in her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. "He is quite the enigma," she agreed. "Although, he shed a few layers last night I think. We talked a lot. He was really upset over what happened to you."
I rubbed at my head absentmindedly. "Did he enlighten you that he feels that he's responsible for that, by the way?"
Angela nodded. "Yeah. He wouldn't stop blaming himself."
"Those morons were drunk and stupid," I said, shaking my head. "He didn't force them to chug alcohol and grab me. And he certainly didn't knock my clumsy ass into the street. I still don't see how he thinks he caused that."
"It's not that, really. He felt guilty because he didn't get back in time to stop it from happening."
I gave her a surprised glance. "He said that?"
"Yes, but he wouldn't have had to, to realize it," she answered, eating another tangerine wedge. "It was written all over his face."
I sighed. "God only knows why he's got such a guilt complex. Also, he—"
Angela gently kicked me under the table. I shut up immediately as I heard footsteps approach from behind us, and Edward appeared by my chair. I studied his face, wondering if he heard me.
"Hey, Edward," said Angela. "I asked the head nurse if anyone turned in or found a wallet last night, and she said she didn't see anything matching yours. Unless yours is a pink Velcro one with a Hello Kitty emblem."
Edward sighed and nodded. "Thanks. I might be in luck with Michael's. They said they have two wallets in their lost and found, but they're refusing to give me any information. I have to go down there and physically let them match me up to an ID."
"Really?" Angela said. "They won't just tell you if they have one with your name?"
"The guy sounded new. I don't know, it's worth a shot."
"Michael's?" I repeated.
"Where we had dinner," he said, pulling his keys out of his pocket.
Oh. Either it was the concussion or I'd been too distracted by him like a lovestruck tween to remember small details. I rubbed the side of my head, willing some brain cells to come back.
"Does your head hurt?" he asked.
"A little, but not bad. Those pain meds are nice. Although I vaguely remember telling you that you were pretty last night, so who knows what I'll say to Angela."
Angela laughed, but Edward looked hesitant.
"I could wait until tomorrow." His hand skimmed my forehead, near my bandage, as if touching it would somehow tell him if I was lying or not. Then he gave me a strange look and pressed his hand to my cheek. "You feel warm, Bella."
I snickered aloud before I could help it. That was because his limber fingers were grazing my skin.
Edward looked at Angela. "Can you tell me if she feels warm to you?"
Angela frowned and reached across the table to feel my forehead. I brushed both of them away, feeling more self-conscious by the second. "I'm fine, you guys," I protested, feeling my face heat up even more.
"A little," Angela agreed. "It's probably from the shot I gave you yesterday. It's normal to feel a little feverish or tired."
"I feel fine," I argued, and it was the truth. Physically, yes. On a carnal note, I was starting to climb the walls. I wondered if Angela had a dose of something that would fix that. "Look, Angela's here, and if she has to leave, I promise I'll go follow Doris around."
"I don't have to be at work until four," Angela offered.
Edward looked back and forth between the both of us before finally taking a breath and agreeing. I was secretly pleased that he was worried about leaving me, and if I was being honest, I was slightly disappointed that he had to go. But I knew he needed to find his belongings and also needed a break from me. No driving him to insanity by falling into traffic or toppling over from vertigo. And on the other hand, my cardiovascular system could function at a normal pace for a few hours. Win-win.
"Don't look at me like you're abandoning me," I lectured him with a small grin. "I'm surrounded by people. If I suddenly have a seizure, I don't think I'm going to go unnoticed."
He looked ill. "Don't say that."
"I'm kidding," I said, giving him a light shove toward the door. "Go on, I'll be fine. You can come back and babysit me during dinner."
He sighed and rubbed his eyes, where shadowy bags had resurfaced. I was suddenly concerned about him driving. He was running on hardly any sleep and hadn't had coffee since the early morning hours, as far as I knew.
"Okay," he said, giving me a once-over. "I'll be back in a little while. Are you sure you—"
"I've got her, Edward," said Angela gently, clasping her hand down on my arm. "I'll make sure she doesn't go bungee jumping or anything."
"You both are worse than my mother." I propped my chin up with my hand. "I'll see you later," I said to Edward. "Please don't fall asleep at the wheel."
He finally nodded and walked away, and in a few moments, he disappeared through the door, a little chime sounding his departure. I turned back to Angela and her suggestive grin.
"Dear God, does he have it bad for you," she said, chuckling.
I picked up a large piece of her tangerine peel and started breaking it into little pieces. "I don't think so."
"Don't you see how he looks at you?" she pressed.
"It's the guilt," I repeated, stacking the pieces of fruit skin into a little tower.
Within a minute, the door chimed again and I looked up, half expecting Edward to come to give me one last check, but then I saw someone I thought I'd never see again. He spotted me instantly.
"Well, if it isn't my most loquacious concussion case."
"Ben," I said, breaking into a smile. "What are you doing here?"
"I came to see if I'd won the bet," said Ben, returning my smile and walking over to the table, dressed in his paramedic uniform. "Have you—?"
He stopped as he noticed Angela and abruptly seemed at a loss for words. I looked at Angela questioningly and raised my eyebrows as I noticed a faint flush spreading across her cheeks.
"Angela?" Ben inquired, looking surprised.
"Hi, Ben," Angela said quietly, a small smile fixed on her face. "How have you been?"
"I've been… great," he answered, looking shy as he stuck his hands in his back pockets. "You?"
"Good," she answered, her face still rosy. Not as deep as mine could get, but I was suddenly very excited to have something to tease her with for a change.
Ben cleared his throat and looked back at me. "How are you, Bella?"
"Doing fine," I said, grinning widely. Now I understood why Angela was so entertained by Edward and me. "So, you two know each other?"
"We went to high school together," Ben said, turning back to Angela. "I haven't seen you since graduation."
"Yeah, it's been a while," she said, then looked at us both curiously. "How did you know Bella had a concussion?"
"Actually, I didn't," he replied, sweeping his hand through his hair. "I just assumed as much. Did you get your memory back?"
"Yeah, I'm all restored," I said, tracing my fingers over my numerous Band-Aids. "Ben was my paramedic last night," I explained to Angela.
"And she was one of the most comical cases I've ever had," he said, returning my large grin. "She didn't stop talking about her boyfriend the entire ride to the hospital."
"Edward's not my boyfriend," I pressed. "I was confused and freaked out by the ambulance. I didn't know what I was saying."
"Michelangelo would disagree with you," said Ben, chuckling.
I almost fell out of my chair. "Hey! You promised!"
Ben laughed. "Relax, Bella, my lips are sealed," he said, patting my shoulder. "Speaking of, have I won the bet yet? Edward's staying here, too, right?"
"Yeah, he is, and no, you have not," I said, hoping Angela wouldn't ask what Ben was on about. "You literally just missed him. He left for Port Angeles. He lost his wallet last night, so he's going back to check at Michael's."
Ben frowned. "Oh, shoot. I wish I would have gotten here sooner." He reached into his pocket and pulled out—what else—a black leather wallet. "I found this last night in the back of the ambulance when we got back to the station. It was late, so I thought I'd just drop it off to him today. I knew I should have tried calling first."
I took Edward's wallet from Ben and sighed, thankful that this would be one less weight off Edward's shoulders. "I'm sure he won't mind," I said, rubbing my thumb over the slightly worn leather. "He'll be relieved, I promise you."
I tucked the wallet into my own pocket, deep enough so it wouldn't fall out. God forbid I would be the one to lose it next. I looked back to Angela and Ben, who were still sharing sweet glances with matching shades of pink on their cheeks. I was about to stand up to give them some privacy just as Tom stuck his head out of the kitchen.
"Ang? Do you know where the good whisk is? I'm about to lose my mind," he said, looking harried.
Angela stood up quickly, almost knocking her chair backward. "I'll be right back," she said, pushing her chair in slowly.
Ben watched her disappear into the kitchen and then looked at me. I pressed my lips together, fighting the urge to laugh immaturely, like a kid who watches their teenage neighbors make out for the first time.
"Who's smitten now?" I said with a smile.
Ben chuckled and leaned his hands on the table. "I think you're still a little confused from last night."
"Ha," I said. "I think I'm going to turn that bet around on you and Angela."
He shook his head and ran his hand through his hair, but his face was saying everything but no. It was cute.
"Hey, Ben," I said, an idea suddenly dawning on me. "When you found Edward's wallet, you looked inside for his license, right?"
"Yup," he replied. "It's right in the front. Says he's from Chicago. It's a good thing you told me where you were staying or I would have had to mail it to his house."
I nodded slowly, feeling my forehead crease as I thought.
"What?" asked Ben.
"Well, did anything look—" I stopped myself, thinking that I was just going to end up putting my foot in my mouth. I had no right to pry into his privacy, even if it was only a wallet.
"Nothing was ruined, if that's what you mean. It was a little wet from the rain, but it seems like it's holding together okay. If he asks, I laid out a few of the bills to dry overnight. I promise I didn't take anything," he added with a smile.
"Ah, okay," I said.
So Ben had seen everything inside. No drugs. No suspicious-looking computer chip. No hit list of people to kill. Just money.
Honestly, I was actually a little bummed that there wasn't a big secret to uncover. I'd been reading too many thriller and spy novels.
When Angela returned, the three of us chatted while other guests filtered in and out of the café for lunch. I stuck to my liquid diet and had more tea, Jell-O, and chicken broth (brought to me with Angela's own hands) while she and Ben had BLTs, and I finally let her in on the tale of the venomous omelet I'd received from Jessica. I almost choked on my tea when Ben called her a "man-hungry whore" and Angela promised that she'd make sure that Tom would never let Jessica touch my food again. I also got to hear a few memorable stories from their high school days. Some of them included this Mike Newton kid, which then caused mental visions of him and Lauren—that, and their squawking sex noises. I hadn't realized how much time had passed until I heard the lodge's grandfather clock clang three times.
"Geez," said Ben, apparently hearing the clock, too. "It's easy to lose track of the time with you ladies. I've got a shift at four-thirty. I should get going. Port Angeles awaits."
Angela gave me a glance, looking a little guilty. "I've got to go, too, Bella. My shift starts in an hour. I'd stay longer, but I have to go home and change."
"It's totally fine," I said. "Thank you both for keeping me company."
"No worries," she said, giving me a hug. "Will you call me if you need anything? Let me give you my number."
She grabbed a napkin and wrote her number on it, giving me a few seconds to give Ben a pointed look. He smirked and shrugged his shoulders.
"Here you go," said Angela, handing me the napkin. "Really—call me if you have any pain or need help with something. Or if you want to hang out, too."
"Thanks, Ang," I said. "I owe you. And Ben, it was really nice seeing you again."
"You, too, Bella," he said. "Good to chat with you when you weren't in the throes of a traumatic brain injury."
"Ha ha," I said. "I'll tell Edward you stopped by. And thanks again. I'm sure he'll be seeking you out to thank you."
"Ah, no problem," said Ben. "Take care of yourself, okay?"
I waved to them as they walked towards the door. Ben glanced back at me once and I shaped my hand like a phone, pointing to Angela. He rolled his eyes, but not before a smile spread across his face.
Well, if anything positive came out of my mishap, maybe Angela and Ben could reconnect. That would make a nice future wedding card. 'I'm so glad my concussion brought you two together.' So romantic, so true.
I chuckled and made for the stairs, deciding that I was okay by now to not have to seek out Doris since she wasn't in plain sight. No use in disrupting her day... and getting my hopes up every time she hinted at my relationship with Edward. It all seemed a little too complicated at the moment.
-:-
I squinted, glaring at the little black rectangle with rebellious eyes.
Open, damn you.
Edward's wallet was sitting on the desk in my room and not responding to my attempts at telekinesis. The little deviant inside me wanted to open and check each slot, just in case Ben had missed something. The respectful part of me told me to back off and step away from his personal property.
And yet, there was no harm in having a look at his license, right? Ben had seen it, after all. I placed the edge of my fingernail under the leather and raised the flap slowly, then pulled it back as though I'd touched a flame.
I couldn't. WWJD? More like 'What would Jessica Stanley do?' She probably would ransack it, frame it, and never wash her hands again simply because she touched it. I was not her.
It was after four o'clock now, and Edward still hadn't returned. I was getting antsy. And tired. Angela hadn't lied about the fatigue—I definitely felt like I'd run a marathon, when in reality, I'd done nothing but sit on my ass all day. I was going to have to suck it up and ask Edward for his phone number because it would have been useful during this waiting game.
Previous worries of him falling asleep while driving and plummeting off Highway 101 were resurfacing, and I knew my 'worried mother' act needed to stop. He probably had stopped in a few other stores to search, and then gotten lunch and fallen into bed with a hot waitress.
I put my head back too quickly and hit the wall. "Ow."
I reached for my phone to play a mindless game to keep me distracted, and then it dawned on me that I hadn't called Renée and Charlie since the day I arrived. Renée had promised to give me privacy, which explained her not calling already, but I felt as though I owed them a hello. I certainly wasn't thrilled to deal with Renée's inevitable freak-out that she would have about my accident, but there wasn't much I could do. Well, unless…
I picked up my phone and dialed Renée's cell number.
"Hi, this is Renée! Leave your name and number and I'll get back to you soon!"
Her cell phone had completely kicked the bucket before I left, and knowing Renée's procrastination, she probably hadn't gotten a new one. And if that was the case, I knew that she was still checking her voicemail from the house phone. It was after seven o'clock in Jacksonville; hopefully, she had checked her messages already, and even if she hadn't, it would still delay the shrill mom-voice for a few hours.
"Hey, Mom, it's Bella," I said casually. "Just checking in. It's Sunday… and things are going pretty well. Call me if you want. Love you."
Short and sweet. I hung up, feeling a little less guilty. Even though I excluded the whole concussion thing, she couldn't say I hadn't called.
I collapsed onto my bed and sprawled out on my stomach, reaching for a pillow to clutch. I played with the corners of the pillowcase for a bit until I heard a knock at my door. I nearly tripped as I hurried to answer it.
"Hello, dear!" Doris said warmly as I opened the door. She was holding an armful of clean, fluffy white towels and held out half of the stack to me. "I forgot to bring these to you earlier. I hope you didn't need any before then."
She was so sweet. "Thanks, Doris," I said gratefully, accepting the towels and immediately contented by their fresh, lemony fragrance.
"Not a problem," said Doris, craning her head to look down the hall. "Is Mr. Masen still gone?"
I turned to look at Edward's door. "I haven't heard anything," I said. "I guess he's still driving around."
At least, I hoped he was. Awake, that is.
"Doris, you don't know his phone number, do you?"
She pursed her lips in thought. "Come to think of it, he never gave a phone number. He paid for an entire month upfront. He said he was only staying a few weeks, and paid cash, so I never required him to give one. And I'm afraid Caller-ID is one of the things I've not put into this old place. I can't seem to keep up with the Hilton!"
I set my towels on the bathroom sink and turned back to Doris. "Is there anything I can help you with?" I asked. "I'm not really doing much."
"Actually, dear, yes—would you mind holding these?" she asked, lifting her other armload of towels. "I just have to find Mr. Masen's key."
I understood then. She was going to put the rest of the towels in Edward's room... and I was about to get a glimpse inside if I followed her. I felt a surge of excitement and also a nagging feeling that this made me a little bit crazy.
"Oh, sure," I said after a beat, taking the towels.
Doris walked out into the hallway and I followed her to Edward's door, watching as she reached into her waistcoat and pulled out an ancient-looking ring of keys. She unlocked the door and took the stack of towels from me.
"Thank you, honey," she said lightly and entered his room.
I stood awkwardly at the door before craning my neck around the edge of the doorway, peeking inside. His room was the exact opposite of mine. My room seemed so bright and airy and white with its cream-colored walls and light hardwood floors; Edward's resembled something straight out of a storybook. The walls were lined with Castleton green wallpaper and trimmed in dark, polished wood, carved with multifarious designs. His bed was a similar wood, with a deep green comforter that matched the walls and large, plush pillows—it was much bigger than my full-sized bed. The wooden floor stretched in long planks with a sizable, colorful Victorian rug, which was beautiful, but the most attractive thing in the room was an enormous stone fireplace, parallel to the bed.
Though it was unlit, I was fascinated. I'd always loved fireplaces, mainly because they were like a foreign work of art. Living in warm climates all my life, there was never a need for them. This one was gorgeous.
Scattered candles adorned the hearth and mantle, and above that was a large, framed painting. I stepped inside and walked up to the fireplace, unable to stop staring at the elegant piece: golden rays of sunlight were filtering through a wide array of trees. They were shadowy and tight, only breaking for an open space on the ground where tangles of grass and leaves lay still by a large boulder as if waiting for something—maybe the wind to come and bring them to life. I searched the bottom of the painting for an artist, but instead of a name or the popular scrawl of initials, it read a simple phrase—one that I was quite familiar with:
The woods are lovely, dark, and deep.
A chill crept up inside of me, the kind you get when something oddly familiar catches your attention. I didn't know why, but looking at that painting, I couldn't help but feel like I'd been there before.
"Pretty, isn't it?"
I jumped with a slight gasp. Doris had come up to my side. "Doris. You scared me," I said, laughing.
She laughed heartily and patted my shoulder. "Sorry, dear."
I sighed and put my hand on my chest. "It is pretty. Do you know who the artist is?"
Doris glanced at the painting with a thoughtful smile. "You know, I have not a clue. It came before my time here. This place has many mysteries—that's what I love about it. People come and go, but they always leave little bits of themselves behind, whether it's forgotten belongings, creases in the blankets, or just secrets—it all lingers."
"Stories in every corner," I said.
She nodded, warmly chuckling as she moved back. I glanced around one more time, not seeing much of a trace that the room was even being lived in, besides the large black canvas bag sitting in the corner. He was tidy. Maybe that was why he straightened up my room.
Unless he was secretly a replica of American Psycho.
"Well, come on, dear, I don't want to keep you from getting your rest," she said, taking me by the arm and distracting me from my rampant thoughts of chainsaws and hookers running through hallways. "You look simply bushed, Isabella. Are you sure you're feeling better?"
"Yes, I promise," I said. "After effects of pain meds and a flu shot."
Doris walked me back to my room, bidding me a cheerful goodbye, and glided down the stairs as I retreated back inside. I face-planted into my bed and breathed in the scent of my sheets, something I had grown to love to do.
Another knock came at my door within a few minutes and I lifted my head slightly, still half-blinded by a pillow.
"Come in," I called, too lazy to move this time.
I figured it was Doris again, but when the door opened, Edward poked his head around the corner to find me unattractively spread-eagled on my bed. I pushed myself up quickly, but he held out his hand.
"No, don't get up," he said. "I'm glad you're resting."
I sat up anyway. "You took forever," I said, unable to keep the relief out of my voice. "I was worried."
He gave me a barely-there smile and shut my door. "Sorry. I was scouring the streets of Port Angeles."
He looked drained. The whites of his eyes had taken on a pink tint and the skin under his eyelashes was dark.
"Oh!" I suddenly cried, his melancholy reminding me of the one thing that might make him feel better. I rolled off my bed and grabbed his wallet off my desk. I held it out to him, unable to stop a crazy-big smile. "Look what turned up."
The relief on Edward's face melted all of the stress and anxiety, replaced with an endearing smile that was charming enough to warm even the iciest of hearts. He reached out and took it from me, immediately opening it to check the inside.
"Thank God," he said wholeheartedly, looking up at me. "Bella, I could kiss you."
My snark was stunned silent.
"Um," I said finally, laughing slightly, "you should probably go kiss Ben. He found it in the back of the ambulance last night and dropped it off while you were gone. I would have called you to come back, but I didn't know your number. I'm sorry you went all the way up there for no reason."
Edward shook his head, still smiling. "You have nothing to be sorry about."
And then the unthinkable happened. He moved closer and pulled me into his arms, squeezing me gently. I stood as still as a statue for a moment before wrapping my arms around him in return. Wow. I was glad he was holding on to me or I might have tipped over from the shocking rush of my blood through my entire body.
"Thank you," he said, nearly whispering.
I had to swallow before I could speak. "I… didn't really do anything."
"It doesn't matter," he said, continuing to hold me against him.
At that moment, any kind of emotional agony or physical trauma that I had endured within the past day, weeks, or months, didn't seem to matter. Right then, I felt like I was where I was supposed to be, as content as I'd been longing to feel. It was totally unexpected and the nicest surprise I could imagine.
When he released me, I stepped back a bit to take a deep breath. He took a breath, too, then slid his wallet into his back pocket, looking as though he was thinking about sewing it shut.
"So, uh, how's the weather out there?"
Because that was the most interesting topic I had: wanting a weather report. Fuck-a-doodle-doo.
"Not bad, just a bit cloudy," he said. "I'm glad it wasn't raining. My eyes were glazing over, and I suppose I didn't need a storm drowning my windshield. Did you have a chance to rest?"
"Kind of. I'm pretty tired, though," I admitted.
"I interrupted your nap, didn't I?" he asked, yawning.
"Nope," I said. "I was just stretching out. You don't mind if I continue that, do you?"
He shook his head. "No, of course not. I'll just…" He looked toward the door.
"I don't want you to go," I said, grabbing his hand before he could walk away. "I thought you had—" I checked the time on my cellphone. "Seven hours left."
His lips curled into a tongue-in-cheek smile. "Oh, I do, do I? I thought you let me off the hook."
"Oh, well—yeah, I did," I said, suddenly feeling stupid for assuming he'd actually want to stay and keep my sleep-talking ass company. I smiled sheepishly. "I guess you're free."
"I'm kidding," he said. "Of course, I'll stay. And I know exactly how much time is left."
"Oh, yeah?" I asked, liking the sound of his 'teasing' voice. "How much?"
He looked at his watch. "It's four-thirty-seven. We got here last night at eleven-forty-one. Seven hours and four minutes."
"Then you're finally rid of me, huh?" I crawled onto my bed and stretched out on my side.
"You would think that," he said, making his way over to my desk chair.
"Edward, please do not put yourself through the agony of sitting in that chair again," I blurted out.
He raised his eyebrows. "You want me to stand?"
"No," I said, grinning. "I meant come sit over here on the bed, or lie down if you'd like. I know you're sore, I can tell by the way you're standing. Plus, you barely got any sleep. If sleeping on a chair even qualifies."
"I've honestly slept in worse places," he said, but came to the side of the bed anyway. "And I've been awake for longer."
"That sounds awful," I replied, watching him as he sat down.
"You get used to it. " He smoothed the bedspread. "Are you sure this is okay?"
"Edward," I said with a sigh, "you're killing me."
He gave a light smile as he paused to remove his shoes, and ended up stretching out next to me, bending his knees slightly. He closed his eyes for a moment and sighed quietly, and I couldn't believe my luck at getting to be so close to him. I felt my heart pick up as he angled himself toward me, pressing his face into a pillow with a soft, contented hum.
"I won't lie," he said, cracking his eyes open. "I may not be able to get up later. You might have to push me off the bed."
Well, that was better than him having to push me off of him.
"Here," I said, sliding another pillow over to him. "I always like to hug an extra. Do you do that?"
"Sometimes," he said, accepting the pillow and wrapping his arm around it. We were silent for a few moments, looking at each other with quick, contented smiles, and it was surprisingly comfortable. I usually felt shy locking eyes with someone for more than a mere second without speaking, but it was different with him.
"You really put yourself through the wringer, didn't you?" I said. "I mean, it's a shame to lose money, but you could have canceled your cards if you had needed to, right?"
He broke our gaze. "Right."
I knew that look. "So, I'm guessing there was something more important in there."
He stayed quiet for a few seconds, doing his blink-and-think routine. "Yes."
I tucked my hair behind my ear, thinking I would curb my questions for the day. I was about to close my eyes when he pulled his wallet out of his pocket, opening it for me to see. Behind a small, clasped compartment, he took out a silver chain necklace with a glimmering heart crystal pendant hanging from the bottom. It was lovely, but I was just as confused as I was curious.
"That's yours?" I asked unsurely.
"My mom's," Edward replied. "She would've killed me if I lost it."
He held it out to me and I cradled the heart in my palm. "It's beautiful," I said. "Why doesn't she have it?"
"She—she wanted me to have something of hers," he said, watching the little crystal swing as I moved my hand. "She knew I was going away. She always knew whenever I was planning something, no matter how secretive I tried to be."
"Are you talking about the Army?" I asked.
He narrowed his eyes. "Yeah," he said, gently tucking it back into the little pouch, then pushed his wallet back into his back pocket. "I've held onto it ever since. If Ben hadn't found it, I'm not sure I could forgive myself."
I turned onto my stomach and rested my head on my pillow, facing him. "Why did you leave home?"
I carefully studied his eyes as they closed and opened, mainly avoiding contact with mine.
"Please don't make me answer that yet," he said softly, his eyes heavy.
"Okay." I hated the unknown thing that was causing him to look so sad. "I won't."
He nodded and gradually, his shoulders loosened and he relaxed against the mattress. I reached out and put my hand on his arm, squeezing it gently. "You should close your eyes for a bit," I suggested. "I was going to take a nap, too."
"Are you sure?" said Edward, sounding thankful.
"Yeah. You deserve a break." I pulled my hand back slowly and hugged my pillow. "Feel free to poke me if I try to pull at you this time."
He gave me a small smile. "Thanks. Same goes for me," he answered.
What a tease.
-:-
