-:-
When I woke, it was a hazy transition from gray-colored dreams to gray light, the outside skies unchanged—murky and disgruntled. For a moment I had to blink and wait for my thoughts to catch up with my eyes, still sensing a fading rush of adrenaline of something unknown, already forgotten from a dream. I grimaced as I stretched, feeling bones pop in joints that had been tight with tension, and stilled as my foot brushed something solid. I rolled, the sheets tight behind my back, to find Edward still asleep beside me.
Immediately, I found it hard not to smile. There must have been a hole in either the comforter or one of the pillows; tiny white feathers speckled his t-shirt and hair. In such a cute curled-up position, innocently sleeping, he resembled a baby bird. I bit back a laugh and reached to brush a small plume off his cheek, taking a moment to watch the rise and fall of his chest. The serenity and sounds were better than music: the light rain pattering on the window panes, the outside leaves rustling in windblown measure, my quiet breath merged with Edward's deep. It was almost enough to draw me right back to sleep.
Being so comfortable and warm, I was more than reluctant to get up, but I decided to brave the cold floor with my sock-less feet anyway.
"Geeez," I hissed as my toes touched the hardwood, chills immediately creeping up my spine. I hadn't expected the room to be cold, too—weird, actually, considering I kept the thermostat at a consistent seventy-two degrees.
Then I noticed the culprit: a slightly open window. I sat and stared, wondering when the hell I'd opened it. I hadn't remembered doing such a thing. I guessed Edward could have after I'd been asleep, but that wouldn't make much sense since he'd passed out right next to me—not to mention how cold he'd been after coming to my room.
I supposed whoever came to tidy the guest rooms the day before had cracked it to let out the smell of cleaner or whatnot and I just hadn't noticed. Being emotionally distraught was kind of distracting, after all. Trying to be quiet, I closed the window and shivered before digging into my bag for some warm clothes.
After I dressed, I accidentally stepped on the pile of yellow paper shreds that had once been Edward's letter. I bent to gather them, feeling regret in the worst way. The short, heartfelt notes that he had written me over the past couple of months were tucked away in my suitcase; if he had ever gotten a hold of them and ripped them to pieces in a moment of anger, I would have been devastated.
I held the tattered scraps in my hands and glanced at the desk. I supposed I could just write him a new one. Or… well, who knew. Maybe I could tape it back together. I wasn't ready to say goodbye to the half with his writing anyway. I placed the pieces inside the zippered compartment in my purse and reached for my phone.
After turning it on, I found that it was four-twelve in the afternoon. More than half of the day had disappeared. Also, I had a text message from Renée: Did you get your plane tickets? I got the Fed Ex email saying you should have!
As I answered her, I remembered that I'd promised to call Angela. I moved to the hallway so I wouldn't wake Edward, leaving the door slightly ajar, and sat against the wall. A few number punches later, Angela answered her phone with "Well, it's about time! Are you okay?"
I hated to relive the heartbreak that consumed the early morning hours, but I knew she was owed an explanation for being called in the middle of the night. "Are you short on time? I could probably wrap it up in a haiku," I tried to joke.
"Man, I was worried," she said. "Ben called me this morning and said Edward had called him asking if you were with me, and then we got cut off because the reception in the medical supply room is shit and I couldn't get a hold of anyone, then I started thinking something had happened to you—"
"No, I'm okay," I assured her. "I'm sorry for worrying you. Edward and I kind of…"
I heard her sigh. "I know. Once I took my break, I went outside and tried calling both of you. He told me what happened."
It was relieving to have her to talk to. She was understanding, at least, and knew Edward well enough to not resort to disparagement—although she did add, "I told him he's not the only one who loves you and that he'd better fix things or I would leave him with two balls that don't bounce and a cock that doesn't crow."
Wrapped up in conversation, I was startled when the door creaked and moved, and I glanced over to find Edward standing in the doorway, sleepy-eyed and hair tousled. I bent my hand in a wave and his mouth curved just enough to be considered smiling.
"Angela," I mouthed to him, pointing to the phone. He nodded and I patted the floor beside me, gesturing for him to join me. He stretched his arms and lowered himself to the carpet, slouching so he could place his head on my shoulder.
"Is she still planning on destroying my manhood?" he asked softly, breaking into a yawn.
"Edward's awake," I told her. "He wants to know if his boy parts are safe."
"Well," she responded with a click of her tongue. "Maybe for now. Tell him he owes me a coffee."
"You owe her coffee," I passed on.
He lifted his head, eyes full of sincerity and profound as oceans. "Tell her I said thank you." I figured their exchange must have been pretty serious.
I conveyed a few more words between them before Angela said, "I hope you guys feel better. I'd hug you both if I was there. Listen, why don't we all meet up for dinner tomorrow? Something casual, to relax."
"That sounds perfect," I said, watching as Edward took my hand in his lap and traced his finger over my knuckles. Absentmindedly, I went on, "I'm leaving for Florida on Wednesday for Thanksgiving, so we definitely need a get-together."
His hand froze atop mine for just a moment, then resumed its caress.
"I mean we're leaving. Edward and I." He still would want to go, right?
After another minute, I said my goodbyes to Angela and set my phone in my lap. "If you still want to go, that is," I offered.
He didn't let go of my hand but didn't answer right away. I scooted closer, leaning on him and waiting.
"Yeah, of course I do," he finally spoke up. "But I don't want you to feel obligated to have me after what happened."
Oh, Edward and his guilt-ridden aftershocks. "I don't feel obligated. You don't feel that way, do you?"
"What, obligated to go?" He shook his head, granting me earnest eyes. "I want to."
"Well, good," I said, nudging his shoulder. "Because I can't wait to put you into a turkey coma."
I rested my head against his arm and when he sighed, I took it as a sign of contentment. Yet, the next deep breath that followed was too soon.
"What's the matter?" I asked, lifting my head and seeing his mouth now set in a small frown.
"You're very forgiving, you know. And I don't feel like I even—" He cleared his throat, rolling his neck. "An apology is just something that's heard. It doesn't seem adequate. I feel like you deserve more than that from me."
"Hey," I said gently. "You've said all that you can say."
"More than words, then."
I studied him carefully. Throes of hot-blooded make-up sex didn't seem to be on his mind, so I wasn't sure what he meant by that. He massaged the bridge of his nose, blinking away fatigue, and drew another heavy breath.
"I didn't mean to break everything."
I slid my fingers through his, intertwining our hands. "We're not broken," I told him, giving his hands a squeeze. "It just still feels fresh, like a cut. It might itch a bit as it heals, but that doesn't mean we have to sit here and dwell on it."
He hummed in thought and was quiet for a while. "You always say the right thing."
"Hardly." With my free hand, I poked at his ribs and made him squirm. He retaliated by pulling me into his arms, my back tight against his chest.
"I didn't think you would forgive me so fast," he continued. "I mean, I hoped you would and I'm relieved… but the guilt isn't gone. I feel like I got off easy."
I leaned my head back to look at him. "You're harder on yourself than I could ever be. Don't you think you punished yourself enough?"
He didn't answer, so I kissed his cheek and snuggled against him.
"You went looking for me and nearly froze your ass off doing so. You explained, you apologized… you told me the truth. And I think we owe it to ourselves not to linger in insecurity. So, if we're talking about forgiveness, maybe you should consider forgiving yourself."
I could feel his heartbeat against my back, steady and comforting.
"Plus, you put my truck in the shop when you could have left it on the side of the road. Thank you for taking care of my baby."
He snorted a laugh. Score one for me.
"The point is—remember when you first came back? It took us a day or two to stop reassuring each other that we were okay. And it might take a little while, but everything will feel normal again soon."
"I guess."
"Guess? Doubtful of my genius intuition, are you?" I slid my hand over his cheek, smoothing my thumb over his skin. He covered my hand with his own, turning to kiss my palm.
"No. I know you're right. Maybe I…"
I waited for him to finish, taking his silence to mean he was pausing for the right words. It took me a moment to realize that his eyes were locked on my arm. My sleeve had dropped, revealing a bracelet of dark, unsightly bruises.
James. Psychopath Extraordinaire. I knew I'd end up showing signs of that bastard's grip.
"Jesus," Edward whispered, brushing his fingers over the discoloration. Remorse grew fresh in his eyes and I immediately shook my head.
"That wasn't you," I said quickly. I didn't move to yank up my sleeve to cover everything—he'd never believe me if I tried to hide it.
"That's where I grabbed you."
"No, actually it's not. You grabbed me here." I pushed my shoulder through the collar of my shirt, revealing four tiny traces of pink nail marks that were nearly faded. I was fair-skinned, so every blemish always took its sweet time disappearing. "See?"
He looked skeptical, then a bit pale. "Do you think I could have done it in my sleep?"
"No," I stressed as I turned around, straddling his lap and putting my hands behind his neck. "I'm going to explain, but you have to promise to not… get upset."
Who was I kidding? He was uncertain, neither nodding nor saying a word. He just continued staring at me with questioning eyes.
"When I left this morning, I drove to the beach. I wanted to be somewhere no one else would be, and that's the first place that popped into my head. I wasn't thinking about the time or how dark it was, or how cold. I wasn't thinking at all, really."
He gave a small nod and I blew out my breath.
"Okay, I don't want to draw this out and make it sound dramatic, but there was a man. I don't know where he came from, but he walked up to me on the beach and just started talking to me about his ex-girlfriend. How she broke his heart and a lot of other stuff that really didn't make a bit of sense."
"A man?" Edward reached for my hand and studied my wrist. "Someone did this to you?"
"It wasn't out of nowhere, though, it—okay, wait. Just… you know how Charlie's instilled every possible self-defense mechanism in me, right?" I didn't wait for him to answer. "He was eerie, I guess. He seemed unstable. I was getting the feeling that he just wanted to hurt someone because he was hurt. So… I tried to hit him so I could run to the car with a head start. Only he saw it coming and grabbed me, kind of pinned me down. He kept rambling about how love made us do crazy things. He asked me if—"
I paused. I really hadn't meant to include that.
"What? What did he ask?"
"I don't… remember exactly," I said softly.
"You do." His gaze was intense, pleading. "Tell me."
Normally, I would have resisted, but our day had been exhausting enough already, and I couldn't think of a smart enough lie. "He asked if I would kill for the one I loved."
Uncomfortable seconds went by.
"He was insane," I finished.
Edward had tensed, his eyes narrowing and mental wheels propelling in his head, his mouth set in a grimacing pout. "How did you get away from him?" he finally asked, his voice subdued. "Or did he let you go?"
I hesitated, not only because I didn't want him to be upset, but because of the truth—the probable fact that I might not have made it if it hadn't been for Jacob. I couldn't just say that with nonchalance, of course.
"Jacob," I said simply. "He was in the area. I was lucky." I shifted uneasily, remembering the way James had told me it was my lucky day. "I'm not sure what the guy would have done, but Jacob got him to leave. Told him he had no place being there."
I could feel Edward's hands tighten behind my back, pushing against my spine and pulling me closer. He'd lowered his eyes so I couldn't make out his expression, but I could imagine how he was feeling—it wasn't hard to guess with him.
"Jacob took me back to his house and I fell asleep for a few hours," I continued, weaving my fingers through Edward's hair. "When I woke, he told me his friends had made sure the guy was gone. Jake said he'd probably be in Canada by now, actually. It was kind of strange, the way he described it… He said something about knowing this guy, I think, or that he'd heard about him and I guess no one wanted him around. But I guess it was for the best if anyone that crazy is gone, you know?"
Edward didn't move or speak and I narrowed my eyes, wondering if I'd just thrown fuel on his blameworthy fire.
"Anyway," I said after a moment, "that's where I was last night. That's what happened. And I'm okay. Well, I feel pretty stupid, but it could have been worse, I guess."
Still no reaction. Shit.
"Edward." I anxiously rubbed his shoulders, coaxing him with gentle squeezes of my hands. "Please don't be mad."
He finally lifted his head, eyes closed, sucking in a deep breath that he held almost too long before exhaling. He whispered, "I'm not." He said something else, much too quiet for me to hear, but before I could ask, he cupped my cheeks and stared at me with watery, heartfelt eyes. "I'm so sorry I wasn't there for you."
"You don't have to be sorry. It was stupid. I shouldn't have run off like that. If I would have stayed, it would have never happened."
"No," he said, his breath shaky. "If I hadn't done what I did, then it wouldn't have happened."
He looked away.
"It was no one's fault. Just a—"
"I can't believe I did it again."
I frowned, puzzled. "What do you mean? Did what?"
He was so still at first, I almost expected an outburst of anger. But then his body started to shake and tremble, his breath caught in his throat, and I straightened in surprise when I realized he had started to cry. I was frozen, unsure of what move to make next but he suddenly lifted his head, eyes desperate. "I can't lose you. I can't."
"You won't," I said quickly, still stunned.
"Bella, please—I'm so sorry. I told myself I would never do that again. And I did."
"What's wrong? Why are you—don't cry, it's okay."
He took a slow breath, easing himself out of shuddering, and leaned back against the wall. When tears ran fresh on his cheeks, he simply brushed them off with the cuff of his sleeve. "It's not okay. It's all I do." He kept his eyes closed as he spoke. "I push people away. I leave them. I always think it would be better if I do, but it never is."
I watched him in silence, understanding to a point. If our roles had been reversed, I'd feel terrible, too. But it was cutting him too deep.
"I got pissed off and left them, too, and they died," he said, his voice cracking on the last word.
They. His mother. His father.
"And I left you too many times already, and this time—God, if you would have been—if someone had—" He clenched my shirt in his fists, slowly losing control, and started to sob. "I don't know, I would have—"
"Stop," I said, clutching him in a tight hug. "Shh. Don't think like that."
So that was it. His guilt over not being there the night his parents were killed still followed him like a shadow. I'd tried to ease his conscience before, but I'd never put the pieces together like this. He was afraid of losing me the way he'd lost them.
There was no better consolation for it, no quick-fix solution. He simply fell apart without relenting, so I did the only thing I could. I held him.
The previous day and night, along with this morning, must have punctured him with emotional jabs over and over, and he'd put up his wall, blocking where he could. I thought we were finished with tears for the time being, but he was overcome now, and his wall had crumbled and burned from steel to cinders. I had a feeling he would have cried for hours if his body had let him, but exhaustion took over only after a minute, his breath slowing in depleted pants against my neck. I was glad for my self-control, though; the last thing he needed was to think he made me cry, too.
"Shit," he finally muttered, wiping his face. "Sorry."
"I think you needed that," I said quietly. We all had breaking points, sometimes one right after the other.
He cleared his throat and gave his eyes a final swipe, then looked at me. "I won't leave you again, I swear. If anyone ever—" He held my bruised wrist and shook his head, breathing deeply. "I don't know what I would do if I lost you. I'd lose my mind."
I sighed. "You're speaking for both of us."
Edward pressed his knuckled to his lips, his eyes narrowing. After a stretch of quiet, he murmured, "I need help."
I raised my eyebrows. "Hmm?"
"All of this," he said. "It's too much. I thought I could handle it on my own, especially after the last couple of weeks. But I don't know, I can't sit here and promise that I won't ever have a mood swing or lash out again. I have to be realistic; if this anxiety continues, it's going to happen again and it won't be your fault. I don't want to keep hurting your feelings like this."
"I get that it's going to take time, though," I said, sliding off his lap and sitting beside him.
"Still," he said. "It's not fair to you. It's just—I can't stand therapists. I tried seeing a couple before I met you, and I know I said I've never gotten help before, and that's still true. They didn't help. They just sat there and stared at me and acted like they could actually sympathize, like they knew what it felt like to find the people they loved ripped to pieces. Like they'd been accused of murder, as if they knew how it felt to not be able to breathe at night because of the fear, of feeling so alone. All of their breathing exercises and rehearsed voices, the textbook phrases they used… it was complete bullshit. One actually said 'I know what you're going through'. He didn't fucking know."
While he spoke, I bit hard on the inside of my lip and eventually squeezed his hand, hard enough to make him stop and ask if I was okay. "I just feel for you, that's all," I told him. "I can't help getting upset. When you hurt, I do, too."
Edward reached over and lifted a lock of hair away from my eyes, smoothing it behind my head. "Which just adds to the reason why I need to try again. My strategy hasn't worked, so I guess it's time to try something new. Even if it makes me feel like shit."
I frowned. "You know I'll support you in whatever you want to do, but I don't want you to go to anyone who makes you feel like that."
He smiled a bit. "I mean medication. The side effects alone are enough to make me turn the other way, and I've been stubborn about not resorting to taking pills. It's kind of embarrassing, but my choices are pretty limited at this point."
"I used to take something for anxiety for a while. Just enough to get me through the last year of school," I said honestly. "The only thing I remember was getting a little lightheaded at first, but that faded. It wasn't so bad. And if you think it could help, then it might not hurt to try."
"You weren't seeing anyone at the time, though, right?" he asked.
"You mean a boyfriend?" I shook my head. "Not really. Why?"
"I'm not sure. I mean, I've been offered medication for panic attacks and nightmares," he explained. "Kind of contradicting that one can cause sleeplessness and bad dreams while it's possible the other causes anxiety, but… there's one more thing that makes me even more apprehensive, especially now that I'm with you."
"Which is?"
He narrowed his eyes and cleared his throat, looking a bit self-conscious. "Um. You know. Decreased desire to…"
"What, have sex?" I blurted.
Edward closed his eyes, his cheeks turning pink as I chuckled.
"I'm sorry," I said, still smiling. "Are you more upset about that or worried about what I would think?"
He rested his chin on his fist. "I don't know. Both?"
I lightly ran my fingers over the stubble on his jaw. "You think that concerns me more than you feeling better?"
"Well, it aggravates me," he grumbled.
I pressed my lips together, giggles threatening to erupt at any moment. It was liberating to be reminded that he was still very much a regular, horny guy under all of the distress. "That's not a certainty, you know. And I can think of worse things than you not feeling up to jumping me."
"Like?"
He was acting silly, but I still hesitated before I quietly said, "The pain you were in this morning."
His face grew sad and serious again, and I swallowed guilt before adding, "Listen, I'm sure it gets worse before it gets better sometimes—any side effect, really. And if that is something that decreases, I'll certainly miss it, too. But I'd rather lose that temporarily than see you go through something like what happened today."
After a few moments, he nodded. "I'm also scared of not feeling like myself just because of medication. What if I'm irritable and act like a jerk all the time? Or what if I'm numb to everything and lay around, useless?"
I didn't even have to think about it. "Well, let's hope you have a doctor who finds you something that does make you feel like yourself or who can make adjustments until you do. But if you have those moments, I'll be honest and tell you if you upset me. I'll pull you out of bed and make you go lay in the sun, if anywhere, because at least it's Vitamin D. And I'll love you enough to understand why. And you could never be useless," I added. "Not to me."
He gave a short breath and stood up, then reached for my hands. "Come here." I let him help me up and barely had time to get my balance before I was being kissed so deeply, his arms so tightly wrapped around my back, it took me a moment to respond. Once I did, we were a mesh of heat and hands, our lips unwilling to withdraw as the seconds passed in slow pulses.
"If I was going to do it for anyone, it would be you," he said when we finally did part.
"And yourself," I added, stroking his hair. "Or else it's not worth doing."
"For us, then," he agreed. He kissed me once more before chuckling, blinking his watery eyes. "God, it's like a bad Hallmark movie in here. And though I'm not sure my stomach forgives me yet, I'm hungry. Can we go somewhere before some Elton John song starts playing out of nowhere?"
He'd said the magic words as far as I was concerned. I hadn't eaten since last night. "You want to change first?" I asked him. "You have feathers all over you."
"I know, what the hell?" he uttered as I cracked up. "What did you do, rip your pillow in rage this morning?"
Thirty minutes later, we ended up in a bar and grill on the outskirts of town—the same one Angela and I had gone to before her first date with Ben. Even though it was a Friday, the place wasn't too crowded. We sat in an empty corner at a chipped tabletop, hooking ankles and brushing hands as we shared a basket of curly fries and devoured salad and sandwiches. We weren't drinking anything but iced tea, so I was more than shocked and embarrassed when Edward pulled me from my chair and made me dance with him to Jackie Wilson's Higher & Higher.
"I need liquid courage!" I cried, laughing as he spun me around and pulled me close.
"Aw, come on," he said, smiling. "Dance with me."
If it had been anyone but him, they would have had to pry me away from my chair with a crowbar. Hours passed quicker than I would have liked, and it was well after midnight when we decided to head back to the lodge. The lobby was dark and had an air of calm and secrecy, and I had half a mind to pull him into the Entertainment Hall for some midnight regalement of my own. But he seemed tired and was adamant about taking a shower (and bed was probably better than a hardwood floor in terms of lying on my back), so I followed him up the stairs—until the third floor.
"Crap," I said, letting go of his hand. "I left my purse in your car. Keys?"
"I'll get it," he said, putting a fist to his mouth as he yawned. "You can—"
"How about you go upstairs to my room and take off your clothes?" I snatched the keys and pecked him on the cheek. "I'll race you. If I get back before you're finished showering, I win."
"That only gives me like two minutes."
"My prize is joining you."
He smirked. "Oh. Gotcha. Hurry back."
I smiled coyly, too, all the way down the stairs and out to his car. I got my purse and quickly jogged back to the door, shuddering from the cold as I quickly went inside. My foot was only on the second step of the staircase when I heard someone speaking.
"Well, don't that just beat all?"
I froze in place, recognizing Mr. Miller's voice coming from the second floor. I craned my neck and saw a shadow moving along the wall; he must have stepped out of his room and into the hallway. There was a sigh, then a somber grind to his voice when he said, "I have to tell you, I was almost comfortable, too."
Not wanting to interrupt a private conversation, I turned around and started to tiptoe to the couches to put myself out of earshot.
"So, this is about Edward now?"
I stopped. I craned my neck, listening, then ducked behind a shadow on the staircase, pressing my back against the wall and feeling my heart start to pound. There was no way I was walking away from this whether it was intrusive or not. I wanted to know exactly what was about Edward. Then again, Mr. Miller could have been talking about a friend or relative.
"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph." Another heavy sigh and a long pause. "No, she's right, they just got in. They're fine. They're upstairs now."
I narrowed my eyes. A bucket of icy chills poured down my back, making my skin prickle. Whatever was going on, Edward and I were involved.
"How in the blazes did they manage that?" Another period of silence went by before he said, "And that's what Alice saw every time?"
Alice. I only knew one Alice. Alice Cullen. Maybe Mr. Miller was talking to Dr. Cullen—they were friends, after all.
"I know that, you've done told me more times than I care to know, so tell me this instead… what would happen if I met him first?"
An uneasy feeling was building in my stomach as I continued to eavesdrop. I had absolutely no idea what was going on, but it certainly didn't sound like he was planning a happy surprise party.
"Well, that's something, isn't it? Sooner than I planned, maybe, but—" He paused again, then snorted. "Carlisle, this isn't a battle that's going to solve itself—if it was, we wouldn't be having this conversation, now, would we?"
So it was Dr. Cullen. I remembered the night, weeks ago, when he and Mr. Miller had been together during dinner; they'd both been glancing over at Edward's and my table. I'd forgotten how it had seemed that something was up back then, too.
"Listen, there's time for that in the morning. I'll be over as soon as the sun is up so I can be back in time for breakfast. If I can do something to help this, then maybe I can feel worthy before my old behind kicks the bucket. And you've known my feelings on the subject for quite some time now. So, tell me, can you make your peace with it?"
For a moment, I wanted to dash up the stairs and demand to know what the hell was going on. If Edward and I were being discussed by others, didn't we have a right to know what about? Before I could muster the determination, I heard:
"Well, all right then. Sunrise. Yes, my friend. Goodnight. Goodbye."
There was another sigh, a quiet shuffle of footsteps, and an echoing thump of a closing door. That was that. Whatever that was.
Baffled beyond belief, I quietly hurried up the stairs, having forgotten that Edward was waiting for me. I entered my room to find him soaked, a towel draped over his shoulder as he struggled to step into a pair of boxer briefs.
"Jesus, Bella," he said, yanking up his shorts and dropping the towel. "What took you so long?"
Normally, finding him dripping wet and naked would have been a cause to push him into bed and have a carnal romp in the sheets, but Mr. Miller's phone call had shaken me a little.
"I was getting worried. Are you okay?" he asked, walking over. "What's the matter?"
"Something weird just happened," I said, tossing my purse to the floor and handing him his keys. "Mr. Miller was talking on the phone to someone in the hallway. Well—to Dr. Cullen. About us."
"Us?"
"Well, at least you. He mentioned your name."
Edward creased his eyebrows. "You're kidding. Damn it, I asked him not to."
Confusion overload. "You know what they were talking about?"
"Well, I can only assume he was explaining my episode to the good old doctor," he said, picking up his towel and drying his face. "Before I came up to apologize to you this morning, we had a pretty long talk—John and I. He was trying to convince me to go see Dr. Cullen, saying that he was good with things like this and that he'd seen him plenty of times for panic disorder. I was just worried about making things right with you, so I told him I'd deal with it later. I guess he thought he'd give Dr. Cullen a heads up."
"After midnight, though?" I was relieved that there was a reason Edward could back up, but the conversation between Carlisle and Mr. Miller hadn't seemed copasetic. Sure, it could have been in concern for Edward, but why would he have the need to meet with Dr. Cullen as soon as the sun rose? I reiterated this to Edward and he shrugged.
"Maybe it wasn't all about me. Maybe they have plans to do something," he said, toweling over the rest of his body. "Hey, where do you hide my shirts?" I pointed to one of my bags and he bent down to fish through it. He retrieved the gray 'Miles to Go' one and pulled it over his head. "Don't worry so much, that's my job."
He was grinning, but I was still unsettled.
"Hypocrite," I mumbled, still not convinced, but he simply gave me a kiss to shush me.
"You taste like French fries," he informed me with a grin.
I grimaced and he laughed as I batted him away. "I'm kidding, Bella. Come back."
"Oh, shut up." I locked him out of the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth. He was holding one of my pajama tops when I came out, his face softening as he saw my pouty expression.
Without saying a word, he took my hand and led me to the end of the bed, laying my shirt on the covers. I narrowed my eyes, about to vent a bit more of my worries about the phone call, but when Edward's fingers slid underneath the hem of my shirt, raising the fabric and brushing my ribs, all thoughts of the past ten minutes instantly disappeared.
He was gentle as he removed my clothes, his mouth warm and wet on my lips, my neck, my breasts. My pajamas were forgotten and his were shed as he breathed words of desire and let his hands carry out his promises, making me writhe and moan with want as we tangled together in bed, our legs conforming to curves.
"God, I love you," he told me, his lips brushing mine, and all that followed were the sounds of our breathy pants and the swish and whisper of the bed sheets. Afterward, we were exhausted and hot but didn't move to put space between us to cool. Edward tucked me close to his chest, my favorite spot to fall asleep on, and I felt his heartbeat—the one thing that calmed me the most. As his hands smoothed my hair, his mouth lightly sweeping my temple, I decided that nothing else mattered at the moment.
Over the last few days, we'd progressed, then regressed, shattered and fled, then finally—this. In all of the ups and downs, I knew friendship, solace, affection, and laughter had connected us, while sutures of apologies and understanding had laced us back together.
Love made up both sides.
We were a hell of a patchwork, that was for sure.
-:-
