Happy Sunday, my friends! I hope you're all having a relaxing weekend!

I need to make a public service announcement before we get started on chapter 17.

From this point forward, I will be having someone else screen all guest reviews for negative comments. It takes hours upon hours to write and edit each chapter that I share with you, and for some reason, I have a reader who thoroughly enjoys pointing out spelling errors in a guest review after each chapter. I am just plain and simply not going to catch everything when I edit. If this is something that bothers you, I highly recommend PAYING for a Kindle Unlimited subscription or going to the bookstore and PURCHASING a professionally edited book. Why on Earth you feel the need to tear down an author who is sharing their work for free I can not understand. It is demoralizing to have little errors thrown in my face after I've put so much damn effort into my stories with only the reward of nice reviews, follows, and favorites in return. I've had enough. So, your messages will no longer reach me.

For those of you who have written to me under your actual screen names and said something positive but pointed out a more major error I missed here and there, I appreciate you!

Now, for all you supportive readers out there, please enjoy chapter 17!

The school buzzes with everything homecoming, from the game, the dance, and the pep rally that will take place during sixth period. So, when Alice bounces down the hall, calling my name, I assume she's found her niche with the cheer squad and is excited about their performance this afternoon.

The tupperware of cookies she balances in her hands shakes with her movements, getting frosting stuck to the top. "Whoa, calm down. You're going to ruin all your hard work," I laugh, teasing but thrilled to see her bubbly personality showing through.

"Did you hear?" She's wide-eyed, giving me a toothy grin while I cock my head.

"Hear what?"

She raises onto her toes like the old Alice would, and I can't imagine what news she has. "The results for the district art contest were posted!"

My face must register my shock because her smile falls as she second-guesses her exuberance. "It's… on the district website," she mumbles.

"Oh, my God." Pulse racing, I pull my phone from the pocket of my jeans and curse the school for having no wifi and awful reception. I grab Alice around the wrist and pull her toward a window, holding my phone near the glass. Slowly, the page loads, and I scroll until I find the link announcing the winners.

"So…" She tucks the cookies against her side and bites on her thumbnail.

"Oh, my God!" I gasp, re-reading the results twice because I'm sure I see things wrong. "I won!"

"You won!" She's jumping again.

I look up, letting the phone drop to my side. "There's a scholarship. Ten thousand dollars."

Alice grins, waiting for me to display the level of excitement she's expecting. But my smile falters because while I'm grateful, the money isn't enough to cover even half a semester at the Savannah College for Art and Design. The school is out of reach without Charlie's help, even with financial aid.

"Aren't you excited?" She asks, brows dipping in concern.

"I think I'm in shock." I force my mouth to curve up in an attempt to be convincing. She doesn't buy it.

"I think it's great, Bella. I'm so proud of you." Quicker than I can register, her arm wraps around my shoulders for the briefest of moments before she pulls back and glances to the ground, shy Alice making a return. "I have to go deliver these." She holds up her tupperware. "But I wanted to say congratulations."

"Thanks." I mean it. I'm thankful. For Alice's enthusiasm and the award. It's just so damn hard to accept something I know I can't use.

I break from Alice, hurrying toward Art History but, for the first time, wondering if I should skip one of Mrs. Cope's classes. I need time to let the news seep in, to settle my emotions before I'm thrust into the spotlight. So, I text Edward.

Meet me by your truck.- B

He doesn't answer before the bell rings, and now I'm late. I can't stomach walking into a class already in session and having a big deal made out of my accomplishment. So I head out to the parking lot by myself, bypassing an attendance officer and ducking through a side door.

Edward's truck is parked facing a wooded area that shields me from view, so I sink to the curb beside the vehicle and breathe, blowing out slowly. The action does nothing to calm the turmoil inside me. I have a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity at my fingertips, but no matter how far I reach, it remains just outside my grasp.

Tilting my head toward the sky, I release a frustrated sigh as Edward appears. He ducks behind the truck bed, lips turned down in concern. "What's wrong?"

"You know the art contest?" I ask as he joins me on the curb. "I won it."

"Holy shit, Bella. That's amazin'!" He's as thrilled as his sister, and his hug is three times as strong. He pulls me close and refuses to let go. "So why aren't you in class celebratin'?"

I close my eyes, trying to figure out how to communicate my hesitation without coming off like an ungrateful brat. How many other students are coping with the disappointment of losing out? "Remember that day over the summer, in my kitchen, when we talked about feelin' like everything we want is out of reach?"

He pulls back, his eyes searching mine in confusion. "But you won?"

"I can't use the scholarship."

"I don't understand." A leaf falls from above and rests on the top of my head. Edward's gaze breaks from mine as he reaches up and brushes it from my hair.

My lip catches between my teeth, and I blink away the sting in my eyes as my chest aches with the crushing disappointment of reality. "It's only ten thousand dollars. It won't pay the full tuition for art school."

His expression falls when the reasons for my melancholy attitude become clear. "There's gotta be a way…"

"Not without Charlie's help," I mumble, picking at the grass by my hip. The patchy tufts aren't tended to regularly and stick out between the blades. I focus on ripping them apart. It's easier than wallowing in self-pity.

"Maybe we can talk to him. Remember, my mom told him about those jobs that would be available if you continue to hone your talent."

A clump of grass breaks off between my fingers, and I drop it to the concrete, watching it fall and spread. "I can't stomach another one of the art-school conversations with him. You don't understand, Edward. He's so against the idea."

"Maybe the contest will turn him around."

"Maybe hell will freeze over." I roll my eyes.

His lips set in a straight line as he levels me with a look that tells me to shut up and stop whining. "What if I help? What if my mom helps? We could have dinner at my house this Sunday. What if you wait until then to tell everyone that you won? My mom will be thrilled for you. It could rub off on him."

I consider his suggestion. Mama Esme will have an even bigger reaction than Edward and Alice. Every time I see her, she talks to me about my art, flipping through my sketchbooks and letting me ramble about my different techniques. She even framed one of my ocean landscape drawings last week. It hangs in their entryway and greets me whenever I step inside the Cullen's house.

On autopilot, my head begins to nod. I can picture it- sitting at the Cullen's dinner table, feeding off the praise from Mama Esme and Edward. Charlie has no choice but to act supportive and maybe even listen. Sparks of excitement boost my confidence, and for the first time in forever, I can taste the reality of art school on the tip of my tongue.

Edward's eyes brighten as his lips turn up when I mutter, "Okay."

"Yeah?" He smiles wide and slings his arm around my shoulders, squeezing me into his side. "You're going to make an amazin' artist, Bella." His lips linger against my temple as tension releases from my stiff spine, and I relax into him.

"Don't start sellin' my work yet. It'll be worth more when I'm famous," I tease, but a flutter of hope fills my chest as the dreams I haven't dared entertain bloom.

oOo

Alice and I lean across the Cullen's dining table to look at Mama Esme's phone and all the pictures she took of us before the homecoming dance.

The yellow of Alices's strapless dress with the short chiffon skirt screams sunshine and positivity, just like the smile on her face. She's posing with a group of her freshman friends who went without dates because, according to them, the boys their age are stupid. I laughed when they told me this because I once had a stupid fourteen-year-old boy to deal with. But lucky for me, that boy grew up, and I learned he fills out a suit nicely.

My dress was a navy halter, tight and glittery. Edward complained that he'd be covered in stray glitter for weeks, and I did spot some on his cheek when I showed up for dinner tonight, but it was worth it for the beautiful pictures of the two of us. Mama Esme airdrops them to me, and I know I'll have them on social media by the end of the night.

"Alright, ladies," Dr. Cullen chuckles after we've gone through the photos twice, our roast going cold. "Y'all should probably eat sometime tonight."

Edward cocks an eyebrow in amusement as we drop the phones, caught blatantly disregarding the no phones at the table rule. Charlie chuckles and mutters, "Women" under his breath.

It's not until our plates are scrapped clean and I've helped Mama Esme serve Alice's peach cobbler for dessert that Edward clears his throat and glances toward me. I place my fork on the table and take a long sip of water, my nerves climbing in anticipation of the announcement he's about to make.

"So, uh, Bella has some news," he says. Charlie coughs, choking on his cobbler while Dr. Cullen's fork hovers a few inches above his plate.

"What kind of news." Dr. Cullen glances between Edward and me, and suddenly, it sinks in that maybe Edward didn't present this the best way.

"It's good, not bad," I blurt, sending Edward a what-the-hell look. He shrugs, sinking into his chair as his cheeks tint pink. "Uh, y'all remember that art contest at school? I won it."

Mama Esme is out of her chair instantly, squeezing me tight and yelling, "I knew you would win!" It's so loud I can't help but cringe as my eardrums beg for mercy.

"Congratulations, Bella." Dr. Cullen raises his water glass in a cheer, relieved that my news has nothing to do with his son knocking up the girl next door.

"Huh," Charlie mumbles, chewing on the peach cobbler. "Well, that's great, Bels."

"Great! It's outstandin'." Mama Esme returns to her seat, beaming. "Charlie, you should be so proud of her. Did you know this award comes with a scholarship for art school? Oh, Bella, where are you gonna apply?"

"Um…" I glance at Charlie, whose brows furrow as he places his fork on his empty plate. Something nudges my foot under the table, and my eyes snap forward to find Edward nodding, encouraging me to talk. "Well, I've always dreamed of attendin' the Savannah College of Art and Design."

Charlie clears his throat and cocks his head to the side. "Bella…"

"Oh, that's a fabulous school," Mama Esme cuts him off. "What would you study if you got in?"

"I was thinkin' about graphic design." I trace a droplet of condensation that runs down my water glass while Charlie rests his elbows on the table, for once not interrupting me. With the possibility that he may be listening, I take the opportunity to explain my plans. "I enjoyed helpin' Alice with the logo for her company, and I think that might be somethin' I'm good at. While I never want to stop sketchin' and paintin', I know that won't pay the bills. Workin' with the marketin' department of companies as a graphic designer, I could eventually make six figures a year."

"Is that true?" Charlie asks.

"Yes. I researched the career for an assignment in school last year. It's a lucrative industry."

Charlie hums, glancing down and drumming his fingers against the table in thought. Could I have gotten through to my father?

"I wonder if there are any internships you could do over the summer to start buildin' a resume," Mama Esme muses.

Charlie nods, "That'd be a good way to start. See if it's somethin' you like." My mouth drops open in shock as he takes a moment to sip his water. "Of course, I think you ought to look at four-year schools that offer graphic design programs. I doubt an art school is gonna look the same to potential employers."

I sigh and dip my gaze in defeat. How will I ever get him to understand that the right art school can be more attractive to companies than a regular university?

"Well, I'm stuffed," Charlie announces, abruptly ending any chance I have left to convince him to consider my plans. "Carlisle, what do you say we check the score on the Jacksonville-Dallas game?"

Mama Esme sends me a sympathetic glance as the men toss their napkins on their placemats and wander off, already deep in discussion about offensive lines. Alice pats my shoulder and stands, collecting my plate and hers, knowing I need a minute to collect myself.

"You okay?" Edward's voice is soft as he rounds the table, taking Alice's seat beside me.

Frustrated, I blink away traitorous tears that threaten to fall. "He'll never understand."

Edward reaches into my lap, grasping my hand and squeezing our palms together. "Let's go out back."

I wipe at my cheeks, allowing him to pull me from my chair and lead me through the kitchen to the back door. Mama Esme stops me for a hug, holding her wet dishwater hands away from my back as she tells me we'll keep working on my father. At least I know I have her on my side.

The evening air chills my bare arms, the summer heat finally giving way to fall as the sun sets early and the mosquitos and lightning bugs hibernate until the days turn long again.

Edward sits on the back steps and tugs on my hand, encouraging me to take the spot next to him. When I press my side against him, relishing in the soft fabric of his t-shirt, I shiver. He reaches around my waist, pulling me tight and keeping me warm.

"At least he sees a career in art as a possibility now," Edward says as I tuck my head into the crook of his neck and breath him in. "That's progress."

"It's not enough." God, I'm pouting so much that I'm annoying myself. Edward chuckles and kisses the top of my head. "You have more faith in this than I do."

"Maybe you need to pray harder," he teases. I slap at his chest in a playful admonishment. "Seriosuly, though, give it time. Let my mama help. I've never seen anyone deny her somethin' she wants. And she wants what's best for you."

I'm quiet, allowing his words to roll through my head. The idea of changing Charlie's mind seems so far-fetched, but I want to believe it's possible. Edward holds me tighter, arms wrapped around me as if he can't get me close enough.

"Hey, I want to show you somethin'," he mutters, his foot bouncing on the brick.

"Okay, sure." I'm happy to change the subject and move on from the trials of my life for a moment.

He jumps up and holds his hand to me. "It's upstairs in my room."

I follow him inside, past our father's, watching the game in the living room, up to the second floor, and into Edward's ocean-blue bedroom. Signed posters of famous ball players sit on his walls, and shelves full of trophies and awards are affixed above his desk and computer. Due to Mama Esme's rule, the door stays open as I plop onto his Navy comforter, impressed that his bed is actually made today.

"You cleaned," I say, noting the lack of clothing and schoolwork strewn across the room.

"My mama forced me. Said she'd take my keys if I didn't."

I laugh, picturing a stern Mama Esme forcing her teenage son to do anything. Edward's right. She's a convincing woman when she wants to be.

He hovers near his closet, tapping his fingers on the wall. "So, remember when I promised I'd write to you."

"In the journals." I nod. My stomach flutters while I remember all the journals I filled with letters to him. "We were supposed to write down our thoughts and share them when we talked."

"Yeah, well, I never stopped."

My breath catches as he opens the door to his closet and lifts a box from under the rack his jeans hang on. He brings them to the bed and places them on the floor at my feet as I stare wide-eyed in disbelief. All this time, when I thought I was crazy for writing to the boy who left me behind, he'd never stopped writing to me.

"It's weird, huh?" He grimaces and rubs the back of his neck, looking anywhere but my direction.

"No." I grab his hand, squeezing it, with a smile stretching across my face. "I did the same thing."

Eyes bright, he searches for any hint of a lie. "You're serious."

"My bookshelf is full of the journals I wrote to you."

"Can I see them?" He's so hopeful that even if I wanted to, I couldn't deny him.

"Only if I can see yours."

He grabs a plain black book from the top of the pile and says, "Have at it."

I grin, flipping the book open as he settles on the mattress. I start on the first page. It's dated March 18, 2021.

Dear Bella,

I'm having surgery tomorrow. I'm terrified. Does that make me a pussy? Make me weak? I feel like it does. My father says to face this with bravery. That all athletes have to go through this at some point. He says there's nothing to it. I'll go to sleep, then wake up, and it will all be over.

What if he's wrong?

What if the surgeon can't fix my arm? What if I'm never able to throw again? What if something horrible happens and I don't wake up?

I want to talk to you. I want to hear your voice. If you told me everything would be alright, I'd believe you.

I miss you, Bella. I still love you.

Your Edward.

Tears prick the corners of my eyes as my heart shatters at the raw emotion on the page. He was alone, going through the most terrifying moment of his life, pretending to put on a brave face.

"I wish I'd been there for you."

"You would have been if I wasn't so stupid," Edward scoffs, his fingers tracing a pattern along the denim of my jeans.

I flip the page to the next entry. It's from March twentieth.

The writing is slanted and shaky, as if a small child transcribed it. I raise a brow and read.

Dear Bella,

I'm in pain. I try not to let Mama know. She gets upset. Dad is pushing pain pills, but I can only take so many. I woke up a lot last night because I kept rolling onto my shoulder. This sucks.

I miss you.

Edward

"I had to write that with my left hand," he explains, pointing at the choppy handwriting.

"I wanna read all of these." I kick the box gently with my foot, fascinated with the peek into Edward's mind.

"You can take them. Most of them are probably borin', but some…" he trails off, face pinched in thought. "I talk about everything that happened."

"I wanna read about it all. I want to know what you were thinkin' when you lived through it, Edward. Maybe it will help me understand your choices."

He grunts, "I don't even understand my choices."

"The journals are addressed to me anyway," I remind him.

Shrugging, he nudges the box with his toe. "They're all yours. But does that mean I get to take your journals?"

I pause, trying to remember how embarrassing the entries are. There are a few he won't like, the one about Tyler's spring break party for sure. "You might not want to read them all."

"We can pick and choose. I'm sure some of mine won't be fun reads either."

My lips purse as I nod, relinquishing control of my words, giving him the same gift he's giving me- the ability to understand every part of each other.

I stand and place the journal in my hands back in the box. "You wanna help me get these home, and you can pick up mine?"

With a deep breath, he nods and pushes his hands into his knees as he stands.

I step toward the doorway as he lifts the box. "Hey, Bella."

Pausing, I glance over my shoulder a find his gaze full of affection and sincerity, watching me as he says, "No matter what you read, just know I never stopped lovin' you."

I smile and close the distance between us, lifting my hand to his cheek. "I never stopped lovin' you, Edward Cullen."

The box bounces on the bed as Edward's arms wrap around my waist, and his lips crash against mine. Mama Esme's open-door policy doesn't phase us as we lose ourselves in each other. It's not until we're gasping for breath and Charlie's calling that it's time to go that we break apart.

Flushed, with swollen lips and wild hair, we descend the stairs. Edward holds his box of journals strategically in front of him to block any witnesses from seeing his reaction to the passion of our actions.

But Charlie catches on and grumbles under his breath when I tell him Edward needs to come over for a few minutes to grab something from my room. Charlie's gruff "two minutes" leaves no argument, and with arms full of my old journals, Edward steals one last chaste kiss before hustling back home. It's probably for the best. I don't need my father shooting my boyfriend.

I curl up in bed, using the soft glow of my bedside lamp to read through pages of blue and black ink all addressed to me. I stay up late into the night, skipping through journals, sometimes laughing and sometimes tearing up as I live Edward's journey with him.

At the bottom of the box, I find the thinnest of all the journals. It's plain like the others, but something falls into my lap when I open it. Gingerly I pick up the delicate object and gaze at it in awe. Pressed honeysuckle that matches the bouquet from my original journal rests in my palm. I open the first page to find markings from the flower seeped into the paper.

Handwriting I recognize from years ago adorns the entry, dated August 1st, 2019.

Dear Bella,

I don't know how to do this. How to say goodbye to you, how to write in a journal, how to live anywhere but Amelia Island.

My heart hurts. When I drove away from you today, I wanted to cry. I already miss you.

I hope you found the journal I left you. If not, I'll tell you where it is when we talk on the phone.

And we will talk. Everyday. Because I can't live without you, Bella.

Remember, as soon as I can, I'm coming back.

I love you, Bella. Forever and always.

Love,

Your Edward

Bittersweet emotions swirl through my chest, heartache for the time we lost, and joy for the future we have.

As I drift to sleep, I picture what life would have looked like if Edward never left, and I wonder if we would be the same people we are today. If our paths would have walked along the same lines, or if we would have drifted apart to find our way back together.

Ultimately, all that matters is that we're together now and will never let anything tear us apart again.

A/N: That entire time he was writing to her too! Do you think Bell, Edward, and Mama Esme will be able to get Charlie to change his mind? He wants what's best for Bella, but he may not know what's best for her.

Until next time!