Bringing this one to you from sunny Spain where I'm drinking too many cocktails (as if there is such a thing LOL) and banking aaaaall the beachy inspo.
As always, loooved your thoughts on the last chapter. So many of you wanted to just give him the biggest hug and I don't blame you, we'll see if you still feel that way after this one *hides*
Many thanks to maplestyle, hotteaforme, annaharding, and melcee for their wisdom and love getting this all pretty for you! And especially to hotteaforme for pointing me toward the app so I could post, we nearly had to skip this week's update!
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banks
6
"Usual please, Stefan."
I haven't even sat down before two tequilas appear on the bar. No chasers; he knows I won't use 'em.
The first shot goes down with a hiss as my ass hits the stool. The second doesn't even register because directly across the room, at the opposite end of the bar, is a familiar face.
Bella.
My fake girlfriend, I remember with a wry huff. What a fucking shitshow that whole conversation was.
Bella looks up and spots me as Stefan slides another tequila my way before taking the empties, her gaze dropping to my hand wrapped around the shot glass while a smirk curves her lips.
"Two more," I murmur, nodding toward her. He raises his brows but says nothing as he pours us both shots, and instead of staying where she is, Bella moves around to sit beside me, drink in hand. I'm trying to decide if I'm more pissed or grateful that she stepped in and paid for Archie's school stuff. I know I should be falling-at-her-feet grateful, but I definitely don't sound it. "You paid for my kid's shit at the store."
For a moment, those words feel weird.
My kid.
I roll the words around in my head, testing them out. They don't fit, but…he is my kid. I have the DNA test results to prove it. I see my features in his face every damn day. But knowing it and feeling it, saying it, are totally different ball games. Idly, with an itch that feels something like guilt crawling over my body, I wonder if I'll ever feel like Archie's and Charlotte's dad. They deserve that. They deserve to be wanted.
I never had that, and the gut-crushing guilt I feel right now has me worried the cycle's about to repeat itself.
I wish I could honestly say that if I had the choice, if I could go back or keep my life exactly how it was, I wouldn't hesitate.
But my life before was simple, uncomplicated. Sure it wasn't everyone's idea of a good time but it was mine.
Bella snaps me unceremoniously from my thoughts. She hums and drums her fingers on the bar, nail polish chipped but a different color on each nail. The bar top is made from recycled road signs, nailed and glued together, worn from probably decades of use. This bar is nothin' special but it's my local, usually quiet, and the Russian brothers who own it know the drill. Stefan and Vladimir don't pry when I just want a quiet drink, and I keep the lines of communication between them and the best coke suppliers in Nevada open. It's win-win for both of us.
Glancing sideways at Bella, it's obvious she doesn't plan to explain, so I demand an answer in a tone that would get my ears boxed if I were talking to Es. "Why?"
She smirks, tongue piercing trapped between her teeth. My eyes follow her finger as she circles the rim of the glass. Finally, she shrugs. "When it comes to money at least, I've been very fortunate. I like to pay it forward once in a while."
"You don't even know us."
"You don't know me, but you just bought me a drink." Lifting the glass, she waits for me to begrudgingly tap mine against it before tossing the tequila back, her soft hum as she sets the glass back down going straight to my dick.
Emptying my own glass, I point out, "Just returnin' the favor. You started it."
Her laugh pulls the attention of the guys playing pool behind her, and I can't help but smirk when their eyes go between Bella and me before returning to their game.
"You sound like my brother. You started it," she parrots in a sing-song voice, eyes smiling. For the first time, I notice the color. Or, colors.
How did I miss that before?
In the glow of the big, old-Hollywood style mirrors lining the back of the bar, my dumb ass realizes she has one blue eye and one brown. Light and dark. They narrow a little as she cocks her head. "Your kid…how did his first day go?"
Blowing out a big breath, I swallow my guilt for leaving and push thoughts of Bree from my head. "Could've been better. Some little shit picked on him for his stutter."
And his life is such a fucked-up mess right now he freaked out because he didn't even believe I'd be there to get him after.
"You give 'em hell?" she guesses, fire in her mismatched eyes now. "You seem like the type of dad to do that."
I muster a grin, ignoring the flip of my stomach. Dad. I'm a dad.
But I'm not 'the type of dad' to do anything. Until recently, I didn't even know I was—am?—one.
Still don't know if I want to be.
"Naw, wanted to, though." Catching Stefan's eye, I hold up two fingers. "Enough about me. What're you doin' in Vegas?"
For the first time, I see a flash of nerves in her eyes. She seems to debate for a second, then shrugs, gaze far away. "Searching, I guess."
"For…?"
Two more tequilas land on the bar. The noise brings her back, eyes flitting up to my face, and my brows furrow as she bites her lip before the tiniest of smirks curves her mouth. "I'll let you know when I find it."
- banks -
Someone turn off the fucking sun.
"Ugh."
Scrubbing my hands over my face, I register the feel of something, someone, next to me.
Fuck.
Carefully peeling one eye open, I look around to try to figure out where I am. I know I'm not on my lumpy couch, that's for sure. For a second I think I'm in my trailer, the small window close to my head sort of similar to the one in my bedroom. But no, there's also a bigger window half covered by a fancy shade that looks made-to-measure. When I sit up, I realize I am in a trailer, just a much nicer one than mine. Tilting my head toward the door, I can see out into what looks like a fancy ass galley kitchen.
Holding my breath, I turn my head the other way, breathing another soft "Fuck" when I set eyes on long brown hair spilled over the pillow and a pale expanse of creamy skin leading down to a peachy ass half covered by the sheet.
I instinctively know it's her. Bella. Her eyes dance behind my closed eyelids as I squeeze them shut. Fucking hell. Last night's such a blur, but suddenly I get a flashback of her licking salt off my neck while my hands roam her thighs, and I know I need to get the hell out of dodge.
My tee is draped over the little built-in nightstand and I find my shorts on the floor by the door, another memory sliding through my hangover fog as I rush to pull them on and almost wipe out a guitar case in the process.
Giggle-snorting as I wedge her between my body and the wall, Bella nips at my lip and slides her hands down my sides to tug the waistband of my shorts. "Off."
With her legs tight around my waist, I can let go long enough to shove my shorts down my legs, kicking them off…somewhere. My hands go right back to her waist where I grip her hard enough she smirks, soft hands sliding up into my hair as she breathes "Fuck me" like it's an order.
Leaving without waking her is a dick move.
I do it anyway.
I could bullshit that she looks too peaceful but the truth is, I don't want the awkward chat. The weird silence while I figure out how to say it was a one-time thing and she tries not to look disappointed.
Been there, done that. Got a whole wardrobe full of the t-shirts.
All I want to do right now is crawl into my own bed and sleep off this fucking hangover.
I can't help but look around quickly at the plush interior of what I quickly realize is an Airstream, freezing in the doorway between the bedroom and the kitchen.
I'm being watched.
I vaguely remember Bella mentioning a dog when we stumbled in last night as the big ball of hair stares at me from the couch. Sitting bolt upright, the dog's eyes bore right into me.
"Uh, nice dog…" I whisper, flicking a look back over my shoulder; Bella stays asleep, thank fuck, and the dog doesn't move a paw as I slowly move toward the door. I don't breathe out fully until I'm outside with the door closed between me and the hairball. Some kind of collie, I think.
We're in the parking lot outside the bar, thankfully not far from home, so I jump straight in my truck and thank my lucky stars that nobody's around to see me right now.
My phone's dead in my pocket, but I plug it into the dock on the dash of my truck, and by the time I make it to the track toward the trailer park it has enough charge to turn back on, notifications pinging through one after the other. The shrill sound and my sister's name repeatedly appearing on the screen with a dozen missed calls and a bunch of texts knock some sense into me.
Fuuuuuck.
Slamming my foot on the brake, I shove a hand into my bedhead and pull up the first couple messages.
Hey, where are you? Charlotte's not feeling great, have you got any infant tylenol? Xx
Ed? Xx
Biting the inside of my cheek hard, I skip through a few where Es lets me know Carl drove some over when he got off work, but then a few minutes after the last text came the first call I missed. I muted my phone when I got to the bar, I remember with dread creeping up my throat.
Answer your phone. Charlotte's spiking a fever and I don't know what to do, Edward! CALL ME
Nausea takes a sluggish roll through my entire body. I don't want to keep scrolling. I swallow guilt and anger at myself as I make myself read on until her messages suddenly end.
My phone's going to die but when you drag yourself out of Tanya's bed we'll be at the hospital.
- banks -
A nurse shows me to the room where my sister and Carl are sitting with Charlotte.
She leaves me there, looking through the small window in the door with what feels like a dozen bulldozers in my stomach and a pounding in my head that only worsens with the sound of heels on the corridor floor.
"Mr. Masen."
Fuck.
"Why are you here?" I wince as the words fall out of my mouth.
Victoria Clements scowls, eyebrow cocked, and smooths her hand over her fancy jacket. Always with the suits and the scowls. "We got a call from the hospital when Charlotte was brought in. There seems to have been an error with the contact information being changed over to you. I assume you filled out the paperwork I sent you?"
"I—" Actually…I don't know. Raking a hand through my hair, I try to sieve through all the paperwork in my head. There was so much of it, I easily could have missed something.
Just another fuck-up to add to my long list. Another reminder that I can't do this.
The door swings open suddenly, and even though I can see the anger simmering in my sister's tired eyes, she puts it on hold. Just like so many times before when faced with social workers, we're a team.
At least, until we're alone again. Then I know I'm going to get the mother of all ass-kickings. One I know I deserve.
"Ms. Clements, what a surprise! What can we do for you? You're catching us at a bit of a difficult time."
While they shoot the shit, I force my lead legs to move and head into the room. Carl lifts his head up from his phone, expression unreadable.
"I know, man." I sigh. "Not right now."
Not when I can't stop staring at Charlotte in the hospital crib looking way too small and way too quiet. She's just in a diaper and a bunched-up tee that I know says 'Little Sister' on it, one little arm wrapped around her blanket, the other stretched out up by her head, fingers curled in her itty bitty tufts of hair that are slowly turning more red-brown by the day.
Swallowing hard, I walk to the side that has the bars down, the chair right there obviously where Es has been sitting. Her hoodie is draped over the back and a half-empty water bottle sits on the arm.
"Is she okay? What happened?" My voice comes out in a raspy whisper, but I know Carl hears me when he sighs long and hard.
"She spiked a pretty bad fever, wouldn't take any bottles or anything. We gave her some Tylenol but she threw it right back up. That's when we brought her in."
Resting a shaky palm over her belly, I breathe out slow as it rises and falls. She's sleeping soundly, doesn't even fidget when I reach up to touch the backs of my fingers to her forehead. Warm but not hot. There's a lead attached to a band around her foot, and when I follow it to the monitor, everything seems to be steady. The even beeps and lack of nurses hovering relaxes me for the first time since I saw Esme's messages.
"Carl, I–"
"Can I talk for a sec?"
I don't really have room to argue with him, so I drop my chin in a nod.
"I've never seen your sister freak out as bad as she did last night, Ed. It was…" He blows out a big breath and there's none of his usual humor when he finally says, "It was brutal, man." He seems to hesitate, and when I drag my eyes over to him, he's watching me with a furrowed brow. "She had an interview this morning for a better job, salon manager, but she had to cancel it because you weren't here and she didn't want to leave Charlotte by herself for me to take her."
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuuuuck.
"I know you didn't ask for this, Ed, but none of us did. Not me, or Es, or these kids."
He's right. I can't argue with that, his words like a solid punch to the gut. I've been so worried about keeping the kids a secret from everyone to try and keep some semblance of normalcy, I've let my situation take over Carl and Es's life. And hell, for what? I haven't been living my 'normal' life anyway; I can't exactly invite everyone over for a party and expect them to not notice the two kids.
"I mean, you haven't even asked where Archie is."
I realize with a sudden jolt that he's right. "Shit, where—"
"At the nurses' station. He was flipping out. I guess they took him and Charlotte to the hospital when they took Bree in."
My knees give out, my ass hitting the plastic-lined chair with a dull thud. Guilt slams into me even harder than before.
See, I knew I'd fuck this up, Bree. Is this why you didn't tell me? You knew that, too?
"Carl…"
A combination of exhaustion, guilt, and an eerily calm acceptance that I need to step it up or give up slithers through my veins as I try to put into words how sorry I am.
Nothing I say will make it better though, and when Es walks back in a few minutes later with a nurse and the news that Charlotte can go home with a prescription for antibiotics and rest, defeat hangs over my shoulders like a weighted blanket.
- banks -
"I-i she ok-kay?" Archie frets, as close as he can possibly be to Charlotte on the couch without actually touching her. "I d-don't w-wanna wake h-her," he tells Es when she gently says that he can scoot closer if he wants to.
"She's okay, buddy," I tell him, sliding my hands under her to shift her onto his lap. He moves instinctively to cradle her, his chest rising and falling in a deep breath as he rests his cheek on her head and stares at me with big, baleful eyes.
"You s-s-swear?"
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I force a weak smile. "I swear, Ace. She's just gotta sleep it off, but she'll be okay."
I can feel my sister's stare on the side of my head. She hasn't said a word to me since we left the hospital, but I know that's not because she hasn't got anything to get off her chest.
"You wanna watch TV for a sec? I need to go get something from the truck."
Archie nods, but he's paying more attention to Charlotte than to me, so he doesn't seem to notice when I jerk my chin at Esme and she disentangles herself from Carl's arms in the kitchen.
Outside, a hot wind whipping sand and shit around us, she stalks over to sit on one of the folding camp chairs. I follow with hands stuffed in my pockets. I can't even laugh when she growls at the chair for not opening the first time. Even when it does, she pushes it into the dirt with a frustrated sigh, white-knuckling the back and dropping her head.
Stepping toward her, I realize my fists are so tight in my pockets they hurt. "Essie, look, I know you're mad—"
"Mad? Mad? You think I'm mad?"
Oh, fuck.
Whirling around, Es's eyes are wide and…fuck. "Edward, I'm not mad; I'm fucking heartbroken!" She uses her palms to wipe tears from her cheeks but more keep coming along with a deep breath that makes her shoulders lift and fall hard. "I'm not mad. I'm just disappointed. Do you even know how terrified I was last night?"
"I shouldn't have left you to deal with the kids—"
"Oh my god, I could fucking shake you!" She closes the gap to grab the front of my tee, the fear and anger in her eyes making me feel like the biggest sack of shit. "Ed, I was waiting for a phone call to say you were dead. I thought…when you left and then you weren't answering at all, it was like…"
A cold chill moves through my body. The flashbacks slam into my skull, and I know she feels the shudder that rocks down my spine.
"It was like when Charlotte died, all over again."
So...how are we?
Also, I know you'll have questions—all will be revealed I promise