20

Edward and Bella stayed by the creek for about another hour before they headed back to the house. Any longer and he knew his family would become concerned. Well, more concerned than they already were, of course. Unlike Bella, he hadn't fallen asleep. He felt . . . anxious, on edge, and when he heard her, when he heard start singing the words to the song, it took everything he had not to let his anger get the best of him.

But then he saw her on the bed, asleep, pressed against the mattress like someone was laying on top of her tense and rigid body, tears seeping past her tightly clinched eyes, and the pain etched on her face. Every bit of anger dissipated and all he wanted to do — needed to do — was help her, to save her. But when he tried to wake her, she started screaming. Edward hurried from her bedroom, down to the second floor and beat on Charlie's door until he opened. He took one look at Edward before he was pushing him to the side and was upstairs. By the time they caught up with him, he was grabbing her wrists and he had two long scratch marks on his right cheek.

Edward felt her groan when he pulled the four wheeler into the garage, pulling him out of the memories of her writhing on the bed in terror. He would never get that image out of his head, he knew. Just one more pain-filled memory to haunt him every day of his life.

"They're probably waiting for us," she whispered, and he felt her lay her head against his back. "How do you handle the way they look at you?"

"They don't really look at me like that anymore, but I mean, they've had twenty-five years to adjust to my panic attacks. They just aren't used to yours."

"Yeah, maybe," she murmured, and a moment later, she climbed off the back of the four wheeler, walking to the entrance of the garage.

Edward dismounted the vehicle and turned and leaned against it, watching her stare off into the distance. "How do you handle being on stage?"

Bella turned and looked at him. "What do you mean?"

"I mean just what I asked: how do you handle being on stage if you don't like people staring at you?"

"It's not about people staring at me, which I don't love but I don't hate it. People looking at me is just a way of life, something I accepted when I made the decision to pursue a career in music. It's the fact that they know things about me, things I don't really know. When they look at me, it feels like they are picturing me as the little girl I used to be, picturing the way they held me down, the way they touched me. I don't have those memories, and a part of me is thankful because if they're anything like the ones I dreamed about I don't want to remember, but the other part wishes I did, because, maybe then I wouldn't feel like my entire life had been one lie after another."

Bella shook her head. "I have a ritual before going on stage. After I get through hair and makeup, squeeze my ass into a tight-ass pair of pants, or skirt, whatever they demand I wear for that show, I visualize myself on stage, just me. Alone. I do that until Ro comes in and gives me her phone to talk to Charlie. He . . ." She smiled. "I ask him why I do it, tell me again why I stress myself out like that, and he'll say, 'Do it for you, Bee, not for them.' And even though I'm nervous and anxious right up until I step out onto the stage, the second I am out there, I feel like I belong. Like I was meant to be on that stage, singing my songs."

"I don't know that I could do it," Edward said, shaking his head. "Thousands of people just . . . watching you."

"I don't even see them anymore," she said, leaning against the edge of the garage her, eyes shifting over to him. "Except for you. I saw you. Out of the thousands of people, I saw you." Bella inhaled a deep breath before she pushed away from the edge. "I'm going to take a shower."

"When are you going to sing for me?" Edward asked, causing her to stop before she got to the backdoor. "You promised."

"When are you going to teach me to fight?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "We had a deal. You teach me to fight, and then I will sing for you. Just you, though. Nobody else."

Edward nodded. "We can start this afternoon, if you want, but only if you're sure, Bella."

"I'm not sure about anything, Edward. I just know I don't want to be scared anymore."

Bella turned and hurried into the house, but before he could follow, the door opened again and Carlisle and Esme stepped into the garage. They shared a look before closing the door behind them, and turning back to face Edward. He had expected a conversation with them, especially after the way he freaked out that morning. But watching her reliving that moment again, well, it made him relive that moment, too. Something he hadn't allowed himself to relive in a long, long time.

"I'm fine," he said, putting his hands in front of him, almost in an effort to keep them from getting too close, and as a way of lying to them.

"Son, you are anything but fine," Carlisle disagreed, frowning. "We're worried about you."

Edward frowned.

"Talk to us, Edward," Esme pleaded, stepping away from Carlisle and toward Edward, who was quick to move away. "Hey, it's just us. Just me and Dad."

"I know. I'm sorry," he whispered before inhaling a deep breath and exhaling it slowly. "I just . . . I hadn't let myself think about . . . you know, everything, in a long time, but she asks questions. A lot of questions, and while I don't want to tell her, she deserves to know. Needs to know."

"She does," Carlisle agreed. "But, son, if this is too much for you —"

"It's not," he was quick to interrupt, earning him a look. "Sorry, Dad. I didn't mean to interrupt you, but it's not too much. I just . . . Look, she's . . . I don't know how to explain it, I really don't. She's just . . . I can't not help her. I can't not be around her. Not again."

"Okay," Carlisle simply said.

"That's it? Just okay?"

Carlisle smiled. "Son, she's been the most important part of your life for a lot longer than any of us can understand. Are we worried? Of course we are. We're your parents, it's our job to worry about you, and about the woman in your life."

Edward wanted to deny that his feelings for Bella went further than just being a . . . Well, friend didn't seem like the right word. Technically, she was his client, but at the same time, he knew he would only be lying to himself if he didn't admit that she was more than just a client. They had been each other's constant, each other's other half when shit got hard and things got real for the first five years of their lives, and she had been the most important person in his life, as his father said, for much longer than she realized. But he knew she would never look at him as someone other than the little boy forced to touch her, not matter how he felt about her.

"We just want to remind you that no matter what happens, we," Esme said, gesturing from herself to Carlisle, "and Emmett, Jasper, and Al are here to help you. You do not have to save that girl on your own. Not this time. Okay?"

"Yeah, okay."

Esme gave him a look before she reached for him. This time, he allowed her to place her hands on his shoulder and pull him in for a hug. "Don't ever forget how much you are loved, kiddo."

"I love you, too," he whimpered. "Thanks for the reminder, though. I needed it."

"That's what I'm here for." Esme pulled back and moved her hands to his face. "Now, I made my famous breakfast casserole. Please try to get her to eat a piece or two. You're both going to need your strength."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good boy," she said, winking before she turned and left just him and Carlisle alone.

Carlisle waited until the door to the house closed before he turned back to Edward, his head tilting to the side. "Got a ping from her house. Someone tripped the camera and snuck inside again. They weren't too pleased to find it abandoned."

Edward shook his head. "It was him?"

"Looked like him. I mean, if he is the one who broke in before. Same build, same tattoo on his hip. He's clever enough to keep his face off camera, but doesn't seem to be making any effort to keep his tattoo from being seen."

"And you think he knows she bailed on the house?"

Carlisle nodded. "Seemed pretty upset when he trashed the place."

"Holy shit," Edward muttered. "Did you tell her?"

"Not yet. Figured she might want to hear it from you, or Charlie, but probably you."

"She wants me to teach her how to fight."

As he expected, his father's eyes widened. "Probably a good idea."

"You think so?" he asked.

"I do. To be really honest, I can't believe that Charlie didn't. None of my business, though."

Edward snorted, but kept his opinions about Charlie Swan to himself. There was a lot he didn't understand about the man, like how he could let her spend years suffering without telling her why she felt the way she did. Bella deserved the truth, especially since she lived a life full of fear and shame and had no real understanding why she felt that way. Charlie Swan failed Bella, plain and simple.

"Have the video of the break in ready. She'll want to see it."

"Figured as much," Carlisle said. "I know you don't think we should, but Felix is ready and willing to come in and help. He doesn't know any specific," he added before Edward could reply. "Just that we have a client in need of extra protection."

Edward shook his head. "Not yet, Dad. Just . . . Just not yet."

"Okay," he said putting his hands up in front of him. "Al will have the feed ready for you both, but eat first. Please? You mother is . . . Well, the woman is beside herself with worry that suddenly you both are going to waste away if she doesn't constantly feed you."

Edward laughed softly. "I'm going to get cleaned up real quick, and then I promise, we'll come eat."

"Thank God!" Carlisle snickered before he turned and walked out of the garage.

Edward hurried into the house, through the kitchen, bypassing the living room and the rest of his family, Rosalie, and Charlie, and rushed upstairs into his bedroom. Even though he bypassed them, he could feel the way Alice, Emmett, and Jasper were watching him, worrying about him. They had spent years making sure the world didn't hurt him again, and it had taken years for him to get to the point where he didn't need at least one of them with him at all times. He hated that they looked at him like he was that weak, scared little boy again, but he understood why they did. In that moment, he felt like that weak, scared little boy again.

He wasn't thinking as he stripped off his shirt, tossed it onto the floor, and hurried over to the door to the bathroom, yanking the door open and feeling his eyes widen, his mouth flop open, and his heart start beating frantically in his chest, because standing in just a mauve, terry cloth towel, was Bella Swan. And Goddamn, she was beautiful.

"What the fuck, Edward!" she exclaimed, holding the towel around her tighter.

"Oh, fuck, oh shit, I'm sorry," he blabbered before he turned around and slammed the door shut behind him. He leaned against the thick wood, his eyes closing, and the imagine of her standing in front of him, her hair hanging in soaking tendrils down her chest, beads of water slipping into her cleavage. Her skin was creamy and flawless, and her legs were smooth and he imagined them wrapped around his waist as he pressed her against the wall, their bodies pressed against each other's.

"Oh, fuck, what just happened," he whispered to himself, trying to keep from opening the door again. He had just inhaled a deep breath when he heard her knock on the other side.

"Open the door, Edward."

"Are you decent?" he asked, turning and placing his hands on the wood.

"Yes," she said with a laugh. "Please open the door."

He closed his eyes for just a moment before he reached down and gripped the door knob, opening the door. She was standing on the other side in a pair of charcoal grey leggings and a black T-shirt with a large yellow happy face on it. Her hair was still wet, still hanging in front of her chest.

"I am . . . Bella, I am so sorry. I wasn't thinking. I just . . ."

"You just what?" she asked, her forehead wrinkling.

"I'm not used to other people using this bathroom," he said, slowly. "I'm usually the only one on the third floor."

"Oh." She nodded, biting her bottom lip. "I should have locked the door, but I saw your mom and dad going out to the garage, figured they'd hound you for information on my . . . dream, or whatever, and I would have time to take a shower before you got up here. Guess I was in the shower longer than I thought."

"I should have knocked."

"Maybe," she murmured, reaching up and pushing her hair behind her ear. "Anyway, just wanted to let you know the bathroom is all yours."

"Thanks." Edward paused before saying, "I promised Mom we would eat."

"You did?"

He nodded. "She's worried. It's a Mom thing."

"Oh, okay," Bella said with a laugh. "I guess come to my room when you're done, and then we'll go downstairs and eat. Wouldn't want to break the Mom rule."

"Yeah, yeah, okay." He tried not to sound too eager, but when she grinned, turned, and hurried into her bedroom, closing the door behind her, he knew he failed. "Real smooth, Edward. Real fucking smooth."

Edward took the fastest, coldest shower he had probably ever taken, and in the matter of about four minutes, he was dressed again and standing on the other side of the Bella's bedroom door. He raised his hand to knock, but before he could, she pulled the door open, and he found himself in awe of just how beautiful she was. Her hair was still wet, her eyes wide and full of emotion, and he felt himself drawn in by her.

"That was really fast," she said, smiling.

"What was?"

"Your shower. It usually takes me five minutes to just relax under the hot water before I can think about using shampoo or soap."

"Oh."

"Should we go down to eat? Or do you want to just stand here in the doorway for a little longer?"

"Yeah. I mean no. I mean . . ." Edward shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "We can go downstairs, but there's something I should tell you."

"What?" she asked, her forehead furrowing with worry.

"He broke into your house again."

He eyes widened. "He did?"

Edward nodded. "We got a ping and they have video feed of him searching the house. He trashed it after realizing that you were gone."

"And they think it was him? They think it was Marcus?"

Again, he nodded. "Same tattoo. Never see his face. I told Dad to have the video ready. Figured you might want to see it."

"Want? No," she muttered. "But I guess this is one of those ways I reclaim my life back, huh?"

"Maybe. I don't know. We just need as much information about him as we can get, and we get that by watching every part of his movement, his body language, and his reactions to everything."

Bella nodded and reached up again, pushing her hair behind her ear. "Are you going to be able to stop him, Edward?"

"Yes," he vowed. "I will never let him hurt you again."

"What about you? What if . . . what if he hurts you?"

"I . . ." Edward trailed off as Bella stepped closer to him, placing her hands in the middle of his chest. "Bella."

"I don't want to lose you," she whispered. "I can't lose you. Not . . . Not again. I don't know why I feel like this. I don't know why you . . . why you are so important to me, Edward. It scares the shit out of me, but you are. So you have to promise that you won't sacrifice yourself for me."

"Bella."

"Promise me, Edward," she whimpered, her fingers clenching the front of his T-shirt.

"I promise." He placed his hands on either side of her face, her eyes closing and her leaning into his hands. "Bella."

"Edward, I . . ."

Her eyes opened for a moment, and in a move that surprised him, she leaned up onto her toes and pressed her lips against his.

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