Chapter 41
"What's the name of the third song you played?" Ben asked, passing the joint along to Sam who sat next to him.
We were on the bluffs of a beach in California, drinking and smoking as the moon rose higher in the sky, celebrating what may have been our most successful show yet. Ben, Angie, and Marcus made up the trio of the headlining band, The Followers. We didn't spend too much time with them at the beginning of the tour, but now that the summer was winding to an end and show dates were dwindling, we all found ourselves hanging out far more often.
Peter said it was because we earned our stripes. which made me laugh because it was corny.
"Time Well Wasted," Sam answered, passing the joint back to me. I took a long hit, relishing in the soft high the Cali weed brought over me.
"It's really good, man."
"That's all Bella," Peter interrupted because of course he did. I was always more than grateful that he was so adamant about making sure everyone knew I was the one who wrote all the music, but sometimes, he was straight-up embarrassing.
I nudged him in the ribs before passing the joint to him.
Ben looked over at me. "Really, really good, Bella."
"What's it about?" Angie, seated on the sand to his left, asked.
"Uh, I don't know. The title is kind of self-explanatory, isn't it?"
Angie shrugged. "Not really."
"It's about love, Ang," Ben said. "Obviously."
"Is it?" Angie looked back at me.
Now I shrugged. "I guess so,"
I never really thought the song was about love, persay. It was just about being with Edward.
I guess that's the same fucking thing.
"So who's the guy?"
"Jesus, Angie, leave the girl alone!" Marcus, who was the quiet one of the bunch, scolded her. I shot him an appreciative glance.
Angie, however, was not phased. "Is it about Pete?"
The thought made me laugh, though somewhere in my mind I noticed the way Peter's arms stiffened as if he were clenching his fists. In our slightly inebriated state, my laughter was contagious, and soon most of our little group of musicians was laughing along with me.
Most of us. Not Pete.
"His name is Edward," Pete said, and it was my turn to stiffen, though stiffen may be too loose of a term. My entire body wound up in a knot that centered itself at the core of my chest.
We didn't talk about Edward. I wasn't even sure I'd ever said his name out loud, though I guess I must have if Pete fucking knew it.
"Huh. I never knew that." Leah muttered from the other side of Peter. "Did you, Sam?"
Sam just shook his head. My body grew impossibly tighter at the turn of the conversation.
"Edward, huh?" Ben mused, and the sound of his name in my atmosphere for a second time was more than I could stomach. I hopped up from my place in the sand, head swimming from blood-rush and Edward-rush.
"I have to piss," I said for some reason before stalking away, heated with anger and loss and plain fucking heartbreak.
I stayed out wandering the streets of whatever godforsaken West Coast town we were inhabiting for the evening. I didn't want to face Peter, and since Sam and Leah were a thing, I'd be forced to - we shared the second motel room.
It must have been past three am when I tiptoed inside, but it didn't matter; Peter sat on the edge of the bed, guitar in hand.
"Hey," I said, gently placing my room key down on the dresser across from him.
He nodded back in greeting, still fidgeting with his guitar strings.
"I'm tired," I told him. He hummed an acknowledgment but gave no hint that he planned on moving.
I stood in place, staring at him, imploring him to look me in the eyes and speak to me. Finally, when he couldn't take it any longer, he did.
"What the fuck was that about?" I asked.
He scoffed, rolling his eyes as he carefully placed his instrument on the ground next to him. "What, Bella?"
"You know what,"
"No, actually, I don't. How could I, when you don't even say it?"
"What? Say what, Peter?"
"I don't know, any of it!" He shouted, bouncing up from his place and stalking towards me. "His name? You won't even say his name, and yet we play your songs about him every damn night!"
"You knew what this was from the beginning! If you wanted to play your own songs so fucking badly-"
He cut me off, his voice growing louder. "It's not about the songs, Bella!"
"Then what the fuck is it about?!"
He responded in two long strides until his body was flush against mine. His calloused hands took my face between them, and he leaned in to smash his lips against mine.
No, no, no. Wrong. His lips were too thin, his soft face not scratchy enough against mine. When he exhaled into my mouth, his breath was too minty. It was supposed to taste like tobacco and weed and beer and-
I shoved him away from me with all my might. His eyes grew wide as he stumbled back, clearly not expecting the amount of strength I put into the blow.
Men always underestimated me. They all did, except…
"Don't you do this to me, Peter."
He stared at me, dumbfounded. "Do what?" He finally asked. "Care about you? Listen to you when you get drunk cry about him? I've been here for you, the only one, as far as I can see, and-"
"And that means you should kiss me? That you deserve something from me? That you have the fucking nerve to say his name-"
"So I was right, then." His voice was suddenly calm, stopping my incoming verbal slaughter in its place. "I figured that was it when you left, but I wasn't totally sure. Could have been a fluke reaction, you know?"
I felt my eyebrows raise as I tried, and failed, to understand what he was getting at.
When he realized I wasn't going to say anything, he continued. "I did some research, Bella because I had to know. It was obvious you weren't going to get into any details, but I knew enough. I knew your boyfriend shot him-"
"Enough, Peter!" I screamed, and he flinched. I tried to hold it together, I really did, but he'd completely unraveled me. I saw the realization dawn on his face when he saw what I was about to unleash - who I was about to unleash.
Here I am, fuckface.
"You think you know me, asshole? You think you can google my fucking life and really know me? This-" I gestured wildly around myself "-is me. Is this what you wanted?"
"Yes!" He yelled back, standing up straighter, ready to hold his own in this fight. I had to give him props for that - most men would back down by this point.
Most men. Not Peter. Certainly not Edward.
Fine, then. I could give him what he wanted.
I closed the gap between us, knotting my fists in his hair and tugging his face violently against my own.
Here I am: Bella Swan, the slut from the South Side with a druggie mom and an impoverished dad - violent and crude and cruel, in all of my fucking glory.
Now he'll know. I thought he knew, because he knew the words to my songs and he knew about Jacob and he knew about Edward - now he even knew their names, - but he didn't know.
I could show him the only way I knew how.
.*.*
"My Bella. I love you so fucking much."
He was above me, forehead pressed to mine, our bodies rubbing against one another with every thrust into me.
It was the hardest I'd ever come in my life, hands down, but I rolled over when he was done, squeezing my eyes tight to halt the onslaught of tears I felt behind them.
He didn't know why. He couldn't figure out what was wrong.
"I've always loved you," he said.
.*.*
Peter and I only spoke when necessary after our night in Phoenix. I could tell he was uncomfortable - Leah and Sam, too - but I couldn't give less of a shit.
This is who I am, and this is what I am capable of.
We finished up two more shows in California, ready to travel up to Portland, Oregon, and then the grand finale in a small town called Forks, Washington.
It was hours out of Seattle. Trust me, I checked more than once.
While the rest of the band dealt with the horrid discomfort I'd left in the wake of fucking Pete, I dealt with the raging anxiety I felt at the thought of being in the same state as Edward Masen for the first time in nearly a year.
We didn't speak once in all of the time that passed. He didn't know where I was or what I was doing. There was no reason to overthink it, no reason to feel like…
It was a bad train of thought that I was trying vehemently to quelch.
After the show in Portland, I sat on the hood of the van, head between my knees, trying to practice deep fucking breathing or some shit to deal with the panic within me. Tomorrow we would be there, in Washington. I thought about calling Alice, about texting Carlisle… but I couldn't bring myself to do it.
Why would I? I knew better than to think I could handle the rejection when they told me he didn't care. They wouldn't say it in those words; Alice would probably say that she hasn't even talked to him in a while, she doesn't know what he's up to. Carlisle would be clinical, of course, and tell me that travel is hard for someone in such recovery, that he hopes, if I'm ever in the state again, I can come to Seattle and visit.
Because he'd know that I'd never get this chance again.
When I felt the van shift under me, I lifted my head expecting to see anyone but Peter hopping up next to me, but there he was.
"Hey," he said.
"Hey."
"It was a good show tonight,"
I scoffed. "Don't try to make me feel better. I fucked up like, four times."
"The crowd couldn't tell. You sounded good, as always."
"Thanks, Pete."
We were quiet for a moment, but for the first time in days, it wasn't an unpleasant silence.
"Listen, Bella," Peter started, and I tensed, ready for the blow he'd deliver to my already weakened state. "I just wanted to let you know that I know… that I know he's in Seattle. I can tell you're upset, and I'm here for you, okay?"
I felt my eyes widen as he spoke, shocked at how much I'd misread the moment.
"Oh. Um, thanks. That means a lot."
He nodded, reaching out to take one of my hands and squeezing. "I love you, Bella, and-" he held his hand out when I opened my mouth to speak, "And I know you don't feel the same, and thats okay. I love you as my best friend, too."
His smile was sad, but comforting, so I smiled back and squeezed his hand, too. "I love you too, Peter. As my best friend. I really do."
"I know," he said, bringing my hand to his mouth and placing a small kiss on it.
"This is the last night of the tour," I said into the microphone, breathing heavily after singing nearly an entire set. "And this is our last song. Thank you so much for being here. My name is Bella, and we're Midnight Sun."
All things considered, we played well. I took Peter's advice and channeled whatever the fuck was going on inside me into my performance, and it worked. The Followers would go on next, and then the seven of us would drive to a nearby beach for a finale party before it was time to head home tomorrow.
I ordered a beer from the bar as soon as I'd left the stage, desperate not to think about anything for the rest of the night.
After pulling a hoodie on, I walked out back into the cool, damp air to reconvene with my band and smoke our ceremonial after-show joint. I lit a cigarette before I made it out the door, confident that this shit bar in this small town wouldn't give a fuck if I smoked the whole thing inside.
The three remaining members of Midnight Sun stood in a circle near the dumpsters behind the bar. I smiled when Sam raised his fists in the air, cheering.
"We did it, Bella! We fucking did it!"
"Fuck yeah, we did," I said, joining their circle and taking the joint from Leah. "You guys are the best. Thank you for everything,"
"Aww, Bella. We should be thanking you." Leah smiled. "We couldn't do it without you."
"Well, I wouldn't do it with anyone else," I replied, sending Peter an extra warm smile, and feeling relief when he shot me a knowing smile back.
"Yo, Bella," Sam said, standing on his toes to look over my head. "I think that dude back there is staring at you."
I turned, laughing because Sam always acted like my damn bodyguard, to see what he was talking about.
It was as if I'd been untethered from my place on this earth. Every string that grounded me here snapped, and it was like I floated from my body, looking down at myself from above the earth.
"Who is that?" Leah asked, and I took a small step in his direction.
Peter replied. "I think that's Edward."
Hearing his name brought me back to my body, and I took another tentative step towards him. He stepped towards me, and suddenly I was sprinting through the parking lot, and then he was, too, and my body crashed into his with such force that he stumbled against the side of the brick building, banging his head with an audible thump.
I clung to him, arms wrapped around his neck and face pressed into his chest. I gasped at the contact, at the feeling of him against me again, and his arms tightened around my waist forcefully as he let out a sob into my hair.
I don't know how long we stood there, pressed up against the wall and crying, but it felt like forever until I found the strength to pull away just enough to look up at his face.
He was perfect. His green eyes were rimmed with tears, but they shone into mine with so much passion it made my knees tremble. His bronze hair was long and in disarray, just as it was in all of my memories, and the light stubble across his face only served to make him look more handsome, more grown up and more like my Edward.
"My Bella," he whispered, voice breaking on my name, though his lips turned up into a smile.
I smiled back, laughing through my tears at the absurdity of this moment. Just minutes ago, I thought…
"Edward," I wept his name. "You're here."
"I'm here," he said, laughing a little, too.
"I love you," I said, because I didn't know what else to say and because it was the truest thing I'd ever spoken, especially at that moment.
"Oh, Jesus fuck, Bella," he sighed, "I love you, too."
When his lips came down upon mine I swear it was like fireworks. It was like I was a girl in a teenage romance novel and there were fucking fireworks and confetti and big heart-shaped balloons floating behind us. I gasped into his mouth, gripping onto him for dear life as I kissed him back with all that I had. It was slow and hot and passion and literally just fucking love, and everything that had happened from the night we met until now disappeared and it was only just us, stripped down to our core.
When I broke for air, his lips pressed against my forehead and his panting breath washed across my skin.
I looked up at him again. "How did you know I would be here?"
Now, when he laughed, it wasn't tearful or shaky, it was real. "That's a stupid question, Bella,"
"Is it?"
He smirked, planting another soft kiss on my forehead. "Of course it is. As if I didn't know where you were every night I was away."
I narrowed my eyes at him, and his smile grew. "Does that mean you're not away anymore?" I asked.
He shrugged. "I'm hoping to be wherever you are, if you'll still have me."
My heart jumped into my throat and my head swam and little birds were chirping a tune and baby cupid shot his arrow right in my ass and I said, "that's a stupid question, Edward."
He said, "I was hoping you would say that."