I did something crazy. After I updated last week, I was inspired to write E & B in Denver with Em and Rose on NYE, so that's the chapter we're getting today, not couples therapy (that will be chapter 60 now). I just really needed to ~show some stuff here for upcoming chapters instead of ~telling y'all.

Thanks for reading! Means so much. Hope you like ittttt.

Mistakes are mine. But big love to Paige, Lizzie, and May for pre-reading and always sticking with me. :3

P.S. Make sure you read the chapter before this! I updated a week ago but FFn isn't sending out notifications!

59
- new year's eve -

Bella

"Bullshit!" Rosalie yells, standing in the box suite and watching her man play. "Get off your knees, ref—you're blowing the game!"

I watch in amusement as she lowers back into her seat beside me.

"What?" she asks, unembarrassed.

"Nothing. I've just never seen you be this feisty before."

"Well, I can't exactly yell fellatio innuendos on air when I see a bad call," she quips, watching the tied, second-quarter game.

"Right, right. Save the fellatio innuendos for the jumbotron."

She laughs. "Hey, the silver lining about the jumbotron is that they can't hear me. And even if they could, I'm sure all Broncos fans agree with me—that ref sucks."

Sitting in the front row of the suite, we've been shown a few times on the big screen, mostly when Emmett makes a decent play.

The first time it happened, I was too stunned to react. The second time, I told Rosalie I wanted to sit in the back at one of the tables, out of camera view. But superstition had a chokehold on her and she begged me not to switch seats. So I'm enduring the attention now and then.

Glancing around the suite, I people-watch for a moment. Some are as passionately caught up in the game as Rosalie is. Some are eating, and some are mingling.

I spot Edward standing in the back near the bar, talking with his colleague, Brady. Edward's caught up in conversation, beer bottle in hand. He's animated and laughs at something Brady says. He looks happy and carefree. Unburdened. And yeah, maybe that's because the beer has loosened him up a bit, but I also hope it's because attending an event again as husband and wife has lifted his spirits. I know it's made me feel more secure, especially with the underlying tension between us.

I woke up alone this morning, but he left a note for me on his pillow.

Running. Don't worry. Love you. xxxx E

His signature four kisses with his initial eased the lonely, unsettled ache in my chest.

When he returned home, I questioned him, mostly worried he was overdoing it and not getting enough rest.

"Another run?" I asked.

He shrugged, wiping the sweat from his face with the hem of his T-shirt, offering a glance at his toned torso before he lowered it.

"Lots of thoughts," he said, still slightly out of breath.

"Want to talk about them?"

I didn't want to push, but I wanted him to know I was open to talking.

"Not really." With a kiss on my temple, he turned away from me. "Gonna shower before we have to leave for the airport."

I felt the frigid distance of his cold shoulder. I tried not to take it personally, but it was hard not to. Rationally, I knew bringing everything up again before we'd be stuck on a plane together wasn't a great idea. So I let it go.

I'm still staring at him across the suite, watching him swig his beer. He must feel my gaze because he meets my eyes.

A small, sad smile graces his lips, making me wish I knew what he was thinking.

Brady says something, oblivious to my husband's intense staring match with me. Edward doesn't register his presence or that Brady walks away, leaving him alone to go back to the bar for another drink.

After a beat, Edward turns and realizes he's alone. I expect him to come over and sit in the empty seat next to me, but he doesn't. Instead, he hooks his thumb toward the buffet and mouths to me, "Food?"

I shake my head before he turns away, breaking our eye contact.

The crowd erupts in cheers, stealing my attention, and I watch the Broncos intercept the ball.

A minute later, Edward sits beside me with a full plate. Other than when we initially arrived and he introduced me to his colleagues as his wife, this is the first time we've spent together during the game.

I'm trying not to feel jilted though. Maybe I'm being sensitive—it's almost half-time and we haven't been here that long. Or maybe he's just giving me space to hang with Rosalie.

"I know you said no, but I brought you some food anyway," he says, and I raise my brows, eyeing his plate.

"Brought half the buffet," I say lightly. "I already indulged in the food. Twice, actually." I guess he didn't notice.

He hums. "Are you having fun?"

I hold back from telling him I'd have more fun if some of the time were spent with him. But I'm not trying to guilt him, and now isn't the time to bring it up while people surround us, so I keep it easy.

"I kinda miss you. But watching Rosalie be crass is fun," I purposely say so she can hear me. Even though she's still watching the game, she flips me off, her mouth turning upright. "See what I mean?"

"Ah, so you caught Rosalie on a good day," he pokes fun at her.

"Right, because I'm the diva in the studio," she snarks.

Edward eats a handful of fries, unbothered. "Should it be divo since I'm a man?"

"Correcting someone is such a diva thing to do," Rosalie tells him, and he chuckles. "That's it!" She claps when Emmett runs to catch the ball, getting a first down. "Keep moving the chains, baby!"

"That's actually what I'm thinking of calling my new podcast. Movin' The Chains," Edward says to me.

"Really?" I ask because this is the first I've heard that. "Since when?"

"Yesterday. I FaceTimed with Marcus and he let me bounce some ideas off him. Mostly logistical stuff, but I threw out that name and he liked it, so."

I guess that makes sense. He probably would've shared that with me last night, but then I hijacked our evening with talk of a man who means nothing to me.

Edward takes a bite from his slider and chews before asking, "So, where are we all going to dinner tonight? Do I need to make a reservation?"

Rosalie drinks her bottled water. "No, we already have one at some Italian place. I called and changed the reservation to four people."

"Wow, I didn't know Olive Garden accepted reservations," Edward jokes.

Rosalie doesn't crack. "Oh, yeah. Only for high-status people."

"So you mentioned my name," he playfully jabs back, setting his plate on the ledge.

"Yes, and they wanted to know if you still eat from the kid's menu," she quips.

Edward laughs. "Ouch."

Even if I love watching them interact with this playful banter, because it shows that they're growing more comfortable with each other, I can't help but take it personally that Edward seems to be having such a great time with everyone other than me today.

"Sorry, sometimes the games get me riled up and my shit-talking overflows into real life," Rosalie tells us. "Also, off topic but I've noticed the addition of your beautiful wife gains you more points. You should bring her around more often. I think people are less scared of you now that she's here."

Edward dips his head and kisses my shoulder before asking, "Is that why my colleagues are actually talking to me today? Because Bella's here?" He sobers when he asks this, like he's just realizing this might be true.

"Oh, for sure," Rosalie agrees, her tone still teasing, not catching his seriousness. "If she can put up with you, then you must not be so bad."

"I'm lucky Bell has a soft spot for me," he says quieter, maybe only so I can hear.

I hum in agreement, pretending to be focused on the game, not feeling like adding to this conversation. I can feel Edward's eyes on me from my lack of reply.

I don't have to say anything though because the conversation naturally halts when the quarterback throws a pass.

"Oh, fuck fuck fuck," Rosalie chants, hitting my arm in excitement as we watch Emmett successfully catch the ball in the end zone.

The stadium erupts in cheers and we stand in celebration, Rosalie jumping in place next to me, making me laugh, my bad mood fading.

The jumbotron plays a slowed-down clip of the touchdown before showing our reaction in the suite.

"Remind me to never jump like that again," Rosalie deadpans.

"It was cute," I promise. "You're just excited."

"Hell yeah, I am. My man is on fire today. Which means you can't move again, Edward," Rosalie warns as we sit down again. "You're stuck in that seat till the end."

"Hey, if it means more beautiful passes like that, I'm fucking down," he agrees.

While they set up for their attempt at an extra point, Rosalie starts talking about the New Year's Eve party the Broncos are throwing tonight for friends and family and how we should all go if I'm feeling up for it.

Edward leaves it up to me, saying we can decide after dinner.

When half-time starts a minute later, the people around us stand to refresh their drinks and get food. Rosalie gets up, too.

"Thank God. I've had to pee for the last forty minutes," she announces. "Be right back."

"I need to use the bathroom, too," I say, standing, only for Edward to grab my waist and gently pull me into his lap. My laugh is half-hearted, but I fully soak up his affection.

"I'm glad we came," he murmurs, placing a palm on my stomach.

"Me too."

He leans in to press his mouth to mine, giving me a kiss for the first time today.

I'm not sure what my face looks like when we pull away but it must be pretty pathetic for him to ask what's wrong.

"It feels like you've been avoiding me today," I admit. "Like you're all smiles and banter with everyone but me. So yeah, that hurts."

He frowns. "Bella, no."

"What am I supposed to think?"

He swallows, studying me. "I don't know. But I love you. I told you, I'm glad we're here. I'm glad you're getting to meet people I work with. It feels real, like… like we're actually doing this again. Being together," he says softly. "My wife is here. With me. That's a big fucking deal. And I'll admit I'm in my head a little, and I think it's because we've tabled our argument from last night."

"You tabled our argument from last night," I clarify.

"Okay, yeah. I tabled it. I still think we need to wait until we're in therapy to finish that conversation," he says seriously. "I'm not trying to act like a stranger. You know what Rosalie said about how my colleagues find me more approachable now that they've met you?"

I scoff. "Yes, but there's no way that's true. You're the epitome of approachable! You're a natural people-person, and you're so easy to talk to."

"I mean, maybe I used to be that way. Not anymore," he admits. "I think having you here makes me more comfortable to be myself. So if I seem more social, that's why. I swear it's not because I want to avoid you."

"I appreciate the explanation," I murmur, clinging to his words. "I'll stop being sensitive."

He kisses me. "You're not being sensitive."

I sigh, my hurt feelings subsiding.

"Okay, well I do have to pee, so you should probably let my pregnant ass get up."

"Want me to walk you there?"

I shake my head, softening. With a palm-squeeze on my thigh, and one more kiss to my lips, he lets me go.

I leave his lap and head over to the en-suite bathroom where Rosalie's still waiting.

"I thought you would've been out by now," I tell her.

"Me too."

We stand idly for a minute, but whoever is in there takes their time, so we exit the suite and head down the hall to find another restroom.

"Is everything okay between you and Edward?" she asks, linking her arm with mine as we walk.

"Yeah. I guess. Last night I told him Levi reached out, and he's not taking it so well," I admit.

"I was wondering, but we didn't have a chance to talk alone today."

I give her the thirty-second version of what went down.

"Things are paused. He doesn't want to talk about it anymore until we have couples therapy in a few days," I say as we walk into the women's room.

"I know that's probably frustrating, but it sounds like he's just being cautious. And the fact that he's willing to go to couples therapy at all is big. Some of my friends' husbands refuse to go. It's so shitty."

Rosalie and I move into our stalls, our conversation pausing while we use the bathroom.

I finish first, washing my hands, and when Rosalie exits her stall, her demeanor has changed.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

She keeps her eyes down as she scrubs her hands, not answering me. The silence is overwhelming, and I don't know what's going on, but now I'm worried.

The automatic dispenser gives her a paper towel and she rips it off.

"I started my period," she mumbles, avoiding my gaze. "Happy New Year to me."

"Oh, Rosalie," I whisper, my heart breaking for her.

"It's fine."

She finally meets my concerned gaze. Once she does, her face crumples, and tears spill from her eyes.

I immediately envelop her with a hug.

"I'm so sorry," I mumble as she silently cries for a minute. My eyes burn with tears, feeling and knowing her pain.

I wait for her to pull away first, not wanting to take away whatever comfort she needs. When we break apart, I hand her a tissue from the counter.

"We weren't even officially trying," she says, blowing her nose. "Two weeks ago we had drunken sex. And it was good and fun and spur of the moment. The kind we don't have anymore because I'm usually in my head calculating my ovulation schedule, which takes me out of it. Of course, a couple of days later I did the math because I wanted to know if that sex would lead to anything." I nod, listening, giving her space to share. "So it's not like I was holding out real hope. I just… my period was two days late. So I thought maybe. That's why I wasn't even drinking today. But my body said screw you."

A new wave of tears fills her eyes.

"I'm so sorry," I whisper again, hating seeing her like this. "What do you need from me? We can cancel dinner. If you and Emmett want to be alone, or—"

"No," she sighs. "No. I don't even want to tell Emmett yet. Not until we're back home. He didn't even know I was late, but still. I don't want to disappoint him. And the last thing I want is to be alone with my thoughts. I did that too many times in the past, just… feeling sorry for myself. Well, fuck that. We're in Denver, it's New Year's Eve, and I'm gonna have a cocktail now. Or ten."

"Are you sure?" I double-check.

"Okay, maybe not ten. I'm not trying to black out."

I crack a smile. "No, are you sure you're up for keeping our plans? It's okay if we take it easy or cancel."

"Yes, I'm sure. And I'm gonna need you to buck up tonight and make it to that party. We deserve to scream our lungs out to a few songs and celebrate the new year together. The first of many."

I smile sadly, but admire her spirit so damn much.

"You're so fucking strong," I tell her.

"No, no. Please, don't. It's just a period."

I shake my head because we both know it's so much more than that. It's crushed dreams and false hope and it's so fucking unfair.

"Just listen," I insist, ignoring her reluctance to hear me out. "You're strong and I know everything you want will happen for you someday. It has to. I believe that. You deserve to be a mom because you'd be the very best."

She sniffles again. "Outside of Emmett, I'm not used to having support during this stuff," she says with a subdued laugh. "It's actually kinda nice."

"I'm here for whatever you need, Rose."

With a deep breath, she hugs me hard. "Love you. Thanks, girl."

XXX

After the game, Emmett joins his coach for a press conference, so Edward and I return to our hotel to rest.

We nap together until Rosalie calls and says she and Em are heading to their condo. I'm half expecting her to cancel dinner, but she says she'll send me the restaurant address and to meet them there at eight.

Before we leave, I send her a picture of me standing in front of a full-length mirror to get approval on my all-black outfit: a blazer over a lacy camisole and a tweed maternity mini skirt, paired with suede thigh-high boots.

She calls me a hot mama, but it's Edward's whistle of approval that seals the deal.

In a not-surprising turn of events, we don't eat at Olive Garden. But we do have reservations at Tavernetta, an upscale Italian restaurant in downtown Denver.

Spirits are high because the Broncos won. When we arrive, a few excited strangers stop by our table to congratulate Em, asking for his picture and autograph. He seems genuinely happy to meet them and leaves the table for a bit to indulge his fans.

When our first course arrives, Rosalie pops outside to grab him, and thankfully, people respect his space and don't approach him again.

After we eat too much pasta, the waiter eventually drops off dessert and one last round of drinks for everyone but me.

"Thanks for coming to the game," Emmett tells Edward and me, a sentimental edge to his voice.

I fork tiramisu into my mouth and say, "I mean, we had to see what all the hype was about before you retire."

Emmett laughs. "Thank fuck we won."

"Helluva game, man," Edward says genuinely.

They clink their whiskey glasses together.

After Emmett swigs, he winces and says, "It was too close for my liking, though."

"But those games are the fucking best. The adrenaline. The pressure. The crowd," Edward lists off, buzzing with more than alcohol, but excitement, too. "Yeah the high hurts if you get slammed with a loss, but I dunno. Those games were always memorable."

"Do you miss it? Playing?" Emmett asks him.

"Of course, I miss it. But not at the cost of my health. I could've pushed through, but who knows what would've happened. And now that I'm gonna be a dad, I dunno. I love what I'm doing. I'll be able to play with my kids and not be in chronic pain. I think shit happens for a reason and my football career being cut short was a blessing in disguise."

Em nods. "You were quarterback, yeah?"

"Look at this handsome face and chiseled body," I tease, poking his hard side. "Of course, he was."

Edward laughs, and in a smooth move that warms my heart, he grabs the bottom of my chair and slides me closer to him.

He's been doing little affectionate things like that all night, and I get the sense that it's because of our talk earlier and he wants to make me feel secure.

"It's crazy," he muses, slinging his arm around the back of my chair. "I don't think I would've met you if I hadn't stopped playing football."

"Wait, how did y'all meet?" Rosalie asks.

Edward recalls how I worked with his sister first before she passed along my information so he could hire me for headshots for his podcast.

"I wouldn't have started a podcast if I hadn't been injured. And I guess we would've eventually met at Allie's wedding but everything would've been different," Edward says.

"Yeah, I'm not sure what would've happened," I say honestly. "Life has its own plan. But you definitely made an impression on me during our photo session."

"With his cock?" Emmett asks, and it's so crass and abrupt that we all laugh.

"No," I insist when my laughter fades. "We didn't hook up. And no dick pics were taken that day."

"That day," Emmett echoes, and we all laugh again, Rosalie almost spitting out her drink.

"Or ever! God," I laugh, shaking my head. "I'm not in the business of taking erotic male pictures."

"You're not?" Emmett feigns disappointment. "Damn, and I was gonna hire you, too. Wanted to get Rosie something special for Valentine's Day."

"I love you, but nobody needs to see your junk in high-res, babe. Not even me," Rosalie tells him, which makes me snort-laugh. "Ignore my husband."

"Yeah, ignore me," Emmett agrees with a good-natured grin. "I gotta admit, I used to listen to your podcast all the time. When Rose told me you were gonna be her co-anchor, she threatened me not to embarrass myself like a fangirl."

"I didn't threaten you," Rosalie denies.

Emmett snorts. "You had a knife in your hand."

"I was chopping veggies for a salad! And I just said to act cool."

Edward laughs, looking a little embarrassed and unsure of what to say.

So I step in.

"He's starting a new one," I tell Emmett.

"No shit?" he asks, looking at Edward.

"Sorta. Nothing is official yet, just trying to figure things out," Edward tells him. He rattles off some ideas he had for content and the potential podcast name, and I swear Emmett's eyes light up.

"If you want help or need a guest, I'd be down to do it with you," Emmett offers. "Not for profit or anything. Just for fucking fun."

"Actually, yes. You're gonna need a hobby when you retire," Rosalie says, jumping on this. "You're hired."

Edward chuckles but seems flattered if not a little overwhelmed.

"We can definitely talk more," he agrees. "I think you'd bring a great perspective to the podcast. And I've seen some of your press conferences and interviews, so I know our content would be entertaining."

"Some call it entertaining," Emmett drawls. "Others call it unprofessional."

"The latter are fucking snobs," Edward says with nonchalance, and they clink glasses once more and chug, their new bond making my heart swell.

XXX

The next morning, the four of us share an Uber to the airport.

I'm the only one who isn't hungover, and I'll admit it is glorious.

After dinner, we went to the team's packed New Year's Eve party at a venue not far from the restaurant. I wasn't sure how much fun it would be, especially being surrounded by drunk people, but the DJ mostly played throw-backs that I knew and Edward stayed by my side the entire night which helped.

He always kept a point of contact. A light touch on my lower back. His hand in mine. A gentle palm on the curve of my neck.

The more he drank, the more handsy and affectionate he became. Nuzzling. Kissing. He even discreetly squeezed my ass a couple of times, looking smug when I'd glance over at him in amusement.

He's always been big on public displays of affection and I hadn't realized how badly I missed it.

"I feel like death," Rosalie groans as we sit at our gate, waiting to board. "But it was so fun. So needed."

I meet her eyes and she smiles sadly. I don't know if she said anything to Emmett about her period, but I'm sure she'll tell me soon.

"Wait, I did an Instagram Live last night?" Emmett asks aloud, his phone in hand. "Fuck."

No one else can answer but me.

"Yep. It was right after Edward and I said we were leaving. You draped your arm over his shoulder and whipped out your phone… then announced you two are doing a podcast soon."

Edward pales. "We didn't."

"You did," I reply. "But don't worry, it was cute."

"Cute?" Emmett echoes like it's the worst word I could've used.

I shrug. "Yeah. Y'all were super giggly and excited."

"Giggly," Emmett deadpans, scrubbing a hand over his face. "I don't giggle."

"You did last night," Rosalie chimes in, like she just remembered.

Em and Edward exchange a look like we'll deal with this after our hangover passes.

"I'm gonna go get some water," Edward says, standing. "Anyone need anything?"

"Snacks?" I ask, and he nods.

"A time machine so I can go back and drink less?" Emmett suggests.

"Ah, but you don't wanna buy those at the airport. The markup is insane," Edward says dryly, matching his energy like a good podcast co-host would.

The more I think about it, the more I need this collaboration to happen.

"Fine," Emmett sighs dramatically. "I'll be good with just water and embracing my poor decisions."

Rosalie leans her head on his shoulder. "Pull through, babe. I need you."

He grumbles a laugh and I open Instagram, scrolling through the series of pictures Rosalie already posted from last night.

There's one of her and Emmett kissing at midnight.

A selfie of Rose and me at the game.

A candid of Edward and me standing close and laughing at the party.

And a photo of the four of us, where Emmett and Edward purposely stood behind us prom-style, which made Rosalie and me laugh.

When Edward returns, he tosses Em and Rose bottles of water before sitting next to me, a glowing glint in his gaze. He sets the bag of snacks by our feet, then tells me to close my eyes and open my hand.

I do what he says and feel him place something in my palm.

Opening my eyes, my heart clenches when I find a laser-cut, wooden magnet that matches the one I sent him over ten years ago when I was away in Oregon and we were only dating.

Picking it up with my other hand, I smile and read the engraved words—someone in Colorado loves you.