Thank you for your support. It really is the best. Mwah.
The Twific Fandom Awards are currently happening! Round one voting is taking place until 2/26. I have some stories nominated (I was busy last year? lol), along with many others! Go vote for your faves :) Big thanks to the ladies who devote their time to making the awards happen every year!
See you FRIDAY!
18
- this is me trying -
I unblock Edward on Instagram while he's in the bathroom.
If I'd done this sooner, I would've seen all of his posts about his departure from the podcast and the announcement he's joining SportsCenter. But I didn't because of pride.
I quickly scroll through his page not really paying attention to the content, mostly just seeing if Maria is in any photos or videos.
She's not.
I go as far back as the last podcast he did with her—the one that pushed me to leave.
I feel empty after scrolling… snooping.
I feel guilty.
In a way, I hate myself for feeling compelled to look for her at all. Deep down, I knew I wouldn't find her in any of his content. And yet I couldn't stop my brain and my heart from expecting the very worst.
When he rejoins me on the terrace, I lock my phone, and he sits further away from me than he was before. I don't know why he does that. Maybe he senses my paranoia. My false accusations. Maybe I'm just too aware of him now.
"I unblocked you on Instagram," I say, even though he didn't ask. He stays neutral, maybe waiting for me to expand on why I said that at all. "I was looking to see if Maria was in any of your posts."
"She's not," he says simply, firmly.
"I know." I glance away because his stare is too much. "You never gave me a real reason to not trust you, okay? I just… I want you to know that."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean…" I meet his gaze again. He's zeroed in on me. Eyes piercing. Mouth turned down, brows furrowed. Like he truly wants to hear me, to understand. "I'm not… insecure because of anything you ever said or did. It's not you. It's all me. I know that. I can admit that."
We're quiet.
Too quiet.
My delayed self-awareness floats away with the soft evening breeze.
I feel the need to fill the silence. To further explain.
"Maybe it's too easy to blame shit on my parents, but…"
"I guarantee a lot of it has to do with them," he mutters, his dislike for them obvious.
I'm feeling too vulnerable, too open, and I can't look at him anymore, so I stare at my hands. My chipped polish. The corners of my fingers are raw from anxiously gnawing at my skin.
I'm quiet for what feels like too long but I like that he's not pushing me to have all the right answers. I'm not expecting him to have them, either.
I try again.
"I watched my mom become second-best to my dad. And then I became second-best to him, too, when I found out about my half-sister, and I… I just…"
I thought one day I'd become second-best to you, too.
I can't say it.
I don't know why.
Maybe because it's too sad of a thought.
Maybe because I know it would never happen, but look what I did, anyway?
I ruined us.
"Hey," Edward whispers. He scoots closer. All the way over. He gently grabs my chin with his hand and forces me to look at him. "You'd never be second-best to me, Bella. Ever. I've never wanted anyone but you. Since the first fucking day I met you…" he trails off, letting go of my face and scrubbing a hand over his mouth. "It's only been you. Okay? I'd never put myself in a sketchy situation. I just wouldn't. I have too much respect for you. For our fucking marriage."
I nod and exhale and let his words soothe invisible scars. "I know. Deep down, I know."
He brings a hand up to my shoulder and squeezes it, letting his warm palm linger there.
I love his hand on me.
His gentle, reassuring, loving touch.
I love his sincere eyes and the way they bounce toward my mouth.
I whisper his name.
His expression softens.
And then an alarm sounds on his phone, breaking the moment.
He drops his hand.
Digs in his pocket and turns it off.
I wait.
I'm curious.
"I need to go to my hotel," he tells me.
"For what?"
"Clothes," he says, and I kind of laugh. "What?"
"Nothing, it just seems a little high maintenance," I tease. "I'm not worried about grabbing clothes for the night."
"You're already in comfortable clothes," he points out. "I'm wearing slacks."
"Take them off," I joke.
Memories of us being around each other in zero clothes comes to mind. We were always comfortable around each other that way. Even in the beginning. There was no hiding under sheets or getting dressed immediately after sex. No feeling self-conscious.
I can't help but wonder what it'd be like now. Wonder if he'd still find me sexy despite my lack of curves.
He raises his brows. "You want me in my boxers all night?"
I wouldn't be opposed to him hanging out in only his boxers, but I'm not sure how safe that is.
"Fine, no," I relent. "Then go get clothes."
"It's only a fifteen-minute walk. But I can get us an Uber if you want."
"Oh, I'm going too?"
"You think I'd give you a chance to run away?"
"I'm not leaving, Edward. Even if I did, you know where I live now," I point out.
"I'm not chasing you anymore," he says, a serious edge to his tone. "If you leave tonight, I'm done. For real. I know you said you love me, but that's not enough. You need to give me a little more than that. I deserve a lot fucking more than that. We both do."
His honesty is breaking my fucking heart.
But he's not wrong.
I hear what he's saying.
I get it. I feel it deeply. I want to give him what he deserves—what we both deserve—but I've spent the last year withholding myself from him and lying to both of us. It's almost become second nature. It's going to take more than one night for me to rewire my way of thinking and for us to be in a good place.
But I can try.
For him, I'll fucking try.
He waits.
I stand.
"We don't have to Uber," I say breezily. "Let's walk."
XXX
We leisurely stroll to his hotel. There's no urgency. No hostility like there was earlier when we walked from ESPN to the Ace Hotel.
"I kind of hate it here," he says.
"What—LA?"
"Yeah."
"I'm sure it takes some getting used to. The smog isn't great, the traffic is worse, and—"
"It's the city you ran away to, so. I don't know if I'll ever truly like it."
This catches me off guard, and there's a twinge of guilt in my stomach. I steal a glance as we walk beside one another. He's staring straight ahead, unfazed by his words; his honesty.
We wait at a crosswalk.
"So, ESPN," I say awkwardly.
He looks over at me, eyes slightly amused, mouth pressed into a line. "Yeah. ESPN."
"That's kind of amazing. Like, a really big deal."
He shrugs. He's too fucking humble, and it makes me that much more attracted to him. And it's weird and fucking stupid that I'm fighting my attraction for my own husband but… I don't know. Things are stilted. I don't know if they'll ever feel normal, even if there are glimpses here and there of the way things used to be.
The signal across the road tells us we can walk, but when we start to, someone runs a red light, speeding through the intersection. Edward instinctively grabs me by the shoulders to keep me from crossing.
"Fucking asshole," he mutters darkly under his breath, his hands suddenly gone from my body.
My heart pounds and settles from his touch.
"Thanks," I tell him.
He doesn't tell me I'm welcome. But after we cross the road, he switches spots with me so I'm on the inside of the sidewalk this time.
It's a tender move that warms my fucking heart and makes me want to cry because I crave this affection and attention. I've been avoiding this the entire fucking year and I'm starting to forget why. Maybe it was longer than that, I guess, since I evaded him when we still lived with each other. When things started slowly going downhill.
"You switched spots with me," I murmur because I can't not point it out. This feels like a moment.
"Yeah, but it doesn't mean anything, right? If a car comes our way, we're both fucked," he says, echoing the words I always used to tell him.
I smile a little and stop in place.
He walks a few steps without me, then turns around to see why I'm not walking next to him.
"What?" he asks, looking confused and concerned.
"You're wrong. That gesture means everything."
He looks torn. Like he's glad I said it. But also like he doesn't believe me. "Bella…"
"It does."
"You always used to say it didn't," he reminds me.
"I said it didn't matter, sure, but I was being stupid. I secretly loved it. And when you didn't do it earlier, on our walk to the Ace Hotel, I noticed. And it made me sad."
He looks surprised by my honesty and steps closer, eyes blazing.
"Well?" he whispers and shrugs like it is what it is. "I fucking care about you. Despite everything."
Closing the small distance, I give in to my instinct to hug him.
I step closer and fit myself against his body, wrapping my arms around his torso.
My stomach flickers with want from being this close to him. From inhaling him.
He waits for a beat, and I'm unsure if he's going to hug me back.
I convince myself that's okay. I can give, I don't have to take.
But then his strong arms wrap around me, too.
I feel safe.
Warm.
Loved.
His arms squeeze a little tighter, and his chin rests on top of my head.
We just fit together.
I can feel him relax. But then I can also hear and feel him chuckle.
"I forgot how short you are," he says, and with my ear pressed to his chest, I love hearing his voice from the inside out.
"I'm not short. You're just tall." It's what I always used to say when he'd make fun of my vertically challenged self.
We're still hugging each other in the middle of the sidewalk.
It's not fierce or desperate, but it's healing.
A few people pass by us.
We pull back.
I stare up at him, pinned under his gaze.
He sighs.
"As much as I wish it were true, one hug isn't going to fix us," he says, but his voice is strained like this tender connection is killing him.
"I know. I didn't say it would," I argue, but my voice is soft and slightly strained, too. "I just felt like hugging you. Is that okay?"
His expression softens just so. And I melt.
"It's more than okay," he whispers.
"Okay."
We start walking again.
A beat later, I reach for his hand.
He doesn't look over at me when I do it, he just lets our fingers tangle together and keeps my palm safely in his the rest of the way.