Pro-tip: listen to the song "Here With Me" by d4vd while reading this chapter. It's the viiiibe.

24
- here with me -

We cancel our day to spend it together.

His meetings are postponed.

My afternoon shoot is rescheduled.

Maybe it's shitty to flake on our responsibilities, but when it came time to leave each other, it didn't feel right.

There was a pang, an ache, a longing. And we've both felt all of that for far too long to let each other go for the day.

"Is it considered a walk of shame if I'm leaving with my husband?" I whisper in his ear so the people in the hotel elevator can't hear me.

Edward chuckles softly, staring down at me. I'm wearing my jeans but threw on one of his T-shirts and knotted it to make it fit. He's wearing a suit and tie for his headshots.

"Are you feeling ashamed?" he whispers back, mouth brushing my ear.

I shake my head, stand on my tiptoes, and kiss his slightly scruffy cheek.

With an hour until checkout at the Ace Hotel, we walk back and I immediately get to work snapping photos of him around the room.

He's the easiest subject.

My favorite subject.

I give him directions he gladly takes them. I tell him to stand by the window. To stand with his back against the brick wall of the terrace.

He handles his own expressions, though. Serious. Happy. Pensive. Smiling.

He talks to me through some of the shots.

Says sweet things like, "I fucking love watching you in your element."

And dirty things like, "Think we have time for me to bend you over the arm of the couch and take you from behind?"

We try. His slacks are pooled around his feet and my jeans and underwear have just been yanked down enough for him to almost slip inside of me when housekeeping knocks on the door, ten minutes after ten.

We scramble to get presentable while Edward mutters about how we should've put the "do not disturb" sign on the door.

I laugh. Kiss him. Remind him we have time.

"Later," I promise. Then add, "Forever."

Before we leave the room, he picks up the divorce papers, and my stomach clenches.

"I'm going to burn those," I tell him. He just smiles. It's bittersweet. Hopeful. "I'm serious. I have a firepit in my backyard and I'd love nothing more than to turn them to ash."

Until then, I shove them into my slouchy, leather bag, hating the physical and emotional weight they add.

With one last detour back to his hotel, I drop off my camera gear and he changes into comfier clothes—black jeans, gray tee, baseball cap. I think I prefer this look to his professional attire. It's familiar and him and yeah, I love it.

We head to my favorite breakfast spot and sit on the same side of the booth while we eat off each other's plates. I order sweet and he orders savory and it's the perfect combination.

We leisurely visit some vintage shops, not buying anything, just holding hands. Kissing on street corners. He suggests going to the Santa Monica Pier, so we Uber over there. I sit in the middle seat, curled close to him, both of us staring out of his window as the city blurs by.

LA feels different with him here. More vibrant. Exciting.

It feels real.

It finally feels like home.

"I haven't been here before," I confess as we walk along the pier, the Pacific ocean sparkling in the distance.

"No?" he asks, taking the last bite of a corndog and tossing the stick in a nearby trash can. I gave him shit for wanting one, telling him it was so, so bad. But when he offered it out to me, I took a bite. And it was so, so good.

"I haven't actually done much since I've been here," I say with a shrug. "I've been working. And when I'm not working I'm just…" I try to think of the right word. "Being a hermit? Depressed. I don't know."

Everything hurts after I say it because, for as much pain as I've been in, he's the one who is taking Zoloft.

It's quiet between us.

I press my back against the weathered railing and let my leather bag slide off my shoulder, resting by my feet. Edward stares out at the ocean.

"I really, really hate that you had to start taking antidepressants. It—"

"Bella, it's okay."

I swallow the lump in my throat. "It's not okay. I hate that you started taking it because of me."

He moves so our bodies are flush, and I'm pinned between him and the pier. I instantly wrap my arms around his waist and look up at him.

"I don't blame you or hold that against you," he says softly. "I take responsibility for what happened between us, too." I watch as he pulls off his hat, runs a hand through his crazed hair, and puts it back on backward. I can see his entire face, how earnest and honest he is. "It is what it is, okay?"

"Are you going to keep taking it?"

He shrugs. "I was already tapering off of it, but I'm not going to rush it. They definitely help."

I press my cheek to his chest. We just stand here on the pier, hugging and healing and feeling whole. Waves crash. Amusement park sounds fill our silence.

"So, that shoot you were going to do today," he prompts.

I pull back to look up at him. "Yeah?"

"Was that guy Peter going to be there?"

I hold his gaze. "No. We only work together for weddings."

"When is the next wedding?"

"This weekend," I say, and the way his face falls makes me feel protective. I don't want to give him any reason to doubt me or to hurt him. Even back when I thought I wanted to, I didn't actually. It brought me zero joy, only more pain. I recognize that now. I'm owning up to that now. "But the wedding is in town. We don't have to travel."

I watch his jaw tighten as he stares out at the distance. "If we're going to make this work, you need to tell him you're married."

I love how serious he sounds. How firm he is. How the underlying tone in his voice screams mine. You're fucking mine, baby.

He knows what he needs, and he's telling me. And it's what I want, too. I want everyone to know he's mine. I want there to be zero doubt.

I want to wear my ring again.

I slide my hands up under the back of his T-shirt, fingers brushing his warm skin, craving closeness. "Of course, I'm going to tell him about you, Edward, but…"

"But what?"

"Maybe I also need to tell him we can't work together anymore."

"I'm not asking you to do that," he says evenly. Reasonably. "Just tell him about me and let me meet him. I trust you, baby." He seals his promise with a deep, long kiss.

"I know, and I love that you trust me, but… I don't necessarily need him. I mean, he has his own photography thing going on anyway. I just hired him to help me with weddings so I wouldn't have to shoot certain moments."

This makes Edward look curious. "What do you mean?"

"Like… capturing the first look was always hard for me. First dances, too. I couldn't watch teary-eyed grooms as their brides walked down the aisle. All of it was too much for me and made me miss you."

Understanding flashes in his green gaze. "Yet you still convinced yourself to stay away," he sighs.

My eyes blur. "Yeah."

He presses a chaste kiss on my forehead. "Don't cry."

I shrug, smiling sadly. "Well?"

"We're gonna move past it. It's the only way," he says simply. "I'm done living without you." His words ease my regret. "Why'd you choose LA? I've always wondered."

I keep my honesty flowing. "Because after we got married, it's the only place other than Seattle we agreed to live if we had to."

I came here knowing, hoping, wishing one day he might be here, too.

"You were waiting for me," he murmurs.

More truth. "In a backward, fucked-up, toxic way? Yeah."

He cages me in his arms and holds me close. And with a soft sigh into my hair, he says, "Fine. I think I finally like LA again."