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27
- late-night talking -

Edward POV

It only takes a few minutes for my Uber to arrive, and when it pulls up, I second-guess everything.

Bella said she wants me to leave, but now I worry that was a test. I worry she'll think I don't want to fight for us.

She's asking for space, and yeah, I should respect that. But I need her to know once more how sorry I am. How much I do fucking love her.

I need her to know that just because I'm leaving right now, it doesn't mean we're done. It doesn't mean I don't want to try.

I bang a fist on her front door. Ring the bell. She doesn't answer, so I try the knob but it won't open.

She locked me out.

My driver honks his horn. I hold up a hand, asking for a second. I knock again, and when I'm still met with nothing, I make my way toward the Prius and climb into the backseat.

"Hey, sorry for the wait," I tell the guy.

"All good, my man."

I stare out the window, watching until Bella's house disappears.

The difference between this ride and the last one I took with Bella isn't lost on me.

There was hope earlier. Excitement. A feeling of fucking ease between us.

I got caught up because we haven't felt any of that in so fucking long, and it felt good to just be with her for a while.

Even then, in the back of my mind, I knew it was wrong. I knew I was guilty. I knew I had to come clean.

But I didn't.

Not until she made me.

I catch the driver looking in the rearview mirror a few too many times for it to be casual, and I'm curious, but I don't say anything. He's wearing a backward Dodgers hat, but just because he's into sports doesn't mean he knows who I am.

"Hey… hey, wait," he says excitedly. "Are you really…" He laughs a little. "The app said I was picking up Edward Cullen but…"

Oh.

He does recognize me.

Before I can speak, the ad that was coming through his car speakers ends, and Maria's sports podcast picks up again.

God fucking dammit.

"I used to listen to your podcast religiously," he says, eyes flicking toward the mirror again. "I was bummed when it ended, but when I heard you're joining SportsCenter—"

"Nah, sorry, that's not me," I lie.

"Oh. You look just like—"

"Yeah, I get that a lot." Maria's laugh fills the car, and I tense. "Hey, you mind turning that down? Sorry, I have a headache."

The driver mutters something under his breath but turns off the podcast.

I wasn't lying when I said that my head aches. But it's not just that. It's my conscience, too. My fucking heart.

Shame overwhelms me for what I did to Bella. For lying to her. For thinking that this was the fucking way to go about it.

Once we started opening up to one another, I had no plan. I wasn't trying to manipulate her. I was operating purely on fear. That's it. Fear that she'd never forgive me. That she'd leave me again. Fear that the mistakes in her parents' marriage would dictate how she handled what I'd done.

I replay our conversation and feel fucking sick for what I said to earn myself a slap.

Again, I wasn't operating on anything but pain. I didn't mean what I said. I know that doesn't make it right, though, because it's yet another thing I can't take back.

It's yet another thing Bella will hate me for.

Now I kind of wish I'd been honest with the driver about who I am. Maybe then he'd be talking to me about sports, asking questions. Distracting me. Then I wouldn't be stuck in my head replaying the last twenty-four hours with my wife.

My phone vibrates in my hand, and I'm quick to look at the screen.

It's just Allie.

For a second I wonder if Bella reached out to her. I kind of hope she did because Bella needs someone right now.

I send Allie to voicemail and text her that something came up and I won't make it to dinner tonight.

She messages back right away and asks why. I lie, saying I have to work late. And then she asks me if we'll meet up before she and Jasper leave town on Sunday.

I don't promise her shit.

I can't.

If we hang out, she'll see through me. Ask questions. She'll notice how miserable I am, and even if it's self-induced misery created by my selfishness, I can't fucking hide this.

I've put on a brave face for the last year, acting like my separation from my wife was temporary.

Like it was a blip.

This feels like more than that.

This feels more like the end than it ever has.

XXX

Bella calls at midnight.

I'm wide awake because the second I walked back into this hotel room, without her, I felt fucking sick.

That was hours ago.

I've done nothing but stayed stuck in my head since then.

I answer the phone.

"Hey," I mumble and sit up against the headboard. Last night she said she loved this bed because it smelled like me. But now all I can smell is her, and that makes me kind of sick, too.

She doesn't say anything, just breathes into the line.

"Baby, you there?" I murmur, hoping to coax some words out of her. "Can I come back? Can we talk?"

"No, I don't want you here."

"Bu—"

"I can't sleep. Can't stop…. thinking," she mumbles. There's a slight slur in her voice, and I guess she kept drinking after I left earlier.

This isn't unfamiliar to us. For her to get drunk and angry and call me.

Over the last year, we've done this many, many times. For a while, it was a constant. It was the only contact we had. And even for as toxic as it was, I welcomed it. Because at least she was calling? At least she wanted to talk, even if it was to spew hate and blame toward me?

Yeah, it was always after midnight and yeah she was drunk, but at least I could hear her voice. And a few times, she'd pass out on the line and I could hear her sleep. Whenever I'd wake up in the morning, she was gone, like she'd woken up at some point and hung up.

I've reduced us back to this state and I hate myself for it.

"I can't sleep either," I tell her.

I hear the clinking of a glass against the table, and liquid being poured.

I suddenly wish I had something to poison myself with too.

"Is Kim pretty?" she asks.

I don't answer right away because yeah, she is, but that had nothing to do with what I did. She just happened to be there. I can be around attractive women, but that doesn't mean I want to have sex with them. Kim could've been anyone, the same way Maria could've been anyone. The person I was with didn't matter either time. I'm sure that makes me shitty but it's true.

Bella scoffs at my silence. "I already stalked her bimbo-ass on Instagram so if you say no I know you're lying. Blonde and curvy and… we're so different," Bella mumbles. "Do you think she's prettier than me?"

"Bella, no," I say with fierce honesty. "Not even fucking close, and I hate that I've made you question that. What I did had nothing to do with her or wanting her or how she looks. It had everything to do with my fucked up mindset."

"Yeah," she says flatly. "Sure."

"I fucking swear. You're the sexiest goddamn woman to me. I know you won't believe me, and I don't know what I can say or do to make you think or feel that again. Everything about you is it for me. I love you, and I've missed you so much. Okay?"

She's quiet again, but I hope my words get through to her.

"I don't…" She pauses, and it sounds like she's swallowing her drink. "What I can't get over is that you knew."

I'm lost now. "Knew what?"

"You knew how badly broken I was after you and Maria had sex. And I was in the fucking room!" she says, raising her voice. "So why the hell did you think sleeping with someone else behind my back wouldn't destroy me even worse?"

"I wasn't thinking. I fucking wasn't," I admit.

"Then why? Why did you do it?"

"At that moment, I guess… I wanted to hurt you. I hate myself for that, and you'll never know how sorry—"

She laughs once. "Mission fucking accomplished. I'm hurt."

"I'm so fucking sorry," I whisper.

"I just don't know if I believe you," she says simply; sadly.

"I know, but I mean it. I really fucking do."

"So, how did it happen? Did she come on to you? Or were you flirting with her?"

"No. I don't know. We were just talking."

"About what?" she pushes.

"Life. Work. The podcast. Her job."

"Did you talk about me?"

"You came up, yeah."

"Did you tell her how much you hate me?"

"No," I say firmly. "I wouldn't say that because I didn't hate you. I don't hate you."

"Well, you certainly weren't telling her how much you supposedly love me because I don't know any woman who would sit there and listen to someone wallow about their estranged wife and then have sex with them afterward. Like, is she that fucking desperate for dick?"

"Kim didn't know our entire situation. She knew I was upset and that we were separated but she didn't know why. She didn't ask for details."

"Yeah, because she probably didn't care why. Just as long as you were willing to fuck her, no need to swap life stories," she mutters. "Did you make her come?"

"Bella…"

"Did you?"

"No. I don't know."

She laughs but it sounds like acid. "You don't know?"

"I wasn't actively trying to do that. Or help her. So I don't know." I was just using Kim, as shitty as it sounds. She was a body. She was a means to distract me for a moment. To make me forget.

"Did. she. come?" Bella asks sharper, wanting an answer.

"No," I say again. "At least, she didn't say she did, and… that wasn't my goal."

Her voice is flat when she says, "But I bet she still liked when you fucked her."

I don't know what Bella wants me to say, but all I reply is, "I don't know."

"Was she on top?"

I can't answer right away. This feels weird and fucking surreal because back in the day, conversations like this would get Bella off. She'd come up with scenarios and we'd dirty talk about it. I could say whatever. The worse, the better for her. But it's just like she said yesterday—it was the fantasy that was a turn-on. Now that it's a reality, it just makes her sick. I can hear in her voice how badly she hates this. I fucking do, too.

"Bella, I don't—"

"Tell me. You at least owe me that," she says, her voice breaking a little. "Tell me so I don't lie in bed every night coming up with a worse version for myself. Please, Edward."

Resigned, I say, "No. She wasn't on top."

"You fucked her from behind?" she guesses correctly.

"Yeah…"

"So, did you like it? Fucking another woman for a second time?"

"I told you, just like with Maria, there were zero feelings there. No desire. Not like that. With Kim, it was just… a basic fucking need. A means to get out of my head for one fucking minute, but the thing is, I was in my head more than ever. I hated myself. I want to get you out of my head, but there you were."

"Oh, right. As if I'm gonna buy that bullshit for a second time."

"What bullshit?"

"You lied and said you thought about me and what I liked while you fucked Maria. I'm not going to believe that shit again."

"That wasn't a lie. I was being honest," I insist.

When I fucked Maria, Bella was in my head.

When I fucked Kim… Bella was on my mind then, too.

But I fucked Kim punishingly.

Took my rage out on her in a way because I couldn't fuck my wife who I was miserable over.

It wasn't right.

Felt wrong.

But I didn't stop it and I'm dealing with the consequences.

"Did you kiss her?" Bella asks, her voice so small now.

I scrub a hand over my mouth. As much as I know being honest with Bella right now will help her—or so she says—a huge part of me hates replaying this shit.

I actually have to think about if we did kiss or not. "We did, yeah."

"When?"

I sigh, worried about continuing this conversation. "What do you mean when?"

"Well you supposedly fucked her from behind, so it wasn't during sex. Was it before? After?"

"Before. Not after."

"Who made the first move? Did she kiss you?"

I hesitate. "I kissed her."

The line is too quiet. And then I hear Bella softly crying.

"Baby, please don't cry," I mutter desperately. "Why does any of this even matter? Why do you want to know this? You're just getting more upset."

"Because. It does matter. And knowing you kissed her feels worse because you get nothing out of kissing. Yet you still wanted to do it. It's intimate. You wanted to taste her mouth, her lips. You—"

I get out of bed. "I'm coming over."

"No."

"Bella, please. I don't think we should be apart during this conversation. We need to be together. You need to see my face and hear my voice and I need to fucking hold you. Please," I beg.

She doesn't say yes or no.

She just hangs up on me.

It really fucking feels like old times. Like the last two days never existed.

I get dressed and Uber to her place anyway, terrified she'll be gone before I arrive. On the way there, I text her, asking her not to go anywhere and if she does, to please not drive.

She doesn't reply.

I know showing up at her house might piss her off, but I have to try. I wanted to do this so many times during our late-night, drunk conversations, but I couldn't. So I am now.

I text her again that I'm two minutes away.

Still no reply.

If she is home, I'm not sure what to expect because if she's already drunk, it could go either way. She could be aggressive or just depressed. She could be agreeable or difficult.

I know whatever mood she's in is because of me, though.

Because of something I did.

Something I didn't do.

I'll take whatever version of herself she's willing to give me tonight.

Thankfully, her car is still in the driveway when I get there, and to my surprise, she only makes me pound on the door for a minute before she answers.

I gauge her. Her eyes are glazed and bloodshot and she sways a bit.

"Can I come in?" I softly ask.

She doesn't answer, just immediately crumbles.

Dissolves into tears.

I pull her against me and try to calm her. I hold her for a minute while she clutches at me.

"I hate you so much," she cries, voice muffled against my chest.

I run a hand over the back of her head. "I know. I'm sorry. I'm sorry," I chant.

She hiccups and looks at me. "But I hate myself, too."

"Shhh. Please don't say that. Don't. It's okay."

"I'm so confused. About everything. About us."

I want to kiss her but I worry it'll be too much for her.

"Just talk to me. Okay?" I urge, and she nods.

We fully walk inside the house and instead of sitting on the couch, she grabs my hand and guides us to her dark bedroom.

I don't want to push my luck and assume she wants me in her bed, but she does. She lies down and tells me to take off my shoes. Makes room for me. Asks me to hold her.

I'm eager to do everything she says; everything she wants. Because I need all of that, too.

We lie on the bed together in the dark.

I'm behind her. Holding her. Breathing her in. Whispering truths in her ear.

I tell her she can hate me.

I'll still love her.

She can be upset with my shitty decisions.

I'll still love her.

I tell her I'm sorry.

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, baby, I'm sorry.

But I also confess if she runs away again, no matter how much I love her, it will destroy us. She silently sobs. Shakes. I beg for her not to do that again, no matter how fucking hard this will be.

"I don't want to run," she admits, speaking her own inebriated truths. "But this isn't… good," she sniffles. "I hate what you did. And even if a weird part of me understands it, what I don't understand is… is why you lied," she hiccups.

"I know. I hate myself for that, too," I whisper. "But I was scared."

"A selfish fucking coward," she insults, but she's not wrong.

We're quiet for a while. I don't know if she's sleeping or thinking but then she speaks so softly.

"I know we weren't always this way. I broke us. I was the first one. It was me."

"You didn't—" I start to refute, but I can feel her shake her head.

"I did. I'll take part of the blame. You wouldn't have even been at Maria's if I hadn't left you. But… you lied, Edward." Her tears start all over again. "And I just don't trust you anymore. I don't. I don't think we can move forward."

"Don't say that," I mumble, emotion rising hot in my fucking throat. I swallow it back.

"But our marriage is tainted after everything," she mumbles, so fucking resigned. "There's been too much."

"We both made mistakes, but I know I can move past this." With an arm around her stomach, I hold her tighter. "I just need you to eventually forgive me. I need you to move past it, too."

"I don't know, I don't know. I'm so mad at us…" she whispers, hiccuping more. "I'm so sad."

"I am, too." I kiss her shoulder. "Just sleep. We'll talk in the morning. Okay? Just sleep. It's okay. I'm here. I love you. It's okay."

"Okay, but… I just need to know one more thing," she mumbles, her voice soft, almost sleepy. "Were you ever going to tell me about Kim?"

I still don't know.

Deep down I know what I should have done. When the conversation of whether or not we'd been with anyone else came up, I should've dropped to my knees and come clean. Begged for her forgiveness and promised to never hurt her again.

I know it's shitty and has made things impossibly worse, but I had no immediate plans to tell her about what happened. We were separated. What I did with Kim meant so fucking little to me. And knowing how badly it would have affected Bella… yeah. It didn't seem worth it to bring up more shit when we already have so much to work on.

But I get that withholding that truth defeats the entire purpose of what we're trying to do here.

"I still don't know when I would have told you, and I'm so fucking sorry," I whisper honestly. "I knew I should have. But I didn't want to hurt you. Not really. I didn't want to put more insecurities in your head for no fucking reason because it truly meant nothing. It didn't seem worth it to upset you… to hurt you like that more than I already had. I'm just… I'm sorry, Bell."

I brace myself for her reaction.

I expect her to start crying again, but she doesn't.

There aren't any more tears.

No more questions.

It worries me, but I don't say anything else either. I just press a kiss to her temple, a wordless apology.

Eventually, she relaxes enough to fall asleep.

Once she does, I let myself doze, too.

When I wake in the morning, I'm alone.

She's gone.

And in her place, on her pillow, are the divorce papers.