Love you guys.

38
- brutal hearts -

Bella POV

While waiting for Edward to call, I doze on the couch.

I don't mean to sleep long, but when I wake up, the late afternoon glow is replaced with early evening shadows.

Glancing at my phone, I see it's close to five, and that there aren't any missed calls or texts.

It's been hours since Edward said he would call me back.

I tell myself to be patient. That I'm no longer a priority to him. I honestly don't expect to be.

But the silence still stings.

After I make a quick dinner, I decide to text him and check-in. I assume he got caught up with work and couldn't find time to call, so maybe a quick message will remind him I'm still hoping to talk at some point.

Bella: Hey… not trying to hound you, but do you have time to talk tonight? Or tomorrow? It's really important.

The "delivered" notification doesn't appear under my text after I hit send, meaning he doesn't receive it.

Curious, I call him, but his phone goes straight to voicemail.

The bizarre gut feeling shifts from strange to unsettled.

Maybe his phone died.

Or maybe he blocked me. I'm not even sure I'd blame him. It's his right to shut me out of his life if he wants to. He was probably wondering what the fuck I wanted when I called him earlier out of the blue, and though the answer is simple, everything else tied to it is not.

I'm pregnant.

I found out the surprising news two weeks ago and have sat on that information alone.

I've told absolutely no one, not even my therapist. I've barely even let myself entertain the idea at all, mostly out of fear because I've never been pregnant before so I'm not convinced this will be successful. I don't think I'll be convinced of that until I'm holding my baby.

I mumbled as much to the ultrasound tech after she confirmed I was eleven weeks along, and she encouraged me to stay positive, saying that people typically wait until the second trimester to tell friends and family because that's when the chances of having a miscarriage are significantly lower.

Maybe those words were meant to be encouraging but it sparked fear in me because I had to worry about things like miscarriages now.

Every pain, every ache, every little twinge has kept me on guard for the last two weeks. I feel like I've been holding my breath, unable to leave this constant state of worry that something could go wrong.

Despite my anxiety, I've tried to keep myself from thinking too negatively or positively.

Being too negative could add unnecessary stress.

Being too positive could crush my hope.

But today marks the first day of my second trimester, and the urge to share the news with Edward is not just an overwhelming want, but also a need.

I call him again.

Voicemail. Again.

A nervous pang flutters in my stomach, and I rub a hand over the nonexistent bump. So far it's nothing more than a lower belly bulge which makes buttoning my jeans difficult. But I'm not big enough yet to where anyone would know my secret just by looking at me.

The few times Rosalie and I have hung out recently, I've said nothing about my pregnancy. Part of me is worried she'll feel resentful or jealous because I wasn't trying to get pregnant and it just happened. I'm in the middle of a divorce, so why do I deserve a baby?

The other part of me hopes my fears are irrational. Maybe she'll be happy for me. But until I tell Edward first, no one else deserves to know.

I start loading the dishwasher when my phone chimes with a text. I rush to read it, but it's only Rosalie, telling me we need to talk.

I almost want to ask her if Edward's still at the studio, but I don't. Being her new friend might have the perks of knowing what he's doing, but I don't want to abuse that. There's a difference between her offering up information on her own, and me fishing.

Instead of replying to her right away, I finish cleaning the kitchen, desperate to pass the time. When I go to put away leftovers, my eyes land on the sonogram stuck to the fridge using the someone in Oregon loves you magnet.

It felt fitting—and a little bittersweet—to use that memento to display our baby's first picture.

My chest aches.

I'm not going to feel settled until Edward knows. I'm not going to be able to relax or think about anything else until he's aware of what's going on.

Without a second thought, I grab the ultrasound off the fridge, slip it into my purse, pull on a light cardigan, and head downtown.

Maybe Edward's busy working. And if he is, I'll wait.

Maybe he's ignoring me. And if he is, that's fine. He can ignore me all he wants, but I refuse to keep him in the dark about being a father in just six months.

Half an hour later, I pull into the designated, half-empty parking garage a block away from ESPN. I slowly drive up the floors, looking for his car like a stalker—a crazed baby mama. I don't see his black Toyota 4Runner with the UW Alumni sticker, but that doesn't mean he's not here. If he's still staying at the hotel, chances are he walked to work.

Without knowing for sure, I park anyway.

It's strange being back, especially since the last time I was here, I was unaware I was about to be blindsided by Edward.

Now the tables are turned. He's the one who will be blindsided, and I'm unsure how he's going to take the news.

After I walk into the building and check in with security, they don't let me through because I'm not on the list to be here.

I'm about to mumble some half-assed reason about why I'm here, then realize I don't have to. I pull the wife card, or more accurately, my license, since it still says Bella Cullen.

Security doesn't bat an eye as they scan my ID and give me a visitor's name tag that I stick to my chest.

I head toward the elevators, pretending like I know where to go, and avoid looking at anyone as I pass by them.

I ride up to the floor I faintly remember being on last time, but get turned around a few times. After wandering for a couple of minutes, things start to look familiar.

I round the corner and find his dressing room.

With a deep breath, I somehow find the courage to knock on the door, both hoping and dreading it will open.

This will be the first time I've seen him in months, since the beginning of September. So many things have changed since then, but I'm still not sure I'm strong enough for this, especially for what I'm about to tell him.

There's no chance to back out and run away before the door swings open and Edward's standing in front of me.

The half-smile that was already on his face completely disappears when he sees me.

A brief moment of shock passes over his expression before it shifts to nothing but a blank stare.

"Hi," I say, my voice cracking around the edges.

His face is thinner and tired, and though he makes exhaustion look good, it's almost jarring to see him this worn.

The desire to hug him, to feel his comforting embrace, overwhelms me.

I almost give in to that urge without knowing if he'd hug me back, but then my eyes flick past his shoulder to find a woman with dark hair sitting on the small leather loveseat.

I quickly take in the scene, trying to make sense of it before I jump to conclusions. There are two open laptops on the marble coffee table, and the woman is holding a stack of papers. But there's also a bottle of whiskey and two glasses as well.

They're probably working and it's likely innocent. My brain can surmise as much.

But my heart doesn't care about truth or logistics.

All it knows is that Edward is behind a closed door with an attractive woman, loosening up after a long day.

I wait for the ugly, familiar feeling of jealousy to squeeze my traitor heart, but it never comes because I know I have no claim.

The three of us are silent.

"How did you get in here?" Edward finally asks, tone hollow, his expression aloof. Like me being here isn't doing anything for him other than interrupting.

"I showed security my ID," I say. "You weren't answering your phone."

"It's off. I'm busy."

My eyes instinctively flick toward the woman again. "Looks like it."

"Why did you come here, Bella?" he asks, terse and seemingly unaffected.

The urge to slap the sonogram against his chest and walk away is strong.

That'd be unfair, though. I need to ease into the news, not just for him but for myself. And I definitely want us to have more privacy than in the middle of the hallway with a stranger close by and listening.

"Call me when you're done. I don't care what time it is," I tell him, almost pleading. "It's important."

His jaw tightens and releases, his eyes giving nothing away.

I turn to leave and only make it two steps before his cool demeanor thaws.

"Bella. Just… wait. Don't go."

I turn around but stay in place, the physical and emotional distance between us creating an irreparable crack in my chest.

"Can we go over this tomorrow, Cecily?" he asks the woman as he peers into the room from the doorway.

With his eyes elsewhere, I take the opportunity to stare at him in his black slacks and white dress shirt, the sleeves pushed up his muscular forearms. Though he looks tired and leaner, he's somehow harder and broader, too.

From where I'm standing I can't see the woman in his dressing room, but I can still hear her voice.

"Sure, tomorrow, yeah. Whatever works," she says breezily. "I'm here to make your life easier, not more difficult."

Her words feel aimed at me, but maybe I'm reading into things too much. It wouldn't be the first time my brain has played tricks on me. I doubt she even knows who I am.

It sounds like she's gathering her things, and when she appears in the doorway, she pauses too long for my liking.

"Thanks for everything," he tells her.

She smiles up at him. "Anytime. Have a good night."

She's still smiling as she passes by me, albeit a bit tightly, but I stay stoic.

When she's gone, Edward hooks his thumb toward the dressing room.

"You want to talk in there or somewhere else?" he asks, almost resigned, his shoulders sagging a bit. To see what my presence physically does to him—drains the life from him like that—makes me feel guilty for coming here at all.

It almost makes me want to keep my pregnancy from him forever, but I know that'd be unfair. To me. To him. To our baby.

He deserves to know.

"Your dressing room is fine," I reply.

He waits for me to walk in first, then joins me and shuts the door behind him.

The strongest scent of perfume suddenly assaults me.

"I assume you want some whiskey?" he offers, pointing toward the bottle.

"I stopped drinking."

"Oh." His brows knit together in surprise. "Really?"

"Yeah, I—" I fight the urge to cover my mouth, the perfume overwhelming and making my stomach weak. "Can I have some water?"

He grabs a plastic bottle from the mini fridge, handing it to me.

"So, what's up?" he asks, not bothering to sit. Maybe he doesn't expect this to take long. "What's so important?"

I crack open the bottled water and take a big gulp, sitting where Cecily just was.

Instead of sitting next to me on the small couch, he grabs a chair from the desk and drags it closer to the coffee table.

It's a small, likely meaningless move but it stings. Like he can't be bothered to be that close to me, but was just fine cozying up to Cecily right here.

I rein in my thoughts.

I'm not here to dissect his life, personal or professional. None of that matters anymore. I have no say, no right to be upset with him.

"Who was that woman?" I still ask anyway.

He holds my gaze. "My new publicist. She works with Rosalie, too," he adds, staring more intently now.

"Oh."

"Speaking of Rosalie, are you here to tell me you're friends with my co-host? Because I already know," he says out of nowhere, reaching for his glass of whiskey and taking a sip.

I'm stunned. "What?"

"I overheard Rosalie say your name today and I outright asked her if she was talking about you. She said yes."

This must be why she texted me earlier, saying we need to talk.

"Yeah, we've been hanging out a little," I confirm.

"Kind of strange, don't you think?" His voice is condescending, a bit lazy, and I wonder how many glasses of whiskey he and Cecily shared.

"Do I think it's strange I'm friends with Rosalie?" I echo. "No."

"Did you become friends with her to keep tabs on me?"

I almost laugh. "No. Not everything I do is with you in mind, Edward."

He does laugh, but it's bitter and I'd be willing to bet it hurts him as much as it does me when he says, "Trust me, I know. Nothing you do is with me in mind."

I swallow any harsh words I want to hit him back with and drink more water. I doubt he'd believe me if I said that working on myself has as much to do with him as it does with me. If our roles were reversed, I probably wouldn't believe me, either.

"I didn't come here to talk about Rosalie," I say evenly.

He gives me a look that I convey as get on with it, then.

So I do.

From his bitter attitude, my nerves fade and I get a little angrier, a little braver, and grab the sonogram out of my purse, setting it on the smooth marble table.

Edward stares at it but doesn't pick it up. I've never had a sonogram to show him before, but it's unmistakable what this is.

"What is that?" he asks anyway, his voice low and controlled.

"A sonogram."

His face is impassive as he picks it up.

"What?" His eyes bounce between me and the ultrasound, a panicked look on his face. "Are you… are you pregnant?"

"Yeah," I whisper, heart beating rapidly. "I am."

He's still and silent, then abruptly stands, facing away from me.

I give him a few seconds to let it sink in.

"What are you thinking?" I mumble, worried.

"I don't know," he says in a gruff voice, sitting back down and finishing his glass of whiskey before fisting some of his hair. "I don't fucking know." He looks at the sonogram again, his gaze a little softer and less worried than it was before.

"It's a lot, I know. The timing is… awful," I murmur. "I didn't really know what to think either when I found out."

"How long have you known?" he asks, his voice a little softer now too.

I recall what happened at my doctor's appointment weeks ago. After my pregnancy was confirmed by the nurse, I was sent to another floor to get an ultrasound to verify how far along I was, and to estimate a due date.

I'll never forget lying in the dim room, just me and the ultrasound tech, staring at the screen, seeing and hearing the little flicker of a heartbeat inside of me.

It was one of the happiest, most unbelievable moments of my entire life, I couldn't help but cry. But Edward wasn't there for it, and that just made me cry more, my tears a mixture of relief for the future and grief for the past.

"I took a video of the ultrasound," I say softly. "It's kind of strange and hard to tell what you're looking at, but… do you want to see?"

He just nods and sits next to me on the loveseat, watching the video in awe as I try to point out what's what.

"That's our baby?" he whispers, not looking away from the screen.

Tears fill my eyes and slip down my cheeks from hearing him say our baby.

It feels more real now that he knows.

"Yeah," I whisper, my voice tinged with tenderness. "That's our baby."

The second the video ends, Edward immediately crushes me in a hug.

It's overwhelming to be this close to him again. To feel his arms around me, both giving and seeking comfort. But I welcome it, hugging him back.

"I can't believe it," he breathes out into my hair.

I clench my eyes closed, swallowing back emotion. "I know, neither can I."

He squeezes me a little tighter.

"Show me again," he says when we break apart.

We watch the video three more times.

After handing back my phone, he scrubs a hand over his face, and I get the sense that he's about to get emotional. He doesn't cry though but he's a mixture of sad, sincere, and overwhelmed.

I'm all of those things, too.

"Who else have you told?" he asks, clearing his throat.

"No one. Just you."

"Rosalie doesn't know?"

"No. And I'd rather you not say anything to her yet, please." I don't explain why I'd rather it be me who tells her. "I waited until I made it to my second trimester to tell you, which was officially today. That's why I was so adamant about talking to you."

"You should've told me when you first found out two weeks ago, Bella."

"Yeah, maybe, but I was scared I'd miscarry and it would've been pointless, you know?"

"But… but I could've been there for you if that happened," he says, and I'm reminded of every time he ever took care of me when I was sick. Every time he was there for me when I needed him. Doting and appeasing in his love and comfort. "Is it a boy or girl?"

"I don't know yet. The anatomy ultrasound isn't for another six weeks. I'm only thirteen weeks along right now." I doubt he's doing the math so I add, "It was when we… it was those two days we were together, obviously. At the end of August."

His gaze is distant, likely thinking back to that time which feels like a lifetime ago. Those were some of the worst days we've experienced together. I don't like to think about them, but I guess something good came from all of our pain after all.

"So… you…" He pauses and focuses on me, and I sense something a bit cynical in his gaze. "You haven't been with anyone else?"

My stomach drops because I wasn't expecting him to ask me that. "Why?"

"Tell me," he insists, tone a little more agitated than it was before. "Have you been with anyone else?"

"Why does that matter?" I ask.

"It just does, Bella."

Of course, I know why it matters—it's because we're us. No matter how much time has passed or how little claim we have over one another, hearing about the other being with someone else will always hurt. It's just the way it is.

For a minuscule moment, I understand Edward more than I ever have. I understand his lie about Kim. What good is telling him that I slept with Levi when it meant absolutely nothing and will never happen again? It will only make this situation worse than it has to be. It'll cause more stress and doubt between us. I'm scared to tell him; to hurt him.

But I can't lie to him.

I can't.

More than that, I don't want to.

I suddenly understand him less than I did seconds ago.

"I have been with someone else," I admit nervously, the words feeling foreign and wrong.

Silence suffocates us.

The lack of guilt I thought I felt about what I did with Levi suddenly makes itself known, like it was just waiting for this moment to present itself.

Regret coils around my heart, squeezing it; bruising it.

I wasn't lying to myself before. I truly didn't think I'd made a mistake with Levi, but maybe that's because I didn't think I'd ever have to stand here and admit what I did.

Edward looks away from me, so I stare at his profile and watch his jaw tighten and release a few times.

The vibe in the room shifts and it's almost like I can physically feel the anger radiating off of him.

"Peter?" he accuses, still not looking at me.

"No. Someone you don't know. Someone I'll never see or talk to again."

His eyes are on me then, narrowing a bit before he scoffs a laugh—a deep, disgusted growl.

"Is it even mine?" he bites.

"What?"

With blazing eyes and a firm voice, he asks, "Is the baby mine, Bella?"

I never once thought of him asking this in all of the ways this played out in my head.

"Of course, it's yours," I reply, not hiding how offended I am.

"How do you know?" he spits back.

"Because of the timing," I insist, leaving out the fact that Levi and I used protection, too. "I'm thirteen weeks pregnant. What happened with Levi—"

"Levi?" he echoes in confusion like he's scouring his mental rolodex to figure out who he is. "Who the fuck is Levi?"

"Someone you don't know," I say hesitantly.

"Again, how the fuck am I supposed to believe that some other guy didn't knock you up? I haven't seen you in months. Almost three months. And here you are."

"And I'm three months pregnant, Edward," I say indignantly, hating that I even have to defend myself. "You think I'd be here right now telling you I'm pregnant with someone else's baby?"

Heated, he stands and paces the room a bit. "Maybe? I don't fucking know you anymore."

"Why would I do that?"

"Money? I have no idea."

"What? I don't want your money, and I wouldn't lie to you. You at least know that much about me?"

"I honestly don't know what to think right now." He grabs a fistful of his hair and when he releases it, it stays a haphazard mess. "Do I need to contact my lawyer?"

My head spins. "Why?"

"To tell her you're pregnant."

"Why would your lawyer need to know that?"

"To talk custody? My parental rights? I have no idea. I've never dealt with this situation before. I mean, if the baby is mine, can I trust you to not run away again? Or to use the baby against me to hurt me?"

"What are you talking about?" I ask sharply, this conversation shifting to something else entirely. "Listen to yourself. It's me, Edward. It's me."

"Exactly. It's you," he says flatly like it's the worst thing.

"Trust me, I understand all too well that you're upset about me sleeping with someone else. Would you have rather I lied to you the way you did with me? I don't think—"

"You should leave."

His sudden dismissal hurts. "What? No. We need to talk about this."

With a shake of his head, he pours more whiskey. "Not now. Just go, Bella."

I try to keep my emotions in check. "So, you don't care that I'm pregnant with your child? Me being with someone else overshadows the fact that we finally…" My voice breaks and I take a moment to collect myself. "It's our baby, Edward. Ours. It's yours."

He shoots me a wounded look. "Of course, I care. I've cared this entire time about you. This time apart hasn't been good for me if you can't fucking tell," he snaps. "You're my wife, Bella. You'll never not feel like my wife. Whether it's day one of being divorced or ten years being apart. Doesn't matter. I'll always think of you as mine. So, I just need you to fucking go before I say something I can't take back."

Tears fall down my cheeks and I stand. "Like what? Say it. I can take it."

"No." He's tight-lipped, still fuming with fury, pointing toward the door with the glass in his hand.

"Edward."

"Go."

I move closer and reach for his face, forcing him to look at me. He lets me touch him. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry this is hurting you. I still care about you, and love—"

He bristles away from my touch. "Don't say that."

"But—"

"I want a paternity test."

"What?"

A flash of determination appears in his eyes. "I want proof."

"The timing—"

"Proof. Get me that. Tell me where to go and what to do. And then we can talk."

It's spiteful and ugly—both his words and his dark expression.

I feel like I've changed in so many ways over the last few months and I'm suddenly very aware that maybe he hasn't. He's still reactive. Impulsive. Still doing things to hurt me. That's what this request is—a way to get back at me for having tried to move on.

I let myself think about what he said, how our time apart hasn't been good for him, and it makes me feel guilty.

While trying to fix myself, I think I've ruined him.

"Fine," I relent, my voice barely a whisper. "I have nothing to hide. I know the baby is yours. I'll look into a paternity test."

"Great."

His clipped, lone word wounds me.

"I—"

"You still need to leave, though. I can't fucking be around you right now," he mutters, voice pained. "We'll talk at some point. Later. I just need to… digest all of this. On my own. The same way you have for the last two weeks."

I want to say it's not the same. I've barely let myself entertain the idea that I'm pregnant at all because I was stuck in limbo, waiting to see if I'd miscarry or not.

I want to tell him I'm scared beyond belief.

That I don't know if I'll be a good mother.

I was just starting to work on myself, and now there will be this new me I have to learn when I still haven't even figured out the old me or dealt with all of her shit.

I stare at him. The hardness in his eyes tells me now is not the time to share all of that.

"I'm sorr—"

He cuts me off. "Don't."

"But I am sorry for hurting you," I whisper. "I'm sorry for a lot of things. I just wish you wouldn't have asked if I was with anyone else because I can't lie to you. I can't."

His words are quiet and hateful. "And that must make you feel like the bigger, better person, huh? Because you didn't lie to spare me."

I shake my head. "I never said that."

"You didn't have to. I know you're fucking thinking it."

Swigging from his glass, he opens the door for me.

He waits.

His eyes scream "go."

I walk through the door, and then he slams it shut after I leave.

I stand in the hallway, stunned, fighting the urge to break down.

My car.

I just need to get to my car and then I can break down.

I start walking, forgetting which way I came from, my heart in my throat after that interaction.

I'd forgotten how intense everything always feels with him when we're at war.

Emotionally, I'm taken right back to those days we spent together at the end of August, both fighting against and for each other.

Instead of focusing on the bad, I make myself remember the way he reacted when I told him I'm pregnant. Underneath the uncertainty, he seemed happy. Nervous but… hopeful. That hug felt hopeful. I just need to cling to that.

Regardless of my little internal pep talk, tears threaten to come, anyway, but I keep walking, desperate to get out of here and be alone.

And then I hear my name.

"Bella? What are you doing here?"

I spin around to find Rosalie.

The comfort of seeing her heightens my emotions.

When she sees my face, her expression falls. I have no idea what I look like but I know I wear my heart on my sleeve. Right now, it's a battered, bloody mess.

"Hey. Hey. Are you okay?" she asks quietly.

I just shake my head and I let her guide me across the hall, into a room for privacy.

"Did you see Edward?" she asks. "Did you talk?"

Again, I can't speak, so I just nod.

Without another word, she hugs me, and with her support, I let myself crumble.