A/N: I'm late again, but there was a Final Fantasy VII Rebirth release date trailer on the PlayStation State of Play last week, and the Rebirth showcase at the Tokyo Game Show, and surely you guys know of my absolute obsession with everything FF7, by now. Omg Zack Fair. There's going to be closure. I may not survive, and I'm okay with that.
Anyway, moving on. I hope you enjoy. Happy reading, and feel free to tell me I suck at the end. I won't mind.
Footprints in the Sand
Chapter 38
Charlie always told me if you need to get something off your chest, get it out of the way up front.
I realize, I can't conceal my tear-streaked face from Edward any more than I can my emotions, anyway, so the instant I open the door to him, I fall apart and go on a tangent. In between apologies, I tell him all of it. How reckless and irresponsible I was, how I wasn't sure I'd get to her in time; how scared I was; how I broke his trust.
I expect him to go full pride lion, and for the briefest of moments I think maybe he might. How he reacts, though, is infinitely worse.
He's completely understanding.
At first, he's confused; his eyes cast over my shoulder as they scan my apartment before he turns slightly pale, and just when I expect him to unleash hell's fury on me, he does the complete opposite. He draws me into his arms.
"I-I-I always t-tell her to stop at the r-road and hold my h-hand before we c-cross. Always, and I expected her to. I expected her to stop and w-wait for me, but she...she just ran straight onto it. I yelled at her to stop, to come back, but she-she...f-froze," I continue to ramble against his chest, stammering and stumbling over my words as I point-blank refuse to meet his gaze.
I can't though. Seeing the fear pass through them even fleetingly was too much to bear.
"Bella..."
"I'm so sorry, Edward. How can you ever trust me with her aga—"
"Bella..." he begins again, his tone reflecting a lot more patience than I deserve.
"I know w-what it's like to be five years old and have your mind racing a mile ahead of you. I should have—"
"Bella," he attempts a third time, almost reminding me of how he speaks to Addie. "Come sit down." Wrapping his arm around my shoulders he leads me into the living room as I attempt to walk without wincing past the tenderness of my two injured knees.
He notices though, but there's not much he doesn't. "Did you get hit—"
"No, I tripped over," I quickly reassure him as he sits me on the other end of my sofa from where his daughter is lying peacefully. The echo of shock is still ingrained in her features even as she sleeps, and it's completely heartbreaking.
"She's fine," he murmurs, his eyes fixing to her and I'm unsure whether he spoke it as a statement or question.
"She's-she's pretty shaken up," I whisper as he takes both my hands, turns them over and inspects the state of them.
"Jesus, woman, what have you done to yourself." This, he definitely speaks to himself. He's prone to it; to contemplate, to question my actions that he evidently doesn't understand.
Why I push myself so hard running, why I get so upset that he's becoming more and more aware of the way my mind works, and why I'm capable of talking myself into such a state.
Though, the latter he shares with Alice.
"I tripped on the curb. I was more concerned with getting her off the road," I admit ashamedly. "I'm so s—"
"Addie knows not to cross the road by herself. I've warned her about it numerous times," he broods, frowning to himself as I catch another brief glimpse of the pride lion lurking skin deep. With a heavy sigh, he sits himself beside me. "She still gets too far ahead of herself."
"She wanted to race. I let her win. I gave her too much of a lead," I further explain, clumsily wiping away fresh tears. "She could have—"
"Hey!" he immediately interjects. He's warning me this time. Do not proceed. I know that tone of his. This man doesn't need to yell; he only needs a single word behind the power of those intense eyes of his, and it's more than effective.
"How can you ever forgive me?" I appeal to my skinned palms, one of which he's still holding gently in his own.
Speaking only my name, he wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me against his chest. "You're overreacting, woman," he says, expelling his breath against the top of my head. "She broke her arm on my watch, and last summer she almost jumped off the roof with an umbrella thinking she was Mary Poppins," he adds as I utter out a single, fractured laugh. "My brother lost her at the park when she was three, and it took almost an hour to find her, and around about the same time, she climbed on the armoire at my parents' house and almost pulled the entire thing on top of her. I was there when it happened and it was my father who pulled her out of the way. It happens, sweetheart. How she's survived the last five-and-a-half years, I have no idea."
"I thought I was going to..."
"I know," he assures me, as he trails his fingers up and down my upper arm. "I've thought the same thing more times than I can count. With Addie everything is in overdrive. The good, the bad and the fucking mess," he mutters the latter half beneath his breath.
Pulling back, I dry my eyes, and this time Edward helps; running his thumbs across my cheekbones tenderly. "You're being too good about this."
"What did you think I'd do?"
"Kill me," I answer sheepishly while he looks at me like he thinks I'm nuts. "You're very scary when you're angry," I feel the need to further explain.
Scoffing, he shakes his head minutely to himself. "I can't imagine you'd ever do anything to make me that angry."
I laugh once ironically. "Give it time."
Chuckling warmly, he nudges me. "I never gave you any warning about how much of a handful she is, and I still trust you with her more than I do anyone else."
"How can you say that?" I'm genuinely confused. "I don't have kids, and with Addie everything's new to me."
He takes a deliberate breath, choosing his words carefully before he speaks. "It's the reason I was so curious about your age that first day we had coffee. On the outside you might look young, but you've never acted like you're in your twenties, and you understand Addie better than anyone."
I break into a small reluctant smile, but I'm not convinced quite just yet. "Sure you're not mad?"
"I'm sure. You have nothing ready," he notes after a quick glance around my living room. Usually, I have my overnight bag packed and waiting alongside Addie's when I stay over at his house, but not tonight.
"I didn't think you'd—"
He groans pointedly and effectively cuts me off. "Five minutes, woman. Get going," he orders me, sounding only semi teasing, and I'm more than partial to it.
Flashing him a rueful smile, I tweak his earlobe and pull myself from the sofa, expelling a sigh of relief as I do.
I'm still so terrible at reading him, at reading most people, but he's not mad at me, so I'm happy to be wrong.
. . .
Addie barely wakes as Edward carries her to his car and straps her into her booster, and then again as he lifts her out when we arrive at his house.
"I'll have a talk to her in the morning," he assures me in a whisper as he's dragging me from her room after tucking her into bed.
He's noticed the still lingering trauma on his daughter's face as much as I have.
"I hope she's okay," I lament to myself as Edward leads me back down stairs.
"She's okay," he says simply. "Have you eaten?"
"Yeah. We had McDonald's. Guilt can be very profitable," I reply to his raised brow.
"Believe me, I know all about guilt," he adds more or less to himself. "More kids, more guilt," I barely catch the latter, as I think he intended, but I have no response regardless.
He's completely right, and I still recall the conversation my father had with my grandmother before she died—worried he was doing everything wrong and how the guilt over me not having a mother ate away at him some days.
Guilt automatically falls under the umbrella of parenthood. It's a given, but babies are the last thing I want to talk about right now.
"Have you eaten?" I ask, breaking him from his frown.
"No."
"Want me to make you something?" I propose, noting his expression almost immediately warm.
In the years he was married, his wife never once made him dinner. They always ate out—at her insistence. Edward's, naturally, not too fond of it, and that suits me just fine. I'm not either. I always found it weird eating dinner with an entire room of strangers. Breakfast and lunch are fine, but dinner's definitely not. I guess that's just how I was raised. Dinner with me and Charlie was always something intimate. No technology, no TV, just the two of us talking about our day.
"I wouldn't say no," he answers, curling his arm around my waist and squeezing.
I make him spaghetti, chatting casually in his kitchen as he finishes off his work at the breakfast table. The man can multitask like no one I've ever known, and he can type faster than I can. He carries the conversation easily even as I become constantly distracted in the course of making his meal. He notices but doesn't bring it to my attention—not that he needs to—until he pulls himself from his chair and comes to help me.
Though help isn't exactly what he provides.
"Is this your idea of helping?" I say good-naturedly after he draws me against his chest as I'm attempting to stir a simmering pot of tomato sauce.
He chuckles breathily, kisses my temple quickly and dips his index finger into it.
"Hey!" I slap his hand away. "Are you immune to heat? How did that not burn you!?" I exclaim more than a little surprised after he sucks it clean.
He only smirks, before lifting the lid on the pot of pasta to inspect it. "I think this is done."
"You know what they say about too many cooks." I elbow him out of the way. "Go back to your work."
Laughing this time, he grabs a handful of my breast—making me near jump out of my skin—before he complies, and I feel so relaxed after the hell of earlier this afternoon, I briefly wonder whether this is what being married to him would be like. I never really witnessed the way a married couple behaves to draw comparison, so it's always left me deeply curious.
How long do they have spontaneous sex before it fades with time? When do they accept the inevitability of comfort around each other over lust? When do they sleep beside each other as opposed to in each other's arms?
Alice's point of reference for marriage is arguing naked, and while Edward and I don't really argue, we are at that point where we're comfortable being completely naked in front of each other. At least, when Addie's not likely to walk in on us.
"Bella? You okay?" Edward's voice breaks into my reverie as he gently tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear.
"I'm okay," I say hastily, switching off the gas cooktops to drain the pasta.
"You can share it with me, you know," he suggests, his voice responsive. He's referring to my thoughts that can often take precedence over most things in my life, and it's not the first time he's put this to me.
"My mind's just wandering," I reply, biting down on my bottom lip and hating that I'm so obvious. "I'm such a flake."
"You're not a flake," he immediately counters. "You have no idea how appealing it makes you."
"Smooth," I mumble as a deliberate cover.
"I haven't heard that in a while," he teases me, and turning he opens the refrigerator door and pulls out a block of cheese.
"I can't stand parmesan," he says in explanation. "It smells the same way my clothes once did when Addie spit up on me as a baby."
I laugh lightly, and while I drain the pasta and pour the sauce over it on a plate, Edward grates the cheese.
He eats in the same insane manner in which he drinks coffee, and while I marvel at how he doesn't burn the roof of his mouth, I contemplate how to bring up the subject of my birth control pill without him putting me on the stand.
"You want to ask me something, so out with it," he states after, when he returns his attention to his MacBook.
"What makes you say that?" I wonder out loud; though, why I'm doubting this man's astuteness is anyone's guess.
His intelligence scares me some days.
"I've become acquainted with your cues," is all he offers as he continues to type away on the keyboard, his eyes not deviating from the screen.
"I... I was wondering...at Rosalie's apartment, when I told you I was on birth control—how did I...?" Second-guessing myself I abandon it, hating myself that I'm doubting him.
With a small sigh, he answers regardless. "You were explaining how much of a flake you are and warning me not to get involved with you. Then you started listing off a number of things you have to set reminders on your phone for so you don't forget. Eating, running, going to bed, taking your birth control... I—"
"Oh, god, that's right," I blurt, dropping my head into my outstretched palm as recollection hits me.
I'm such an asshole.
"Why do you ask?" Pausing, he fixes his gaze momentarily to mine over his computer.
"I just..." Shaking my head, I let it go, ashamed of myself. "Never mind. I'm sorry."
His brows draw and he keeps his eyes trained on me in a way that makes me want to shrink into myself. "Bella..." He sighs again, only this time he sounds resigned.
"Yeah?"
"You thought I made it up to delay telling you I've had a vasectomy," he concludes, as something akin to disappointment briefly crosses his expression.
"I just couldn't remember telling you."
He huffs this time and closes his laptop a little too abruptly. "I knew you were angry."
"I'm not angry."
"You're doubting me," he counters, and for the first time since I've known him, accusation burns thick behind his voice.
"I... I'm not," I say feebly, breaking his gaze. "It's just—"
"Why would I lie to you when I saw your birth control later that night?" he puts to me, his eyes narrowing behind a definite scowl. "My damn fucking ex-wife used to attempt to gaslight me all the time. That's not who I am."
He's upset—understandably so—but he's not angry so much as he's hurt, and he's frustrated more than he's both.
"I know it's not," I declare, grabbing his hand and regretting my stupidity much too late as always. "I—"
"I should have told you earlier. This is the consequence of it," he mutters, his eyes downcast as the frown etches deeply in his forehead.
"I'm not angry at you, Edward," I echo even as my voice hitches and comes infinitely close to breaking.
Pushing his laptop to the side he pulls himself to his feet, and hanging his head he props both hands on his hips. "I'd rather you yell at me than start to doubt me," he tells the floor.
"I'm not doubting you. I just couldn't remember telling y—"
"You think I took advantage of the state you were in—do you know what kind of man that makes me?" His eyes rise to meet mine, continuing to mirror not only frustration but what appears to be betrayal.
"Edward, Jesus—I don't even—"
"You've got every right to start questioning me," he adds lowly, and turning his back on me he picks up his dirty plate and utensils, takes them to the kitchen and drops them noisily into the sink.
Expelling a jaded breath, I prop my elbows against the table and drop my head into my hands. The truth is, he's right. I was doubting him, but whether it stems from what happened the night of his birthday, I'm not sure.
I'm really not sure of anything.
"Coffee, sweetheart?" he offers stiffly, his palms flat to the countertop as he gazes through the kitchen window.
"I'll make it," I reply rising to my feet, and approaching him, I wrap my arms around his waist and press my face against the taut muscles of his back. "Go finish your work so you're not awake all night."
He scoffs softly; a sound that's almost amusement except it's completely devoid of humor, and turning, he places both his hands to my shoulders and eases me gently back. "This morning, I... I asked Valentina how she'd react in that situation. I put it to her as a hypothetical, but I wasn't fooling her. She..." He stammers. Edward doesn't tend to stammer, and with his expression darkening he lets it go.
"What did she say?" I prompt him as curiosity gets the better of me.
He doesn't immediately answer, and for the longest moment I'm almost convinced he's not going to. "She told me she'd rather not get fired, and when I assured her she could speak freely, she said a man who waits until a woman is in love with him before telling her something like that is a selfish bastard."
My breath draws and I don't reply. I'm not sure how to, and Edward notices.
"I need to know, Bella. Is that how you—"
"No!" I immediately interject, the tone of my voice rising in emphasis. "Of course, I don't. Edward, your circumstances aren't even remotely that black and white, and I completely understand why it took you so long to tell me."
He gazes intently at me for a brief moment, before expelling a wavering breath. His eyes are semi-bloodshot and wearied, and I hate seeing this side of him. "What I said to you, I was digging up the past, and it was affecting me. I'm prepared to get it reversed. I'm—"
Nodding my head hastily, I effectively cut him off. "I know."
Bowing his head, he rubs his brow heavily, before dragging a rigid set of fingers back through his hair to the nape of his neck. "I need to find another therapist," he tells himself.
Stepping closer to him, I reach out and straighten his tie, struggling to hold back my emotions and keep myself together.
"Don't you lose faith in me," he appeals to me, those intense eyes of his holding mine before he places his hand to the side of my face and grazes his thumb over my bottom lip.
"Never," I promise him as my tears spill over, but after the day I've had, I don't have a hope of holding them back.
That vulnerability that I despise witnessing flashes fleetingly across his face before it's replaced with tenderness, and in the next moment, he crushes me to his chest, forcing the air from my lungs. "We're going forward from here, so no more doubting me," he adds in little more than a whisper, dropping his lips to the crown of my head. "Okay?"
Nodding in reply, I curl myself further against him as my breath gushes from me. "O-kay." I hiccup. "I'm sorry."
"So am I," he replies so softly I barely hear him.
. . .
Guilt is not only associated with parenthood, and as I watch Edward at the breakfast table, his head buried in his laptop as he prepares for an upcoming deposition, I'm flooding with it. This man has been nothing but honest with me, opening himself up and showing me his demons, all while asking nothing in return but understanding.
How could I doubt him? How could I even entertain the thought that he was capable of gaslighting me?
I hate myself, and even more so, when I recall how good he was about what happened with Addie.
Sure, she broke her arm under his watch, but she almost died under mine while he held me in his arms and told me I was overreacting.
I can't stand it. Nor how luscious he looks still wearing his three-piece suit, sans jacket, his shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows and his tie pulled loose beneath his tightly buttoned vest that perfectly accentuates the tones and contours of his chest.
I don't last another three seconds, and shoving his MacBook to the side, I pull myself straddled on his lap, grab the sides of his face, and cover his mouth with mine.
"...Baby...what..."
"Shut up and enjoy it," I tell him against the firm heatedness of his lips as I wrangle his belt open.
"I'm supposed to be doing this to you later tonight," he reminds me, his eyes already darkening as he helps partially undress me in the process.
"I owe you one," I reply, pulling him back and letting him devour me.
God, this man can kiss, but it's his body that takes ultimate control, leaving me tingling, tenderized and choking past my heaving lungs.
"Jesus, woman," he growls lowly and breathlessly when we both plummet back down and against each other.
Moaning, I allow my head to flop against his shoulder as I fight to gain some kind of equilibrium. The scent of his aftershave tickles my nostrils, conjuring an amalgamation of sensations that jumbles my mind and brings tears to my eyes.
He asked me to trust him, to give him time, and I barely lasted a week.
Round two takes place on his bed not twenty minutes later, where he leaves me so exhaustingly satisfied, I'm almost sick. After, he tucks me under the covers barely conscious, kisses every point of my face, whispers his love for me against my earlobe, and then returns downstairs to his unfinished work.
I'm asleep before he leaves the room, until he rouses me not long after, pulling me from the depths of it.
"You are absolutely...trying to...kill me," I say, barely lucid, to the husky sound of his laughter.
"Not yet, baby. Listen...I have to go to New York for a couple of weeks," he professes, and before I can properly comprehend his meaning, I'm instantly awake.
"Huh?" I utter, sitting myself upright and pulling the sheet to cover my naked, still damp chest.
"Huge setback," he mutters, scowling to himself, and sitting on the edge of the bed he drags his hand over his scalp.
"Will you be back in time for...Disney?" I venture. We still haven't told Addie yet. The plan is to tell her the day before we leave.
"I'll be back a few days before," he assures me, and unable to maintain his smile he draws a momentous breath and releases it.
"I'll miss you," I say, inching closer to him and wrapping my arms under his and around his chest from behind.
"I'll miss you, too. Sweetheart?"
"Hmm?"
"I'd like you to—I mean, if you want to—could you watch Addie for me?" he asks almost apprehensively before turning his head to catch my gaze.
"Sure," I answer without hesitation.
"My parents will take her when you're at work. I'd just feel better knowing she's with you."
"I'd love to, but... you sure you trust me with her...?" I feel the need to remind him of what almost happened earlier today.
"Of course, I do," he replies as that smirk of his ghosts on his lips, despite how exhausted he looks.
I break into an impulsive smile that I'm not even sure is coherent. "What time is it?" I ask, searching around in the dim light for an indicator of it.
"Just past one."
"You coming to bed?" Grabbing a fistful of his still-buttoned shirt I tug him closer to me.
"In a little while. Bella?"
"Yeah?"
He opens his mouth, but closes it almost instantly, as a frown momentarily furrows his brow. "Never mind. Go back to sleep. I'll be in soo—"
"Daddy...?" A very tearful little voice from behind him draws his attention.
Edward turns to look over his shoulder as Addie bursts into tears and runs toward him. Scooping her up in his arms, he carries her from the room, as I clumsily leap from the bed still only half asleep and rummage around in my overnight bag for my pajamas.
They return a few minutes later; Addie with her hand clasped in her father's as he leads her toward me.
"Bella?" she asks in a small, timid voice.
"Yes, sweetie?"
"I-I promise to always w-wait for you before I cross the road, and always h-hold your hand when I cross it, and... and..." Big fat tears pool in her eyes and spill silently down her face, and with my heart infinitely close to breaking, I reach down and lift her into my arms.
"It's okay, sweetie," I assure her, rocking her gently back and forth where I stand.
"You're not angry?" she asks, her face pressed to the side of my neck, dampening it with her tears.
"Of course, I'm not angry."
"Really?"
"Really, really."
"Can I sleep with you and Daddy?" she adds, pulling back to wipe her eyes with the back of her hand.
"'Course you can."
Edward tucks us both in this time, tweaking Addie's nose with a very affectionate "Straight to sleep, and no giving Bella leprovy by talking her ear off".
Addie giggles, the events of this afternoon already past her, despite her puffy eyes, so much like her father's. "Goodnight, Daddy."
"Goodnight, tiger." Bending down, he kisses her forehead, then he kisses mine, and back to Addie again, and then me as I begin to lose count. "Give me another hour," he eventually tells me as his eeny-meeny-miny-moe of goodnight kisses ends on my lips.
"'Kay."
"Don't stay up too late, Daddy," Addie reproaches him.
"Yes, boss," he humors her, and turning, he leaves the room; switching off the lights as he does.
"Bella?" Addie pipes up the instant the sound of her father's footsteps fades into the distance.
"Hmm?"
"I'm really sorry I ran on the road," she apologizes again as she curls her small body against my side.
"I know. It's okay, sweetie, because I know how smart you are and that you'll remember in future, huh?"
"Uh-huh. I really will. Can I tell you a secret?" she whispers the latter as though her father were eavesdropping.
"Sure you can," I play along and match the tenor of her voice.
"Daddy bought you a really beautiful ring."
I'm pretty sure my hearts stops dead in its tracks. "He-he did?"
"Uh-huh, and he hid it so I couldn't find it." She giggles again.
"How... do you know, sweetie?"
"I saw him looking at it, and you know what he said?"
"What did he say?"
"He said," she lowers her voice and does her famous imitation of him, "'not a word of this to Bella, tiger'. And I didn't even tell you for five whole days."
A/N: Addie is loosely modelled on my daughter, Boo, who as a wee thing, had very loose lips. She was always ratting me or her father out. That little rascal. She's 14 now. Lord, why?