Hi. Not sure how many people will even see this update bc FFn sucks with sending out alerts right now :( I'm so incredibly sorry about the delay. I have been writing this entire time and the next three chapters are done, so not all hope is lost. I don't know why updating has been harder and harder lately. Editing feels daunting sometimes. Maybe getting closer to the end makes me sad. Maybe I'm fucked in the head and convince myself people want this to end already (lol thanks, spineless guests!). Do I think y'all want to hear any of that? No. Do I know I'm being irrational and hormonal? Yes. That's why I stay quiet and don't give you reasons/excuses. It's not because I don't care.

My schedule is more flexible next week, and the next update will post on Friday (4/12). It's EPOV. Couples therapy. It's 5.7k which is a beast for me. If you're not into long chapters, sorry! Or maybe I'll split it, IDK.

If you're still here, thanks. It really does mean a lot, and I hope to hear from you (if you even find this chapter in the sea that is FFn, sobssssss)

58
- standstill -

Bella

After lunch with Rosalie, I consider canceling the engagement shoot I have today because I know I won't be able to focus. I'm cursed with overthinking, worried that impulsively deleting Levi's messages before telling Edward about them was a bad idea.

But canceling my day will only lead to endless time to second-guess, and I don't want to let my clients down. So I use the shoot as a distraction and push through the uneasiness in my head and heart.

When Edward's headlights shine on the house around eight-thirty, I tell myself not to be nervous.

But it's hard not to be.

After the awkward moment in the shower this morning that neither of us fully acknowledged, I'm not sure how well Edward will react to hearing that Levi reached out.

But I breathe. I remind myself I did nothing wrong. Levi reached out to me, not the other way around. If Edward reacts badly, that's fine. At this point, I expect him to.

But we'll get through it.

We've been through worse before.

I'm curled up in his chair and pause the TV when he walks in.

"Hey," he says when he sees me, shutting the door behind him.

He doesn't necessarily look or sound mad, but the vibe is different than it's been the last three nights he's returned home from work. It's like he's weighed down again.

It sends a guilty pang to my chest. I'm sure his mood is because he knows where my head accidentally went when we were being intimate this morning.

"Hey," I echo, watching him too closely for any sign of how he's feeling. "I missed you today."

"Yeah. Sorry, I couldn't get away for lunch."

I'd texted him around noon, hoping we could meet up and that it'd ease some of the tension between us. But all he said was that he couldn't, no reason why. That's why I met up with Rosalie instead.

He tosses his suit jacket on the couch then dips his head to briefly peck my lips. I grab onto the sleeve of his dress shirt to keep him in place, deepening our kiss before he pulls away.

"How was your day?" he asks.

"It was okay. Rosalie and I got lunch, then I had that engagement shoot around 4 at Venice Beach."

Loosening his tie, he sits on the couch. "How'd it go?"

"Pretty good. The couple is crazy photogenic, so they made it easy for me."

"I saw the clouds cleared midday so I was glad the weather cooperated for you," he says, remembering my concerns this morning that we might not get a decent golden hour for the shots. He points toward the remote. "Were you watching something, or can I change it?"

I hand it to him and he turns on some basketball game.

"How was your day?" I ask, moving to sit next to him on the couch so I can be closer.

"It was okay," he says, and even though it's the same thing I said about my day, it sounds different coming from him. I'm about to ask if he's okay when he looks at me and says, "Are you working tomorrow? It's super last minute but I was offered suite tickets for the Broncos game." His tone is a little lighter and it relaxes me. "Would you want to go?"

"Like… go to Denver?" I clarify.

"Yeah. The game is at one, so we could fly there tomorrow morning. Since Rosalie is going, too, maybe we could have dinner with her and Emmett afterward for New Year's Eve," he suggests.

I'm surprised. "Really?"

"I mean, yeah. Emmett came by the studio the other day when he was in town and we talked for a while about random shit. He seems like a good guy, and I know how important they are to you, so…" he trails off, shrugging.

My heart softens at the offer and how much of an effort he's making. He's right, Emmett and Rosalie are important to me, and I think with a little time, he can have a strong friendship with them, too.

I smile. "Okay, yeah. I'd love to go."

Anxiety overshadows my excitement for a moment, and I'm worried that telling him about Levi will ruin our plans now.

But even if it does, he deserves to know.

"I'll book flights tonight." His eyes flick to the screen, focusing on the game, and he throws his hands in the air. "Oh, come the fuck on," he says to the TV, annoyed with some call from the referee.

I watch for a minute before saying, "How long would we be in Denver? Our therapist got back to me today and she has an appointment available at noon on January 3rd. I think we should go…"

He looks at me, his expression unreadable. "We'd have to fly back sometime on New Year's Day, so it's a short trip."

"So, we can make it on the third?" I ask.

"Yeah, that works."

I momentarily think about withholding the Levi stuff until we're in therapy. Only because it might be better to talk with Angela there. But that's days away and I don't think I'll be able to keep it in. And I worry he might somehow find out on his own before then, and I'd truly hate myself if that were the case.

"I'll reply tomorrow and let her know we'll be there."

Edward nods. "Okay. Thanks for reaching out to her."

"Yeah, no problem," I say, trying to sound breezy but it comes out forced and fake.

He must pick up on the odd tone in my voice because he asks, "What's wrong? Are you nervous about going back to couples therapy?"

"I mean, there's always a little bit of anxiety there because I'm not sure where the conversation will lead," I mumble. "But it's not that."

His sole focus is on me now and he turns down the TV.

"Then what is it, Bell?"

"It's…" I unintentionally stall and start with Allie. "First of all, your sister blocked me on Instagram. I haven't tried calling or texting her but I wouldn't doubt she blocked my number, too."

Irritation creases his face. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"No. Rosalie checked and she could see her profile, so... yeah. Blocked."

Edward pulls out his phone, scrolling and tapping on the screen.

"I'm blocked on Instagram, too," he says in disbelief. "I'm gonna call her." Before I can protest, he puts his phone to his ear and says, "Wow. Straight to voicemail."

I cringe, covering my face. "I hate this."

"Yeah, me too, but she's acting like a little brat."

I drop my hands and say, "I can't even begin to try and understand where her head is at right now, but I also can't help but feel bad."

"Don't. You did nothing wrong."

"How hurt must she be if she's blowing it out of proportion like this, though?"

Edward sighs. "Of course, I hate if she's hurting, but she didn't care if she was hurting us. She didn't care that she inserted herself in our shit. So it's hard for me to feel sympathy right now. Especially if she's going as far as cutting off contact, which is fucking petty. At least give us a chance to have a conversation, but she's not even allowing that."

"I don't know. Maybe give it a few days and have your parents reach out?" I suggest.

"They shouldn't have to get involved, though. Allie's an adult. We shouldn't have to have my parents step in and make us play nice."

I nod, biting the inside of my cheek. "I know we need to talk about this more, but… that's not what has me in a funk."

"What happened? Did Allie say something to you?" he asks, and it looks like he's already gearing up to come to my defense.

"No." I hesitate, stomach twisting. "Levi reached out to me on Instagram."

Edward stares at me, the light dimming from his eyes.

"Why the fuck would he do that?" he bites.

"I don't know," I say honestly, and watch his jaw clench. "Edward."

He stands. Paces.

"You said you didn't exchange contact information," he reminds me, his voice both accusing and hurt.

"We didn't. I don't know how he found me. He must have Googled me? He knows what I do and what city I live in. I mean, I have a photo on my website's 'about me' section, and my Instagram is linked there, too. I don't know for sure, though. And I'm not about to ask him how or why he started following me."

"What the hell is he thinking—that he could see you again?" he snaps. "Doesn't that asshole know you're married?"

Guilt gnaws at me. "I never told him about you or us, so… no. He had no idea what was going on in my life. He didn't know I was separated or anything."

Edward laughs humorlessly, the sound cutting through me. "Right. Okay."

A spark of anger flares in my chest.

"It's better that I didn't confide in him," I insist, wordlessly pointing out that his confiding in Kim before they slept together was low. "He didn't need to know anything about me. And I certainly didn't want his input or pity about my life at that time."

His eyes darken. "Don't do that," he mutters. "Don't compare our mistakes."

"Then don't try to make mine out to be worse than yours," I say, holding my ground. "If I said he knew all about you, I'm sure you'd be mad about that, too. It's a delicate situation, I know that. But I'm not the one who reached out to him. I wouldn't do that to you. And I blocked him so he can't contact me again."

"So, what did he want?" he demands. "What exactly did he say to you?"

"I don't know," I say, nervous. "I didn't fully open his message, so all I could see was that he was going to be in town. I deleted his messages before I read them."

Edward's brows pull together. "You deleted them?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Honestly, I panicked a little. And then I decided it didn't matter what he wanted. His reaching out was insignificant. I didn't want to know what he had to say and I didn't want him to see that I'd read the messages," I admit.

"Who gives a fuck if he saw that you read his messages? Because now it makes me think he could've said something to you that you didn't want me to see."

"Edward, no. I promise that wasn't it. If that was the case I could've deleted them and not said anything to you at all, but I didn't do that. I wanted to be honest, even though I knew you'd be upset and pissed at me, and—"

"I'm not pissed at you," he says, fisting his hair. "Just… in general. I found out about him a little more than a month ago. I'm still processing, and think about it at least once a day," he admits, and my heart breaks. "And after this morning…"

He doesn't have to expand for me to know he's referring to our time in the shower.

"I'm sorry," I whisper.

"Sorry for what? Thinking about him while I got you off?"

Tears sting my eyes and misplaced shame assaults me.

"Do you really believe that? After everything? Because that's not what happened and if you think that, you're an asshole."

His face falls and he has the decency to look remorseful for what he said.

"I'm not sure what I'm supposed to think," he says, yanking at the knot of his tie until it completely loosens from around his neck and drops to the floor. "All I could see on your face was guilt this morning."

My stomach twists with more nerves but I know I need to be honest with him, no matter the fallout.

"Yeah, I'll admit I thought about him. And I'm so incredibly sorry," I mumble, desperate for him to believe me. "But my head only went there because it was obvious yours did, too, after you asked me to say your name. Before that, I was present. I was there with you. I was enjoying what we were doing and then… it was like a bucket of cold water being dropped on me. When I did think of him, the thought came and went. But it was enough for me to feel awful. And I didn't want to tell you because I knew you'd take it the wrong way."

"Yeah, I'm not sure there's any good way to tell your husband you were thinking of another man," he says flatly.

"But it wasn't like that. It was just a memory and then it was gone. It didn't mean anything and I didn't like it."

He scrubs a hand over his mouth. "You're right—my head went there, too. To you and him. And I was trying to push through it, and then I saw your face and I knew," he says, his voice hollow. "I fucking knew. What I don't get is why your head went there at all."

"Because yours did, I guess. I don't know."

"That's the only reason why?" he asks, like he expects there to be more. Like he doesn't believe me.

"It's like if I told you not to think of something, your brain would go there naturally," I explain. "It wasn't like he popped into my head on my own."

"So it's my fault for struggling and asking you to say my name?"

I stand from the couch, moving closer to him and grabbing his face.

"It's no one's fault. Okay?" He holds my gaze, the hurt evident in his eyes. "I mean… when we FaceTimed that night on Thanksgiving, you asked me to tell you what happened with him. And I started to, and then you got mad at me and told me to stop. So, I don't know what I can and can't say right now. What do you want me to say?"

"I want to know what the fuck he said to you in those messages. But since I don't have that luxury, I want to know why you thought of him at that moment. Because it feels like there's more you're not telling me."

I drop my hands from his face, and with a deep breath say, "I don't know. Maybe it could've been because… because he and I showered together. That's why. That's all."

"That's all," he echoes, sneering. "Okay."

"Edward."

"What am I supposed to say to that? Or think?" He glowers. "It makes me want to rip my fucking hair out thinking about you and him. I wouldn't have showered with you this morning if I knew that."

"It didn't even cross my mind, though. That's what I'm saying. That night with him was nothing. It wasn't memorable. It didn't matter."

"Did he hit on you or did you approach him? Were you drunk? How the fuck did you end up in the shower?"

My heart is racing but I say, "No. I hadn't been drinking. And he pursued me, but… it wasn't romantic. We only showered because we were dirty after riding ATVs—"

Edward takes a step back. "So, you hung out with him. Like, went on a fucking date?"

I shake my head but say, "Maybe. I guess it was kind of like that. But his friends were there, too."

His brows raise like I'm making this worse.

"You met his friends. Wow. I guess his reaching out makes a lot more sense now," Edward says flatly. "Did he stay the night with you?"

I clench my eyes closed. "Yes."

He laughs, harsh and cold, and when I open my eyes, he turns away from me. When he spins back around and looks at me, his eyes are glassy but he blinks away the emotion.

"You tell me not to compare our mistakes, but this is exactly why I keep telling you it feels different to me. Showering with him and letting him stay the night is… I don't know. Fucking intimate," he fumes. "I couldn't get out of there fast enough after what I did. But no, you spent time with him. Slept beside him. Not even regretting a single thing. So yeah, I guess I am pissed at you because however you two left this thing, he felt like he could reach out to you again. He felt he had an opening. A connection, maybe. And that just… fucking hurts, Bell."

"I promise you, it wasn't like that," I whisper. "At least not on my part. It happened and it was done. He left first thing in the morning and we didn't even… not a kiss or anything. But I never got the vibe that he expected or wanted more, either. Maybe he was just reaching out to hire me—"

"No way in hell that's happening," Edward snips, eyes wild from just the idea.

"Obviously, I wouldn't agree to that," I reassure him. "I'm just trying to make sense of it. I know I messed up by deleting his messages without us reading them together. Just please, please, please don't take this out on me."

"I'm not trying to, but you can't stand here and tell me you wouldn't be mad if Kim contacted me. You can't say you wouldn't be hurt if she was on my mind—even accidentally—while you touched me," he throws out.

"You're right," I agree, heart aching from just the thought. "I would hate all of that. It would make me sick. But you're making it into something it's not. And I'm not saying you're not allowed to be mad, but can't you see—this is just another test. The same way Allie was, too. Outside noise is coming in and trying to distract us from us. And it will, if we let it. So please don't let it."

"I don't know what you want me to say," he mutters, defeated. "I fucking wish I could be like, cool, great, that guy isn't an issue. But I'd be lying. He's a sore subject right now."

I search his face, unsure where to go from here.

"I'm not saying you need to get over it yet. I had a hard time, too, after you blindsided me with Kim. But the things that helped me were space and therapy and taking accountability for my part," I say, trying to stay strong. "I mean, do you think we're moving too fast? Do you need more time on your own to heal? I don't want to hinder this process but I also don't want to be treated unfairly."

He frowns. "I don't want that either. I promise. I'm sorry I'm being an asshole. It just… sucks. All of it."

I hear the sincerity in his voice but still ask, "Do you think we shouldn't live together right now?"

"No, I'm not saying that," he says, his voice textured and true. "I still want us to live together. To stay together. Nothing changes that for me."

My eyes sting with tears anyway. "Okay, then… what? Do you need space? Do you want me to stay here while you go to Denver tomorrow?"

"No," he says again, fiercely. "I still want you to come with me. Unless you don't want to. But honestly, if you're not going, then I don't think I should, either. Especially now."

"Of course, I still want to go with you, but… like… I guess I'm confused." I blink my tears away. "We're fighting. You're mad at me."

"I'm not happy right now, but I still love you," he says simply.

I sniffle. "I still love you, too."

His frown deepens and he brushes my cheek. "I don't want to stress you out anymore," he says, resigned and weary. "I don't think we should talk about this until our therapy session."

A familiar, uneasy ache creeps in when I realize we'll likely be going to bed hurt. Or at the very least, without any of this being resolved tonight.

Moving closer, I wrap my arms around his torso to hug him, angling my stomach to the side so I can get as close as I can to him. He hugs me back, but his grip isn't as tight or convincing. Not right away. After a beat, his arms tighten and he exhales against my hair. We stay that way for a minute until I pull back to look up at him.

Instead of pushing for closure, I offer him reassurance and apologies because he said he needed words of affirmation, and even if he stays angry tonight, I hope he takes what I say to heart.

"I'm sorry I deleted the messages, but my intention wasn't to hide it from you," I say softly. "And I'm sorry this is hurting you all over again. I'm sorry that what I did with Levi ever happened at all. But I can't go back and change any of it. In the same way, you can't go back and change what you did. I've had to just accept it and move on. I'm not saying it was easy, or that it doesn't hurt sometimes, but… I don't know. I don't have the answers, so I'm going to bed. I love you and I don't want to fight with you."

Many different emotions flash across his face—apprehension, anger, and acceptance.

"Dinner's in the fridge," I mumble as we fully break apart.

He stays stoic, nodding. "Thanks. Not that hungry, I'm gonna go for a run."

I don't love the idea of him running when it's dark, but understand him needing to clear his head so I say, "Just… be safe."

We give each other space.

I get ready for bed while he gets ready for his run.

He leaves and I turn off the bedroom light and crawl under the blanket, but I don't want to fall asleep until he's back.

Alone in bed, I try not to replay our fight, but it's hard not to. I'm mad at myself for deleting the messages but proud of myself for the way I handled everything else and for not letting our fight escalate.

He's gone for over an hour and I start to doze, so I text him, hoping he has his phone.

Bella: Please come back. I can't sleep until you do.

Edward: Sleep. I'm on my way back.

He's home within minutes and wordlessly moves into the bathroom to shower.

Despite the tension, I relax, lulled by his mere presence and the faint sound of water splashing against the tile.

But it's not until he slides into bed and curls his body behind mine to hold me that I finally sleep.