..::.. Chapter 40 - Rose Bushes ..::..

Young - High School, Continued ...

I woke up, and the first set of eyes I set mine on were Mom's. She didn't say where Edward went. I didn't bother asking, not even Pete.

I guess Pete is here to watch me. I don't know. He mostly watches Bree.

She's not alone. Pete keeps to his promise. Bree arrives, and she has this lightness to her shoulders. She bites down on a smile to keep it at bay. Pete comes in behind her. He looks at me, looks at her, and makes sure she has everything she needs before he leaves to do God knows what. At noon, he comes back to bring her coffee. They already dance around one another, hushed tones, communicating through looks alone—like a couple who've been together for years. She shares her snack with him, the one he brought with her coffee. Pete finds a peace he never quite had in all the years I've known him.

When he walks out, I ask her when she'll pop out a few babies. She scoffs. "You're such a bitch." Then she hides a grin as we turn to the dated TV by the wall.

I think of the many ways Edward and I looked together. Not like them. We were never normal. Our fire burned; no romantic kindle.

When the hour comes for us to head home, I'm fueled. I think of all the ways I could slip from under Mom's watchful eyes to walk across the lawn. It's a plan. Only mine and mine to settle. It took me nights staring at shadows over the hospital walls to conjure up what I should do. Nothing, nothing came to me but one. There's no other way.

Pete parks the truck behind Dad's car, and I'm watching across the lawn. Dad steps out of his car with Mom in tow. He shakes Pete's hand for letting me settle in the back where there was more room for me to stretch out.

"C'mon, baby girl. I've gotcha," Dad says, reaching through the truck door. I take his hands. I take in his words. I hug him and hold on. Over his shoulder, I see the Cullen house, dark and quiet. Dad hugs me more firmly when he feels the brace turn to an embrace.

"I'm proud of you, and I love you. I don't know what I'd do without you," he says by my ear.

All I see over Dad's shoulder is a shadow of a man by a window across the way.

I nod at Dad and let him walk me toward the house.

Mom and I watch Bree and Pete drive away. Dad follows behind. More paperwork. More things to settle after two deaths in his shop.

I let go of Mom's hand. "Let's go pack," I say to her.

She turns to me, and relief floods her whole being.

…

I look at the clock. I look at Mom. She's gliding around the house picking up things, throwing others in the luggage, and going through clothes. She gets the essentials. She goes to the hallway closet to get more things. A bag for this, a bag for that. She's antsy, just like she gets every time we plan to go to the city for a weekend—this time it's for good.

All I can focus on are the windows; the dark Cullen house. It's rare that it's dark ... It's perfect. No one is home but him. I take a bag and head outside. I dump it in the trunk of Mom's car parked in the driveway by the side of the house. I go back to get another bag.

Mom is on the phone, hushed tones, telling Dad, 'No, we're not waiting. Yes, without you.' She argues. She's determined because this is the end. She's finally getting what she's always wanted.

The car is full. I step into the house, and she's fighting and fighting to get him to understand, all while she grabs this or packs that.

I pass by her and say, "Get in the car. I'll meet you there." She dips the phone, she looks at me with wide eyes and she nods and rushes away. Anything, anything to keep me on plan.

She goes out the back door to the car, arms full, the phone pressed to her shoulder. I go straight for that gun she hides behind the kitchen counter. I look at it, check the rounds. It's heavier than it looked in her hand the day she pointed it at Edward.

I close the front door of the house and painfully walk across the yard.

It's as if he was waiting for me. The door is ajar when I push and hesitantly walk inside. The silence alone is gripping. I think and think.

Bella, walk out. Turn around.

But my elbow nudges the door as I climb that last step.

"Isabella, darling," he says out of sight. I look around. The voice comes from the living room. I step further in and make a turn. I cock the gun and point, right between his eyes. "I guess my grandson taught you a few things," he says, glancing at my hand.

"What have I ever done to you?" I ask. Rage surging through my veins.

"Enough." He nods straight-faced. He sighs after a while. "I just don't quite like it when anyone, let alone a child, butts in," he explains. "Too much. Too fast. Too soon. You understand. It's for his own good."

I grip the handle hard. I think of all the times I did speak up. My thoughts laid out in Cullen meetings, none of them I was invited to. Only Edward wanted me there.

"I'll tell him everything," I threaten.

He chuckles. "And who would he believe? Surely not you."

I feel I'll erupt with this anger. I take a step. His expression chills instantly. "Pull that trigger, and your mother dies, too."

I stop.

His brow lifts. His expression softens just as quickly. "You think it would cleanly end here?" He grins. "Such a brave young woman." He rolls his wheelchair closer. "I'll have you know that there are many more out there; loyal, family, far beyond this household who would finish what you started."

I quirk my head, heart pounding in my chest. "Family? Is that what you call defenseless people, forced to serve or cover this family's crimes? Living with a target on their backs, every day, to give you what you want? It's not loyalty. It's terrorism."

He shakes his head. "Family. Blood. The different one that runs through Emmett's veins—two bloodlines; a true Cullen, and a true McCarthy. My boy has always been the most loyal since the day I brought him home, bundled up, filthy clothes and blanket, the scent of a newborn still on the crown of his head. No mother to care for him after her death."

I can barely breathe. The barrel shakes in my hand as it dips.

"So you see, Isabella, this won't be a clean shot. It will be a very sloppy one. It will chase your heritage up to your mother's in Chicago, and your father's—that simpleton. You don't want your bloodline to be wiped clean, do you?"

I can't speak.

He sucks his teeth. "That's too bad. I really like that simpleton, he's a good man. Your mother?" He shrugs a little. "She's had it coming for years. I've spared her for you. After Emmett, I learned to believe a child shouldn't be without a mother."

I'm panting. I hold my side, all the bruises and fractures feeling fresh and new. I turn and run for the door. Uncle Jasper's eyes are just as haunted as I feel when I crash into him. His face ashen with the truth he's heard. He stands at the door.

He looks at the gun. He looks at me. He grabs me by my arms and pushes me out of the house.

"Go. Take your mother. Never come back," he fiercely says. His intentions to protect, not expel.

I take the stairs two at a time and charge across the yard as fast as I can.

Mom steps into the back door out of sight. She hasn't spotted me yet. I wedge the barrel at my back, so she won't see my stupidity, what I almost did.

I slide into the driver's seat and try not to die here, out of breath. All the pain throbbing angrily across my middle.

I wait. I honk the horn. She takes too long.

"Mom!" I shout loud enough to ring into the house.

I look through the rear view mirror. A car drives past, and I hear it pull up and park in front of the Cullen house, far away, out of sight. Jasper appears, and he's leaving. Words I can't decipher are being shouted. He points and barks orders at the newcomer to stay put as he goes.

He yanks on his car door and drives off, wheels shrieking. My bet is wherever Emmett is, that's where Jasper will go. A new family secret blows.

But he shouldn't have gone. He shouldn't have.

I honk and honk, and Mom appears. "Let's go!" I yell. She stops. She looks at me. Her instinct is to look up between the houses.

"What did you do?" she asks.

"I'll tell you if you get in the car! We have to go. Now," I enunciate. She drops what's in her arms and runs.

"Bella, what is it? What's wrong?" Her voice escalates as I drive down the back way of the house. Rose bushes line an unpaved road to a main one. For years now, it's been Dad's shortcut to town when it snows. I never knew it would serve as an escape route. Now the drooping petals and stems are disturbed with gravel popping from under the car's wheels, and Mom's shouts to slow down.

She braces herself on the dashboard. But she doesn't know. I try to explain, but hysterics take over. Tears blur the windshield. The car swerves, and the bruises swell with pain suffocating me.

"Bella!" She pulls on the steering wheel. "I'll drive. I'll drive!" she pleads. She hits the emergency brake and everything halts.

"You don't get it! He'll kill us!" I howl. But she's pulling on the door handle and pushing me out. I look up at her from the ground as she slides behind the wheel.

"Get in. Hurry!" she orders. She motions to go around.

My knees are jelly, and where I kneel, I see that second car coming down the path behind us. It's far. Two heads are shadowed behind the windshield. The road crackles beneath the weight of the black car as it crawls to a stop. I shuffle to my feet and run toward the front of Mom's car.

Out climbs Major from the black car far away. His legs strong, able, and moving.

My stomach drops like lead.

Of course, the lies weave tightly like the ties of his family.

His robe moves around his soft, dark sweatpants. He walks toward the hood of his car. The driver is still, unmoving behind the wheel.

I slide into my passenger's seat.

"Christ almighty," Mom utters in disbelief. Her eyes glued to the rearview mirror, seeing the invalid coming to life before our eyes.

I don't even get my foot in when she guns the engine. But it's no use. A pop is loud. The car swerves. I scream, and we go straight into the bushes.

Mom dips. She pulls me down by my head. Her hand is already reaching for a Glock under her seat.

Her arm extends, and she's letting those bullets fly. I watch, mesmerized. Never have I seen this woman become another; a stranger, madness in her eyes. This is the day she gets what she's always wanted.

Our back window shatters. Major ducks behind his car door. I look, and I see it; his shoulder hit, arm red and unmovable. His face twisted with pain.

Then I brace for the impact. Mom fumbles to back up the car. The crash of metal is loud. They ram into us from behind.

"Bella!" Mom cries out as we rush further into bushes. Her eyes wide with terror. And right as the pops get louder, I know this moment has slipped between our fingers.

I pull the gun from my jeans and fire right back. Their windshield shatters. One round crack. The driver's head dips back. I aim for the passenger side and Major winces and holds his neck.

Mom has grown quiet.

I yell and yell for her, but she's peacefully leaning her head against the seat, blood seeping down it.

Everything is silent.

Gravel crunches by the car outside my door. I dive over Mom. Her door pops open, and we roll out. Our legs still tangled over the floorboard. Thorns prick at us both. Her hair is in waves over white petals. Her vacant eyes look at me. And I cry.

Major staggers to meet the open window at the passenger door. He bends and leans his elbows there, a gun waving loosely in one hand, his other pressed firmly to his neck. The blood drained from his face. He's breathing heavily. Sweat glistens on his forehead. The same piercing, green eyes of his grandson, stare down at me from across the car.

"I realized, I can't quite let you go," he says as a way of explaining. "But I didn't expect this. You and your mother …" He shakes his head and laughs tiredly. "Stronger women than I thought."

"You bastard!" My breath leaves me with the growl. I aim, but he pulls his trigger.

I burn. I gulp for air.

Gunshots fire; not mine, not his. Major's head jerks to the side. The light in his eyes dims, just like that. His body sags out of sight.

I lie here and turn to Mom. She looks at me, and I look at her. The light is leaving me the same as it left her. Maybe this will be my last breath. I'll accept it. I lay my head down and lie with her.

We fought this out.

We did it together.

Uncle Jasper climbs the bushes on Mom's side. He melts over her.

His laments are just as loud as the silent ones I feel inside.

…

End of 'Young' years.

…