A/N: Thanks so much for all your wonderful thoughts!

I know this was supposed to post yesterday, but remember I said in the beginning that an update might be late here and there, depending on real life (or something like that)? Well, RL happened yesterday. The hubs and I celebrated 27 years of marriage, and it was, therefore, a busy day. Also, Pamela Lorraine and her hubby celebrated 37 years yesterday, too! Happy Anniversary again, girlie!

Then, there's the fact that this is a holiday weekend, further delaying things. But here we go! And the good news is that there will be one day less of a wait between posts. ;)

Most characters belong to S. Meyer. The rest belong to me. All mistakes are mine.


Chapter 6 – Charlie and Me

The Seattle skyline mirrored a child's imagination at playtime, skyscrapers and office buildings resembling pegs assembled into the glowing background of a LiteBrite. Incandescently twinkling colors cast their colorful shadows across the Sound's dark waters. The Seattle Great Wheel was at the forefront of the view as the Bainbridge Island ferry pulled away from Seattle's dock. It revolved steadily, shining brighter than its larger counterparts, its purple reflection in the waters deeper in shade and somehow longer than the rest. But the true Seattle pièce de resistance, the Space Needle, stood in the background and off to the side. Still, regardless of how brightly the rest of the skyline shone, its sleek, sparkling beauty, its overt impressiveness, the Space Needle dwarfed all else, tall and majestic, glowing like an otherworldly anomaly.

The various shapes and lengths of shadows were all visual tricks of perception due to lighting, distance, the relative size of the buildings, etc. I knew all this. Regardless, spatial reasoning wasn't my concern. My concern, or rather, my goal, was distraction.

Edward and I had driven to the ferry in a heavy silence broken only by the radio. When I'd parked the van in the ferry's vehicle level, Edward suggested we head up to the ferry's top level. Of course, I agreed with an enthusiasm usually reserved for those in danger of drowning and reaching for a life raft.

Because, in a way, that was precisely me: the drowning individual holding her breath and clinging to the surface by a hair's breadth. One can only hold one's breath for so long, and I couldn't trust myself not to do something stupid if I didn't soon trade Edward's scent – dizzyingly aromatic in the confined van – for the Puget's pungent seaweed.

So, we zig-zagged around parked cars while ferry workers in sunny vests and parkas directed us to the safety of pedestrian walkways. All the while, I remained a step ahead of Edward, almost but not quite feeling the warmth of the hand I sensed more than saw or felt, held so close to the small of my back.

We ended by the railing at the front of the ferry, silently watching the skyline disappear. It was a beautiful sight, yes. Picturesque. Ivory lights twinkling against an ebony backdrop. All that jazz. But as far as a form of distraction, it was woefully lacking.

At no point had the prickling sensitivity engendered by Edward's proximity ceased or diminished. His adjacency alone was a contactless caress, a soft stroke to my senses if not my skin. It didn't help that his forearm rested on the railing, less than a handful of inches from my forearm, so again, though I may not have felt his touch, I felt the heat rolling off of his skin despite the breeze that wafted from the dark waters below. In turn, I maintained a white-knuckled grip on the metal railing, inhaling, hoping for brain-clearing sulfur. Instead, I pulled in the intoxicating scent of soap, mint, and sage, and I shivered against it as it spread throughout my system.

"Are you cold?"

Despite the ferry's loud motors and the swooshing waters, I heard Edward's low, husky rumble loud and clear.

"No, I'm okay." I kept my gaze on Seattle's skyline and how it shrank into the horizon.

"If you change your mind, you can have my hoodie."

At that offer, my mind bombarded me with images of wrapping myself in his clothing, wholly engulfed in a warmth created solely by his body heat...drenched in his scent.

"You're shivering."

Not because I'm cold, Edward.

"Thank you, but really, I'm not cold."

He stopped asking.

The ferry picked up speed, and a misty breeze whipped up the ends of my hair. They looped across my face, spirals twisting and clinging to my cheeks and mouth. Struggling against the growing airstream, I plucked the strands off my face and spat out the ones stuck to my mouth, concurrently sucking my teeth because a fight with wayward curls was the last thing I needed.

"Damn…friggin'…"

Catching movement in my periphery, I peered over instinctively.

Edward's long fingers paused in midair, hovering, though their trajectory was unmistakable against the nebulous backdrop broken only by slivers of milky froth in the distant waters. Emeralds framed by glasses widened like a stag caught in headlights, startled by his exploits. Or perhaps he was stunned that neither he nor I moved, balked, or broke the visual, if not physical, connection. Our gazes held, both our breaths visibly accelerated.

Swallowing first, he breathed, "May I?"

I nodded slowly. With the same sort of wary languidness – I suppose in case I wanted to snatch back my permission – Edward reached for my unruly strands, winding them gently around his forefinger like a ring. He then pushed back my beanie and tucked my curls carefully behind my ear, his gaze focused on his actions, appearing…captivated. When he pulled back his hand, his fingers remained outstretched, his eyes wide, the look of an artist who'd just completed a masterpiece. Expelling a long breath through narrowed lips, Edward turned and rested his forearms on the railing, redirecting his eyes to the void ahead.

For a few moments, I couldn't move a muscle, gripped by a confounding sense of elation mingled with panic. Frozen, I stared at Edward's profile: the windblown ends of his hair, his heaving chest, flaring nostrils, and his angular jaw, locked into a rigid square. Facing forward as well, I attempted something like small talk, but the generic question sounded glib and inane to my ears. It didn't help that my voice erupted like a croaking frog's.

"Beautiful view, isn't it?"

"Yeah. Yeah, Bella," Edward agreed. "Beautiful is an apt descriptor, as is mystifying. And confusing, and…" he sighed.

"Confusing? The skyline? People take cross-country trips to experience the views we see by simply crossing the ferry."

After a short pause, he snorted. "That is true. I guess sometimes we grow comfortable with what we have and take it for granted."

"I wonder if people in New York City ever feel this way about their skyline?"

Out of the corner of an eye, I caught his gaze, pivoting back to me. Bracing myself, I turned to meet it, but then I became distracted by the eyebrow Edward quirked high as if I'd hit on something relevant with my trivial conversation. The hint of a smile accompanied the raised brow. I felt myself smile in return.

"We're talking about New York City now, Bella?"

"Why not? There's beauty in the most unexpected places. Not that I've ever been there and would have any way of knowing. Still, everyone says New York City's skyline is the best in the world."

Edward's entire frame now tipped my way. He rested a hip and an elbow against the railing, looking more comfortable than he had all evening, than either of us had.

"I'm from New York City, you know."

My eyes rounded in surprise, and I mimicked his pose. "Get out! You mean to tell me you're a true NYC boy?"

He chuckled. "I'm from there, yes, if that's what your definition of being a true NYC boy entails."

Chuckling along with him, I suddenly hoped he wouldn't break our gaze this time, not as he'd done the last couple of times tonight. I could do this. I could look into Edward's eyes while we conversed without losing my mind.

"So your family moved to Seattle when?"

"Not my family," he corrected, shaking his head. "Just me. Something about Seattle always called to me…I don't know..." He shrugged, and an enigmatic smile swept fleetingly across his features. The result was charming, a sort of alluring mysteriousness that only heightened his attractiveness.

Because, yes, Edward was attractive, regardless of what Alice may have suggested. I knew she tended toward overt beauty – those tall, athletic, silk-haired, and sleek-eyed boys. Classically hot. And perhaps what Edward had wasn't flagrant, in-your-face male beauty, the likes possessed by Emmett, Jacob Black, and even that guy, Marcus, tonight. But Edward's appeal was real, genuine. He had personality, and his eyeglasses, lanky frame, shaggy mane, and quirky clothing didn't detract from it.

What Edward had was a million times better than all those other guys who instantly made males and females do a double-take: Edward had an innate presence. He boasted a character that made him…well, honestly, it made him dreamy. And this was all before his undeniable talent – his voice, how he strummed a guitar, and how he pulled it all together – even figured into the equation.

And I wasn't the only one to think so. Loads of Olympia's fans crowded him for autographs, shot him flirtatious smiles and come-hither looks. The women by the bar tonight were not unique nor the first to drool over Edward Cullen. Though, perhaps they were the first to do it so lustily, at least, within my hearing.

"Anyway, my parents weren't thrilled when I announced I wanted to attend college on the West Coast, but they agreed to let me try it."

I blinked out of my distracting thoughts. "Looks like it's worked out for you."

Again, he quirked a brow. "Does it?"

"I mean, I know Olympia's not Nirvana or Pearl Jam, but Edward, if you keep performing in public, there's no way the right people won't eventually notice. There can't be."

I nodded vehemently because if there was one thing I knew amid everything I didn't know, it was that Edward was meant to be heard by the masses. As much as I loved Olympia, I knew that talent such as Edward's deserved more witnesses beyond a college band's fanbase.

However, my assertion must've embarrassed Edward. His gaze fluttered away, settling on the space between us as he shifted his weight from foot to foot. Nevertheless, I had no time to regret discomposing him or sulk at losing our visual connection. His eyes flashed back to mine.

"I don't know that that's how I'd measure the success of my move to the West Coast."

"What, with fame?"

"Yeah."

"But isn't your music why you moved to Seattle?"

"No." He chuckled at what must've been my confused expression. "Like I said, I don't know why I left New York for Seattle, except that it felt like something I needed to do."

"Hmm. Do you not get along with your parents? Were you trying to get away from them?"

Again, he chuckled. "No, Bella. I get along pretty well with them, or as well as any twenty-something gets along with their parents."

"Brothers or sisters you hate?"

"Only child," he smiled. "Though I've got a decent number of cousins – who I do get along with," he qualified, grinning when I shut my mouth.

"I've got it!" I said, pointing a finger at him. "The big city life got too hectic for you, so you opted for a smaller version of it."

"Nice try, but…" He shook his head. "I loved the big city. Besides, I'm from Staten Island, a borough like Bainbridge Island in some ways, though very different in others. We've got our ferry as well. If you like this view, you'd enjoy the view from that ferry."

"I probably would. So there really is no clear and evident reason why you left NYC for Seattle?"

His eyes narrowed behind his glasses. "There wasn't a clear and evident reason when I left, no."

"Edward, how did I not know this about you?" I wondered after a moment.

He made no comment, but we both knew the answer. I'd more than not bothered to enquire. I'd avoided it. A beat of silence settled around us – relative silence, as the ferry's engines roared and its bow sliced through the Puget with the hiss of a snake.

"New York City, huh?" I mused. "It explains a few things."

"Such as?"

"Such as why you stick out like a sore thumb."

Edward's head jerked back. His brows rose so high they almost disappeared under his beanie. The raised brows quickly deepened into a frown.

"I just mean, you're different from most Seattle guys."

"Is this why you barely speak to me, Bella?"

And there it was.

Edward held my gaze unflinchingly. Yet, this time, I looked away and toward the murky waters. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him maintain his stance, angled toward me, waiting. After what was at least a full minute, he sighed and began turning away.

"I'm not from Seattle, either," I blurted, "not originally."

For a second, I feared Edward wouldn't accept this weak offering, this wildly indirect answer.

But how many times had he shown what a great guy he was? For months, he'd accepted my arm's-length, less-than-friendly manner without a negative word or uncomfortable questions, always willing to take a lower place than me in the band's hierarchy when the fact was that we were where we were, in such a short time, thanks to him. He praised my and the rest of the band's performances and spoke as if we were on par with him when he had to know how he surpassed us all.

And he was willing to follow my lead, in regards to…this. Whatever this was.

Still angled toward me, he listened silently as I rambled, at first, with no decided endpoint to my discourse.

"We moved here when I was ten. I'm from a town called Forks, up in the Olympic Peninsula. Have you heard of it?" I tilted my head, the ends of my hair falling to the wind's mercy again. Edward's eyes followed the strands, but he made no move this time. His gaze returned to me.

"I'm sorry, what did you ask? Have I heard of Forks?"

"Yeah."

"Well, while I did know you'd lived in the Olympic Peninsula before and that the band's name originated from there because it was you who suggested it back when Rosalie, Alice, and you first started Olympia, no," he smiled, "you haven't mentioned Forks around me, so I can't say that I've heard of it."

"You haven't missed much," I said, inwardly marveling that Edward had been listening all along while I'd tended toward avoidance. "Either way, it's tiny, with a population of something like three thousand total."

He whistled through his teeth. "That is tiny."

"Especially for someone who grew up in New York, right?" I grinned.

"Very true, yeah," he grinned back. "So, how did you end up on Bainbridge Island?"

"Charlie's mom passed away a few years ago and left him the house, and after my parents' divorce, Charlie and my mom felt it would be a good idea to leave Forks."

I could've left it there. Usually, I did whenever most others asked how I ended up on Bainbridge Island. For some reason, with Edward, I found myself expounding on things I rarely expounded on.

"My…dad, Phil, is the police chief up there in Forks."

Edward frowned. "I thought your stepdad, Charlie, was the retired police chief."

"Well, Charlie was the police chief of Forks before Phil. This is…" I chuckled awkwardly, "...this is a bit of a complicated story. You're going to have to really pay attention if you want to hear it."

Edward's eyes locked on mine. "Bella, I've been paying attention for a while."

My heart gave a massive thud, then began racing.

"You don't have to tell me anything that makes you uncomfortable," he gently qualified.

"No, no, it's fine. See, the thing is, before my parents' divorce, Charlie was the police chief, and Phil was his deputy." I paused. "It began with my hair…"

"Your hair?" he prompted, sounding understandably increasingly confused.

"My hair…it's very different from my parents' hair."

"It's curly," he said, his tone changing around the word, his mouth almost puckered around it, curving how his fingers just curled around my spirals.

"Very curly. Not a big deal, but it became a bit of one in the small town of Forks. Infamous by the time all was said and done."

"Your hair was infamous?"

I laughed. "I know. It sounds ridiculous. But it was a sort of punchline, a 'Bella, you've got to be adopted!' or 'The stork delivered you to the wrong house!' or 'You must belong to the mailman,' or the milkman, or whatever variation they came up with."

Edward frowned, seeming appalled. "'They' being adults saying these things?"

I nodded. "I guess they thought they were jokesters."

"They sound less like jokesters and more like obnoxious assholes."

I shrugged. "One day, when I was ten, Dad – Phil – took me to work with him, as he often did. Jack-all ever went on in that precinct anyway." I rolled my eyes, smiling. "I used to love going in, partly because the police chief, Charlie, used to spoil me as much as my dad did. Anyway, the precinct's administrator, Mrs. Cope, must've seen Charlie say or do something, I can't even remember what. What I do remember is her laughter and how she playfully said,

'Chief, you need to have yourself a little girl of your own to indulge like you do Bella. Why, from how much you indulge her, the child is even beginning to look like you, what with that hair and those eyes!"

It took Edward less than a handful of seconds to work it out. Even then, I could tell he doubted the conclusion he'd arrived at. He stiffened, his emerald eyes rounding like flaring constellations. His jaw fell open.

"That's a great imitation of how my dad and Charlie reacted to Mrs. Cope's eye-opening jest."

"No," Edward breathed, shaking his head.

"Yeah," I confirmed. "It's a pretty common storyline, though. Married adults, in this case, a married woman and her husband's boss slash buddy, succumb to temptation. A pregnancy results. Difficult decisions follow. Hard choices are made. But secrets have a way of coming out, no matter how much time passes, even those secrets kept with the best of intentions."

"The best of intentions?" he wondered.

"See, Charlie loved my mom, but she didn't want a small-town scandal, and he wanted the best for her…and me. Or so he tells me. Over and over. So, though he claims 'it killed him,'" – again, I rolled my eyes, minus the previous smile. Instead, I made sarcastic air quotes – "he kept quiet for her sake and mine, while he remained on the sidelines, in the shadows, surviving on the crumbs of watching me grow up from afar. But, at least I was happy and in a stable home, etcetera, etcetera. He and Mom both claim they planned to tell me when I was older, but I don't know if I believe that."

"You don't think they ever planned to tell you?"

"And destroy the lie they'd built all our lives around? What would've been the point?"

"The point would've been to give you the truth. You deserved that."

"What difference does it make? These Swan curls sprouted" – I flicked a hand through my spirals – "and, oops! Sorry, Mom, the jig is up! Turned out I wasn't Phil's nor the mailman's nor the milkman's, but rather, the police chief's."

"What did Phil do?"

"Phil confronted Mom, Mom fessed up, and her dreaded scandal ensued. I don't know much about the public part, but Charlie was allowed to retire quietly due to his commendable years of service. My parents divorced, and I guess Mom loved Charlie all along, too? Or else she figured he was her baby daddy, so why not? She married Charlie, who got his life-long heart's desire. But there was lots of talk, and then Charlie's mom – my grandmother, I guess – was considerate enough to pass away, which gave us the perfect excuse to escape Forks for a nice house on a pretty island and far from three-thousand-plus wagging tongues. All in all, I suppose it wasn't a bad trade-off, at least for Charlie."

We were quiet for a full minute.

"Sounds like you haven't forgiven Charlie."

"Does it sound like that?" I asked somewhat cynically. "Would you easily forgive such a betrayal?"

"Me? It depends."

"On?"

He thought about it for a few heartbeats. "I guess…on how much I loved my betrayer and how much my betrayer loved me."

I offered him a skeptical sort of grin. "That easy, huh?"

"No." He shook his head. "No, Bella. Sorry, I didn't mean to make it seem like I was trivializing what you just detailed. I don't think it would be easy to forgive, and I sure don't think any of it was easy for you."

I chuckled at the unnecessary note of sympathy in his tone. "Don't worry, I'm not bothered by any of it. It was almost a decade ago."

He didn't chuckle along, his expression strangely inscrutable. I cleared my throat.

"I've noticed you call him Charlie, so I assumed he was your stepdad," Edward said.

"Yeah, well, I believed Phil was my dad for the first ten years of my life, so I'm used to calling him Dad. I still trip up sometimes, along with my last name."

"I have noticed that."

But Charlie will remain Charlie, or Stepdad, no matter how hard he tries to take on the role now, even if he does swear up and down he'd always wanted me to know and that he would've told me when I turned 18, even if Mom hadn't agreed."

Edward pushed back his glasses. "And…can I ask…how's your relationship with Phil now?"

"Of course, you can ask. It's fine. I mean…uh," – I scratched my palm, then scrubbed my forehead with my knuckles – "when I was younger, I visited him often, but the visits grew fewer and far between when he met someone. His life got busy. I get it," I nodded, smiling. "He married a few years ago, and he and Sue have a couple of kids now, both who look a lot like him, so, whew!" I pretended to wipe beads of sweat off my forehead.

Edward offered me an uneasy smile.

"No, it's fine. Really. It is what it is, and Seth and Leah are great. I'm glad Phil has them."

"Bella, I'm sorry. It sounds like you lost your relationship with-"

I shook my head. "I'm fine, I promise you. I'm just making conversation."

He raked a hand through his hair. "I feel like I sort of…pressured you into sharing-"

His expression filled with remorse, and I ached to reach out, to touch his hand…cradle his cheek, rake a hand through his hair, and reassure him he hadn't forced me to divulge anything I hadn't wanted to. But if avoiding his gaze had been my last defense, touching him was complete surrender. My mind was still in too much turmoil to decide if I could take that step.

"No," I insisted instead. "I mean, I don't go around announcing it, but none of it is a secret. Like I said, Forks is super small. Everyone knew what happened, so Charlie and my mom jumped at the opportunity to leave. Honestly, all things considered, Charlie is a decent stepdad slash biological dad," I snorted. "We've even got this game where I purposely push his buttons, and he only reacts when he can no longer bite his tongue. You should've seen his face when I told him I wanted to pursue an Arts degree in college."

"There's nothing wrong with an Arts degree," Edward pointed out with a faint smile.

"There is when you're not artistically talented," I grinned. "Anyway, he's chill, and my mom seems happy. Plus, I still get Christmas presents and the occasional email from Phil."

Now Edward expelled a hesitant chuckle. "Phil emails you?"

"Yeah. Short emails. 'Hey, Izzy, hope all is well. Forks is the same as always. Sue and the kids send their love. Take care of yourself.' Email," I scoffed. "So old-fashioned. One of these days, I've got to bring him into 2004, show him how to get on Myspace and text from his flip phone. You know, modern technology."

Edward, however, seemed to have gotten stuck on a different facet of this latest revelation.

"Izzy?"

"Oh." I rolled my eyes. "Yeah. I know. It's weird, right?"

"Izzy," Edward repeated in a reverent whisper, the way some might utter the name of a deity. Vaguely, I recalled Marcus earlier, back at the venue, repeating 'Bella' with purposeful, exaggerated sensualism. This was different. This was roses to weeds.

"Izzy," he breathed again. "I like it, but if you don't like it, I won't-"

"You like Izzy?" I asked, angling my head to gaze up at him.

"I like Izzy very…very much."

A loud, harsh blare startled us. Both Edward and I jumped back.

Only then did I note why I'd had to tip my head so sharply to hold Edward's gaze. Somewhere amid the Puget and a story about the betrayals of love, Edward's and my frames had drifted closer together, like reefs swaying in the current. With mutually sheepish, though not necessarily uncomfortable smiles, we pulled back while a voice announced from the ferry's loudspeaker:

"Drivers and passengers, return to your vehicles. For safety and health reasons, do not turn on your engines until directed by a crew member."

I also only then noticed how quiet it had grown around us. More alert to their surroundings than we were, most passengers were already either returning to their vehicles or beginning to crowd the ferry exits. The ferry's stronger and louder engines had also shut off, leaving only the smaller ones chugging less audibly in preparation for our imminent arrival.

"I didn't realize we were almost there."

"Neither did I," Edward murmured with the same disappointed edge of surprise. I peeked up at him. The way he fixed his eyes on me as if given a choice he'd never look anywhere else…sent a novel flutter of bashfulness, one by no means unwelcome, heating my cheeks.

"I…Edward, all that was to say that I don't think there's anything wrong with your being different from Seattle natives. As a matter of fact," I smiled, "I bet you were one of the nicest guys running around those NYC streets."

"A nice guy running around the NYC streets, huh?" He maintained an even expression for five seconds before bursting into laughter. "That's what all of that was to say?" he teased in his wonderfully raspy voice.

"Yeah."

Our mutual amusement faded, only to be replaced by something else, a new…awareness. The ferry blew its horn. Yet still, we made no move to move.

"I guess we should get back to the van."

His statement sounded more like a question and one he would've preferred to forego asking in favor of remaining by the ferry's railing indefinitely. I couldn't fault him for his confusion. I, too, suddenly found myself exceedingly comfortable exactly where I stood.

"Edward?"

"Yeah, Bella?"

"You can call me Izzy if you'd like."

He offered me a wonderfully crooked smile. "I'd like that."

"And Edward…"

"Yeah, Izzy?"

"Thank you for volunteering to take the ride with me."

He stood so still that even his chest ceased to rise and fall. The sea breeze, gusting fiercely minutes earlier, tailed off into wisps that billowed the tips of his copper-penny strands. Those tips were all that moved until he shot me a smile that lit up the Bainbridge night. It elicited an equally bright smile from me.

"No problem, Izzy. We still have the return trip, right?"

My heart stuttered at his openly hopeful expression. "Yeah. Yeah, Edward. We still have the return trip."


A/N: Thoughts?

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