Chapter Fourteen

I wake in the night, I pace like a ghost

The room is on fire, invisible smoke

And all of my heroes die all alone

Help me hold onto you

~ Taylor Swift, The Archer

BPOV

It was becoming painfully obvious there was no hiding anything from Edward Cullen. He saw through it all; somehow knew exactly what I was thinking with just a meeting of our eyes, knew what I was trying to say even if I had trouble putting it into words, and somehow always seemed to know when my mind had wandered off to more… inappropriate subjects.

Which was embarrassingly often when he was around.

For now, though, the subject of my thoughts was nowhere near as fun. Far more melancholy, punctuated with every click of a smartphone unlocking and swish of a text message getting sent.

It had been a long, long time since I had allowed myself to be happy, to enjoy the feeling, to hope it could last. Maybe it was a cynical way to view things, but once enough people so casually got up and walked out of your life without so much as a glance back, it was hard to think anyone would stay.

And sitting across from Edward, watching as he casually took a sip of his water or shoved the carrots to the side of his plate because he hated them, I really wanted him to stay.

He simply sat across from me with a smile on his face all night as we talked about everything and nothing. He made me feel like maybe all of the hopelessly romantic love songs I had written in the past maybe weren't so hopeless after all.

The thought sent an anvil of lead tumbling into my stomach.

"Has anyone ever told you that your eyebrows make this cute little crease when you worry?"

My attention snapped back to the man across from me. Every care-free, infectiously happy inch of him. And I pushed that anvil of fear and anxiety and resolution of knowing I'd likely end up sobbing on my bedroom floor over him eventually aside.

"It's rude to tell a woman she has wrinkles," I deadpanned.

He smirked. "Cute wrinkles."

I sighed, absentmindedly pushing my food around on my plate. I was fairly certain there were more carrots than I had originally started with.

"What is it, princess?"

I shook my head. "Nothing."

He raised a brow.

I swooned.

It was a whole ordeal that had my filter disintegrating.

"Ever since… I'm not good at enjoying things while they're happening. I can't live in the good without waiting for the bad, can't enjoy the few nights we get to see each other without wondering how it'll end."

His face softened, and he was quiet for a few moments before he leaned in. "How does it end? In your head?"

I rolled my lips. "With me sobbing on my bathroom floor all alone again, knowing that I'm privileged and lucky in my career but seem to be destined to be alone even though all I've ever wanted my entire life is someone to care. Care enough not to leave when things get hard or don't go their way. Care about me and not my money. Care–shit. I'm sorry. That's a lot for like a… fifth date. I–"

His eyes were locked on me; solid emeralds that sparkled in the dim restaurant light and held me firmly locked in his gaze as he said, "I care."

For now.

I nodded, eyes falling back to my dinner.

There were definitely too many carrots on my plate. "Are you trying to mooch your carrots off on me?"

"Are you trying to change the subject?"

"Yes."

He shrugged. "I don't like cooked carrots. You happily ate nearly all of yours the second we got our food."

My eyes darted from him to his plate to mine, trying to find a memory of him putting his carrots on my plate.

"I care, Bella," he said softly.

I nodded, reaching over and stabbing one of the few carrots left on his plate with my fork. "Your body absorbs the nutrients in carrots better if they're cooked."

"But at what cost?"

I chuckled. Met his eyes. And knew I was in far too deep to have a hope at protecting myself at this point.

"Please don't take this the wrong way, but you're quite the cynic for someone who has made a career writing some of the sweetest love songs around."

"Most of my songs are either the product of daydreams or heartbreak. There's not much in between."

His eyes lit up, almost like a child who was just given the most exciting double dog dare of his life and couldn't wait to prove the other kid wrong. "Do you ever write about the bad stuff? The stuff you're hoping won't happen?"

I frowned at him. "No. I spend a good portion of my time trying to shove those thoughts as far away as possible."

Edward shrugged. Not nonchalantly or indifferently, but casually. So care-free and open and honest about everything he was feeling. Not a single fear bottled up that he wasn't afraid to talk about.

"I was diagnosed with panic disorder a few years after my mom left," I admitted softly. "I've been through probably a dozen therapists. My panic attacks aren't as often these days, but I've become excellent at repressing things. It's easier."

"Or harder," he added gently.

I swallowed back the lump in my throat. I hadn't been that brutally honest about my own mental health in… a long, long time.

A pinky probably about as large as my middle finger was suddenly stretched out across the table at me. I looked over at him with a cocked brow.

"You can talk to me. About anything. I care, Bella," he whispered earnestly.

I hooked my pinky with his. "Pinky promises are serious things."

"Oh, I know. I'm still stuck scraping the snow off of my sister's car whenever we're home for the holiday's because of a pinky promise gone wrong when I was seventeen."

I laughed.

It felt good.

—How You Get The Girl—

The drive back to my apartment was quiet. I rested my head on his shoulder, he pressed a kiss to the top of my head approximately every forty-seven seconds. I fell harder for him every time.

My back was pressed gently against the front door as soon as he closed it behind us.

Soft lips brushed my ear as he spoke. "Do you want to know a secret?"

"Always," I whispered back, even though we were alone. He made every inch of my skin tingle with adrenaline as he pressed himself further into me.

"I'm going to say it just this once. And then, in a week or two or a month when I find the perfect time to tell you in the way you deserve, you're going to have to act surprised, okay?"

My brows knitted together. "Okay."

His voice was velvet soft as it washed against my shoulder when he softly said, "I love you."

My breath caught in my throat. Heart froze for a fraction of a second before starting up again unhealthily fast. I could feel my hands start to shake so I fisted his shirt in my grasp to get them to stop.

"I–"

"I thought it might make things easier, if you knew now. Might help you quiet those thoughts in your head trying to tell you to run. Because I… fuck, I know what I've got, princess. And I won't fuck this up. I promise."

I had to swallow three times before I could speak. "What if I fuck things up?"

He peppered kisses along my shoulder up to my neck. "You won't. You were made for me, princess. Every inch of you."

I had probably three dozen questions floating around my mind, but before I could choose my first one he swept me off my feet. Strong arms hooked themselves securely around my back and knees as he strode confidently through the apartment toward the staircase.

My breath wooshed out of my lungs as he placed me on the center of my bed. Quickly covering my body with his, the warmth and weight of him on top of me instantly soothing any hesitation I had left in myself away.

I love you.

He said it. Whispered it against my ear like I was the main character in one of the many romance novels that occupied my mind whenever I traveled. Which was about every other day.

Clothes were carefully discarded with wandering hands and gentle kisses on newly exposed skin. He settled himself between my legs, made himself comfortable, before tracing his tongue bluntly across my nipple.

I moaned. He did the same to the other. And proceeded to play with me with his tongue until I was ready to implode.

"Say it," I gasped out, after the third time I saw his eyes flash silently up to me.

"I'm trying to be romantic, princess."

"I don't care. I like the dirty little things you whisper to me."

Loved them. Stored every single one into my memory.

He let out a strained moan from the back of his throat. "The next two weeks are going to be fucking hell," he groaned, sliding himself inside of me with one, firm thrust. "But the next time I get you in my bed, princess, we're not leaving until I've fucked you with your tits covered in my come."

Edward emphasized his point with a firm grip on my breast. A bite to my other nipple. And a hard thrust inside of me that took my breath away.

—How You Get The Girl—

I kept the comforter loosely pressed into my chest as I watched him wander around the room and pick up his discarded clothes, and mine. His went into his bag, and he gently laid my dress over the armchair in the corner.

Two weeks, at least, until the next time I could see him. I was a few days away from starting a nearly month-long press tour for the album, which was coming out in a matter of days. I'd be in New York for a few days, then Los Angeles for a few, then overseas for about ten days. Then I'd hopefully make it back to Seattle in time for his home game that week.

I missed Seattle. The damp air and cloudy skies and nice people. Everywhere smelled like pine trees and I wasn't sure what it was, but his house up in Seattle was starting to feel more like home than most of the other homes I had across the states.

He was, unfortunately, fully clothed as he sat on the bed beside me. A soft, sweet kiss distracted me until I felt a velvet box in my hand. "Happy birthday, princess."

I rolled my lips together, breathless as I stared at the box. My birthday was this Friday. I'd be in London, celebrating Is It Over Now? finally coming out on my twenty-fifth birthday.

"You didn't have to get me anything," I mumbled, fingers brushing over the velvet.

He playfully rolled his eyes.

I cracked the box open to reveal a beautifully sparkly, shimmering golden necklace with a diamond evil eye dangling from the center.

"It's beautiful," I whispered, fingers brushing across the pendant.

"Alice helped me pick it out. She said the eye is supposed to protect the person wearing it from negativity and bring good fortune."

"Thank you," I whispered. "I love it."

I love you.

A chill went down my spine as he leaned in and secured the jewelry around my neck.

I missed his birthday by a few months. Even though I didn't know of his existence until a good month and a half after his twenty-ninth birthday earlier in June, I already started a running list of birthday gift ideas for next year.

He pressed a kiss to my cheek as he started to get up.

I grabbed his bicep, pulled him back and kissed him until I couldn't breathe. "Thank you."

He peppered kisses down my jaw to my neck. "I'll see you soon."

I nodded. "Soon."

"Thanks for the plane," he said with a crooked smirk.

"Anytime."

His steps faltered as he walked out of the room, but he kept going. I wiped a tear away as it slid silently down my cheek and listened to him make his way out of the apartment.

"Don't forget Daisy's treats!" I shouted after him.

—How You Get The Girl—

Eighteen-hour press days were not for the weak of heart. Putting on a smile for every single person you see, answering the same questions no less than a hundred times, being just as happy and bubbly at eight at night as you were at eight in the morning was much harder in practice than theory.

I took an extensive media training course when I was sixteen. The whole idea sounds fake, but it is very, very real. Publicists and marketing professionals and journalists tell you how to act and how to answer questions and how to sit and how to smile and how to exist in a way that makes everyone around you happy.

The fact that I genuinely loved my job made it easier, and sometimes I genuinely liked the interviewer or segment, but it was still exhausting. Tonight, though, wouldn't be bad. Hopefully.

The album was coming out in a matter of hours. I sat in a makeup chair anxiously scrolling through social media even as I told myself to stop. Then I got a text from Edward.

E: who has the honor of your company tonight?

B: My own fingers, unfortunately.

I chuckled at my own joke, blushing just slightly.

E: Call me so I can listen.

I choked on my water and set my phone face down on the counter.

"It's gross," a woman's voice echoed through the open door of my dressing room. "Don't make her–"

"I'm not making anyone do anything, love. She already agreed."

I had a sinking feeling I was the one that agreed to something.

"What did I agree to?" I mumbled under my breath to Angela. She sat beside me, typing away at her phone before looking up at me. "The food thing. Where he asks you questions and you either answer or eat something weird."

"No, no, no. The food thing is supposed to be that thing where you eat chicken wings that get hotter and hotter."

"No, no, no," Carmen mimicked. "This is the Tonight Show food thing."

"Hello," a soft voice came from the doorway. "Sorry to interrupt. I'm–"

The man in the doorway said, "My wife," with a smile at the same time she said, "The show's publicist."

He beamed. She rolled her eyes with a smile.

"Are you sure you want to do that segment? I know your team already agreed but I'm always pretty positive his booking agent downplays it."

"It's not as bad as she's making it out to be, I promise," the man, the host of The Tonight Show, said kindly.

"There's a drinking version that's much more enjoyable," the woman offered with a smile.

"You're just trying to keep me from eating a fish eye," the man sighed.

"Yeah," she said bluntly. "I am."

"I could use a drink," I offered. I'd much rather down a shot than an eye.

The woman smiled.

"I don't know if that's a good idea," Carmen interrupted. "The food one–"

I knew exactly why she was protesting. "I'm twenty-four, Carmen. I think it's okay if people know I drink."

"Bella–"

I turned to the couple in the doorway. "I'd love to do the drinking one, if that's okay?"

The host nodded with a kind smile. His wife/publicist shot me a wink as I mouthed 'thank you' to her.

Once they were gone, I felt all three sets of eyes on me. Angela's were proud, Carmen's were pissed, and Jessica's were worried.

"This whole thing… we're starting over. I want to have fun. I want to enjoy this life while I have it. And if that rubs people the wrong way… fine."

Even as I said the words, I wasn't quite sure where they came from. They were true, but usually something I would keep locked inside until I was dry-heaving over the toilet as I felt like my life was speeding past me in a well-planned schedule of interviews and tours.

No one said anything after that.

—How You Get The Girl—

An hour later, I stood at a table with half a dozen camera's on me. Across from me was the host of The Tonight Show. The crowd consisted mostly of people wearing shirts with my face on them. And I was able to shoot him a genuine smile as he explained the rules.

Answer the question on the back of the coaster. Easy enough.

Don't want to disclose the question? Take a shot.

Disclose the question? No shot.

Easy peasy.

As I looked at the pretty blue shot in front of me, I was more secure in my decision to switch from the food game than ever.

He motioned toward me. "Ladies first."

Keeping a smile on my face, I lifted up the coaster and read the question printed on the inside.

What will your upcoming tour be like?

Innocent enough question. My smile turned genuine. "Bigger than ever before."

I realized my innuendo about half a second too late. The host across from me fought valiantly against what I'm sure were a dozen jokes rushing though his head.

But, I didn't care.

I was tired of trying so hard only for people to turn on me in a month. Tired of trying to please millions of people while knowing it was impossible.

I wanted to have fun. Enjoy my career and life and relationship and not worry about how everything will end.

So, instead of clarifying that I was talking about a tour and definitely not the size of a man's cock, I downed the shot and winked at the camera.

A/N: I could list a million different excuses for why it's taken me forever to update, but the short story is I've just been in a bit of a writing funk. I hope you enjoyed this one, though. And I promise I'm always posting as often as possible for me at the moment.

Beta'd by the wonderful Wendy aka CullenCherries :)