AN: Sorry, I am a little obsessed right now. I have a lot of this written already. It's kind of easy when you already have a template.
Also, SM owns Edward in ways I have only dreamed.
Chapter Sixteen
The tires screamed, loud and angry, as the car jolted to a stop, the sound cutting through the chaos in my head. Hands locked on the wheel, I stared into the rearview, jaw tightening. Are you fucking kidding me? Weeks of bullshit crashing down, and this was the breaking point. Perfect. Just fucking perfect.
The Chevelle roared as I threw it into reverse, tires spitting gravel and dust like they wanted to fight back too. My chest tightened, adrenaline surging as the car shot backward. What the hell was she thinking? What the hell am I even doing?
This wasn't panic anymore—it was fury.
I slammed the car to a stop right in front of her, the engine snarling as I shoved it into park and threw the door open, ready for whatever the hell came next.
"What the fuck are you doing, Bella?" I yelled, my voice louder than I intended, raw with panic and anger.
She didn't even look at me. Kept her thumb out like I wasn't standing there. Like I wasn't coming apart at the seams on the side of this goddamn road.
"What the fuck does it look like I'm doing?" she said, her voice dripping with defiance.
"It looks like you're trying to get yourself fucking killed!" I barked, closing the distance between us in two long strides. My hand shot out, grabbing her arm, but she yanked it free, glaring at me with that fire in her eyes that always drove me insane.
"Go away, Edward. Just leave me alone," she snapped.
"Leave you alone? You've gotta be fucking kidding me," I said, gesturing wildly at her and the damn duffel bag. "You're out here hitchhiking in the middle of the fucking night like some psycho, and you want me to leave you alone?"
"Yes!" she shouted, crossing her arms over her chest.
The words slammed into me, hot and sharp, but underneath all the rage was something colder—fear. She didn't get it. She didn't see how fast she could slip away from me, how easily I could lose her.
"Bella, baby," I said, my voice softening despite the rage boiling under my skin. "Please. Get in the car. Let's just go back to the hotel and—"
"No." Her voice was sharp, firm, final.
I stepped back, pinching the bridge of my nose, trying to rein in the urge to shake some fucking sense into her. "Goddammit, Bella," I muttered, turning toward the Chevelle. I opened the driver's door, but instead of getting in, I slammed it shut and spun back around.
"Get in the fucking car," I said, my voice low and dangerous.
"No," she said again, her tone just as stubborn.
My jaw tightened, my hands clenching into fists at my sides. "Get in the car, or I swear to God, I will make you get in the car."
She rolled her eyes. "What are you going to do? Force me? With your gun?"
"Don't fucking tempt me," I growled, taking a step toward her.
She just glared at me, unmoving. "I'm not getting in the car, Edward. I'll find my own way home."
"Home?" I laughed bitterly, throwing my hands up. "Where the fuck is home, Bella? Huh?"
She didn't answer. Just glanced past me, her eyes locking on something behind me. I turned my head just in time to see another car coming down the road, its headlights cutting through the darkness.
"Don't you fucking dare," I growled, but she was already moving, stepping off the curb and waving her arms to flag it down.
Bella was like a tornado—loud, destructive, impossible to control. And I was the idiot standing in the middle of it, just waiting to get leveled.
"Goddammnit!" I grabbed her arm, and of course, she fought me, yanking away and shoving me like she was actually going to win this fight.
"I told you to leave me alone," she snapped, her voice sharp enough to cut glass.
I laughed, dark and bitter, because what else could I do? "Bella, I swear to fucking God, you're a pain in my ass," I said, then scooped her up and threw her over my shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.
When I came close to losing her, out on the side of the road, duffel bag in hand, trying to hitchhike in the middle of the goddamn night, everything else fell away—my anger, the food, even my fucking car. All I could think about was getting her off that street and back where she was safe.
But she didn't stop fighting.
"Put me down, Edward!" she screamed, kicking and clawing like she didn't know I'd take a bullet before I let her go.
"Stop it," I said, landing a sharp smack on her ass just to shut her up. "You're disrupting the neighbors."
"I don't give a shit about the neighbors, put me down!" she hissed, her nails digging into my back.
Yeah, no chance.
She could scream all she wanted. I was getting her back to the room, even if I had to drag her the whole goddamn way. Once we were inside, I dumped her on her feet, ripped the duffel bag off her shoulder, and chucked it into the closet so hard the door rattled.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" I demanded, my voice rough and loud.
"Nothing is wrong with me," she shot back, crossing her arms like she hadn't just been hauled across the parking lot, kicking and screaming.
"Bullshit," I growled, taking a step closer. "You get all pissy—for no goddamn reason—and then you try to fucking leave me?" The thought of her walking away—of her not being mine anymore—made me want to put my fist through the nearest wall. "Why would you do that?"
Why would you fucking gut me?
She squared her shoulders, but I saw the way her lips trembled. "Because you stormed out of here without telling me where you were going," she said, her voice cold, even though I could tell it was tearing her apart. "I figured you left me."
Her words hit hard, but what hit harder was the crack in her voice—the pain she was trying so damn hard to hide.
I barked out a laugh, sharp and humorless. "What? I left because you were pissing me off, and I needed to cool down."
"Where did you go?"
"Jesus Christ, Bella," I muttered, running a hand through my hair. "I went to cool off. I went to get you food. I wasn't fucking leaving you. Are you crazy?"
Her fists clenched tight, that fire sparking back in her eyes. "Don't call me crazy."
I smirked, leaning in closer because I couldn't help it. She was maddening, and I fucking loved it. "You're fucking crazy, Bella. Just accept it."
She glared at me, her voice sharp and deadly. "Oh, I'll show you crazy," she said, and before I could blink, she grabbed a glass and threw it at my head. I ducked, the crash of it shattering against the door making my pulse spike.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" I growled, dodging another flying object. This girl was going to kill me one day, and I'd probably let her.
"You! That's what's wrong with me!" she shouted, reaching for something else to throw. I lunged forward, grabbing her wrists and pinning them down before she could do more damage.
"You need to fucking calm down," I said, my voice low and dangerous. "How the hell am I supposed to fix this shit if you won't tell me what's wrong?"
She stared at me, her chest heaving, and all I could think about was how goddamn perfect she looked, even when she was furious. No, especially when she was furious. She was mine—all mine—and nothing else mattered.
When she finally looked away, I grabbed her chin, forcing her to meet my eyes. "What did I do? Is this about the fucking Tanya tattoo? Because ever since you asked about it, you've been flipping out."
Her voice broke, low and raw. "Why are you even with me? You say I'm crazy and such a pain in your ass—why bother? There are plenty of sane girls out there more worthy of your time."
And there it was.
The thing that drove me insane about her. She actually believed that shit, like she didn't know she was the only goddamn thing in my world that made sense. "Yeah, you're probably right," I said, because I knew how to play her. "I'm sure there are plenty of women out there who don't make me want to pull my fucking hair out. Hell, some might even let me have a drink in peace every now and then."
The second the words left my mouth, I saw it hit her, like I'd cut her down to the bone. And fuck, that look—that goddamn look—was like taking a knife to the chest.
"Well, maybe you should go date them, then!" she spat, her voice dripping with venom. "And if it works out, maybe you'll fall in love and get their name tattooed on your skin!"
I lost it.
Grabbing her by the waist, I hauled her back against me. "I'm just fucking with you, baby," I said, trying to steady my voice, but her words were still echoing in my head.
The girls before her? I couldn't even picture their faces. None of them mattered—not their names, not their voices, nothing. Bella had wiped all of them clean the second she walked into my life.
She was it.
She was everything.
I spun her around, locking her in place. "Wait a fucking minute," I said, realization hitting me like a freight train. "Are you trying to tell me this whole fight is about the fact that I said I wouldn't get a girl's name tattooed on me?"
Her glare burned into me, but I could see the truth written all over her face.
I laughed, rough and sharp, because holy shit. "Jesus fucking Christ," I said, running my hands over my face.
"Why are you laughing?" she demanded, grabbing my wrists and trying to yank them away. "It's not funny!"
I grabbed her hips, shoving her down onto the bed. "It's fucking hilarious," I said, then kissed her hard, cutting off whatever rant she was about to launch into. She froze for a second, then melted into me, and just like that, the storm calmed.
When I pulled back, I cupped her cheek, my thumb brushing over her soft skin. "How do you not fucking know?"
My family knew. Hell, strangers on the street probably knew. I'd never been subtle about how I felt about her, not to anyone—except her.
She stared at me, her eyes wide and uncertain, and I almost laughed again because she really didn't see it.
"Bella," I said, pressing my forehead to hers. "When I said I wouldn't get a girl's name tattooed on me, I didn't mean you."
Her fingers tightened in my hair, her voice soft. "Really?"
I leaned back, yanking off my shirt and pointing to the ink on my arm. "This? My car." I took her hand, guiding it to the ink on my ribs. "This? My Colt." Then I pointed to the blank spot under my left pec. "And this spot? I was saving it. For the most precious thing in my life. The one thing I love more than my car or my gun."
"Emmett?" she teased, her lips twitching into a smile.
I barked out a laugh, pulling her closer. "No, baby. It's you."
She didn't have anything to say. She just stared at me, speechless, her walls finally crumbling.
"You're it for me, Bella," I murmured, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. "You're the only girl I'll ever fucking live and die for. And if you don't know that by now, I'll spend the rest of my goddamn life proving it to you."
Her lips trembled as she whispered, "I'm sorry."
"Me too," I said, pulling her into a kiss that was soft and deep, pouring everything I couldn't put into words into that moment.
When I pulled back, her forehead rested against mine, and for the first time all night, it felt like we were finally on the same page. She wasn't running. I wasn't yelling. We were just us. And I'd make damn sure she never doubted it again.
Crazy beautiful was sprawled sideways across the bed, one arm dangling off the edge, the other tucked under her. She looked like chaos and calm wrapped into one, and it took me twenty goddamn minutes of staring at her to decide whether to wake her or handle things myself. The decision should've been easy. It wasn't.
Taking her would be a fucking liability. Bella didn't know a damn thing about robbing a convenience store, and her presence would make me sloppy. Nervous. Hell, if some trigger-happy hero tried to play John Wayne and she got hurt? That shit wasn't hypothetical—it had happened before. Rose almost bit it once when a store clerk's gun jammed. Emmett lost his mind and put the guy down. That was their last job together. After that, they stuck to dealing drugs. Safer. Cleaner.
But me? I was a goddamn idiot, apparently. Sitting here, debating my options like I had any good ones.
Fuck.
I ran a hand through my hair, grinding my teeth until my jaw ached. The sun wasn't even up yet, but the clock was ticking. I had scoped out a little store off the highway when we pulled into town. Quiet. Isolated. The kind of place that screamed "rob me." But quiet didn't always mean safe, and I couldn't half-ass this—not with Bella in the picture.
Bella mumbled something in her sleep, shifting, and my chest twisted. If she woke up now, she'd insist on coming, and I wouldn't have the backbone to say no. That was my problem: I couldn't tell her no.
"Fuck," I muttered under my breath, resolute. She wasn't coming. Not this time. I'd figure this shit out on my own. Besides, the most criminal thing Bella had done was hotwire a Lamborghini for fun. Not exactly the same league as sticking a gun in someone's face.
Standing, I tucked my Glock into the back of my waistband, shoved a ski mask into my pocket, and grabbed a pillowcase. Not exactly high-tech, but it'd do. I leaned over her, the mattress creaking under my weight, and pressed a kiss to her cheek. She mumbled my name, her lips curving into the barest hint of a smile.
"Happy birthday, crazy girl," I whispered. "I'll be back."
The lights overhead buzzed like they were ready to give out, and the whole place smelled like burnt coffee and lemon cleaner—cheap, fake, and not fooling anyone. The shelves were a graveyard of crap: expired candy, smashed chip bags, and cans that looked like they'd been sitting there since the Reagan era. Perfect. No cameras. No customers. No interruptions.
The old man behind the counter didn't look up. Hell, I wasn't sure he was even alive. He had one of those oversized newspapers spread out, and his glasses were so thick he probably couldn't tell a stick-up from a Sunday sale. Easy target.
The Glock pressed into my back felt heavier than usual, but I ignored it, focusing on the rack of birthday cards in front of me. Bella deserved something, and not some dollar store garbage. The fact that I was robbing a corner store to buy her a birthday dinner wasn't lost on me, but I shoved that thought down. It wasn't like I had a lot of options since Phil and Renee had turned me into Public Enemy Number One.
My phone buzzed in my pocket for the fifth fucking time in the last ten minutes. I pulled my phone out long enough to silence it.
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
"For fuck's sake," I muttered, yanking the phone out. Sure enough: Jasper. I let it go to voicemail, again, and shoved the phone back in my pocket.
If it wasn't Jasper, it'd be Rose's pissed-off ass or Alice crying into the phone about how I'd ruined the family by leaving. Like their lives weren't already ruined long before I came along. Fuck all of them.
The phone buzzed again, and I nearly threw it across the damn store. But this time, it was Emmett. The only one I'd pick up for, barely.
"Yeah?" I said, putting the phone to my ear.
"Man, it's about damn time!" Emmett's voice was loud enough to make the old guy behind the counter twitch in his sleep. "I was starting to think you got yourself kidnapped or something."
"Not yet," I muttered, grabbing a pack of gum and shoving it into my pocket. "What do you want?"
"What do I want?" Emmett said. "How about my brother not ghosting everyone like it's his full-time job? Rose and Alice are ready to lose their shit. I wouldn't be surprised if Alice is already filing a missing person's report."
"Let her," I said flatly. "Not my problem."
"Oh, it's your problem," Emmett shot back. "You just love pretending it isn't. Otherwise, why are you out here playing tough guy instead of letting someone help?"
"I don't need help," I snapped. "I've got it under control."
"Sure, you do," Emmett said, snorting. "What're you even doing?"
"Running errands," I said.
"Errands? What the fuck are you really doing?" Emmett's tone dripped with sarcasm. "Knowing your ass, you're probably robbing a gas station in the middle of nowhere."
I snorted. "Wrong. I'm shopping for a birthday card. Then I'm robbing the joint."
There was a pause before Emmett burst out laughing, sharp and loud. "Jesus Christ. Only you would mix 'happy birthday' with a felony. What'd you get her—lottery tickets and a lighter?"
"A card," I muttered, flipping it in my hand. "And it's none of your damn business."
"Alright, alright, I'll back off," Emmett said, still chuckling. He sighed, his tone turned serious. "So, what the fuck, Edward? You guys just gonna stay gone?"
"I don't know what my plans are. I didn't really think that far ahead," I said, distracted, still so fucking wrapped up in Bella's card. Fuck, I didn't even know what to get her. Cards were a fucking waste of money, but chicks seemed to like them.
I didn't know if I should get something mushy and insincere or go for something that meant something to the both of us.
"You haven't thought that far ahead?" Emmett snorted, bringing me back to the conversation at hand. "Fuck, man, that's gotta be some top shelf pussy. That girl is melting your brain."
"Jesus Christ, Em, don't you fucking talk about her like that," I hissed.
"Right, sorry, no disrespect, dude, alright?" he paused, and then sprung it on me. "You love her?"
I laughed. "That's fucking obvious."
"Yeah, it is." He sighed. "Anyway, Rose is taking forever to get ready—" His voice suddenly blasted in my ear. "We're going to Taco Bell, woman! Not the damn Oscars! Let's go!"
I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to keep the fucking headache at bay. Standing in this fucking store, listening to Emmett bitch about Rose and all their nonsensical bullshit was not how I wanted to spend the morning of my girlfriend's birthday.
"Can you fucking focus for a minute, Emmett? Please?"
"Look, Edward, you gotta do something. Fucking Caius has been asking about you."
"Fuck him, man. He doesn't…" I trailed off, glancing up at the old man behind the counter. Still asleep, but now snoring loudly, he remained oblivious to my conversation. "…need me to smuggle in drugs, alright? He's got you and Jazz."
"It's not even about that, Eddie. You screwed him over, remember? You need to come home and face it."
I knew I'd screwed Caius over. Bailing on Mexico and ghosting our plans was reckless, but I'd figured I could smooth it over when he rolled through Tucson the next week. Then Bella, the Lamborghini, and everything else detonated at once, and whatever grip I had on things slipped away.
I was in too deep to fix anything now.
That made the truth cut sharper when it came out of my mouth.
"We're not coming back."
The words landed heavy, colder than I expected. Final. Arizona wasn't just in the rearview—it wasn't ours anymore. It never would be.
"Dammit, Edward! Why are you always running? If it's not from an arranged marriage or the law, it's from Caius."
I groaned, already sick of hearing this same damn lecture. He had no problem packing up our shit and bolting on my wedding day, but now he's calling me out? Hypocritical as hell.
"Listen, asshole, I gotta go. Keep me posted if things get bad out there," I snapped, hanging up before he could respond.
Not two seconds later, my phone buzzed again. I knew he'd be on my case all day.
Perfect. Just fucking perfect.
"Need any help, sir?" a gruff voice broke through my thoughts.
Startled, I glanced down to see the older man who had been behind the counter now standing beside me, his cloudy blue eyes—a clear sign of advanced glaucoma—fixed on me.
"Uh, no," I said, clearing my throat. "It's my girl's birthday, and I'm just picking out a card for her."
He nodded, a knowing smile spreading across his wrinkled face. "If there's one thing I've learned about women, son, it's this." He reached out and poked a finger against my chest. "Go with what's in here."
I narrowed my eyes, fighting back a laugh. "Yeah, I think I've got it."
"Just a little advice from an old man," he said with a wink before turning back toward the front counter. "I'll be up there when you're ready."
Once he left, I finally had a moment to breathe, to collect my scattered thoughts. The cards all looked the same at first, but one stood out the longer I read it. It wasn't fancy or overly sentimental—Bella would see through that crap in a heartbeat. This one, though? It felt right. Like an inside joke, something only she and I would get.
At the register, I handed over a five-dollar bill. "Keep the change," I said. The irony wasn't lost on me, given what was about to happen.
Outside, I moved to the side of the building, signing the card quickly before tucking it into the back waistband of my jeans. Then I waited. Fifteen minutes passed, during which I kept an eye on the store. No customers came in. No cars passed by. Everything was eerily quiet.
By nine thirty-three, I had pulled my ski mask over my face, checked my gun, and re-entered the store.
I robbed him.
The second I hit the top of the stairs, there she was—Bella. Arms crossed, eyes like a goddamn storm, looking at me like I'd just set fire to everything she cared about. No smile. Not even a flicker. Shit. That was never a good sign. But damn, she was beautiful, like she always was, especially when she was pissed. It was twisted, probably insane, how much I loved her when she looked like she wanted to kill me.
Her hair caught the sunlight, practically glowing, and her lips were pursed in that way that screamed I was about two seconds from getting annihilated. My whole day had been shit—a grind of noise and exhaustion—but now? Now I felt alive. She was here, and she was mad as hell.
"Happy birthday, baby," I said, aiming for charming but sounding more like a guy who knew he was fucked.
Her eyes narrowed, sharp enough to cut. "Don't you 'happy birthday, baby' me. What did you do?"
What did I do? Oh, just enough to make sure I'd be hearing about it for the next decade. Instead of owning up, I tried to pivot like the dumbass I am. "You look beautiful today. Did you do something with your hair?"
Her jaw clenched so tight I thought she might crack a tooth. Great job, genius. Really nailed it.
I leaned down and kissed her as I passed, hoping like hell she'd let it go. She didn't. Of course she fucking didn't.
"Edward," she snapped, low and sharp, her voice cutting through the air like a bullet. She was right behind me, relentless, like a storm I couldn't outrun. I kept walking, pretending I had something important to handle. Spoiler: I didn't. Not a single fucking thing.
By the time we got to the bedroom, I tossed the bag on the bed and shut the door behind us. No way out now. I leaned back against the dresser, arms crossed, already pissed at myself for whatever dumb shit I was about to say.
"I can't believe you," she said, arms crossed too, her lips in that perfect pout that always hit me like a punch. It wasn't just anger—that, I could handle. This was disappointment, the kind that fucked with my head like nothing else could. Like I'd wrecked something I didn't even realize was important.
I sighed, yanked the ski mask out of my back pocket, and tossed it onto the bed. "I'm sorry, baby, but we needed the money."
She rolled her eyes so hard I thought she'd pull something. "I know that. I just wish you would've included me."
What the actual fuck? Most people would be losing their goddamn minds, screaming, "You robbed a store? Are you out of your fucking mind?" But not Bella. No, she was pissed because I didn't invite her. Jesus Christ.
I couldn't stop the laugh that came out, sharp and rough, as I pulled her closer. She didn't fight it, and I swear to God, that only made me crazier for her. Wrapping my arm around her waist, I kissed the top of her head and tried not to think about how insane this all was.
"Tomorrow," I said, voice low. "I promise. Just you and me."
"Tomorrow?!" Her eyes sparked, wild and dangerous, and I knew—she'd burn the whole goddamn world down with me if I let her. Hell, maybe even if I didn't.
"Seriously?"
"Unless you want to plan a bank job, yeah," I said, dropping onto the bed, running a hand through my hair. "This small-time shit's a grind. It's an everyday hustle."
She crouched down and yanked the bag open like she was about to find something worth the drama. Instead, all she saw was junk food and a couple of energy drinks. Her face went blank for a second, like her brain short-circuited.
"You hit a convenience store?" she asked, her eyebrow arching, voice sharp enough to cut.
I leaned back, shrugging like it didn't matter. "Yeah. And?"
"How much?" she said, staring at me like I'd just committed the world's dumbest crime. Which, maybe I had.
I reached into my pocket, pulled out a crumpled wad of cash, and held it up. "Hundred bucks, give or take. It'll get us through today."
She snorted, shaking her head in disbelief. "A hundred bucks? My boyfriend's a fucking petty thief."
"Watch your mouth," I said, glaring at her. "Best I could do on short notice. What'd you want me to do? Walk into a goddamn bank with a stick?"
That was the thing with me—I didn't even use my car for this kind of crap. No getaway vehicle? Fine. I'd hoof it. Was it smart? Hell no. But when had I ever been accused of making smart decisions?
Her face got serious, her brow furrowing in that way that always made my chest tighten. "Did anyone see you? Do we have to lie low for a while?"
I shook my head, trying to sound like I actually knew what I was doing. "No, we're fine. The place was a shithole—no cameras, no crowd, garbage security. I scouted it first. But we can't stay here. We've got to hit the city, keep moving."
She nodded without hesitation, already heading toward the bathroom. "Okay, I'll go pack."
"Wait," I said, grabbing her wrist, pulling her back before she disappeared. She stumbled a little, landing in my lap, and for a second, I just stared at her, holding the card in my hand like it was a live fucking grenade. My heart was pounding harder than it had during the robbery. "I, uh… I got this for you. Didn't steal it, I swear."
Her eyebrows shot up, and she looked at me like I'd just pulled a diamond ring out of my pocket instead of some dumbass card. Her face softened, and it hit me like a punch to the gut. God, she had that look—the one that made me think maybe I wasn't as much of a screw-up as I knew I was.
"You didn't have to get me anything," she said quietly.
"It's your eighteenth birthday, Bella. That's a big deal." I shifted under her weight, suddenly uncomfortable as hell. Why the fuck was this harder than holding up the store?
She opened the card slowly, like she didn't want to wreck it. Her eyes scanned the text, and then she read it out loud, her voice laced with amusement: "'At eighteen, you can do all kinds of things you couldn't before… or shouldn't have done before. Happy eighteenth birthday.'"
She looked up at me, grinning like I'd just handed her the goddamn world. "That's cute. Thank you."
And that was the part that wrecked me. Cute? I'd spent my last few bucks on that stupid thing, and here she was, acting like it meant something, like I'd done something right. I felt like such a fucking asshole. She deserved so much more. Hell, she deserved everything. And all I had was a crappy joke on a card and a hundred bucks from a half-assed robbery.
"It's lame. You can say it," I muttered, rubbing the back of my neck.
"No, shut up. I love it," she said, her voice cutting through my self-loathing like it wasn't even there. Then she grabbed me—hard, like she meant it—and pulled me in, arms locking around my neck. It wasn't sweet or soft; it was desperate, raw, like she was trying to drag me out of my own head. Like she wouldn't let me keep hating myself even if I wanted to.
For a second, I froze, her warmth hitting me harder than I expected. She had this way of making everything else—the shame, the doubt, the whole world—just disappear. My hands slid to her waist, and I let myself have it. Just a second where I wasn't a fuck-up, wasn't running, wasn't anyone but hers.
"Happy birthday, baby," I murmured into her shoulder, my voice rough and too damn quiet. I closed my eyes, sinking into her for that brief moment of peace.
My phone buzzed. Of course, it fucking did.
I sighed, dragging myself out of the moment and pulling it out of my pocket. One look at the screen, and I was ready to throw the damn thing against the wall.
"Who was that?" Bella asked, her tone sharp, like she already knew it wasn't good.
"Emmett," I said flatly, my jaw tightening. Even from miles away, my brother had the world's worst timing, like ruining my life was his full-time fucking job.
St. Louis was a city like any other—hot asphalt, piss-stained alleys, and a skyline that tried too hard. The Gateway Arch loomed overhead like it was the pinnacle of human achievement. Great. A giant metal arch. What a legacy.
None of it mattered. Bella made the world brighter just by standing in it. Everything else was noise.
We stopped at some greasy street vendor and ate hot dogs that tasted like rubbery regret. She loved it, though, smiling at me between bites like we weren't surrounded by honking cars and people who probably hadn't smiled in years. Bella had that way about her—finding beauty in the ugliest places. Like this park, where she insisted we feed ducks that were either malnourished or plotting something.
"Hell of a birthday," I said, watching her toss breadcrumbs to the freeloading birds. She turned to me, her eyes glowing with that soft warmth that always wrecked me, and suddenly, yeah, it really was.
We hadn't committed a single felony all day. Maybe I was mellowing out in my old age. Or maybe she just made me want to be better.
"What do you think?" I asked, nodding toward the tattoo shop across the street.
The place was…fine. A cracked neon sign buzzing over the door, and the windows streaked with dirt that made the so-called "view" of the Arch look hazier than it already was. Whoever ran it didn't bother keeping up appearances, but that didn't matter. It wasn't about the shop—it was about her.
Her face lit up, though, like the place was some kind of palace. "It's perfect," she murmured, staring across the street like she could already picture herself inside.
I smirked. She had no idea how easy she was to read.
"There's no time like the present," I said, already imagining my name inked into her skin. Not in some obvious place, but somewhere private. Somewhere only I'd see.
Then she hesitated, her brows pulling together. "That sounds awesome, but…what if they ask me for ID? I didn't grab mine when we stopped by Phil and Renee's."
Jesus Christ. She thought she'd stopped herself. Like I wasn't already ten steps ahead.
I slid my hands down her sides, stopping at the dip of her hip, where her jeans hung low. "So that's the only thing stopping you from getting my name…" My voice dropped, my lips brushing her ear. "…right here?"
Her cheeks flushed pink, and I couldn't help but grin. God, I loved making her blush.
"Well, then," I said, pulling my wallet out of my pocket, "good thing I've got it."
She blinked up at me, stunned. "No shit, you got it?"
"No shit," I said, holding it up like the grand prize. "I saw it in your mom's—" She shot me a glare that could've melted steel. "Renee's purse. I grabbed it. Just in case."
Before I could stop her, she snatched my wallet out of my hand and started rifling through it. She didn't even pause at the cash. No, she went straight for the pictures tucked in the back.
She pulled out the ones of her—two recent, one from when she was maybe three. A kid with pigtails and the same stubborn little face I'd fallen for the second I met her.
She looked up at me, grinning. "Why aren't you a little thief."
I shrugged, pulling the wallet back from her hands. "They were just lying around."
"Uh-huh," she said, clearly not buying it.
"You ready?" I asked, nodding toward the tattoo shop.
She bit her lip, smiling at me in that way that made me want to punch every guy who'd ever looked at her wrong. "More than ready." Then she tilted her head, her smile turning teasing. "But what about you? What about the third most important thing in your life?"
I smirked, tapping my chest. "It's going right here."
Her laugh was light and full of disbelief. "Think they'll give us a two-for-one deal?"
"Doubt it," I said, hooking an arm around her neck and steering her toward the shop. "But we can ask."
The shop was a dive, like every other place in this godforsaken world. People crammed together like they had nowhere else to be—inked, pierced, and carrying themselves like they were invincible. They weren't. Life didn't care about their scars or their stories. It'd chew them up, spit them out, and move on.
I hated it. The dirt, the noise, the stench of stale sweat and regret. This city. This planet. Humanity as a whole. But Bella? She was the exception. The only exception.
She didn't belong here. Her skin was bare, unmarked, and untouched by the ugliness everyone else wore like armor. She stood out like sunlight in a thunderstorm, so bright and untouchable that even these people, these hardened shells, gave her space without realizing why. They knew, even if they didn't understand it, that she was too good for this.
"See anything you like?" I asked, watching her stare at the wall of designs like a kid lost in a candy store. She was overwhelmed, of course. The choices were endless—skulls, flames, wings, names—but they all looked like graffiti compared to her.
"I don't want anything fancy," she said softly, her voice almost drowned out by the buzzing of a needle in the back. She shrugged, her shoulders small but steady. "Just a name is fine."
My name.
Alec, one of the tattoo artists, snorted as he cracked his knuckles. It was loud enough to make me want to break his fingers just to shut him up. "Your name?"
"No," Bella said, shaking her head. She turned to me, her eyes meeting mine with that quiet confidence she got when she'd made up her mind. "I want his name."
I smirked, my chest tightening in a way that made me want to punch the walls just to release the pressure.
Alec raised an eyebrow. "You sure? That's basically a relationship death sentence."
I stepped in, my voice cold. "We're not like other people."
"Yeah, sure," Alec said with a dry laugh. "I hear that all the time. But hey, it's your funeral. Follow me."
He led us to a side room where his sister Jane was setting up. She looked like a carbon copy of him, only smaller, with pink tips in her sandy blonde hair. She was efficient, her movements quick and precise, but her presence grated on me anyway.
"Alright, beautiful," Jane said, patting the bench for Bella to sit on. "You're with me."
Bella started toward her, but I caught her wrist, pulling her aside. I gestured for Alec to give us a minute.
"What's wrong?" Bella asked, her brow furrowing.
"As much as I want this—want you marked with my name—I don't want you to feel like you have to do it." My voice was low, but the strain was there. "It's permanent, Bella. This world doesn't let you forget mistakes."
Her eyes narrowed, sharp and cutting. "Are you freaking out because of what Alec said?"
"No. Fuck him," I said, shooting Alec a glare. He grinned and flipped me off without looking up. "No offense, man."
"None taken," Alec said, smirking.
Bella's lips twitched, but her eyes softened. She knew me too well, could see through my excuses like they were glass. "Edward," she said quietly, her voice steady, "I'm not going to regret this."
I wanted to argue, to pull her out of this pit of a shop and wrap her in a world where nothing could touch her. But that wasn't reality. Reality was sharp and cruel, and Bella wanted this.
"Okay," I said finally, my voice rough. "If you're sure."
She smiled, small and sure, and led me back into the room. Climbing onto the bench, she worked with Jane on her design while I described mine to Alec. Every so often, I'd glance over at her, unable to stop myself. She didn't see me—or maybe she did—but she didn't call me out on it.
"Alright," Jane said, lowering Bella's bench. "Let's get started."
Bella pulled her jeans down just enough to expose the spot she'd picked. The skin was pale and smooth, untouched, and seeing it made something primal stir in my chest. She was mine, and soon, everyone would know it.
Jane cleaned the area, applying a stencil, and Bella glanced at me. Her nerves were subtle, just a flicker in her eyes, but I saw it. I reached for her hand, threading my fingers through hers like I could anchor her to me.
Her grip tightened as the needle started, her face twitching but never breaking. She was so fucking brave. Strong in ways the rest of the world would never understand.
Thanks for reading.