Twilight belongs to Stephenie Meyer
#
#
Where the Lines Overlap
Final Season - We are Broken
Your anger, Your Anchor
Dinner was quiet—too quiet. I traced the rim of my plate with my fork, my appetite long gone. The events of the day looped relentlessly in my mind, every detail sharper, louder, more consuming. Across the table, Mark glanced at me occasionally, his gaze brushing over me like a soft nudge. He didn't press, though. He never did. Mark's patience was one of his strongest traits, but tonight, it felt like a weight between us, thickening the silence.
Finally, I set my fork down, the sound breaking the stillness.
"The meeting was today."
Mark's gaze lifted, calm but searching.
"With the new doctors?"
I nodded.
"Edward was there," I added carefully, my gaze narrowing to catch any reaction from him.
He sighed softly, his expression unreadable as he took a deliberate sip of water. He set the glass down slowly, his eyes lingering on it, as though lost in thought. The pause stretched just long enough to feel heavy.
"Are you okay?" he finally asked, his voice low and steady, his gaze meeting mine.
I hesitated, the question catching on a knot of emotions in my throat.
"You're not even a little bothered?" The words came out sharper than I intended.
His head tilted slightly, his expression even.
"Should I be?"
My hands clenched into fists before I was aware of what I was doing.
"I don't know, Mark. You tell me," I snapped, the sharpness of my voice surprising even me. Regret tingled at the edges of my anger, but I couldn't stop; the need for a reaction burned too fiercely. "Why are you so calm?"
"Do you want me to be upset?" His voice was measured—too measured.
"Maybe," I blurted, the word hanging in the air before I could reel it back. "Yes. No. I don't know! I just want—" I faltered, frustration spilling out. "I just want you to react like you care."
Mark blinked, and for a moment, his eyes clouded—not just hurt but something quieter, heavier, like a door closing on emotions he didn't want to show. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft, unwavering, a calm that felt almost fragile.
"Bae, I care more than you realize. But I also know that this isn't about me."
The honesty in his tone hit me like a punch. My chest tightened.
"I'm sorry," I muttered, looking down at my hands. "I'm ruining dinner."
He shook his head gently, his tone soft.
"You're not. You're processing something big. It's okay to feel this way. It's normal for you to feel anxious. Edward was a big part of your life for a long time—longer than we've been together, longer than you two have been estranged. Of course, seeing him again brings up a lot. It's okay to feel upset, or confused, or even hurt."
My chest tightened.
"Your understanding and calm have always grounded me, Sunny." My voice wavered, catching on the words. I dragged a hand down my face, the frustration tight in my chest. "But right now your placidity—it's making me feel worse." The confession spilled out, unfiltered and raw.
"I'm sorry," he said gently. "I don't know how else to react."
"Doesn't it bother you, at all?" I pressed, needing something from him—what, I wasn't even sure.
His eyes softened
"Of course it does. A damn lot," he said, his voice firmer now, though still gentle. He leaned forward, his eyes locking on mine. "It bothers me more than I can say. But I've always known your history, Jasper. I was there for part of it, remember? I know how deeply you loved Edward and how deeply he hurt you. So yes, it affects me. But I also know what we've built. I know you, us, and the trust we have in each other. Eleven years of being with you gave me that." He paused, exhaling softly. " It also made me learn to keep my emotions in check because when you're spiraling, you need grounding. You don't need my insecurities on top of your own."
I opened my mouth to respond, but nothing came. His words sat heavy in the air between us, impossible to ignore. He held my gaze gently, his eyes steady with love and understanding, but the tightness in his jaw betrayed him. He was controlling what he let me see, his restraint like a barrier I'd forced him to put up.
I'd pushed too far. The realization twisted inside me, sharp and relentless, guilt gnawing at me.
The scrape of the chair cut through the silence as I shoved it back abruptly, the sound harsh and jarring.
"I need air," I muttered, barely able to meet his gaze before turning away.
The balcony door clicked softly behind me as I stepped into the night. A crisp breeze swept across my face, sharp as the thoughts stabbing through my mind. I gripped the railing, the cold metal biting into my palms, grounding me as I stared out at the scattered lights dotting the city—faint, distant, and unreachable. The ache in my chest pressed heavier with each replay of our conversation, the words looping endlessly like a track I couldn't skip. Mark's unwavering patience was a gift, but for the first time in our lives, it felt suffocating—like I didn't deserve it.
I stayed there, breathing in the crisp night air until the tightness in my chest began to loosen. My thoughts slowed, and regret settled in. I'd lashed out, looking for something Mark never deserved to bear. And yet, he stayed steady, stayed Mark.
When I finally turned back inside, the apartment was quiet save for the soft clink of dishes. I found him at the sink, sleeves rolled up, hands moving slowly as he washed the plates. His back was to me, but the set of his shoulders told me everything I needed to know.
Without a word, I slipped my arms around his waist from behind and rested my head between his shoulder blades.
"I'm sorry," I whispered.
He paused, and I felt the sigh he released—controlled, measured. Then, slowly, he turned within my embrace but his hands were gripping the edge of the sink counter. When I looked up, his eyes were slightly glassy, and the sight made my heart ache. I'd promised myself a long time ago that I'd never hurt him again… and yet, here we were.
"Sunny," I began softly.
But before I could continue, Mark spoke.
"Do you feel like… Edward being back is a threat to us?" His eyes narrowed slightly. "Is that what this is all about?"
"No," I said without hesitation, my voice firm. "Not for a second. I just feel… unsettled, I guess. Knowing he's around again." I exhaled forcefully, as if trying to expel the anxiety clinging to my chest. "And… I guess, deep down, I was expecting you to be… at least a little shaken by it. I don't know, jealous… or something." I shrugged, the words feeling inadequate. How could I explain what even I didn't fully understand?
Mark's hands cupped my face, the gesture so familiar and tender it made my throat tighten.
"Do you think I don't feel jealous?" His tone was quiet but tinged with disbelief.
I shrugged again, unsure what to say.
His expression shifted, growing more serious, his voice steadier.
"Jasper, I can't even count how many times I've felt jealous—both my hands wouldn't be enough. There were moments when it almost hurt physically." He drew a deep breath, his gaze never wavering. "But when it comes to you, my instinct is always to maintain balance. You don't need me piling my emotions on top of yours when you're already overwhelmed. It would only make things harder for both of us."
"I'm sorry," I rushed to say, the words barely above a whisper. "I was unfair, I shouldn't have—"
Mark let go of the counter and circled my waist.
"You don't need to apologize, Moony," he murmured, pulling me closer. His expression was gentle again, his eyes warm but still edged with something unspoken. "I know this is hard for you. You're allowed to feel what you feel."
I buried my face in his chest, breathing in the familiar scent of him—clean and earthy, with a trace of cedar and something undeniably Mark, grounding and irresistibly soothing.
"Do you ever feel like I take you for granted?" I mumbled the question before looking up at him again.
His brow furrowed briefly, but he shook his head.
"No. I know how much you love me. I've never doubted that."
"But I just… hurt you," I insisted, my voice small.
His smile was small but sincere and understanding.
"You didn't mean to. And I'm okay. I promise. Today was a lot for you, and I understand. What matters is how we move forward."
He turned my wrist gently, lining up our tattoos—my sun, his moon.
"It's us," he said, his voice soft but resolute. "You and me."
I traced the moon with my thumb, then leaned up to kiss him.
"Always."
"Always," he echoed, his smile widening.
I rested my forehead against his chest, his hand coming to the back of my neck, holding me close. The tension inside me gave way, unraveling into something lighter, warmer. Relief.
"Did we just have our first fight?"
Mark chuckled, low and soft.
"I don't think that qualifies as a fight."
"A disagreement, maybe?"
"Maybe," he agreed, his voice lighter.
"I don't want to have another one. Ever."
"Deal," he said, tightening the embrace.
In the circle of his arms, I could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath my cheek—it was all I needed. The storm inside me began to calm. Mark was my anchor, my safe place—the one who made me feel loved, seen, protected. And I knew that, no matter how turbulent my thoughts became, we were solid. We always would be.
.
.
.
It smelled like rosemary and onions, a comforting blend that made the space feel warmer than it already was. Rosalie stood at the counter, chopping vegetables with a precision that made me question whether she was cooking or plotting something.
"You know, you didn't have to come check on me just because Alec's away," she said without looking up.
"I'm not checking on you. I'm... ensuring the quality of your cooking," I shot back, leaning against the counter.
She smirked.
"Right. Because your culinary expertise is legendary."
"Hey, I know how to make toast," I said, grabbing a piece of carrot from her pile.
Rosalie swatted my hand with the back of her knife, laughing when I flinched.
"Careful, big brother. I might 'accidentally' slice your fingers off."
"Violence? Wow, Alec leaves for one trip, and you're already turning feral."
She rolled her eyes but chuckled.
"And yet, you keep coming back for more. What does that say about you?"
"Glutton for punishment," I replied with a grin, tossing the carrot into my mouth.
As we worked side by side, the banter softened, giving way to a comfortable silence. I handed her the cutting board when she needed it and stirred the sauce she had simmering on the stove.
"So," Rosalie said after a moment, her tone casual in a way that wasn't casual at all. "How's Bro Bear?"
I glanced at her.
"He's good. Why?"
She set down the knife and turned to face me, crossing her arms.
"Because I love him, and I want to make sure you're not being a clueless idiot."
I blinked.
"Thanks for the vote of confidence."
"Jayjay, come on. You know what I mean." Her voice softened, though the edge of teasing remained. "Mark is... He's incredible, okay? Like, I genuinely can't imagine you with anyone better. But sometimes I wonder if you notice how much he does for you. Or how much he holds back."
I frowned.
"Holds back? What do you mean?"
Rosalie sighed, leaning against the counter beside me.
"He's honest with you—I know that. But he's also protective. And sometimes, to protect you, he doesn't always show how things affect him. Especially with this whole Edward thing."
As Rosalie spoke, her words wove seamlessly through the kitchen's warmth, but my mind drifted momentarily. I thought back to just two nights ago, the sharpness of my own voice at dinner, the look in Mark's eyes when I'd pressed too hard for a reaction. The memory of his unwavering patience, his quiet strength, and his confession of jealousy lingered like a shadow over my thoughts.
"Jasper?" Rosalie's voice broke through, drawing me back. She tilted her head, studying me closely.
"Sorry," I said quickly, shaking off the memory. "What were you saying?"
Her gaze softened, but there was a knowing edge to her smile.
"I was just saying how lucky you are to have him—how much he really sees you."
The echo of his words—You and me. Always.—slipped into my mind, warming the edges of my doubt. I nodded slowly, meeting her gaze with a faint smile.
"I know," I murmured, more to myself than to her. "I really do."
But even as I said it, a small knot tightened in my stomach. I glanced at her, narrowing my eyes just a little.
"You're saying all this because you think he's upset, aren't you?"
Rosalie tilted her head, her expression soft but unflinching.
"I think he's human," she said simply. "And he loves you so much that he'd probably rather bite his tongue than risk making you feel guilty. That doesn't mean he doesn't feel it, though. You know what I mean?"
Her words hung in the air, heavy and undeniable.
Before I could respond, the doorbell rang.
Rosalie shot me a look that said, We're not done with this conversation, before grinning and hurrying to answer it.
"Smells amazing in here. Do I get to eat, or is this just for show?" Mark's voice carried through the entryway as he stepped inside.
The first few buttons of his shirt were undone, and his sleeves were rolled up, showing just how long his day must have been. He paused in the doorway, looking as tired as he was handsome. When his eyes found mine, they lit up, and a warm smile spread across his face.
In that instant, the tension in my chest loosened, and the warmth he always brought with him wrapped around me like a familiar reassurance. He had this way of making everything feel just a little more manageable. Still, a flicker of guilt lingered—a quiet acknowledgment of how much I leaned on him, especially now.
"Only if you set the table," Rosalie quipped as she followed behind him, closing the door with a playful smirk.
"Hey, Moony," he said softly as he approached me, his arms slipping around my waist, his voice as warm as his embrace.
"Hey, Sunny," I replied, rising onto my toes as he leaned in to kiss me.
Even as affection swelled in my chest, the guilt twisted with it, sharp and unavoidable.
Rosalie clapped her hands, drawing our attention.
"Alright, lovebirds, focus. Dinner's not going to make itself."
Mark laughed, a sound so easy and genuine that I couldn't help but join in. The moment felt lighter with him here, a welcome reprieve from my earlier thoughts.
But as the laughter faded, Rosalie's words lingered at the edges of my mind—a quiet reminder to pay closer attention to the man I loved.
.
.
.
Sunday evening wrapped around us like a warm blanket, the kind that carried the comfort of familiarity. Mark and I were curled up on the couch, his arm draped over my shoulders while my head rested against his chest. The low hum of the TV filled the room, a soft undercurrent to the quiet. The movie played on, but I wasn't really paying attention. This was my favorite place to be—close to Mark, the rest of the world held at bay.
My phone buzzed on the coffee table, breaking the peaceful moment. I groaned, reaching for it as we both sat up. The screen lit up with a familiar name.
"It's Mom," I said, swiping to answer. I put her on speaker, as I always did. "Hi, Momma," I greeted warmly.
"Hi, Momma," Mark echoed, his voice carrying the same affection.
Mom's laugh came through the line, light and familiar, wrapping around us like the Sunday warmth.
"Hi, my boys. How are you both doing?"
Mark and I exchanged a glance, a silent, practiced conversation passing between us. We'd been at her place just yesterday—what could've changed in a little more than twenty-four hours?
"We're just fine, Momma," Mark answered, his brow furrowing slightly.
"Good," she replied, clearly pleased. "I meant to ask you boys a question yesterday after lunch, but it slipped my mind."
"Okay," I said cautiously, bracing myself.
She launched into a gentle recounting of how our Saturday family lunches had evolved over the years. What started as just the three of us and Rose had grown to include Alec, Emmelle, and sometimes Carlisle and Esme. Yesterday, the Cullens had been there but hadn't stayed long, a departure from their usual behavior.
As she spoke, I couldn't shake the feeling that I knew where this was headed. I glanced at Mark. He gave me a small, reassuring nod, grounding me as he always did.
Mom's voice softened, the edges of her words careful.
"So, Esme mentioned something that's been on her mind. She was worried about creating an uncomfortable situation for you boys."
My eyes dropped to the floor, bracing myself for what was coming.
"Would it be a problem if I invited Edward for next Saturday?" she asked. "He's been a bit isolated since he came back. Esme even thought about skipping altogether."
The question hung in the air, heavy with meaning.
I turned to Mark, searching his face. His expression was calm, steady as ever, his nod a silent reassurance.
I took a deep breath, feeling his strength flow into me.
"It's okay, Momma," I replied, my eyes never leaving Mark's. "It's not a problem for us."
She sighed audibly, relief clear in her tone.
"Thank you, sweetheart. I love you both, and I'll see you next Saturday then."
"Love you, too," Mark and I said in unison before the call ended.
I set the phone back on the table and turned to Mark, straddling his lap in a smooth motion. My hands cradled his face, my thumbs tracing soft lines over the stubble on his jaw.
"Are you really okay with this?" I asked, my voice low, searching his eyes for any flicker of hesitation.
His hands settled firmly on my waist, anchoring me.
"Bae," he said gently, his voice steady, "have we ever held back our thoughts or feelings from each other? Even before we were together?"
I didn't have to think about it.
"No, not really." I said, though Rosalie's words echoed faintly in the back of my mind.
Mark brought one hand to the back of my neck, his fingers threading through my hair. He pulled me closer, his piercing blue eyes locking onto mine with a look that sent a shiver down my spine.
His gaze held a quiet message, one I didn't need words to understand.
I nodded, feeling the tension ebb away.
Then he closed the distance between us, his lips capturing mine in a deep kiss. It wasn't hurried or frantic—it was slow, intentional, and utterly consuming. My fingers tightened against his jaw as the rest of the world faded, leaving only us.
By the time he pulled back, I was breathless, my worries scattered like leaves in the wind.
"You always do that," I murmured, a lazy smile tugging at my lips.
"Do what?" he asked, his tone soft, laced with amusement.
"Make everything else disappear."
Mark grinned, brushing his thumb along my cheek.
"That's exactly what I was going for."
I leaned into him, resting my forehead against his. I smiled and he smiled back his sof sweet smile—the one that was made just for me. I nuzzled his nose with mine and he sighed, his eyes fluttering closed.
"Love you, my Moony," he whispered, his voice low and tender.
"I love you always, my Sunny," I replied, matching his tone before nestling my head into the curve of his neck.
Mark's arm wrapped around my back, his hand cradling my nape as he let out a deep, contented sigh. His chest expanded beneath me, rising and falling in a rhythm that matched the peace settling over us.
Whatever Saturday brought, I knew we'd face it together.
.
.
.
The happy-hour buzz of the bar enveloped us in a warm, lively hum. It was a Wednesday—an unusual day for our weekly meet-up, which typically fell at the end of the week. But Bella and Emmett were traveling to Philly on Friday to visit her parents, who'd moved there a few years ago.
We were seated at a corner booth, Mark and Emmett engrossed in an animated conversation about basketball that filled the space around them. I smiled as Mark's expression grew intense, the debate clearly heating up, and leaned in to press a kiss to his cheek.
"I'll be right back," I said, and he nodded, momentarily distracted as Emmett made an emphatic gesture.
Bella joined me as we made our way to the bar. She tucked her hair behind her ear and surveyed the crowd while I flagged down the bartender.
As we waited for the drinks, Bella glanced at me, her gaze a little more thoughtful than casual curiosity.
"So, how are you handling Edward being back? Working under you and all?"
I fought back the spontaneous tightening of my jaw and kept my tone neutral.
"Edward doesn't work under me, Bella."
She rolled her eyes, an exaggerated gesture that made me smile despite myself.
"You're his boss anyway. Don't play technicalities with me."
I shook my head.
"He has a direct supervisor. And that supervisor has a supervisor. I'm just... higher up the chain."
Bella huffed.
"Anyway, he's there. That's the point. And I want to know how you are with all this."
I hesitated, the weight of her question pressing in.
"Honestly? I barely see him. If I've crossed paths with him twice since he started, that's probably too much."
She raised an eyebrow, giving me a knowing look, the corners of her mouth curving slightly. I could tell she was waiting for more, and there was no hiding it from her—she knew me well.
I exhaled, resigning myself.
"At first, I felt a little... unsettled, okay? But now I'm getting used to the idea."
Bella studied me for a moment.
"And Mark?" she asked, her eyes scanning my face, as if searching for the smallest sign—like she could see the layers beneath my words. "How's he with all of it?"
A soft smile curved my lips.
"He's okay. He's just worried about me, but you know how he is."
She nodded knowingly, then sipped from her water glass.
I sighed.
"Mom invited Edward to Saturday lunch, though."
Bella's eyes widened, and she leaned closer.
"No way."
"Way." I nodded, then sighed. "I just hope it goes well."
She tilted her head, incredulous.
"You actually think there's any chance of it going smoothly?"
"I'm hoping it does," I said, though even I could hear the lack of conviction in my voice.
Bella snorted.
"Jay, are you crazy? Edward has no idea about you and Mark. This is bound to be awkward."
I frowned, taken aback.
"Of course he knows."
"Nuh-uh." She shook her head emphatically. "He knows absolutely nothing about you two."
I frowned deeper, the statement unsettling.
"How are you so sure?"
Bella rested a hand on my shoulder, her expression pointed.
"Hello, who's my husband? Only Edward's life-long best friend? Trust me, Emmett would've told me if Edward knew. He hasn't."
"But—" I faltered, then gathered my thoughts. "That's why I'm sure he knows. It's obvious Emmett mentioned something over the years."
Bella sighed, her gaze sharpening.
"Jasper, has Emmett ever said anything to you about Edward since he left?
"No. Not a word. Even before that."
She nodded, as if she'd expected that answer.
"And how much of the past twelve years do you know about Edward's life?"
The realization hit me like a weight I hadn't noticed I was carrying.
"Absolutely nothing," I admitted.
"Exactly. Just like you, Edward asked all of us—including his family—not to say a word about you or anything related when he left for the UK. He knows nothing."
The words settled heavily in my chest, twisting everything I thought I knew about the situation. And then it hit me—Edward's reaction during the introductory meeting at the hospital suddenly made sense.
He hadn't known I was back, let alone that I worked at Seattle General. That's why he'd seemed so surprised.
"Then... it's going to be a shock for him." I mumbled.
"Yep. And not a small one, either." She glanced toward the booth. "We should get back. The boys are probably wondering what's taking so long."
I followed her back with the drinks, though my thoughts were tangled in the surprising revelation—Edward had no idea I'd been with Mark all this time.
.
.
.
The elevator doors opened to the dimly lit garage, and I stepped out, glad to finally call it a day after a long rough Thursday. My thoughts were already on the drive home and the prospect of peeling off my suit and sinking into bed with Mark after a long shower. But as I stepped out, someone collided with me, and the sudden warmth of spilled coffee soaked through my jacket.
"Oh no, I'm so sorry!" a frazzled voice stammered.
I glanced down at the mess on my suit, irritation sparking, then looked up at the offender, ready to brush it off—and froze.
Greyish-blue eyes met mine. My breath caught.
Edward.
He froze, his lips parting slightly as if the sight of me had knocked the wind out of him.
"Jasp—" he started, then quickly corrected himself. "Doctor Hale."
I bit back the immediate jolt of irritation that flared at the sound of my name on his tongue, so familiar yet so distant.
He clutched the now-empty coffee cup like it was holding him together.
"I'm sorry," he rushed on. "I didn't see you."
A retort rose to my lips—sarcastic, sharp—before I could stop it.
"Clearly," My tone deep and dry.
His face flickered with something—hurt, guilt, maybe both—and the sting of regret followed fast on the heels of my words.
"I'm sorry," I said more evenly. "That was uncalled for. These things happen." We both nodded, but something felt off. I narrowed my eyes, carefully observing his stance, the slight slump in his shoulders—it just clicked. "You were… distracted." My gaze lingered on his face. "Are you just starting your shift?"
He shook his head, his expression guarded.
"I'm actually past the middle of it. Hence the coffee."
I raised an eyebrow.
"Thirty-six-hour shift?"
He nodded.
"Coffee isn't enough, Doctor Cullen. You should take a proper break—for your patients' sake."
"I just took ten. I'm fine," Edward replied quickly, his tone clipped.
"How long into it?" I pressed.
"Twenty-eight hours."
"Straight?"
"I had three back-to-back surgeries."
I scoffed, shaking my head.
"You know the protocols. A ten-minute breather doesn't cut it after twenty-eight hours and three surgeries. You should be resting in the on-call room by now. Take fifty."
"I don't need—" he started, but I cut him off.
"It's not a suggestion, Doctor Cullen," I said firmly, my tone leaving no room for debate. "I may not be your direct supervisor, but as Director of Operations, I oversee the entire hospital. That includes you. So take fifty. Now."
Edward nodded stiffly, his shoulders taut. I turned to leave, but something made me stop.
The words escaped before I could think better of it.
"Why are you here?"
I didn't hear an answer. I pivoted back to find Edward standing frozen, his expression a mixture of surprise and unease.
"Why are you here, Edward?" I repeated, slower this time, the weight of my question pressing between us.
Edward frowned, his brow furrowing in confusion—or was it deflection?
"What do you mean?"
I held his gaze, my voice sharper now.
"You know what I mean."
His throat bobbed as he swallowed visibly, his hand tightening around the coffee cup. For a moment, he stood there, unsure, before taking a hesitant step closer. His lips parted as if to speak, but no words came out. He pressed them in a thin line.
I looked at him more fiercely and tilted my head, pressing, waiting.
Edward heaved a sigh and opened his mouth again.