Twilight belongs to Stephenie Meyer
#
#
Where the Lines Overlap
All We Know
~~ Edward ~~
Just Talk Yourself Up (And Tear Yourself Down)
It's been a tough day. After I leave the hospital at the end of my shift, my mind is still working a mile a minute, and I know I won't be able to sleep anytime soon. Instead of going home, I stop at the café I discovered last week while leaving the park. The warmth inside is inviting, the scent of coffee and baked goods wafting through the air. I wait for it to comfort me, to ease the tightness in my chest, but it does nothing.
I order my usual, hoping it'll warm me up a bit. My fingers tighten slightly around the cup as I scan the room, searching for a seat.
Then I spot him.
It's impossible not to recognize his unique hair color and tall frame. Mark sits by the window, hands wrapped around his coffee, gaze distant. His expression isn't unreadable, but it isn't open either. Thoughtful. Concerned. Like something's weighing on him.
Not my business.
I should walk past. Pick a distant table. Maybe just take my coffee to go.
Instead, I find myself stepping forward.
"This seat taken?"
His piercing eyes flick up, surprise flashing through them before fading behind careful neutrality. For a second, I think he might tell me no. But he gestures toward the chair, so I sit, trying to settle into an ease I don't really feel.
"Rough day?" I ask, even though the answer is obvious.
He nods but doesn't elaborate.
Fair enough.
Trying to better gauge his mood, I let my impression slip past my lips.
"It's written all over your face."
He exhales what seems close to a chuckle.
"Not many people think I'm that transparent."
He definitely isn't. This is the first time I've ever gotten a glimpse of what he seems to be feeling.
"Guess that makes me observant," I think out loud, not entirely confident in my words, before sipping my coffee.
His gaze lingers on me, assessing, his crystal blue eyes so sharp it seems like he can see right through me.
"I can see yours wasn't great either," he states with a linear tone, unaffected.
Like I said… right through me.
I hesitate for half a second, then nod. No point in denying it.
"Two long surgeries. Lost one."
His response is immediate and surprisingly warm.
"I'm sorry."
The sincerity and empathy in his voice catch me off guard. I exhale through my nose, trying to downplay it.
"Part of the job."
"Maybe. But you feel it anyway."
He doesn't say it like a question—just a statement of fact. One I can't argue with.
He's right. I'm not as detached as I force myself to look on the outside. But I'm good at masking how things affect me. At least to most people.
Evidently, not to Mark.
I glance down at my cup, turning it in my hands.
"It's unfair." Another loud thought that escapes before I can stop it.
"What is?" Mark asks calmly after a beat.
I debate answering. This conversation isn't going where I expected. It's getting too close to something I haven't said out loud.
But maybe this is the opportunity I thought I wouldn't have.
"Aren't you a psychologist?" I ask, throwing him a pointed look.
"Licensed, yeah. But I'm actually a therapist."
I think I know the difference, but in this case, it changes nothing. I lean back in my seat, watching him.
"So you can read people easily." I state the obvious.
That makes him laugh quietly.
"That has less to do with my profession and more with how I've always been. I just use it in my work." He says it simply, then pauses for a second or two. "Besides, I can read the signs people give—their gestures, their posture, the way they hold themselves—but I can't read minds."
I mull that over for a moment, nodding as I try to make sense of it. But my conclusion remains. It doesn't matter if it's a talent or a technique—he can still see through me when I can't see through him.
"It's easy for you to read me," I voice my thoughts as they come. "But I can't do the same."
Mark looks at me with those sharp eyes, unwavering, completely open and transparent.
"That's not a problem. If you ever want to know something, you can just ask me. I'll answer honestly."
That gives me pause.
There's something I've wanted to ask for a while. Something that's lingered at the back of my mind since Jasper first told me.
I hesitate, my fingers tightening around my cup. Then, finally, I exhale a heavy breath and take the plunge.
"When Jasper and I talked… he told me he was already in love with you back in college." I start slow and simple, but I can hear the strain in my voice as I brace for the answer before even finishing the question. "Near the end. Before we broke up."
Mark doesn't look surprised. He nods, waiting.
I take a slow breath, trying to steady my stupid heart. I already know the fucking answer. Just need to confirm it.
"Was that true for you, too?" My tone is steadier than I thought I could manage.
"Yes." He answers calmly.
Hearing it feels like a punch to the ribs, despite knowing beforehand.
"But that was it," Mark continues evenly. "We knew how we felt, but nothing happened. Not until more than a year after you and Jasper broke up."
I study him as he speaks, trying to pick apart his expression, but his tone remains balanced, sincere.
"There was a moment Jasper thought he had to choose between us," he adds. "But it was never really a choice. He loved you. He wanted to be with you."
I can't argue with that. I know it's true. Jasper told me that himself, and if I'm honest with myself, deep down, I've always known.
My chest tightens.
Mark goes on, not justifying—just clarifying. And I can hear it in his voice, see it in his eyes—he's being honest.
"What happened between us had nothing to do with your relationship, Jasper waited until he was past the pain of losing you. Until he was over his feelings." His tone is considerate. "And even then, we waited before committing to anything. Until we were sure."
I sit with that for a moment—the truth of it. The finality.
My mind drifts, pulling me back to years before all of this. I had always pictured Jasper moving on eventually—just not like this. I imagined girlfriends, maybe something casual, nothing serious. But this… this was beyond anything I ever expected. I never considered him being with someone for over eleven years, let alone a man.
I arrogantly thought I would be the only man he'd ever have.
But strangely, his relationship with Mark makes sense. He was there for Jasper long before things fell apart between us. They always had a lot in common—I remember that too. And like Jasper told me… Mark waited. He didn't give up. He didn't walk away. He didn't take him for granted.
Like I did.
He stayed.
"I expected to find him with someone. Just… not you." The confession slips out before I fully think it through. I let out a short breath, shaking my head. "But it makes sense. Total sense."
I trace my fingers along the rim of my cup, the warmth seeping through the ceramic grounding me.
Knowing Jasper the way I do—did—the boy who grew up in a loving home, surrounded by people who cared for him, enchanting everyone with his kindness, but never having the love of the one person he wanted most… it's obvious, really. When he found someone who loved him unconditionally, unwaveringly—someone who was there for him every step of the way—of course he'd fall. Of course he'd give his heart to that person.
I look up, meeting Mark's gaze.
"I believe you're good to him," I say, quiet but sincere. "You already were back then. I know you're a good person."
Mark nods.
"Thank you." His voice is firm, steady—but there's something beneath it. "All I want is for Jasper to be happy."
That hits harder than I expect. Because that's all I ever wanted too. To make Jasper happy.
And the last thing I want is to mess with what he has.
I hesitate, shifting slightly in my seat. There's something I need to make clear.
"Do you know… my reasons for being back?" I ask deliberately.
He can read me—he must have already done it the first time we met at the Hale's house.
"I can only suppose."
I don't answer right away. I need to find the right words, to make sure he doesn't misunderstand. But I also want to know what he thinks—what his impressions are. So I give us both a pause.
Mark exhales then, his expression shifting as he considers his next words. I can see it—the moment discomfort starts creeping in.
"You missed your family," he says finally. "Your friends. After more than twelve years away, that's only natural." He pauses, breathing slowly. "But I think the key reason was Jasper."
I work hard not to react, keeping my face neutral, my body still—but something inside me twists, sharp and undeniable.
Jasper wasn't the key reason. He was the only reason.
And there's no way I can hide that. Not from Mark.
His gaze sharpens, as if confirming what he already suspected.
"Did you come back for him?" His voice is smooth, even—but there's a weight to it now, something unspoken pressing between us.
I hold his gaze for a moment before looking away, searching for the right way to explain.
"My main intention was to mend things between him and me. I would've… tried to fix things… if he were still…" I shake my head slightly, pushing away the faint hope that's already been shattered. A sigh escapes me as I force my eyes back to Mark's. "But when he told me about you two, I… I knew I had to respect that. I wasn't trying to get him away from you, and I'm not going to interfere with your relationship."
Mark nods, something like understanding flickering in his gaze.
"I appreciate that. However"—a measured pause—"and please, don't get me wrong, I'm not being rude or arrogant." His tone is calm but confident. "Even if you wanted to, you couldn't."
I blink, caught off guard by his bluntness.
It's not like I don't know it's true. It's the way he says it—so assured, without a hint of possessiveness—that makes me see just how certain he is of what he and Jasper have.
Unexpectedly, my lips twitch—not quite a smile, but something close. Some kind of admiration slams into me for the person sitting across from me.
Mark leans back in his seat, his gaze unwavering.
"And just so you know… I wouldn't stand in your way if you wanted to be part of Jasper's life again. As the friend you were before you got together. I know it would make him happy."
I stare at him, waiting for the shift—the territorial edge, the unspoken warning, the need to stake his claim. But it never comes. No quiet arrogance, no attempt to remind me of my place. Just a man who loves Jasper, offering me honesty without hesitation.
I search for any hidden catch, any hint that he's just saying this to sound generous. But there's nothing—no deception in his voice, no malice in his expression. If anything, there's a carefulness to his words, a deliberate effort not to seem arrogant or to wound me unnecessarily.
It throws me off balance more than it should.
"You're… incredibly generous, or disturbingly deceptive," I murmur, still trying to read beyond his steady gaze and sincere demeanor.
"I assure you, there's no pretense. And this isn't generosity, either." Mark assures me in an even tone. "I just don't fight the inevitable. It hurts less when we accept and live with what we can't change."
His words settle between us, steady and unshaken. No posturing, no hidden warning beneath them—just the kind of quiet certainty that makes it impossible to argue.
Holy fuck.
Can he stop amazing me with his steadiness and wisdom?
I expected resistance, some flicker of possessiveness—something—however subtly. But Mark doesn't waver, doesn't flinch. He speaks like someone who has already made peace with the things most people would fight tooth and nail against.
How the hell am I supposed to resent him when he meets me with nothing but honesty? How can I hate him even a little when he's this rational, this infuriatingly empathetic person who seems to understand every fucking damn thing? When he makes it so damn clear that he isn't my enemy?
Then I find myself stopping, just for a moment, the weight of his words hitting me.
It hurts less when we accept and live with what we can't change.
It's a simple truth, really, one I've danced around for years. The logical conclusion. The way forward I've been too stubborn to acknowledge. Maybe this is the way I should've approached everything, all along. Not fighting, not holding on to what's already lost, but simply accepting it.
I shake my head slightly, realizing the truth in what he's said, and how damn hard it is to swallow.
"Yeah," I murmur, the words slipping out before I fully process them. "Yeah, I think you're right." I sigh, a hint of exhaustion creeping in. It's like my mind's been running in circles, but Mark's words... they've made me reconsider everything. "Anyway," I add, the weight of it still settling. "I don't want to cause any problems, or… discomfort. I promise you."
Mark seems to study me before speaking again, his voice still unaffected.
"You won't, not for me, anyway. But I can't speak for Jasper. In the end, it's his decision."
I let his words sink in, processing them without reacting. I'm still trying to piece everything together—everything I'm feeling, everything that's shifted since I came back into Jasper's life.
That's why I need to ask this. I need to hear it from him, even though I already know the answer. It's not doubt, it's more like an instinct, something that compels me to confirm it—to make sure that Jasper's been loved the way he deserves to be.
"Do you—" I catch myself before I finish. My words feel too heavy, too loaded. I need to smooth this out. "Do you truly love him?"
I hold my breath as Mark looks back at me, and something shifts in the way he holds himself. There's no hesitation when he answers, his words, stripped of pride, just laden with honesty.
"Yes. Jasper is my whole heart. My soul. My only purpose is to make him happy." He sighs heavily, as if talking about it intensifies his feelings. "He's everything to me."
I know I should feel something stronger—anger, bitterness, resentment, anything—but all I feel is a strange mix of something like awe and disbelief.
The silence between us stretches out, and I can't figure out if I'm relieved or angry that there's nothing more to say. He's not pushing me, not trying to get anything from me. Just stating facts. I don't even know what to do with that.
Then, Mark's phone rings, breaking the quiet. He glances at the screen, and I can't see the name flashing on it, but I know. The way his entire expression shifts—softens—it has to be Jasper.
Mark lifts a finger slightly, signaling for a moment.
"Give me a minute," he asks in a low voice before answering. "Hey, Moony." His tone changes, gentler, instinctive.
I know that voice. That quiet, effortless warmth. I've used it myself.
It shouldn't sting, but something in me twists anyway.
Mark speaks as if I'm not even here.
"In the coffee shop across from the clinic."
Just simple words. But knowing who they're meant for makes them cut deeper.
And then, as if the softness in Mark's voice wasn't enough, his next words hit even harder. A confirmation, intimate in a way that has nothing to do with who might be listening.
"Love you too."
I look away. I shouldn't be here for this. This moment isn't meant for me.
When Mark exhales, I know it's over. I glance back at him, his expression is unreadable, but it doesn't matter. I know what I heard.
I shift in my seat, pushing out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. The weight in my chest is ridiculous—pointless. I should be grateful for this, really. Another reminder, another proof that there's nothing to wait for. That I need to stop looking for cracks where there are none.
"I should go."
Mark studies me, then nods toward the door.
"It's not a problem if you want to stay and say hi to him."
I shake my head, feeling unsteady with everything that's unraveled in such a short time.
"I still feel a bit… weird."
Mark nods again.
"I get it."
I let out a quiet laugh, grasping at something light to cut through the tension.
"I hope it gets more normal with time."
"So do I."
I remain silent as I stand, and so does he.
"Appreciate the conversation."
Mark smiles, something soft in it.
"I'm glad we talked too."
I nod before heading out, but as I walk away, the whole thing replays in my head—again and again.
By the time I reach my car, parked across from the café, my thoughts are still tangled, looping over the conversation, the realizations it forced me to face. I exhale sharply, gripping the edge of the door before slipping inside. My hands settle on the wheel, but I don't start the engine just yet. I need a minute. Just a breath to steady myself before I drive.
I drag a hand down my face, inhaling deep, forcing the air into my lungs as if that alone could clear my head. It helps—marginally. At least enough to dull the edge of whatever the hell is still sitting heavy in my chest.
Then, movement catches my eye.
A metallic blue Jeep Grand Cherokee slows to a stop right in front of the café, and before I even fully register why, I know exactly who it belongs to. My grip tightens slightly.
And yet, I don't look away.
Jasper steps out of his car, and the second he sees Mark, his face lights up. He moves toward him without hesitation, wrapping his arms around Mark's neck, standing on his toes to kiss him.
I just watch the exchange between them, and I feel… stupid, really. But also jealous, hurt, and oddly guilty. Because I know Mark is someone who deserves Jasper. He's also someone Jasper deserves. Admitting it breaks my heart.
When Mark meets my gaze across the street, he nods.
I nod back, catching the understanding in his eyes—it confirms everything I've just admitted.
I start my car and drive away, admonishing myself for being petty.
.
.
.
The bar hums with the easy, familiar rhythm of a place that has held too many nights like this, filled with voices that have been part of my life since I came back. The music isn't loud enough to drown conversation, but it threads through the air, grounding everything in a steady pulse.
Emmett leans against the counter beside me, beer in hand, watching the group near the pool table.
"You doing okay being here?" he asks, keeping his voice low.
I lift my beer bottle, rolling it between my hands before taking a slow sip.
"I've been Jasper's friend since before we learned how to talk. It's important to be here."
Emmett nods slowly.
"I know. But I also know how hard this must be." His gaze flickers toward Jasper, and then back to me. "Seeing the person you love being in love with somebody else."
I exhale through my nose, watching as Jasper tilts his head back, laughing at something Mark says. There's no hesitation in the way Jasper reaches for him, brushing his knuckles against Mark's wrist like he doesn't even realize he's doing it.
"I'm trying to be happy for him," I say. "I know he deserves happiness. This is all I can hold on to."
Emmett's quiet for a moment, then nods.
"Yeah. He does. And Mark—he's a great guy. The way he loves Jasper, the way he treats him… it's undeniable."
I let out a breath that isn't quite a laugh.
"I never thought Jasper would get married to a man." I shake my head slightly. "Hell, I never thought he'd be with another man besides me."
Emmett glances at me sideways, like he's waiting for something. When I don't say anything else, he lifts his beer to his lips, takes a slow sip, then taps my shoulder lightly.
"You took him for granted, man," he says, not unkindly. "Made decisions for him when you should've let him decide for himself. If you had, things would probably be different."
There's nothing to say to that, because he's right. I nod, my fingers tightening around the bottle.
"There's nothing I can do to change things now. I opened a door and then walked away. Left it open for someone else to step in."
My gaze drifts back to Jasper at the pool table. He's still laughing, leaning into Mark's space so easily like he belongs there. And he does. The way he looks at Mark—like he's the center of the whole damn universe—makes something twist deep in my chest.
He's looked at me like that before. Close to it. But never quite like this. Not with that intensity. Not with that devotion. Not so completely enchanted.
And when I follow his gaze, I see Mark looking at him the exact same way. It's impossible not to see it, the love, the connection that links them. Anyone who looks can tell.
Jasper steps closer, rising on his toes to murmur something in Mark's ear. Mark's lips twitch in a shy, private smile before Jasper takes his face between his hands and kisses him.
I look away and decide it's time for tequila.
By the third shot, the burn has settled into something almost numbing, but it does nothing to quiet the ache beneath my ribs. I brace my hands on the counter, exhaling slowly, when I feel a heavy hand rest on my shoulder—gentle but certain.
I turn and find Mark beside me.
I try to hold his gaze, but Mark's eyes are sharp, too damn cunning, too knowing. I look away first.
"Can I have some?" he asks.
I nod, signaling the bartender. A shot paddle with six glasses is set between us. We down the first two in silence.
I glance at the group, then back at Mark.
"Did he ask you to come talk to me?"
Mark looks at the group, too, then back at me, his expression unreadable.
"No," he says. "I came on my own."
I huff a quiet, humorless laugh.
"To make sure I don't ruin your bachelor party?" It's meant to be teasing, but my voice gives away too much.
Mark doesn't answer right away. When I look at him again, he's studying me, and there's no irritation, no wariness—just understanding.
"I know you're hurting," he says, his voice steady. "And believe me, I wish you weren't. You're important to Jasper, which makes you important to me." He picks up another shot and slides it toward me. "That's why I came over. Not to make sure you wouldn't ruin our party, but to make sure you're okay and don't get wasted."
I turn the shot glass in my fingers. Mark watches me for a beat before speaking again.
"It doesn't have to be this hard, Edward. Stop hurting yourself. Find a way to be okay." His voice is even, matter-of-fact. "Jasper's giving you space to be in his life again. It shouldn't be something that hurts either of you."
I swallow. My mouth is dry, despite the tequila.
"And what about you?" I ask.
Mark shrugs, tipping back another shot. When he sets the glass down, he answers with ease.
"As long as Jasper's happy, I am too."
We down the last shot together, and as the warmth spreads through me, Mark rests a hand on my shoulder.
"Wanna play pool, Golden Boy?"
I hesitate, then smile—tentative but real.
"Yeah."
We start walking back to the group.
"Thanks," I say, quiet enough that I almost don't know if I've said it aloud.
Mark doesn't look at me.
"Don't mention it," he says simply.
As we step into the circle of friends, I watch Mark go straight to Jasper. Jasper asks him something softly, and Mark leans in, murmuring something in his ear that makes Jasper nod. The way they stand together is easy, natural… and it fills me with quiet jealousy.
And as I watch them, the thought settles in my mind with certainty.
Mark really is a great guy.
I wish he wasn't. Then everything would be way less hurtful.
.
.
.
Laughter comes easily at the table, conversation flowing in an effortless back-and-forth—the kind that almost makes it feel like nothing has changed. I'm not really drinking my beer, just holding it, letting the cold press into my palm. I have no idea where Liam, the guy I've been seeing for half a month, is—and to be honest, I don't really care. Something about tonight feels quieter, like I'm half a step outside of it all. But I'm used to that by now.
Then the shift comes.
It's not loud or sudden. Just a slow unraveling of sound, a pause that stretches as heads turn. I follow their gazes without thinking, my eyes landing on Jasper.
He stands behind Mark, not speaking, not moving, but something about him feels—unsteady. His breath comes too fast, his chest rising and falling like he ran here. And his eyes—wide, almost dazed—lock onto Mark like he can't see anything else.
Mark turns, his brows pulling together at the sight of him. His name is on the tip of my tongue, a quiet question, but before anyone can speak, Jasper's voice breaks the hush.
"We're approved."
The words come rough, unfiltered, like they've been forcing their way out of him, and for a second, I don't understand.
Mark blinks.
"Approved?" His hands reach for Jasper without hesitation, already pulling him in, his voice searching, breathless. "Are you—are you talking about what I think you are?"
Jasper takes a shaky breath, giving a small nod.
"It was the social worker," Jasper says, his voice breaking over itself, the disbelief so stark in it that it leaves no room for doubt. "We're approved."
And then Mark's face changes.
It flickers through him like a lightning strike—shock, understanding, then joy so stunned it visibly steals the breath from his chest.
"We can have a kid?"
There it is.
The moment it clicks. The moment I understand.
I was prepared for anything—except that.
The words hit with a force I don't brace for, knocking loose something tangled and sharp in my ribs. Jasper and Mark have been waiting for this, hoping for this, together. And I had no idea.
It makes sense… they are married, they obviously want a family.
The jealousy is immediate, as automatic as an old wound flaring open.
It should have been me.
The thought comes before I can stop it, crawling up from the deepest part of me, the part that still remembers the quiet confessions, the half-dreamed plans, the way Jasper used to look at me like I was part of something bigger, something that stretched beyond just us. I pictured it before. We pictured it before.
But I was gone.
And Mark was there.
I watch, frozen, as Mark pulls Jasper in, lifting him right off his feet. Jasper lets out a sound—half-laugh, half-gasp—the kind of joy that comes when something impossible suddenly becomes real. It echoes through the yard, colliding with the cheerful voices that start rising around us.
And for the first time, I let myself see it.
Jasper's face, bright and unguarded, the way his arms lock around Mark's neck, clinging. The way Mark turns to the table, his voice ringing clear with something close to wonder.
"We can have our first kid. We're approved for adoption!"
The people around me erupt, voices layering over each other—congratulations, laughter, more claps on Mark's back than he can acknowledge at once.
I should look away. I should let the ache settle in, let it sink its teeth in the way it always does when I see what could have been.
But instead, I just—watch.
And slowly, something strange starts to shift.
It's not that the ache disappears. It's still there, low in my ribs, reminding me of everything I lost, everything I didn't know how to hold on to. But for the first time, it doesn't feel like it's all I have.
Because Jasper is happy.
Not just content, not just moving forward. Happy. The kind of happiness that doesn't leave room for anything else. And Mark—Mark looks at him like he's been waiting his whole life for this moment, like nothing in the world could matter more.
The jealousy is still there, but it's not all there is.
Something else tugs at me, quiet and unexpected.
I feel it before I fully understand it—the slow pull at the corner of my lips, the way my fingers loosen around the bottle in my hand. It's not bitterness. It's not regret.
It's happiness.
Not mine. Not for me.
For them.
For Jasper.
The realization settles in slowly, not sharp or sudden, just a quiet, undeniable truth slipping past everything else. I've never felt this before—never understood how it's possible to want something for someone else so much that the wanting for myself feels… smaller. Less heavy.
But I feel it now.
And then, something that Mark has said to me, more than once, suddenly makes total sense.
It slips past the ache, softening it, easing the weight of it into something I could hold without it crushing me.
Jasper is happy. And somehow, impossibly, that makes me happy, too.
.
.
.
Saturday lunches at the Hale's have had a kind of steady rhythm, conversations flowing easily between plates passed around the table, laughter curling through the air like something woven into the fabric of this place. Today, though, there's something different in the energy, a quiet anticipation threading through every word, every glance toward the front door.
"They must be close by now," Rosalie says, leaning forward, fingers drumming absently against her glass. "They left home a while ago."
"They should be," Joanne agrees, smiling softly. "Leighton's been talking about this all week. The minute we walked into the house with her on Monday, she couldn't stop telling us about her little brother's arrival."
"Nonstop," Emmelle confirms, shaking her head with a fond chuckle. "She wanted to help pick his outfit for today—argued with me over which shoes he should wear."
Alec grins.
"Well, she's got her priorities straight."
My dad and my mom laugh, and Rosalie leans in even more, looking at Emmelle expectantly.
"Did she say anything about him?"
"She's six, sweetheart," Joanne says, her voice full of warmth. "Of course she did. Every five minutes." She turns to Alec with a pointed look. "And yes, she mentioned how you told her big sisters have a very serious job."
Alec places a hand over his chest, solemn.
"It's a sacred duty."
Everyone erupts into laughter again, but I barely register it—my thoughts pull back, slipping into a memory of another Saturday lunch, two years ago.
That day, I had arrived late after a long shift at the hospital, stepping out of my car as familiar voices drifted from the backyard. I was barely through the gate when I saw them—Mark, standing in the center of the yard, the late-afternoon sun catching the edges of his smile, his arms lifting a small, laughing girl high into the air.
Her deep, warm complexion glowed in the soft light, her dark brown curls bounced as she soared, her big brown eyes—so full of wonder—crinkling with delight, tiny hands gripping Mark's forearms as she let out the most uninhibited, joyous laugh.
I couldn't help but think how beautiful she was.
Then I saw Jasper.
He was watching them, completely still, his entire world distilled into that single moment. The way he looked at them—utterly, undeniably happy—was something I had never seen before, not even at his wedding. It was different. Deeper.
I had never seen Jasper like that, had never seen him look at anything the way he looked at Mark and that little girl.
Before I could fully process it, Mark turned, catching sight of me. His smile widened, and then he shifted the girl in his arms, bringing her closer as he took a step toward me.
"Hey Golden Boy, this is our daughter," he said, his voice steady, sure, filled with something unshakable. "Leighton Estelle."
Daughter.
The word landed like something tangible, something real, something that settled into my understanding of them in a way nothing else ever had.
Mark turned to the little girl, who peered at me with wide, curious eyes.
"This is a friend of Papa's and Daddy's, Leigh. You can call him Uncle Eddy."
Uncle Eddy.
I had no time to react before Leighton blinked, processed, then beamed up at me with the kind of innocence that disarms completely.
"Uncle Eddy," she echoed, her voice soft but certain, as though the name had already belonged to me all along.
And something in my chest cracked open.
I had fallen in love once, but never like that—never instantly, never all at once. But looking at that tiny, bright-eyed girl, hearing her call me Uncle Eddy like it was the easiest thing in the world, I knew there was no resisting it.
Now, as I sit at Mrs. Hale's sofa, waiting for Jasper and Mark to walk through the door with their son, I feel it.
That anticipation, that quiet pull in my chest.
I don't fully understand why I feel this way. It's not my kid, and this isn't about me at all, but… I can't wait to meet him.
Leighton's voice rings out from the front of the house, high and sweet.
"Grandmaaaaaa!"
A second later, she bursts through the door, barreling toward Joanne before throwing her arms around her waist. Joanne laughs, smoothing the little girl's curls as Leighton shifts to hug Emmelle just as tightly.
Then she turns, her big brown eyes locking onto me.
"Uncle Eddy!"
She launches herself at me, and I catch her, lifting her onto my hip just as easily as I have done every Saturday for the last two years. She grins.
"Papa and Daddy are coming with my little brother!"
A warmth spreads in my chest, but before I can say anything, the front door eases open.
Mark steps inside first, a quiet smile tugging at his lips as he takes in the room.
"Good morning, everyone."
Then, just behind him—Jasper, with a small boy in his arms.
His head is tucked into Jasper's neck, his tiny hands fisting the fabric of Jasper's shirt as though letting go would mean being swept away. His little legs are wrapped around Jasper's waist, clinging tight, and even from here, I can see the tension in his shoulders. Mark had told us, had prepared us for the shyness, for how overwhelming today might be for him, and yet—seeing it, seeing him so small and curled up against Jasper—something pulls deep in my chest.
No one moves.
No one speaks.
Mark stops in the middle of the living room, reaching out to circle Jasper's shoulders. His voice is gentle but sure.
"So, everyone, this is our little boy—Noah."
Jasper shifts slightly, holding Noah just a bit closer, his hand running soothingly over the boy's back.
"Hey, tiny bolt," he murmurs, his voice impossibly soft. "Can you look at me?"
The little boy twitches at Jasper's voice, his grip tightening for just a second. Then, slowly, he tilts his head back just enough for Jasper to see his face, his big brown eyes peeking up beneath a furrowed brow. His fingers twitch against Jasper's shirt, rubbing the fabric between them in small, repetitive motions.
Jasper's eyes are warm, steady.
"These people are your family," he tells him softly. "Do you want to meet them?"
Noah hesitates, his little brows drawing in further. Then, after a beat, he nods, but he doesn't look away from Jasper.
One by one, Jasper and Mark take Noah to meet each person, moving at his pace. Joanne first, then Emmelle. Auntie Rosie. Uncle Alec. Uncle Carlisle. Auntie Esme. Each of them speaks to him softly, offering warm greetings, but Noah never lifts his gaze from Jasper. Sometimes he presses his forehead against Jasper's cheek, other times his tiny hands reach up, finding Jasper's face as if grounding himself with the contact. When Mark speaks, he flicks his eyes toward him—brief, fleeting—but it's something.
And then—
Jasper turns toward me.
His voice is just as soft as before, careful, intentional.
"This is Uncle Eddy."
For a moment, Noah doesn't move. I look at him, my gaze open and gentle.
"Hello, Noah," I say in the same tone as Jasper's.
And then, against all expectation, he looks at me.
Not just a glance—he sees me.
I barely register Jasper's quiet gasp before my eyes flick to him, catching the way his lips part, the way his brows lift slightly in surprise. Then, softer, awed—
"He looked at you."
Mark is smiling too, something quiet but knowing in his eyes.
Before I can process it, Noah moves again. His tiny hands reach forward, and then—
Warm, small palms settle against my cheeks.
I go still.
Jasper's voice drops into something even softer, something meant only for me.
"He wants you to look at him."
I do.
I let myself see him the way he's seeing me, and I don't miss the way his fingers flex against my skin, like he's studying me through touch, like he's memorizing.
I swallow, my voice low.
"I'm glad to meet you, Noah."
Noah blinks once, then turns back to Jasper, his little fingers pressing against his cheeks next. Jasper lets out a soft breath, smiling at him.
"It's okay, tiny bolt. He's family too."
Family.
Jasper doesn't even hesitate. The words are so natural, so certain, that they land somewhere deep in my chest before I can stop them.
I don't say anything. I don't need to.
Because Noah just accepted it.
And Jasper—Jasper had affirmed it.
And I… I don't know what to do with the feeling swelling inside me.
Noah doesn't move his hands from Jasper's face right away, his little fingers pressing gently against his cheeks as if making sure he's still there. Jasper only smiles, and I catch myself smiling too.
Something in my chest loosens.
The family starts talking again, murmured voices weaving through the space, but it all feels softer now, like the moment has settled into place, right where it belongs. Joanne reaches out to smooth a hand over Noah's back, Emmelle whispers something to Mark, and Rosalie shoots me a look I can't quite decipher. But I don't need to.
Because I feel it—the way I fit into this.
Not as an outsider, not as someone looking in, but as someone who belongs. I see it in the way Leighton holds onto me like she always has, like she never doubted my place here. I see it in the way Mark meets my eyes, warmth and acceptance in his gaze—steady, given freely.
And I felt it in the way Jasper didn't hesitate—didn't even stop to think—before calling me family.
It doesn't change what I lost. It doesn't rewrite the past. But the ache that's lived in my chest for so long, the one I thought I'd carry forever—one that's already grown lighter these past years, shaping me in ways I don't even fully understand—feels… quieter.
Not gone. Maybe never gone.
But bearable.
More and more bearable.
And sometimes—like now, with Leighton still holding onto me after her little brother accepted me just as she had, and Jasper so naturally calling me family—it isn't there at all.
.
.
.
Noah clings to my back like a limpet, his small hands gripping my shoulders, while Leighton has her arms around my waist, laughing into my side. I barely get a breath in before they double down on their attack, tickling me mercilessly. My laugh comes rough and breathless as I try to fight them off, but they've already won. I gasp, pretending to struggle.
"Mercy!" I plead, but Noah just shrieks with delight and keeps going.
Leighton giggles, triumphant.
"No mercy!"
I groan dramatically, collapsing onto the grass in defeat.
"You two are ruthless."
Their laughter echoes around the yard, loud and unrestrained, the kind that makes my chest feel lighter. I don't think I ever laugh like this outside of moments like these. With them, it's easy.
It takes me a second to realize Jasper is approaching—Noah's eyes light up first, and then he bolts, arms stretched wide.
"Daty!"
I watch as Jasper catches him, Noah's small body curling around him like it's the most natural thing in the world. Jasper holds him close, something soft in the way he looks at him. The sight of it tugs at something deep in me—something I don't quite know how to name.
Jasper stops in front of me, and I glance up, already knowing what time it is.
"Snack time?" I ask simply as he reaches for Leighton's hand.
I watch as she peers up at him from my lap with those sharp, curious eyes, then stands up.
"Did Papa put strawberries in my snack?"
"Of course," Jasper assures her with a small, knowing smile.
Her smile widens, but before she follows him, she turns to me.
"Uncle Eddy, come with us!"
I glance at Jasper, catching the smirk on his lips before he even speaks.
"Come on, Uncle Eddy. You were officially invited to the afternoon snack."
My smirk turns into a chuckle, and I stand, brushing my hands over my jeans.
"Daty, Papa put banana in Noah snack?" I hear Noah asking him and I look at them.
I watch the exchange between Jasper and Noah, something about it striking me in a way I can't quite explain. There's a rhythm between them, this quiet, unspoken understanding that feels almost tangible. Jasper has this way of drawing Noah in, guiding him without pushing, almost like they're speaking the same language. It's not just about the words—they both have this intuitive sense of how to communicate, how to connect.
Noah's small hands, reaching up to gently turn Jasper's head toward him, as if he needs to make sure his attention is fully his, speaks volumes. I watch how Jasper doesn't flinch, doesn't rush. Instead, he slows down to Noah's pace, letting the conversation unfold in its own time.
It's something I've noticed before, how Jasper has this innate ability to meet Noah where he's at. He never tries to force the words out of him. He gives Noah the space to find them on his own, encouraging him with patience, a subtle firmness that only comes from knowing exactly how to navigate the small, delicate terrain of a child's mind.
When Jasper gently nudges Noah to repeat himself, guiding him through the right words, it's like watching a dance, one that doesn't need to be choreographed—it just happens. And as Noah finally gets it, the satisfaction in his eyes is unmistakable. He's proud of himself, but so is Jasper. It's not about teaching; it's about guiding, about giving Noah the confidence to express himself, to understand the importance of his thoughts and how to put them into words.
I find myself smiling at the scene, at how easy and natural it all seems for Jasper. He doesn't just teach Noah to speak; he teaches him how to think, how to be confident in his own voice. It's something I could never quite do with the same grace, and it hits me, just how incredible Jasper really is at this. How effortlessly he gives his all to those he loves. And Noah? Noah is lucky to have him.
As I stand there, watching them, I realize there's no rush in their world. It's not about finishing tasks, crossing things off lists. It's about these little moments, about nurturing a connection that lasts far beyond any conversation.
As soon as we step into Rosalie's living room, Jasper sets Noah down, and he bolts toward the kitchen, calling for Mark, with Leigh right behind him.
I heave a sigh, watching them disappear before turning to Jasper. Something about the moment lingers, and before I can stop myself, the thought slips out.
"You're really good at directing him. It's amazing to see."
Jasper's look is sharp, like he's seeing past what I'm letting show.
"Easier when my husband—and Noah's other father—is a therapist who specializes in cases like his."
He's right, but I don't think that's all there is. It's more than technique, more than knowledge or strategies—even more than parental instinct. It's just something Jasper… has. And since I can't put it into words…
"That probably helps."
There's a pause—so brief it might not even be real. Then Jasper speaks in an earnest tone that reaches something far deep into me.
"You're really good with them. Especially with Noah."
It lands heavier than I expect. His acknowledgment means more than anything else. And I know exactly what he's saying—that's why it hits so deep. Noah's trust and affection aren't things he gives lightly.
Something tightens in my throat. I shrug, softer now.
"I just love them." It's the simplest truth, slipping out before I'm even fully aware.
Jasper looks at me for a second too long, something unreadable flickering in his eyes, but then he turns away, stepping toward the kitchen. I follow, still feeling that warmth in my chest, deep and unexpected.
Noah is already clinging to Mark's leg, looking up at him expectantly, asking for his bananas. Mark chuckles, ruffling his curls as he assures him there are bananas in his snack, and the whole interaction is just so endearing.
Then Jasper is right there in front of him, craning his neck to reach Mark's lips. I look away, like I always do when they share these tender, intimate moments. They're not meant for me, and I try—not always successfully—not to pry.
I lean against the counter as they fall into their rhythm, watching them in quiet awe. It's in the way they move, how in sync they all are. The way Mark ruffles Noah's hair absentmindedly as he talks, the way Jasper breaks a strawberry in half for Leighton without her even asking. It's like a dance… and they're perfect at it.
"Did you correct him again?" Mark asks Jasper, his tone knowing.
Jasper's small smile is almost mischievous, and it makes me smile too.
"I try. He's stubborn."
"I wonder where he gets that from," Mark muses, amused.
I can't help a snort. I know well what Mark is talking about.
"Don't start." Jasper taunts, glaring at me.
"Daddy and Uncle Eddy, are you fighting?" Leighton's small voice reaches me, a touch worried.
"No," Jasper rushes to answer in a huff before I can.
"Not yet." I add with a teasing grin.
Jasper shoots me a look and I stifle a chuckle.
Mark shakes his head as he sits beside Jasper.
"They're just playing, sparkle."
But that doesn't seem to ease Leighton's suspicions. She hums, narrowing her eyes at her daddy and me.
"Eat your snack, detective," Jasper says, all seriousness, handing her another half of a strawberry.
Leighton is still observing the both of us carefully when she takes it from jasper's hand and puts slowly in her mouth.
"Ever thought about switching to elective surgeries, Golden Boy?" Mark asks, sounding thoughtful.
I huff a short laugh, shaking my head.
"I don't know how to live on a schedule, Mark. I've been running on ER adrenaline for over thirteen years. My body's wired for it."
Mark chuckles, shaking his head subtly.
"That's gotta wear you out eventually, though."
"It doesn't," I reply easily. "I take good care of my health." I glance at him, smirking. "And honestly? If I ever left the ER, I'd probably just get anxious and feel like I had too much time on my hands."
Mark hums, considering that.
"I guess I get that." His gaze shifts toward Jasper, who's now helping Noah open a container of crackers. "Still, you should think about a more regular routine—y'know, if you ever wanna settle down. Maybe have kids."
The words land hard. I don't answer right away. I let them settle.
At some point in my life, I did want that. A home, a family. I had a picture in my head, once—a dream I didn't even realize had taken shape until it started slipping away. And when I accepted that Jasper would never be with me again, I let go of it entirely. It felt pointless to hold on.
Now, watching him with Mark and the kids, I realize how far away that dream has become. Not just in years, but in possibility. In the quiet understanding that it was never meant for me in the first place.
And then Mark looks at Jasper.
It's soft, unguarded in a way I don't think he even notices. Jasper catches it, his own expression shifting, something warm and steady passing between them. It's not the kind of thing people put into words. It just is.
I shouldn't be watching.
I almost look away, but then Jasper smiles—small but full, like he feels it, like it settles into something deep inside him. Mark leans in, presses a kiss to his temple, and Jasper closes his eyes, just for a second, just enough to hold onto it.
And I can't lie to myself.
I wanted that once. I wanted it with him. And I know, with absolute certainty, I'll never have it with anyone.
So I focus on something else. Something I can talk about.
"I don't know how you two do it," I say before I can stop myself.
"Do what?" Jasper asks after blinking at me.
I gesture at the kids.
"This. Parenting. You make it look easy."
"It's not. Not even close," Jasper says matter-of-factly as Mark nods.
"There's a lot of trial and error," Mark adds in his calm voice. "A lot of exhaustion. But at the end of the day, it's just… loving them."
I don't know why that hits as hard as it does. Maybe because it's so simple—so fundamental to a partnership, to two people navigating it together. Maybe because it speaks to a kind of love and closeness beyond anything I've had with anyone besides Jasper—and something I know I'll never have again.
I force a smile, soft but genuine. Because despite the sting that never fully fades, despite the jealousy that lingers in quiet moments, I've learned to admire what they've built. I love their kids. And I am grateful that, in some small way, I'm part of it.
"Well, you're both doing something right."
Jasper smirks smugly.
"Damn right, we are."
"Humble as ever," Mark teases immediately.
I shake my head, laughing lightly. Should've seen it coming.
"I walked right into that one," I comment, glancing at Mark, who nods at me.
Then I hear Noah's excited voice.
"Uncle Eddy lose!" he declares, clapping his little hands.
Jasper grins, glancing from Mark to me.
"See? The kid knows what's up."
"Betrayed," I groan dramatically.
"It's okay, Uncle Eddy," Leighton says, patting my arm in mock sympathy. "You can try again later."
I exhale, looking at both of their little, loving faces.
"Fine. Rematch after snack time."
That makes both of my two favorite little people in the world happy and excited, and their parents chuckle. I feel pretty accomplished when I smile wide at the kids.
And in moments like this, I don't miss anything. I don't need anything more. The laughter, the warmth, the way they all include me so effortlessly—it's enough. Maybe not in the way I thought it would be, but in a way that feels just right.
.
.
.
I meet my father and Dr. Albano Perez in the sterile confines of the operating room, after scrubbing in. The air smells of antiseptic, and the faint sound of beeping monitors is the only noise beyond our footsteps. Dr. Perez is already reviewing the scans I've handed him, his eyes focused, his posture brimming with professional intensity. My father stands beside him, his expression a calm counterpoint to the urgency that hangs in the air.
I don't waste time.
"The patient's unconscious. GCS is at six, and he's showing signs of rapid deterioration."
Carlisle frowns as he absorbs the information, then looks at the scans Dr. Perez holds.
"What are we looking at?"
Dr. Perez doesn't hesitate, his voice steady as he assesses the situation.
"Severe head trauma."
I step in to inform them.
"The impact caused a depressed skull fracture on the right parietal bone, and there's a large acute subdural hematoma with significant midline shift. His pupils are reactive, though the left is sluggish. Diffuse swelling, likely from contusions caused by the acceleration-deceleration forces." I take a sharp breath, bracing for the next words. "He had a brief window of consciousness before shutting down. Classic lucid interval."
Dr. Perez's gaze sharpens at that, the implication clear.
"How bad is the shift?"
"Seven millimeters," I reply. "The brainstem is under pressure. If we don't relieve it now, he's going to herniate. His breathing's irregular, and there's increased reflex posturing. If we wait, he won't make it to the next hour."
Carlisle nods, the lines of his face tightening with the gravity of the situation. It's Dr. Perez who speaks next, his tone a calm command that cuts through the tension.
"Alright. Let's not waste time. We need to do a craniotomy. We'll evacuate the hematoma, decompress the brain, and elevate the depressed fracture to prevent further damage. The bleeding and swelling are masking any deeper vascular issues, but we'll deal with that post-op if we stabilize him."
He pauses to look at the scans one more time, taking in the full scope of the damage.
"We need to act quickly. Every minute we waste decreases his chances."
I meet his gaze and feel a sense of relief that it's him leading this. Dr. Perez is the kind of surgeon who thrives under pressure, and I trust him with every part of this. My father's presence beside me is a silent reassurance. We've been here before, but that doesn't make it any easier.
Carlisle looks at me, and then at Dr. Perez. He gives a small, sharp nod.
"Let's get to work."
As Dr. Perez and my father move into position, I take a moment to watch, my heart still pounding in my chest. The sterile light overhead casts sharp shadows, the low hum of the machines filling the room. I can already see the focus in their eyes, the unspoken language between them as they prepare for the battle ahead. The rhythm is efficient, practiced.
But in my mind, everything is sharp, urgent. I'm already moving into position beside them. I can't afford to falter, not even for a second. Dr. Perez is the specialist, the one with the plan, but I have a role to play, too.
I take a deep breath and step closer to the operating table, hands steadying on the edge.
I watch as Dr. Perez and my father exchange a few quick words with the surgical staff, moving with the calm precision of seasoned surgeons. I take a slow, steadying breath, trying to center myself. I can't let the weight of what's at stake distract me now.
It's hard not to feel the storm inside. I've been in countless surgeries before, been through enough ER trauma to last a lifetime, but this? This is different.
The man on the table isn't just another patient. He's the one Jasper loves. And if I don't get this right, there's no telling how badly this could break him.
I glance at my father. His steady presence gives me a brief moment of reassurance, but the weight is still there. I know what's riding on this.
I give a small nod to Dr. Perez, letting him know I'm ready. The others fall into their roles.
"Let's begin," Dr. Perez says, his voice cutting through the tension in the room.
As I watch Dr. Perez make the first incision, I remind myself that, whatever happens in this operating room, I'm here to make sure Mark pulls through. I have to guarantee that he comes back to Jasper. To their family. No matter what. I'll do whatever it takes.