Twilight belongs to Stephenie Meyer
#
#
Where the Lines Overlap
All We Know
~~ Edward ~~
I See Nothing In The Light, So I Turn It Off (In All My Spite)
The moment the door opens, my attention shifts at the sound, but my focus stays on the three Chiefs seated at the front. The meeting hasn't started yet, and I'm more curious about what's taking so long than analyzing every person who walks in.
Still, when those three people enter, something about the man who steps in last captivates attention. He's tall—maybe just as tall as me—with a presence that seems to fill the room effortlessly. His posture is confident but not overbearing, his movements precise. I don't recognize him—not at first—but my gaze lingers, drawn to the way he carries himself as he approaches the Chiefs' table.
He speaks to them in a low, measured tone. His voice is calm, professional, his words clipped but not rushed. I catch only fragments of the exchange, but I don't need to hear the whole conversation to see the respect in the Chiefs' expressions—my father included. He's someone important.
It isn't until he turns slightly, his profile coming into view, that something tugs at the back of my mind. A strange sense of familiarity. His smooth, golden light-brown hair, the sharp line of his jaw, the set of his mouth—it stirs something deep in my memory, but I can't quite place it.
Then he straightens, his gaze sweeping the room, and speaks.
"Good afternoon, doctors. Welcome to Seattle's General."
The breath leaves me. A sharp, stunned exhale.
Jasper.
The realization slams into me, and for a moment, I can't think, can't move. He continues speaking, his voice even and commanding, introducing himself as a doctor and Director of Operations. The words barely register. I can only stare, my heart hammering against my ribs.
Jasper is here. He's right here.
A dozen thoughts crash through me at once—disbelief, admiration, something dangerously close to awe. He's changed, and yet he hasn't. He looks older, sharper, more sure of himself than I ever remember. The boy I knew is gone, replaced by a man who carries himself with effortless presence. And it suits him.
He moves through the introductions with complete composure, listing off names and titles with a quiet authority that leaves no doubt—he belongs here. He's earned this.
And I—I'm sitting here, barely breathing, wondering if he saw me. If he recognized me.
His gaze sweeps the room continuously, but if he notices me, he shows no sign—no flicker of recognition, no pause, no shift in his tone. My stomach knots, my hands pressing against my knees to steady myself. Of course, he wouldn't. There are eight other doctors in this room—he didn't focus on any of our faces long enough to really see me.
And yet, as ridiculous as it is, part of me feels… disappointed.
The meeting moves forward, and I try to focus, but my mind keeps spinning.
Jasper is in Seattle. He's here, at the hospital I was just hired by. And he is my boss.
When the session finally comes to an end, I stand with the others, lining up to greet the Chiefs. My pulse quickens as the line moves, bringing me closer to him.
I step forward, the roar of my heartbeat drowning out the noise around me. My legs feel stiff, forced, but there's no stopping now. Jasper stands in the center, shaking hands with each doctor in turn, his expression poised, professional—undeniably self-assured.
I clench my fists at my sides, watching him interact with the others. His voice is even, measured—so different from the joyful, spontaneous, impetuous, and sometimes even loud tone I remember.
Now, it's deeper. More controlled.
And then, it's my turn.
Jasper turns to me, offering the same polite nod he gave the others as I extend my hand.
"Welcome aboard, Doctor Cullen." His voice is steady, impassive, but up close—this close—I see it. The fraction of hesitation before his expression smooths out again.
I barely hear myself respond. My fingers wrap around his in a firm handshake, but the moment our palms meet, something ignites—an electric shock shooting up my arm, a visceral, undeniable familiarity.
He doesn't flinch, doesn't react, but I feel it. I feel it so intensely that for a second, I forget how to breathe.
He's even more striking now, fully grown into himself in a way that makes my chest tighten. That quiet confidence, the way authority settles around him so naturally—it suits him. God, it suits him.
And yet, there's no flicker of personal recognition on his face. No sign of acknowledgment beyond what's appropriate. He doesn't hesitate, doesn't falter.
I force myself to let go. The handshake is brief—professional, just like the others—but as I step back to let the next doctor take their turn, I realize how erratic my pulse has become, how unsteady my breath is.
Doctor Jasper Alexander Hale, Director of Operations.
My boss.
I swallow hard and step aside, forcing myself to focus on anything but the fact that, after twelve years, the man I never stopped loving is standing just a few feet away, acting as if I'm nothing more than another new hire in the hospital he manages.
.
.
.
I slide into the passenger seat of my father's car in silence, the weight of the day settling in. As Carlisle pulls out of the hospital garage and merges into traffic, I can't shake the memory of how eager I was to follow Jasper after the meeting ended. I had wanted to go after him the moment I saw him leave.
But duty called. I had to stick with Dr. Leigh Anne Forbes, the Chief of Emergency Medicine and my secondary supervisor, along with my father—the Chief of Surgery and my primary supervisor. It wasn't ideal, but it was necessary.
Carlisle's voice, smooth as always, breaks the stillness.
"How was your first day? Did you feel overwhelmed at all?"
I scoff quietly, shaking my head.
"Are you serious?"
He glances at me briefly, his expression earnest.
"I just want to make sure you're okay. It was an important day, but also a long one."
I shrug, trying to brush it off.
"I've been an ER surgeon for over seven years. If you're asking if the first round of getting familiar with the hospital and the procedures overwhelmed me, you should know it didn't. But I have a feeling you're not asking about that."
Carlisle sighs, and after a moment of silence, he speaks again.
"I didn't tell you about Jasper because you asked me not to ever bring him up again. I respected that."
I exhale slowly, my fingers tapping restlessly on my knee.
"Did you not realize the situation's a bit beyond just our personal lives, Dad? Jasper is my boss. You should've warned me."
Carlisle's voice softens, like he's carefully choosing his words.
"I didn't want to break the promise I made to both of you. And... I didn't want to cause any unnecessary tension. It's not like you'll be working directly with him. He's not your supervisor. You won't be in close quarters."
The silence between us stretches, and I can feel a knot forming in my chest. It's quiet for a moment.
"So, what's his title exactly? I mean, is he a doctor?" I ask.
Carlisle nods, a note of pride in his voice as he speaks.
"Jasper graduated, completed his internship, and then finished his residency. But once he realized he didn't want to stay in clinical practice, he took specialized courses in hospital management. He's got multiple health care management certifications."
I blink, surprised.
"What's his specialization?"
Carlisle glances at me again, a faint smile crossing his face.
"He's a pediatrician. But he didn't practice after his residency. He went straight into Seattle General's selection process for healthcare management. He impressed everyone—CEO, board members, you name it. Became the youngest assistant manager the hospital ever had."
My heart stirs as I listen to him, a quiet pride swelling inside me. Jasper had done all that—and here he was, succeeding. I realize my father shares the same pride, and something tightens in my chest as I recognize the weight of it.
"Three years later, he became the Director of Operations. It's been a year, and the whole hospital is thriving under his leadership. Steady management, no surprises."
I feel the words hit me like a wave, a flood of emotion I wasn't expecting. Jasper's success, his growth—it tightens my chest. I want to know more about him, about this adult version of the boy I grew up with and have loved for practically my whole life. I want to get closer again, and that's precisely why the anxiety churns inside me.
I swallow hard, trying to lessen the impact of the feelings rising. All I know is, I want to be near him again.
.
.
.
I step into the garage, the familiar scent of coffee lingering in my hands, the warmth of the cup a small comfort against the exhaustion pressing down on me. Another stretch of hours blurred together into an unbroken routine—this is what I know. What I've trained myself to endure. Keep moving. Keep working. Don't stop long enough to think.
And then I collide with someone.
The cup slips from my fingers. Heat seeps through fabric. A sharp inhale—mine or his, I'm not sure.
"Oh no, I'm so sorry!" I say, my voice rushed, automatic. My brain scrambles to process, but the moment my eyes lift, everything screeches to a halt.
Jasper.
My grip tightens on the empty cup, the only thing anchoring me to the present as my breath stalls. He looks at me, his expression unreadable for a beat before something flickers across his face—shock, maybe something sharper. The air between us stretches, heavy and electric, and I struggle to find words.
"Jasp—" I start, but my tongue stumbles. No. That's not who he is anymore. "Doctor Hale."
His lips press together, irritation flashing behind his eyes, so quick I almost miss it. My stomach knots.
I force myself to focus, to regain control.
"I'm sorry," I say, too fast. "I didn't see you."
The dryness in his response lands like a deliberate strike.
"Clearly."
A sting of hurt mixed with guilt flares in my chest. But then, just as quickly, he exhales, smoothing over the sharp edge of his tone.
"I'm sorry," his tone more controled. "That was uncalled for. These things happen."
It's strange. We're both standing here, pretending at civility, and yet the undercurrent of something heavier pulses between us.
His eyes narrow, scanning me with a familiarity that makes my skin prickle. I hold still, instinctively guarded, but he sees through it anyway.
"You were… distracted."
The observation isn't a question. I nod slightly, not trusting my voice.
"Are you just starting your shift?"
I shake my head, feeling the weight of my schedule settle in my bones.
"I'm actually past the middle of it. Hence the coffee."
Jasper raises a brow.
"Thirty-six-hour shift?" he presses.
I nod.
"Coffee isn't enough, Doctor Cullen. You should take a proper break—for your patients' sake."
Something tightens in my chest at the way he says it—firm, unwavering. It shouldn't affect me, but it does.
"I just took ten. I'm fine," I reply, my voice defensive.
His eyes stay on me, sharp, assessing.
"How long into it?"
"Twenty-eight hours," I say like it's nothing—when I know exactly how much it really is.
"Straight?" Jasper's voice dips, edged with skepticism.
"I had three back-to-back surgeries."
He shakes his head, scoffing at my poor judgment. The sound is familiar—exasperation laced with something deeper.
"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."
The way he says it—absolute, dominant—sends something unexpected curling in my stomach. A strange mix of admiration, frustration, and something darker, more dangerous.
"I don't need—"
"It's not a suggestion, Doctor Cullen," he cuts me off with his commanding tone. "I may not be your direct supervisor, but as Director of Operations, I oversee the entire hospital. That includes you. So take fifty. Now."
I feel something twist inside me—something I haven't felt in a long time. A pull, a sharp edge of attraction curling around his authoritative voice. My body responds instantly, and, damn it, inappropriately.
I nod rigidly, my shoulders locking up as if that will keep everything else in check. He turns to go, and I exhale, trying to shove down the mess of emotions he's just kicked up in me.
But then—
"Why are you here?"
I freeze.
Jasper's voice is quieter, but it cuts through the space between us like a scalpel. I glance up, caught off guard by the way he's watching me, the weight of his gaze pressing down, as though he already knows the answer.
"Why are you here, Edward?" he insists, his green eyes darkening as he glares at me.
I force a frown.
"What do you mean?"
His expression sharpens, something knowing creeping into his eyes.
"You know what I mean."
I swallow hard, my grip tightening around the empty cup. He doesn't know. Or does he?
I take a step forward, lips parting, but nothing comes out. For the first time in years, I feel like I don't have control of my own voice. Jasper's gaze pierces through me like a knife.
I have to say it. This is what I came back for, right? The opportunity I thought I would have to fight for.
He's right here, right in front of me, and he wants to know.
For you. I'm here for you.
The answer is on the tip of my tongue, hammering my mind, but I can't voice it.
Footsteps echo across the garage. Jasper blinks as a group of doctors steps out of the elevator, talking quietly. He glances at them before looking back at me. Something shifts in his posture—subtle, but unmistakable—and just like that, the moment is gone.
His expression closes off, his shoulders drawing back. He shakes his head, a flicker of regret crossing his face, fleeting but sharp.
"Never mind."
That's all he says before turning, walking away without looking back.
I exhale, my chest tight, my mind spinning. Because for a second there—just a second—I saw him. My Jasper. The one who loved me. The one who was impulsive, impetuous, who fought, who pushed, who didn't back down.
The Jasper I came back for.
And I wanted—needed—to see him again.
.
.
.
I remember last night, the way my mom casually invited me to come with her and my father to Joanne's house this Saturday. The moment she said it, anxiety hit me like a freight train. This was it—the chance to get closer to Jasper again. For a second, I even wondered if he had something to do with it, if he'd asked his mom to talk to mine, if he wanted me there just as much as I wanted to see him.
That thought had fueled every second leading up to this moment.
And now, here I am, standing in his house, fidgeting like a goddamn idiot, trying way too hard to look like I belong in the middle of all these conversations I can't even follow. I keep glancing at the door, forcing myself to breathe evenly, to not look as anxious as I feel. But I'm practically buzzing, anticipation coiling so tight in my chest it's a miracle I'm not shaking.
Then, a deep, strong voice calls from outside.
"Momma, we're home!"
My body tenses. That's—something Jasper would say. But the voice—no, it's not his. It's familiar somehow, but not his. My pulse spikes, and before I can dwell on it, Joanne rushes out of the kitchen like she's been waiting for this exact moment all morning. I strain to hear, trying to pick up on what's being said, but all I catch is the warmth in her tone, the way she sounds delighted.
And then she's back, stepping into the living room with someone right behind her. A very tall man with copper hair.
Something about him jolts my memory, but before I can pin it down, my eyes land on Jasper. He's just behind the guy, left arm slightly stretched forward—toward him.
My breath stutters.
Their hands are locked.
A jolt runs through me, sudden and disorienting, the ground beneath me shifting.
The guy is Jasper's boyfriend.
The sight confuses me, striking a nerve I'd long tried to bury. My mind scrambles to process it, but nothing about this makes sense.
Jasper has a boyfriend.
Jasper has a boyfriend? A boyfriend?
I force my eyes down, willing myself to keep it together, but then—
"Bro Bear!"
Rosalie's voice cuts through the moment, bright and teasing.
I hear the man chuckle before answering, "Little Sil."
That voice.
I lift my head, finally placing it and finally focusing on his face—recognition snaps, sharp and jarring.
Mark Wallon.
Jasper's old basketball teammate. His best friend in college.
And right now, he's standing here, holding Jasper's hand like he belongs at his side.
Mark moves through the room like he's always belonged here. Not just beside Jasper—but here, in this house, with these people. The ease in his steps, the natural way he greets everyone, the warmth in every exchange—none of it is forced. It's as if he's been a part of their lives for years.
I watch, unable to look away, as my mother smiles at him like an old friend, my father acknowledges him with the kind of nod reserved for familiarity, and Rosalie rolls her eyes at something he says, shoving his arm in mock exasperation. He chuckles, the sound rich, unbothered.
It shouldn't feel like a punch to the stomach.
But it does.
And I don't even know why.
Because Jasper is with someone? Because that someone is a man? Or because that man is Mark Wallon?
Before I can untangle the mess of emotions clawing at my chest, Mark turns, eyes locking onto mine. He steps closer, stopping just before me.
And then, the unmistakable grin—wide, confident, familiar.
"Golden Boy," he says, voice edged with amusement. He extends his free hand, the one not still holding Jasper's. "Long time no see."
For a second, I don't move.
Then I blink, forcing my shoulders to stay loose, my expression neutral. I can't afford to be obvious. Or impolite.
I stand, pushing a tight smile into place as I grasp his hand.
"Nice to see you again, Mark." The words come out steady enough, but there's no hiding the hesitation laced in them.
And then—
"Hi, Edward."
Jasper's voice is light, simple—so different from the strained exchanges we've had since I came back…
But it might as well rip through me.
I turn to him, and my breath catches. He's smiling—cautious but warm. A hint of dimples peeks through, softening the careful edges of his expression.
Something lodges in my throat, thick and heavy.
The room feels too quiet, like everyone is waiting—watching.
Instinct takes over before I can think better of it.
I let out a breath, let a faint grin tug at the corner of my mouth.
"Hi, boss," I say.
It's light, teasing—just enough to shift the weight pressing down on the moment.
Mark's soft chuckle reaches me first, followed by the others' light laughter in response. But none of it registers beyond the sight of Jasper's grin widening—his quiet, unconscious delight at my joke.
And that—that—is what locks me in place.
I barely notice when the conversation shifts around me, when the moment dissolves into the next. Because at some point along the way, though, something else starts demanding my attention.
Jasper hasn't left Mark's side.
Not once.
He's right there, next to him, always. Moving with him, leaning subtly toward him, as if there's an invisible thread tethering them together. It isn't forced, isn't overcompensating or marked by anything but a natural, steady kind of knowing.
It's in the way they share glances—ones that feel private, as if they belong to them alone. In the small, unspoken exchanges that flicker between them, like a language only they understand. Every brush of fingers, every sidelong smile, every shift in movement that happens in seamless harmony.
Like they've done this for a long time.
Like it's second nature.
And it hits me, the possibility—has it been since college?
A slow, sharp ache uncoils in my chest at the thought.
Somehow, I make it through lunch, my plate barely touched, my hands motionless on my lap. But then—
Jasper leans in.
He tilts his head ever so slightly, saying something in Mark's ear, soft and easy. The kind of thing meant only for the two of them.
Mark turns to look at him, catching his gaze.
And Jasper—he smiles. Not the cautious, polite smile from earlier, but something softer. Almost shy.
I shouldn't be watching this.
It feels like intruding, like looking too closely at something not meant for me.
The pain sharpens, pressing down in ways I don't want to examine.
I push back my chair as discreetly as I can, barely thinking as I grab the glass of lemonade and head out of the room, hoping no one notices.
The cool afternoon air greets me as I step outside, but it does nothing to settle the tangle of thoughts clawing at my mind.
Because suddenly, I'm there again.
Twelve years ago.
Standing before Jasper after everything I'd done—after I cheated, after I ended things—standing before him at his father's funeral, thinking I had no right to be near him.
And Mark—
Mark had been there, too.
From the cemetery to the house, through every painful moment, Mark was right by his side. All the way up until the last time Jasper and I spoke. Until the moment before I left for the UK.
The realization settles heavily in my chest.
Maybe—probably—Mark was just as important to Jasper as I was.
Or maybe he became that. Somewhere in the space I left behind.
Because this—this effortless sync, this way Jasper moves with him like they're two halves of the same rhythm—it isn't new.
I think back. Twelve years ago. The funeral.
Jasper had been at Mark's side the entire time. Right there. Leaning toward him, moving with him, responding to him in ways I hadn't thought twice about back then.
It wasn't as obvious. Not as fluid, not as instinctive as it is now, but it was there.
And now, looking back, I can see it for what it was.
I exhale sharply, holding the glass just a little tighter, trying to—
"So, are you British yet?"
Jasper's voice—light, tentative—cuts straight through my thoughts.
I jolt slightly, not having noticed his approach.
I turn, caught off guard, but I recover quickly, letting out a soft chuckle.
"Not quite," I say, shaking my head. My accent hasn't changed enough to fool anyone.
We exchange pleasantries—surface-level, weightless. Words that don't mean anything, don't touch anything real. But the tension sits between us, thick and unmoving. It's there in the careful pauses, the way Jasper's fingers twitch at his sides, in the way I keep my shoulders too still, too measured.
Then he exhales, and I know what's coming before he speaks.
"Listen," he says, quieter now. "About the last time we met at the hospital…" He hesitates, like the words are pressing down on him. "I was rude. Unnecessarily rude. I'm sorry."
I shake my head before I even think about it, because I don't need his apology—not for that. It's not what lingers between us.
"There's no need," I tell him, keeping my voice steady, careful. "You were right. I was exhausted and should have been resting."
The words come out easily, but I see the way Jasper watches me. Like he's trying to catch something hidden between them. And maybe there is something, but I won't let it show. Not now.
My gaze flickers toward the house before I speak again, pulling us both somewhere else.
"So," I say, the name tasting strange on my tongue. "Mark." I sigh before I can stop myself. "You're with him."
It's not a question. I already know.
Jasper breathes out like he's been holding it in.
"Yeah."
I swallow, forcing my expression to stay even.
"Since back then…?" My voice is frailer than I want it to be, like something in me doesn't want the answer.
He nods, and the confirmation settles in my chest like a weight I wasn't ready for.
"A year after you left," he says. "Eleven years together."
Although now it makes total sense, the number hits harder than I expect, and my brows lift before I can stop them.
Eleven years. Almost as long as we've been apart.
Jasper notices. Of course, he does.
"Why does that surprise you?" His voice is calm, measured.
I hesitate. My mouth opens, but I don't have an answer that doesn't sound ridiculous. My jaw tightens, and I look down instead.
"Ah." His voice is knowing, piecing something together. "The whole 'I'm straight' thing."
I glance up sharply, instinctively. There's something teasing in his tone, but it's not cruel. Something flickers in me—an old frustration, a misplaced ache—but I push it aside before it can take root.
"You figured yourself out?" I ask, my voice careful. Not accusing, not judgmental. Just searching.
His eyes hold mine, unwavering. A small, quiet smile curves his lips.
"I stopped trying to figure it out," he says. "I just want to be happy with the person I love."
I stare at him, taking in everything—the confidence, the steadiness—this version of him I don't know but somehow still recognize… and the glint in his deep green irises.
I know that shimmer. I remember when it was meant for me.
"You love him," I say. It isn't quite a question, but it's not not one, either.
His answer comes without hesitation.
"I do. Very much."
And that—those last two words—tighten something in my chest before I can stop them.
Jasper's gaze drops to his hand, and the movement is so natural, so absent of hesitation, that it doesn't hit me at first. Then I see it. The ring.
The sunlight catches on it, casting fractured light over the lawn. My breath locks in my throat.
"And you're engaged," I say before I can hold the words in. They barely come out.
Jasper looks at me, nodding softly. No hesitation. No second thoughts.
"We're getting married in November."
A sharp, searing pain rips through my chest, but I keep my expression still.
"Eight months," I murmur, the timeline slamming into me like a physical force.
Thirty-four weeks until he's married. 223 days until this door slams shut forever.
I try to make sense of it, like the math will somehow change the outcome.
"Eight months," he echoes, as if confirming my own reality for me.
The silence between us stretches, thick and suffocating. I need something to hold on to.
My grip on the glass tightens, the pressure grounding me.
I swallow hard and force my voice to steady.
"Congratulations."
It feels like a betrayal to say it. Like carving the words into my own skin.
"Thank you," Jasper says, his voice gentle, unwavering.
I glance away, forcing my expression to stay neutral. If I look at him for too long, I'll give myself away. I'll say something I can't take back. The words press against my throat, desperate, clawing.
You loved me once. I was supposed to be the one.
Instead, something else escapes. Something I didn't plan, didn't mean to say.
"I missed my home."
Jasper shifts slightly.
"What?"
I don't look at him. I don't think I can.
"That day at the garage… you asked why I'm here." The words feel too raw, too open. I exhale sharply, steadying myself before I say the rest. "That's why. I just… missed my home."
My real home. The one I can't reach.
You.
I feel him watching me, searching for something beneath the surface. I brace myself, waiting for him to call me out—to see right through me. But instead, he nods slowly.
"That was why I moved to Seattle after graduation," he says. "To be close to my family again."
I don't know if I'm relieved or gutted that he didn't understand.
Family. Of course, that's what he thinks I meant. And maybe that really is what brought him back. What kept him anchored.
Everyone else. Not me. Never me.
I nod, though the motion feels distant, automatic. My mind is somewhere else. Drowning in memories.
And then the question escapes before I can stop it. Before I can think it through.
"Do you still hate me?"
The second the words leave my mouth, I regret them. I don't want to know. I don't want to hear the answer. But I stand there, waiting, bracing for the worst.
Jasper chuckles softly, tipping his head down. His voice is quiet when he finally speaks.
"I never hated you, E." The way he says my old nickname, soft and familiar, punches straight through me. "How could I? I was shattered, and for a long time, I resented you."
I swallow against the tightness in my throat, preparing for the rest.
"But… Edward, you were my childhood best friend, we grew up together. Then I fell for you, and we had our story. You were my first real love, my first boyfriend, the first man to have me." His voice is steady, gentle, like he's laying a hand on an old wound. "I can't erase any of that, even if I wanted to."
I don't breathe. I can't. The words crash over me like waves, relentless and unyielding.
You were my first real love. Past tense.
It's an ending, spoken so effortlessly, so kindly, like it's meant to bring closure. But all it does is rip me apart.
I force myself to keep my expression neutral, even as my chest tightens, even as everything inside me wants to break apart at his feet.
But there's something else I need to know. Something I can't leave unsaid.
"When?" My voice is controlled, quiet, but my heart is hammering.
Jasper blinks.
"When what?"
"When did you stop loving me?"
I don't know why I ask. I don't know what I'm hoping for.
Maybe that it took him years. Maybe that it almost didn't happen at all. Maybe that some part of him never did.
For a moment, I brace for the worst. For the final blow that will end any lingering hope I haven't been able to kill.
Then Jasper exhales, his voice steady.
"I guess I… never stopped."
Everything inside me halts.
The breath I didn't realize I was holding slips out, unsteady. It takes everything in me to keep my face still, to keep my hands from trembling.
His words are simple. Too simple. But they matter—more than anything.
He never stopped loving me.
The words lodge deep in my chest, pushing past everything that's been crushing me since I got here. It's a breach. A crack in the certainty I'd been forcing myself to accept—that he was long past me, that I never had a chance.
But then—
"It just… faded to the background. Morphed into a memory—something I hold dear, but doesn't affect my life anymore."
The flicker of hope stutters.
"I moved on, and my heart didn't have space for it, so I let go at some point."
And then it dies.
I feel it, the slow, merciless pull of something being ripped from me, like watching the last ember of a fire turn cold.
Suddenly, I want to shake him—to make him feel what I feel, to make him understand. I never had that choice.
I never let go. I couldn't.
But I keep my mouth shut. I keep everything shut.
Jasper shrugs, a faint smile on his lips.
"That's all."
That's all.
I clench my jaw, my fingers gripping the glass so hard I swear it might crack.
It's not all. It's not some faded memory. It's not something I packed away in a box and stored in the back of my mind. It's him. It's us.
But what's the point in saying any of that now?
I swallow the bitterness rising in my throat, the ache that's been lodged there since the moment I broke us apart.
It festers beneath my ribs, a wound I know I deserve. But knowing that doesn't make it easier to bear.
I force my voice to stay steady, to push past the regret clawing its way up, as I ask the one question that's haunted me from the moment I let him go.
"Can you ever forgive me for what I did?"
Jasper meets my gaze without hesitation, his voice unwavering.
"I forgave you a long time ago, Edward. Not because it was easy, but because I needed to let go of the pain to move forward."
The words land heavily, but they don't cut the way I thought they would. They should feel like a relief. Like I can finally breathe again.
Instead, they feel like another goodbye—another deep wound splitting me open.
I exhale slowly, my gaze dropping before I force myself to meet his eyes again. Something coils tight in my chest, dangerous and unrelenting, warning me to leave before I say something I can't take back.
But I don't move.
Instead, the question I've been trying not to even think about slips from my lips.
"What about Mark?"
Jasper tilts his head, confused.
"What about him?"
I don't even know what I'm asking—not really. Maybe I just want to understand. Maybe I just want to torture myself.
But I keep going.
"How did… you two happen?"
Jasper falters. I see it, the subtle shift when my question sinks in. He exhales, his gaze drifting past me, as if he's suddenly somewhere else.
The air changes, and something inside me tightens.
The weight of it settles slowly, like something heavy taking form.
And suddenly, I know.
He's not here to reopen old wounds. He's not here because there's something left unsaid. He's here to leave the past behind—for good.
The realization hits like a blow to the ribs, leaving me breathless, leaving me with the sharp, aching understanding that this is what he came here for.
Not me. Not us.
I want to run.
I want to disappear before the words come, before he locks the door shut for good. But I stand still, frozen, my heart pounding, waiting for whatever comes next—waiting for him to shut me out.
"Back when we were struggling," Jasper begins, his voice unsteady, laced with caution and a faint tremor, "toward the end… I was already in love with Mark."
Jasper's words land like a slow, deliberate blade, sinking deep before I even register the pain.
The breath leaves my lungs. My fingers tighten around my glass, the cold seeping into my skin, grounding me, keeping me from reacting too much—too visibly.
It shouldn't be a shock. It shouldn't feel like being hit full-force in the chest.
But it does.
I feel my breath catch, but I keep my face impassive. My hands remain still at my sides. I don't move. I don't react.
Jasper doesn't seem to notice.
"I didn't want to be," he affirms, and I hear the sincerity in his tone. "I was struggling with it because I loved you. I'd chosen you when it came to choosing. But then…"
He swallows hard.
"Then you left. You gave up on us."
I flinch. And fuck, I know he sees it. He sees it, and I wish I could stop it, wish I could pull the reaction back into my chest and hide it where he can't reach.
But the damage is done.
I left. I gave up.
Taking a deep breath, Jasper looks at me, his gaze unwavering.
"Back then, if you'd asked—if you'd fought for us—I would've forgiven you. I would've fought with everything I had, I would've put the cheating behind me and done everything in my power to fix whatever was wrong between us."
Everything in me stills.
I feel my pulse in my throat, hear the faint ringing in my ears.
He would have forgiven me.
The thing I had convinced myself was impossible—the thing I had never allowed myself to consider—had been right there, waiting, if only I had fought for it.
I look away, blinking rapidly, because if I don't, if I hold his gaze any longer, I will break.
Because I know.
I know I didn't deserve that kind of devotion.
And yet, a part of me—small, selfish, pathetic—wants to reach across time and shake the younger version of myself. Wants to scream at him to stop Jasper from slipping away.
But it's too late.
And his words keep coming.
"But you didn't choose me," Jasper continues, his voice softer, almost gentle. "Mark did. Multiple times. Over and over. Even when I chose you. Even when I was hurting for you and while I was healing from you… he waited. He never pushed, never demanded anything from me. But most importantly…" Jasper pauses, his voice cracking slightly. "He never left."
My lungs stop working. The world tilts.
For a moment, I think I might actually collapse.
The words rip through me.
He never left.
I did.
I open my mouth, try to speak, but I can't, nothing comes out. It's all too much, pressing down on me, suffocating me.
Jasper's voice is barely a whisper now.
"What I already felt for him just… grew. And when I was finally healed, everything in me wanted to be with him."
The world tunnels. I turn my face away, shielding myself. If he looks at me for one more second, if he sees the way my throat is tightening, the way my eyes are burning, I won't be able to hold it together.
Jasper notices anyway. His voice falters.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"
"No."
I don't recognize my own voice at first.
It's quiet but firm. Barely there, but steady.
Jasper stops. I force myself to turn back to him, to meet his gaze, to pretend I'm fine.
"You don't have to apologize," I say. "You didn't do anything wrong."
Jasper looks at me like he wants to argue, like he wants to take the words back, but I don't let him.
I take a slow, deep breath. My shoulders slump. I don't have the strength to keep them squared anymore.
"I just… I wish I'd done things differently," I admit, and it's the truest thing I've said in years. "I wish I hadn't hurt you. But back then…"
I shake my head, a rueful smile twitching at my lips, bitter and painful all at once.
"We were kids. I was just trying to figure out my life, stumbling along the way. I was bound to make mistakes, and I did." I swallow hard. "Big ones."
And I lost you because of them.
Jasper nods, and something inside me unravels—like a thread being pulled too hard, loosening stitches that were barely holding together.
I'm bleeding. Hemorrhaging… all the wounds I caused on myself are ripped open. But I can't let him see it.
"I wish the same," Jasper says softly. "That you hadn't hurt me. But I've forgiven you, Edward. Truly. There are no hard feelings anymore."
I inhale sharply, keeping my expression steady, but the sigh that leaves me is trembled, betraying my frail control.
Forgiven. No hard feelings. That should bring me peace, shouldn't it?
But all I feel is something breaking inside me, the ground slipping out from under me. Because this means he's past it. He's past me.
"Thank you," I manage, my voice barely above a whisper. I don't even know what I'm thanking him for—his forgiveness or the confirmation of what I was too afraid to admit.
He watches me for a moment, and I force myself to meet his gaze, even as the ache presses in harder.
Then he exhales, the tension in his posture easing, and I know. He's letting go. Of me. Of everything we were. And this time, it's final.
I see it in the way his shoulders relax, in the way his expression softens. I came back hoping I could fix us, but there's nothing left to fix.
"I'm actually glad you're back," he says, and it shouldn't hurt, but it does. "They never told me, but I know Carlisle and Esme missed you greatly. And if you're up to it… well, our families are still close. We can try to mend our friendship."
The blow lands clean, knocking the breath out of me. Again.
Friendship. That's what he's offering. A kind, generous, genuine offer. But it might as well be a knife to the ribs.
I nod, forcing a small smile. It feels brittle, like if I press too hard, it'll crack. But I can't let him see how much this is wrecking me.
Before he turns away, he hesitates. I brace myself, but nothing could prepare me for his next words.
"Edward…" His voice is careful, quiet. "Did you ever regret cheating on me…? And breaking up?"
The question lands hard, knocking the breath from my chest. My body tenses before I can stop it. My pulse hammers in my ears.
Did I regret it?
Every goddamn day. Every second of every day I had to live without him. Every single moment I realized what I'd lost.
But I can't say that. Not when he's already let go. I can't let him bear this burden.
"Does it make any difference?" I ask instead, keeping my voice even.
He thinks about it for a moment. Then, shakes his head.
"No. It doesn't change anything. I was just… curious."
Curiosity. As if it's just a passing thought. As if my answer won't matter. As if it won't fucking break me to say it out loud.
I look down, eyes fixed on the ground, forcing myself to swallow down everything I want to say. If it won't change anything, then what's the point? Is this just about making me bleed a little more?
Not that I don't deserve it. Every bit of this pain is the consequence of my own actions. I've earned every ounce of hurt that comes my way.
He waits, but I don't give him anything. Eventually, he turns. Starts walking away.
And I should let him.
But I don't.
"Jasper," I say, his name slipping out, sharp and raw, as it burns in my throat.
I've made my decision. We're here. We're doing this. I'm already breaking. Might as well fall all the way to the bottom.
He stops. Looks back. And for the first time, I let him see it. The raw, unguarded truth of it all.
It feels like it's tearing my chest open.
"Yes…" I start, my voice quiet but certain. "I did. Actually, I do." I hesitate, exhaling sharply before adding, "Every day."
His expression doesn't change, but something flickers in his eyes. I don't know what it is, and I don't get the chance to figure it out.
He nods—small, final—then turns back toward the house.
And this time, he doesn't look back.
I turn away, my teeth sinking into my bottom lip, trying to stop the sobs that rise in my throat, shaking my chest. It's as if everything from that day—the day I ended us—has come crashing down again. The ache is sharper this time, deeper, more suffocating.
But I don't break. I won't.
I've fought this pain for twelve years, fought it with everything I had, and I'm not about to let it break me now. I've learned how to bury it, how to hold it down until it doesn't feel like anything anymore.
Taking a deep breath, I force my pulse to steady, my hands to unclench.
I can take it. I just need to turn it off.