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twenty-three
you're on your own, kid
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"What do you mean Rosalie might have been pregnant?" I ask, my throat dry.

"It's not confirmed. But that's the tip we got from a random email address," Jackson says calmly over the phone. "I have to look into it."

"Okay, but I'm sure you get lots of random, fake tips, right?"

"Right. Some are more obvious than others."

"So, why is this a theory you're considering?"

"Because it's plausible."

"No. No, I don't think it is. I would've known if she was pregnant. My family would've known." I sound naive even to myself.

"I understand you feel blindsided, but that's why I'm here. I'm unbiased. I'm here to show you every angle that could reveal some truths. So either she got pregnant, and someone didn't want her to be, or she got pregnant and ran away for some reason."

"Ran away?" I balk. "Are you saying you think she could still be alive?"

"Maybe."

"There's no fucking way," I insist firmly. "She wouldn't… all this time? No. No."

"They never found her, Bella," Jackson reminds me. "So unless the person involved was a mastermind in murder, I just can't see how someone got away with that."

I refuse to entertain his theory because Rosalie wouldn't have run away. She wouldn't have stayed gone for twenty years, allowing us to mourn her. Allowing her mother to succumb to her sadness. And even if someone kept her from us, Rosalie would have returned. She would've fought. She would have done anything.

Believing she's alive, somewhere out there, would hurt worse than if she were truly gone.

I consider the other option Jackson offered. "You said maybe someone didn't want her to be pregnant. Do you mean like… Edward?"

"Edward, sure. Naturally, that's the first person who comes to mind because they were dating. He's a successful surgeon now. Maybe she would have messed with his plans, and he didn't want to get stuck in Forks. We know they argued the night she disappeared, but we don't know what it was about. So it's plausible."

My eyes clench shut, and I rest my forehead against the steering wheel. I think about that conversation on Edward's couch when he confessed he didn't want kids. If he did do what Jackson is suggesting, maybe he has lingering trauma and guilt for hurting her and his unborn child, so the idea of ever being a father would haunt him.

But surely he wouldn't fucking kill Rosalie just because she got pregnant? That's ridiculous. Normal people don't do that. Especially not scared teenagers.

Then again, this whole time, I thought Edward could've hurt her over less. I never had a real reason as to why he could've harmed her. And now I'm what—making excuses for why he couldn't have done this?

My head spins.

Weeks ago, I would've pounced on this new theory. It would've been fuel to my fire. I would've drooled over this information and used it to further my hatred for Edward.

But that was before I knew him. This theory no longer fits the Edward I've seen firsthand.

The man who had to take a leave from work after losing a patient.

The man who felt terrible for an elderly store owner and overpaid for furniture.

The man who honors a father he doesn't remember by following in his footsteps as a surgeon and donating to charities in his memory.

The man who risked his life to save a stranger's dog.

To save me.

The man I'm starting to fall for.

I feel sick.

Stupid.

So, so lost and out of my element.

Opening my eyes and lifting my head, I stare blankly at the garage. Jackson is still talking, but I can't focus.

There's no way I can see Edward. There's no way I can face him and act normal after what I've learned.

This has to end tonight.

Ghosting him would be easier. Owning up to my deceit would be harder. But both will hurt deeply, and I'm so fucking scared.

"But maybe Edward isn't the guy we need to be looking at. He feels like too obvious of an option," Jackson suggests, unknowingly easing the ache in my gut while he plays devil's advocate.

I cling to this idea because I don't want Edward to be the bad guy.

I don't.

Not anymore.

"True. He was cleared by the police," I add.

"Edward more or less told me he was innocent, but what else is he going to say—that he's guilty?" Jackson asks rhetorically, snapping me back to reality.

"Wait, what? When did he say that?"

"On Saturday, when I met up with him."

I blink. "What?"

"He finally agreed to talk, so I took him to your dad's bar."

For a second, I'm stunned. "What the fuck, Jackson? Why would you take him there?"

"I know, it was ballsy. I just wanted to see how he'd react. He was less than thrilled."

"Of course, he wouldn't have reacted well. What were you expecting?"

"I know, I know. But don't worry, your dad never came out. They didn't see each other."

I take in this information, comparing it to what Edward told me on Monday. He said he met up with someone over the weekend but that the person he was with wasn't a friend. I'm unsure why Edward wouldn't have mentioned Jackson or the podcast to me. But maybe he's embarrassed. Maybe he still doesn't fully trust me. Maybe he doesn't want me to know that part of his life, and I get it. I really do.

"To be honest, Edward didn't give me much to work with," Jackson adds. "I'm not his favorite person right now."

"Yeah, I'm sure. You've said outrageous, awful lies about him," I mutter, feeling so sick that I previously admired Jackson for publicly painting Edward in a bad light.

"I wouldn't call them lies. It's more like creative character integrity. He threatened to sue me, so that was interesting."

"I don't blame him," I fume. "He should."

The line is silent. "I thought you would've approved of this. Blindsiding him, getting his genuine reaction."

He's right. I would have before.

But things are different now. Ironically, I feel protective of Edward, and I hate the idea of Jackson doing that to him.

"Please don't do that again. That's not fair to him or my dad. They don't need to be blindsided like that, okay? I'm sure you can find other ways to get genuine content without being an asshole, right?"

He hisses a laugh. "You're kind of cute when you're feisty," he says, amused. "But it's fine; I don't think he'll agree to meet with me again."

"Probably not."

"I think we need to broaden our scope and look into other people," Jackson suggests, unfazed as he shifts mental gears. "Was Rosalie a flirt? Did she have a lot of guy friends?"

"What do you mean? What does this have to do with anything?"

"Rosalie could've been with someone else and cheated on Edward. I just don't know. Maybe with a classmate or even a teacher."

"What? She wouldn't do that," I mutter defensively, even though the idea that the baby wasn't Edward's is relieving. "You don't know her at all."

"Why did you speak about her in the present tense just now?" he pushes suspiciously.

"I don't know," I huff, annoyed. "You didn't know Rosalie. So stop trying to paint her to be someone who was cheating on her boyfriend."

"And you did know her?" he challenges. "You were what—ten? You think you knew everything that was going on?"

"No. But I would've seen her with other guys. I would've noticed. All she did was go to school, cheer, work part-time, and hang out with Jane. At some point, she started dating Edward. So I don't think there was anyone else she could have been with," I offer, desperate to solve this.

He's quiet for a second.

"This is why I need you, Isa. I've been trying to reach Rosalie's friend Jane since I got the pregnancy tip. If anyone might know anything, it's going to be her. The best friend always knows more. But she won't return my calls or emails."

"I'm not friends with Jane. I never was. So how do I fit into this?"

"We need to go to Forks. I think if she sees you, she'll talk."

I falter. "She won't."

"She will. It always works. You'll remind her of that time of her life. She'll see Rosalie in you. She'll see you as the innocent party whose life was unfairly altered by all of this. If she knows something, her guilt will eat her alive. She—"

"I can't," I croak.

"You can. I'll be with you," Jackson coaxes, but it doesn't make me feel better. "We're so close. I can fucking feel it."

He's right in a way; we are close to something. Whatever it is, it feels bigger and worse than I ever imagined, and part of me doesn't want to know anymore. For years, I wanted closure, but now I'm not sure I do. Not if it alters my opinion of Rosalie.

"I don't know. I don't feel good." I step out of the car, and the fresh air instantly helps.

"This is why I wanted to tell you in person. So I could be there for you," he explains, sounding more calculated than concerned. "But I need you to hold it together. Please take this information with a grain of salt. It could be fake. It's honestly a reach. Until anything is confirmed, it's best to believe Rosalie wasn't pregnant. No use getting riled up for nothing."

I scoff. "You say this now after you've riled me up?"

"Hey, I'm sorry, okay? I know I need to work on my approach. I just got excited and didn't think about how to present this to you. I thought I had more time; I didn't know you'd twist my arm into telling you now."

I sigh. He's right about one thing—whether someone did hurt Rosalie and her unborn baby or she ran away for some reason, it all does feel like a reach. It feels like something that would happen in fiction, not real life. Not my life.

"Tell me what you're thinking," he urges. "I need to know where your head is if we work together."

"I'm… I don't know. It's just a lot to take in."

Now would be a good time to mention my little side work with Edward. Or maybe now would be the worst time. But I just can't bring myself to tell Jackson because I worry he'll hear the affection I have for Edward. I worry he'll hear the devastation in my voice. I worry Jackson will try to manipulate the situation to benefit him.

"I'm not sure it needs to be said, but you can't tell Jasper any of this, Isa."

I pace the driveway. "Why not?"

"The fewer people who know, the better. Just trust me. Other than me, only my co-host and producer know. I need to keep this contained."

I don't want to tell Jasper any of this after his strange overreaction to the drawing on the fridge, his lying about Sam, and his constant lack of interest in all things Edward. If there's a chance he knew Rosalie was pregnant, he'd probably lie to me, anyway. So I want to keep this secret close.

And if I'm being brutally honest—as sad as it makes me—I don't trust Jasper right now. And I don't trust Jackson. I never have, but it's like Edward said—keep your enemies closer.

I can finally admit that I used Jackson's attraction for me in my favor. I thought if I led him on, he might share things with me and keep me close to the case. Now I know my relationship with Edward gives me a leg up on him. I'm in a position to find out more than Jackson ever could.

That realization guides me to keep my plans with Edward tonight. I need more answers from him. I need to know why he doesn't drive, why he seems at odds with his stepfather, and why he wants to avoid his past.

I need him to mention the podcast and open up because his truths are safer with me than with Jackson. I'll protect them, while Jackson would just expose him.

And maybe to gain Edward's honesty, I need to be honest with him, too.

"Fine," I acquiesce. "I won't tell Jasper because I'd hate for him to find out you and I talk, anyway."

"Good. We'll make a plan and go to Forks next weekend. Maybe drive over Friday night, then approach Jane Saturday morning. It'll be better if we show up without warning so she can't prepare."

"You know where she lives?"

"Of course I do," he says, smug. "Jane married her high-school sweetheart and has two kids. Didn't make it out of Forks. She didn't even make it out of high school, in a way, since she's the secretary at Forks High. Some people can't leave the glory days."

He's a dick. But I think he's always been this way. I let it roll off my back before, but now it's giving me the ick.

"Have you always been this big of an ass?" I ask.

"Look. I know it seems like I'm a jerk, but I have to stay detached. It's what keeps this professional."

"And what would you say you were trying to do with me before, trying to get closer? Was that staying detached and professional?" Maybe it's low of me to call him out because we only shared a kiss. But I don't care. It's clear he wanted more, but now I fully see he was using me, too. I'm just grateful I didn't give in to him.

"Don't be like that. It was different with us," Jackson says quickly, and I wonder how many times he's had this conversation. I wonder how many vulnerable, mourning women he's taken advantage of. "You'll thank me when we solve this. And I swear to you, Isa, I will."

It's a significant promise to make. I could write it off as ego, but he has been successful in the past. He's ruthless in his investigation, but he has zero empathy and is proving to have no integrity.

After this conversation, I'm not sure I want him to solve anything because I want to do it. And I think I can with Edward's help.

"Why did you choose Rosalie's case anyway?" I wonder.

"Do you want my honest answer?"

"No, lie to me," I say sarcastically.

He chuckles, then says, "She's attractive."

It takes me a beat too long to realize he's not joking. "What?"

"She was hot, so it ups the public interest, unfortunately. And no one had done a deep dive on her case before, so I knew there wouldn't be any conflicting reporting. I sparked an interest in an otherwise dead case. Not many people can do that."

"Wow," I breathe, more icked out than before.

"I know," he says proudly, not catching my disgust.

"So, it's not because you were interested in her case or because you felt you could solve it. It's not because you felt for my family and wanted to bring us peace. But because she was hot, and if you did solve it, all of the accolades go to you?"

He's silent.

"Well, don't make it sound bad," he mutters.

I laugh, humorless and unimpressed. "I didn't have to. You did that on your own," I say before hanging up.