Night's still not over after this... lol

Thanks so much for still being here and sharing your thoughts.

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twenty-seven
i did something bad
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Half an hour after sneaking out of the gala, we're in Edward's kitchen with burgers, fries, and a milkshake.

He stands at the counter while he eats, his jacket off and bow tie undone, hanging loose around his collar. I'm sitting on the marble island he helped me up onto, my heels discarded on the kitchen floor.

Grabbing a few soggy fries, I eat them and wash them down with a sip of vanilla milkshake.

With a playful glint in his eyes, Edward stands in front of me, my knees brushing his stomach.

"Lemme try some," he says.

I hold the styrofoam cup out of his reach just before his lips meet the straw.

"You said you didn't want one," I remind him.

"I don't." He grins. "I want yours."

"Fine, I'll share." I hold it in front of me and watch him take a long pull from the straw. "But I want something in return."

He steals a kiss, and it tastes sugary sweet. "Mmm. What do you want?"

I think about it, but then his phone chimes in his pocket, and he pulls it out to glance at the screen.

"My mom's asking where we are," he says, and I watch him type a reply. He smiles and says, "She wants to invite us for dinner soon."

I both love and hate this. "Oh?"

He sets his phone on the counter. "Yeah. You can think about it. I won't put you on the spot or anything."

"No, that sounds nice," I say softly. It sounds stressful, too, but also just nice and normal.

"Do you want a drink?" Edward asks, balling up his burger wrapper. "I can open a bottle of wine."

"Sure."

I watch him move toward the wine rack, grab a bottle, and uncork it. His phone chimes again, and I pick it up without thinking since it's next to me.

"Oh." My stomach sinks when I see who messaged him this time. "Sorry. It's Charlotte."

The text was short, and on his screen, so it was easy to read.

Charlotte: Missed you tonight! Heard you snuck out with a date? We need to catch up!

It's innocent. Simple and nice. It sounds like something I might even send to Jas.

"What'd she say?" he asks, unbothered that I'm reading it.

"That she's madly in love with you and is sad you two didn't see each other tonight," I lie.

"Ha ha," he says dryly, filling two glasses.

I set his phone back down and he walks over, placing the wine on the counter and not bothering to pick up his cell to read the text.

"Sorry for looking," I say.

"It's fine," he says gently. "Are you fine?"

"Why wouldn't I be? Just because you have this bombshell bestie waiting on the sidelines for you?" I joke, but it doesn't sound like I am. "Yeah. Okay, so maybe I'm a little irrationally jealous. But am I going to let it ruin our night? No."

"There's no reason to be jealous," he says seriously. "At all."

"I know." I pull the bow tie off his shoulder, wrapping and unwrapping it around my hand. "I decided what I want in return for you drinking half my milkshake."

He laughs. "It was one sip."

"A very long sip." I smile. "I want to know if you've ever been in love."

I've been wondering about it on and off ever since we first talked about Charlotte. Wondering why he never gave it a go with her. And now that she texted, it's on my mind again.

Edward laughs before it turns into a groaning sound.

"That's a tough question," he says, drinking from his glass.

"It's a key-free zone tonight. So, don't look for that excuse not to answer." I hold up the imaginary key we used on our first date to avoid tough questions.

"Wait, wasn't I last in possession of that thing?" He pats himself down, pretending like he's lost something. "Okay, pickpocket."

I laugh, slipping the pretend key into the top of my dress, inside my bra.

He grins, brows raised. "You think that's gonna stop me?"

"Yes. Because you're a gentleman."

"Okay. I'm down for some honesty. That's still a difficult question to answer."

"Why? You've been in love many times and don't want me to think you're a serial romancer?"

"Yeah, that's exactly it," he jokes dryly.

"I won't judge you if you haven't been. I mean, I've never been in love," I admit, offering vulnerability.

"Ever?"

"No. That requires opening up, and I just… can't."

"Can't or won't?" he challenges.

"I haven't wanted to," I clarify, which probably sounds worse because who doesn't want love?

"You're opening up now," he points out.

"I guess I am."

He hums and drinks. "Can we take this into the living room? Get more comfortable?"

"Sure."

I start to slide off the counter, and he sweetly assists me, grabbing my waist to make it seamless and safe.

He carries both our glasses and sets them down, then pulls me into his lap on the couch.

I'm mush—melty, soft, putty in his hands.

"Did Charlotte pick out this couch?" I ask because I'm good at ruining moments when I feel vulnerable. He fights a smile, but that's a sign he isn't offended. "Sorry, am I beating a dead horse?"

"We can talk about this as much as you need. And no, it wasn't like that." He holds me tighter. "She came over a month or so ago and gave me shit, telling me this place was more bare than my apartment in college. She said her friend was getting rid of some stuff and asked if I wanted it. I didn't want to be rude and it saved me from trying to furnish this place myself, so I said sure. It was more friendly than you're thinking, I promise you."

I believe him. I don't think he's into this woman, nor do I think he's been intimate with her. But I wonder if he's confided in her about Rosalie. Somehow, that would feel even more intimate than if he'd slept with her. Somehow, that'd make me sadder.

"I guess what I can't understand is… why not her?" I ask, searching his face. "Maybe I'm being too nosy, and you can tell me to shut up. But your lives have crossed paths multiple times over the years. College, and then medical school. Now Seattle?"

"That doesn't make us compatible, though. Nor does it make me interested. Would it have been easy? Sure. But she's never made me feel like…" His thumb brushes my bottom lip. "You do."

"Like what?" I whisper.

"Safe and seen and excited and, I swear I'm not going to break out into song, but—" He smiles when I laugh. "Just… happy, Bella. I don't know. You make me feel good."

I rest my head on his shoulder, and we sit in the safe silence of the room.

"I promise I'm not trying to act like a jealous woman. I'm just curious, I guess," I murmur. "You never outright answered my question about being in love. So, I guess it's your turn for a palm reading."

When he laughs, I feel the deep sound in his chest. "Is that supposed to sound like a threat?"

"Maybe."

"Go for it," he says, offering his palm. "I have nothing to hide."

I sit up but stay on his lap, my fingers tracing the skin of his hand, the lines and shapes of his past, present, and future.

"You have soft hands," I remark.

He grunts a laugh. "What every man wants to hear."

"Soft, yet strong, manly hands," I correct. "It makes sense with your line of work."

"Uh-huh." He presses a kiss on my exposed shoulder. "You have soft skin, too."

"Okay, let me focus." He presses one more kiss on my shoulder, letting his lips linger while I inspect his palm. It makes my stomach roll with flirtatious, lusty energy. "Ah, I knew it," I say, tracing a random line on his hand. "Your heart is guarded."

I'm so bullshitting.

"I could've told you that," he says softly and teasingly.

"You've never been in love, either."

"You caught me. I haven't," he admits. "Looks like we're the same."

"Both emotionally fucked up?"

He laughs. "Who isn't?"

"True," I sigh.

"There is something about you, though. And I'm not saying… I'm not trying to scare you away, but I think that's why I've grabbed onto this. Us. I want to see where this goes." He hesitates, and I look at him. His eyes are dark but sad. Maybe even a little worried. "That's why I need to be honest about some stuff before this gets too serious. Or before you hear stuff about me."

I swallow. "What stuff?"

"There's a podcast out right now called Mysterious Minds," Edward says, and my jaw nearly falls open because I wasn't expecting him to go there. "Have you listened to it?"

I can't lie to his outright question, and my heart lodges in my throat.

"Yes," I admit. "I have."

"Oh." He looks genuinely surprised and a little hurt. "I wasn't… wow." He blinks. "Okay. I didn't think you were going to say that." Even I'm shocked by my admission. "So, then you know that I'm involved." I just nod. I can't speak. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't want to put you in a bad or weird position or… I don't know. Make you feel a certain way."

He moves me off his lap and drains his wine glass in one go.

"It's so fucked up," he mutters. "Not you. But everything else. The way the hosts just…" He pauses. "That's who I met up with last weekend. Jackson, one of the hosts. I more or less threatened to sue him if he keeps twisting shit to make me purposely look bad."

My heart is beating too fast, and the fact that we're talking about this feels unbelievable.

I tread carefully. "So, it's not… none of it's true?"

He locks his eyes with mine. They're more guarded than ever with me, and it twists my heart into a knot.

"What are you asking me, Bella? If I hurt Rosalie Hale?" he asks, voice low.

Hearing him say her name out loud brings tears to my eyes.

He takes my emotions incorrectly, like maybe I'm scared of him.

"I didn't hurt her, Bella. I fucking swear. But I don't know what happened that night. Not all of it," he says in a rush, fisting his hair. "I found out she was pregnant. We fought. The next day, she was gone."

I stay eerily calm hearing that the anonymous tip Jackson received is true.

"Pregnant with your baby?"

"No." He stands and refills his wine glass. I take the opportunity to drain mine, too. To dull my senses because shit just got real. "She cheated on me. So no, not my baby."

Instead of wine, he fills the glass with whiskey.

"How can you be sure it wasn't yours, though? I mean…" I let my unsaid words hang in the air because the baby still could've been his, even if she cheated.

"Because we never slept together." He swigs from his glass. "We never hooked up. We never did anything. Which I guess should've been a sign she was cheating. But I was naive, and I didn't want to push her, so."

"Oh."

My head spins, and though I should be shocked, I'm selfishly relieved to hear that he and Rosalie were never intimate. It makes me feel like he was never really hers and could maybe one day be mine.

"What are you thinking?" he asks.

"We don't have to talk about this anymore if you don't want to. Really."

He shakes his head and moves to stare out the window at the view. I watch him, unsure of what to say or do right now. I'm torn between wanting to hear it all and urging him to stop because I'm scared. If he tells me too much, then what?

"It feels fucking surreal to talk about this. I haven't told anyone," he says with a shaky exhale, confirming he's never talked to Charlotte about it. He takes another drink. "I've pushed this shit out of my mind. And then the fucking podcast had to start. Now, it's everywhere. At least, that's how it seems."

I feel so much for him right now; I have the physical urge to hold him. Standing, I cross the room and approach him, gently touching his back and hugging him from behind. He lets me for a moment, then turns to face me, staring down at me.

And then he hugs me. Fiercely. All I can do is hug him back just as tight.

"I'm here for you," I murmur against his chest. "For whatever you want to tell me. Or not tell me. I just hate that it feels like it's been weighing on you."

I can feel him nod before we break apart, but he keeps his hands on my waist.

"I can't lie, it has. That night just… I replayed it so many times in my head," he says. "Or tried to, anyway. And then it's hard because listening to the podcast, sometimes I don't know what's reality and what's speculation. It's all mixed up."

"What do you remember?"

"We were at a party, and I found her in the bathroom taking a pregnancy test," he admits. "She tried hiding it from me, but I saw it was positive, and she started freaking out. She was crying so fucking hard, but I couldn't comfort her because I was so pissed and hurt."

I take in everything he's saying, my eyes burning with more tears, imagining Rosalie scared and alone. As protective as I feel for her, I also feel protective of him.

"I said some awful things to her. And she kept apologizing, saying she didn't mean to hurt me. Begging me not to tell anyone," Edward says. "That her parents would kill her."

I stiffen at that, but I know it's not how it sounds. My aunt and uncle wouldn't have been happy about a teen pregnancy, but they would've supported her, too.

"That's horrible," I mumble. "But she didn't mean that about her parents. She couldn't have."

"No, I think she was scared of getting in trouble."

"What about the person who got her pregnant?"

"I don't know. She wouldn't tell me, so I went back downstairs and got drunk. I thought her friend Jane dropped her off at home. The shitty thing is later that night, according to Rosalie's parents, I supposedly picked her up, but you probably heard that on the podcast." I just guiltily nod. "I remember going home. I remember being drunk and pissed and fucking hurt, but I don't remember leaving again."

I have the same feeling as when he talked to me about Charlotte. It sounds like he's being honest. The truth tastes different, that's why. It's raw and genuine. It's desperate and lost.

"Edward…" I don't even know what to say.

"You asked why I have a driver, and that's it. Maybe it's stupid or extreme, but I never wanted any woman's safety or whereabouts to be questioned with me again."

My heart breaks for him and how deeply this has affected his life.

I grab his face. "It's not stupid. At all. You've been trying to protect yourself all this time, and it's..." I sniffle. "It's awful. I'm sorry."

He shrugs, undoing the top button of his dress shirt. "I thought about talking to the podcast guys and clearing the air myself, telling them my version of the night and how she was pregnant. But I don't know. I don't trust them."

"You shouldn't," I say with conviction, knowing I won't tell Jackson what I just heard. "Don't tell them anything."

"I won't. When I met with Jackson, he mentioned that he could set up a meeting with some of Rosalie's family members. It felt wrong, though. It felt like he was going to use it to his benefit."

"He said that?" I ask, throat dry. "Who exactly did he want you to meet up with?"

"Jasper and Isa Hale, Rosalie's siblings. But I don't know; I might reach out to them myself. Cut out the shitty middle man."

"Oh." It comes out like a croak. A nervous murmur. "Yeah. You could."

With my heart racing, I absentmindedly pace while he drinks, needing to gather my thoughts. But I don't know where to start. He's so close. He's going to start looking for Isa Hale. And then what?

"I know this is a lot. You can go if you want," he says flatly, reading me all wrong.

I stop pacing and stare at him. "Why would I leave?"

He looks frustrated with me as if it doesn't make sense for me to stay. "Because I'm a bad person."

"How? You didn't hurt her."

"But I didn't tell the police any of this. They never knew she was pregnant. If I had been honest, they could've looked into other people. Tried to figure out who she was sleeping with and what went down. Instead, I let them stay in the dark."

"Why didn't you tell them?" I ask because that part doesn't add up with how remorseful he seems.

"For selfish, shitty reasons, I guess. My stepdad thought it would make me look worse and that the cops would pin shit on me anyway. Either I killed her because she was pregnant and cheated, or I killed her because it was mine and I didn't want a baby," he says darkly.

"That's why your relationship is strained with him?"

"Basically. He said it would break my mom's heart. We found out she was cancer-free just a month before that, and he said she didn't need the stress. He wanted it all done and for us to move on from it all."

"I didn't know that about your mom," I say, soft and worried. "Is she okay now?"

"Yeah." He smiles somberly, gratefully. "She is."

I nod, relieved. "So, your mom knew Rosalie was pregnant, too? She agreed with Carlisle that you should keep quiet about it?"

"No. My mom wouldn't have agreed with that," he admits, looking guilty. "Carlisle's words got in my head. I was worried she'd stress too much. Get sick again or something. I know that's not how it works, but yeah. I regret it now, keeping all that from everyone. Especially her."

I take his glass and drink from it, finishing the whiskey. "That doesn't make you bad, though. It makes you human," I justify. "A scared seventeen-year-old. And you were listening to someone you trusted."

"I guess," he agrees, but I know he doesn't believe me. "He only knew about the baby because he was awake when I got home that night and I was... not in a good head space. I wanted to tell someone. I wanted someone to fix it or make it make sense."

"You could tell the police now," I offer. "Right?"

"Yeah, maybe. But it's a closed case. And they never found her, so I don't know what they'd do with that information. Would it do any good now?"

"I don't know, but it's worth a shot. At least, before that idiotic podcast guy finds out," I insist.

"True," he agrees, moving to sit back on the couch, dropping his head in his hands. "I didn't mean to dump all of this on you. Or to ruin our night. If you want space…"

I set the wine glass down and stand in front of him, between his legs, and gently lift his head.

"You didn't ruin our night," I promise, running my fingers through his hair until he relaxes. "And I don't want space."

"I just…" His hands run up and down the backs of my thighs, over my silky dress. I see his throat bob with a swallow when he looks up at me. "I wasn't sure how this conversation would go or what you'd think, but it feels good to talk about it finally."

My fingers brush his jaw. And then I lower my head to kiss him. I can feel his broken parts. Feel how they match mine. We're both fragments of a person struggling to be whole after this incident. I didn't realize how badly this situation affected his life until now, but it's evident he's carried guilt, even though it wasn't necessary.

I feel the urge to protect him and to comfort him.

With our lips still touching, I whisper, "You're not a bad person. And I believe you, Edward."

"Thank you," he murmurs against my mouth, then kisses me back and pulls me down onto his lap so I'm straddling him this time. "I'm going to need you to distract me now. Make things fun and light again."

It's a big ask for what we've just discussed, and I'm nervous being this way with him, so I say, "Do you think we knew each other in another life?"

It sounds stupid, but it's out there now.

He doesn't laugh, though. He holds my gaze. His eyes are deep. So deep that I can't imagine him ever looking at anyone this way. It feels like it's just for me.

"Are you asking me my thoughts on the afterlife?" he wonders.

"I don't know what I'm asking," I admit, anxious. "I just blurted it. Sometimes I just have so many thoughts and feelings, and…"

"Oh, no—not feelings," he says playfully, easing up, the darkness inside him lightening again.

"Yes, feelings. And I rarely share them," I admit, and he turns more serious now. "Sometimes it feels intense with you. Like you know me on a deeper level. Like… there's a comfort with you that's been present the entire time I've known you. Which has only been a few weeks."

"Ahh. I see. So you're trying to reconcile how you're feeling about our timeline," he guesses, reassuringly sliding his palms up and down my back. It's a simple move but one that screams volumes. He's not shying away from this topic. He's making me feel secure like I can talk about whatever with him, no matter how insane it sounds. Like he just did with me.

"Yes." My mind is hazy. "I think so."

"Like, how can two strangers meet and feel at home with one another?"

It sounds like poetry is coming from his mouth.

But that's exactly how it feels.

"Yes," I agree again. "All of that."

"I feel the same way. It's why I felt comfortable opening up to you about all of that," he confesses. "I think when it comes to you, I've stopped trying to make any of this make sense. I've just accepted that you showed up in my life at this time because you were meant to be in it. It wouldn't have been the right timing if we had met five, ten, fifteen years ago."

I feel like crying—my nose stings. My throat tightens.

"Yeah." That's all I can say.

He cups my face with both hands.

"Don't look so sad about it," he teases. "Your fate is your own. You can end this whenever you want. That's the beauty of life, I guess. We have choices. And if I scared you too much tonight, I wouldn't blame you for walking away."

It feels like he's speaking in code and coercing me to come clean.

After everything he's shared tonight, I should. He deserves that. But I'm so, so terrified.

"I don't want to end this. And I'm not sad or scared," I mumble. I'm sick. An awful person. "I'm…"

I stare at him, speaking to him with my eyes. My desperate gaze. Maybe he'll see the truth and put it together himself so I don't have to say anything out loud.

I'm Bella Hale.

Rosalie's cousin turned adoptive sister.

I'm a liar.

I'm bad, and you're good, and I'm falling deeply for you.

"You're perfect," Edward whispers, finishing my sentence and leaning in to capture my mouth in a gentle kiss I don't deserve.