So sorry for the delay. I hope everyone has a lovely holiday if I don't "see" y'all before Christmas. The best gift this year was y'all's support, so thank you. Hugs and love. :3

/
you drew stars around my scars,
but now I'm bleedin'
/

.
thirty
cardigan
.

Pete and I ride in silence.

If he thinks it's strange that Edward requested he escort me from the front door to the car, he doesn't let on.

"Would it be okay to turn on some music?" I ask him, sounding apologetic.

I need distractions. I don't trust being stuck in my thoughts and feelings right now. I know I did the right thing by telling Edward the truth. I knew it had to happen eventually. But I still hate the decisions I made before that.

Pete turns on the radio.

The speakers play some slow-ass, soulful song about how people go from strangers to friends, friends to lovers, and then to strangers again.

Fucking wonderful.

"Sorry, can you actually turn it off?" I mumble because I'm not a masochist. It's one thing to sit in my harsh truths but another to twist the knife with painful lyrics.

Pete turns it off, and I watch the night blur past us, replaying the last five minutes. The last ten. The last day and week and month.

Edward has monopolized all that time. I've spent so much energy on him. I used to be his biggest hater. I wanted to break his heart because I thought it would make me feel good.

In the end, my heart was the casualty. My heart took the beating. I'm unsure how deeply he fell for me; I'll never know now. But I know that I battered his trust, which almost hurts worse.

Hearts heal, and people move on, but he'll never forget. He'll never trust me again. He'll never look at me the same. Like I was good and pure and made for him.

God, I'm dramatic. But I'm not used to feeling this way. I've never gone through a breakup before. And that's precisely what this is.

It takes everything not to burst into tears. I don't want to scare Pete, though. He's just an innocent bystander. He doesn't deserve to listen to some random woman have a mental breakdown in his backseat.

Pulling out my phone for a distraction, I text Chelsea because the thought of going home alone and wallowing sounds awful.

Bella: Are you home?

She replies immediately.

Chelsea: I'm still at Heidi's!

She sends a selfie of her and some colleagues drinking by the fire pit.

Bella: Fun. How's her Italian boyfriend?

Chelsea: Perfect for her. I'm constantly reminded how single I am lol what are you and loverboy up to?

Bella: Nothing. I'm heading home. Rough night. Did not go well at all.

Chelsea: WHY? HOW? UNACCEPTABLE! Do I need to fight him?

Bella: No. Fight me because I sabotaged it. I have from the very start.

Straight to the point and accurate. I guess that's my thing now.

Chelsea calls me.

"I love the self-awareness, girl, but you good?" she asks over the phone.

"Yeah."

"What happened?"

"I don't even know where to start."

"Come to Heidi's."

"I don't know if I feel like publicly announcing my heartbreak," I mutter.

"Then we don't have to talk about it. Just come here and distract yourself. We can dissect everything over brunch tomorrow if you want."

I consider this. "Heidi won't care if I crash the party?"

"It's not crashing. You were invited, but you had other plans. Besides, Heidi loves you more than she loves me. Even if she was slightly offended that you never mentioned Edward to her."

My heart sinks. "You told her about him?"

"She was curious why you couldn't come tonight, so I mentioned you had a hot date."

I didn't mention Edward to Heidi because I knew she could see through me. She would've known something more was happening, and I didn't want that clarity when I was trying to be shady.

"I don't know," I sigh. "Maybe I should just go home."

"Come have a drink and a good cry," Chelsea insists.

"Okay, okay," I agree because being around them will benefit me over being alone. "I'll be there soon."

We hang up, and my eyes flick toward Pete in the front seat.

"Um… hi. Pete?" He keeps driving but slightly turns his head to indicate he's listening. "Would you be able to drop me off at a different address? Or if it's easier, just let me out here and I can Uber somewhere else?"

"Not necessary, Ms. Swan. I can take you wherever you'd like."

"Are you sure? I can pay you."

His chuckle is deep and kind. "Again, not necessary. Just tell me the address, and I'll take you there. I will have to get confirmation from Mr. Cullen, though."

"What? Why?"

"I was instructed to take you home, so if that's changing, I should let him know."

Right. Because Edward's trauma has a chokehold on him, and he doesn't want to be responsible for me if I end up elsewhere and harmed.

The realization makes me want to cry. "That's fine. Get confirmation if you need it."

The phone rings over the car's speakers, and Edward's voice fills my ears.

"What's wrong?" he immediately asks.

We've been apart for less than ten minutes, and I miss him.

"Nothing is wrong, sir. Ms. Swan requested to be dropped off at a different address than I was originally given. I just wanted to confirm that it was okay."

The line is quiet, and I wonder where Edward's head is. I bet he assumes I'm on my way to meet up with Jackson like the deceitful woman he thinks I am.

"Of course she is," Edward scoffs, confirming my thoughts. I open my mouth to defend myself, but he speaks again. "Take Ms. Hale wherever she wants to go. Thanks."

And then he ends the call.

Fucking ouch.

But I deserve that.

It's awkward, but I don't comment on Edward's use of my real last name and give Pete Heidi's address. Knowing Edward likely still has his phone in his hand, I text him to explain myself.

Bella: I'm going to my boss's house. She's having a dinner party, and my friend Chelsea is there, and I don't want to be alone right now after everything.

Edward starts typing, and I watch the screen, anticipating his reply.

Those three dots indicating he's typing disappear and reappear a few times. I'm expecting—hoping for—a lengthy reply from him, but after a few minutes, nothing comes through.

I send another.

Bella: I'm so sorry, please know that.

This time, no dots appear.

I stare at our messages for the rest of the drive, waiting for a reply that never comes.

XXX

Two minutes into Heidi's, I regret coming because the vibe is way too energetic for how low I feel.

Some people are outside by the firepit, and some are in her living room, singing along as her Italian boyfriend Leo plays the piano. Everyone is drunk, and no one has noticed me, which is good because my plans have changed, and I'm ready to go home.

I'm not sure what I was expecting coming here. It's a party after all. Going home didn't feel right either. But maybe that's because the one place I'd rather be is with Edward right now.

I wait in the extravagant kitchen and try to order an Uber home, hoping to sneak out as discreetly as I came.

But then Heidi finds me.

"Here." She holds out a cream cashmere cardigan.

"My dress isn't that ugly, is it?"

She laughs. "No, it's stunning. This is in case you're cold and want to sit outside by the fire with Chelsea."

"Thanks, but I'm leaving."

"Have a glass of wine with me. I want to talk."

I eye her. "Well, if I'm having wine, I'm not wearing that," I say, pointing at the cardigan. "I don't trust myself not to spill on it."

"You think I care about material things?" she asks, and I glance around her kitchen. "Okay, I like nice things, but I'm not uptight. A little wine will add character to it."

"Whatever you say." I take it from her, pulling it on, the warmth enveloping me like a hug. "Thanks."

"So. Did you turn down the job opportunity in Italy for a man?" she asks bluntly, filling two glasses of wine.

This must be because Chelsea told her about Edward.

In a way, I did turn down Italy for him. I'd just made contact with him and wanted more time to be around him and to insert myself in his life.

But in a way, I turned down Italy for Rosalie, too. I wanted to be present in case anything new came up with Jackson's investigation. And I haven't had the mental or emotional capacity for anything else. I've been stuck in my head and heart for years.

"Yes and no," I tell Heidi.

She narrows her eyes, sipping from her glass. "I'm confused."

"Why?"

"Because that's not like you," she explains. "You're levelheaded. You don't get caught up in romance and don't make life decisions based on men."

"It's not in the way you think," I insist, feeling defensive.

"Then tell me."

"It's complicated."

She laughs. "You don't think I understand complicated? I've seen and done a lot in my forty-six years. Try me."

"It'll make me look bad." I wash away my guilty conscience with pinot noir. Instead of absolving my sins, it just coats them in more misery.

"Who doesn't look bad when it comes to matters of the heart? That's love. The good, bad, and ugly. It turns us into another person. But it can also transform our lives for the good if you let it." She's watching me too closely, and I pull my gaze from hers and stare into my glass. "I'm right, aren't I? You love him," she guesses like she solved the puzzle.

This.

This is why I kept Heidi in the dark: she makes me admit things I'm not quite ready to acknowledge.

"I—no. No, Heidi." I laugh, but it's forced and awkward. "It's been two weeks!"

"So? If you said it'd been two days, then I'd be worried," Heidi says lightly. "But two weeks is enough time."

My cheeks flame. "That would be insane."

"Crazier things have happened," she replies, shrugging. Heidi is the worst and best person to talk to about this because she's constantly falling in and out of love.

I feel myself warming up to the idea of coming clean to her about every awful thing I've done over the last month. I reason it's okay because Edward already knows the truth about me, and I'm desperate for advice. Heidi always has some nugget of truth up her sleeve, and even if I don't always take what she says to heart, I'm in no position to turn down her insight.

So I tell her everything, from the day I started this idiotic plan with Edward to tonight when I blew it all up.

I summarize the Edward mess into a neat, five-minute explanation, not trying to make myself look good. If anything, I want her to scold me. I want her to tell me how awful I am. It's what I expect and deserve.

But she listens without judgment, not interrupting once. She listens with unconditional love, and even though it should make me feel worse, I just feel safe.

The only thing I keep close to my heart is Edward's confession tonight about Rosalie and his past because that's not my story to share.

"That's a lot," Heidi says, leaning against the counter. "No wonder you've seemed so wound up recently."

I know I need to look inward, but I'd rather talk about Edward and if it's possible to fix things between us.

"He hates me," I mumble.

"How you described his reaction after you came clean to him is not hate," Heidi insists. "I've seen hate, and that isn't it."

"So, what should I do?"

She chuckles. "You're asking me? I don't know."

"What do you mean? I thought you were going to twist my arm into going to Italy. I thought you would tell me I'm wasting my life here, putting my future on hold for my past. For things that don't serve me. And that I should be patient and wait for Edward."

Her eyes have a knowing glint as she says, "I don't have to tell you all that because you just did."

Fuck.

She's good.

But I still flounder about my future, knowing she can see it on my face.

"I give you a hard time, but it's because I see so much potential in you, Bella. I present you with opportunities, and sometimes you take them. But sometimes you disappoint me," she says, and that hurts. "But you can't do anything before you're ready. I would hate that more than you making choices that don't feel right."

I swallow a lump in my throat. "Yeah."

"Work-wise, you're going to need to figure out what's best for you," she says. "The Edward situation is trickier and more delicate since you're in love."

"Wait, what? No," I say, but the lie tastes bitter.

"You're not? Oh, okay," she says simply. "Then yeah, my advice would be just to move on and forget about him."

It feels too easy. "Just like that?"

"Yeah, why not? He's just some guy. There's no future there. And even if there was…" She sips from her glass. "Talk about complicated."

"Right," I murmur, my heart sinking. "It's just… maybe…"

"Maybe what? It's only been two weeks, as you said. Should be easy to let him go."

"Maybe I do have powerful feelings for him that I've never had for anyone else before, that strongly hint toward… that word you said," I admit vaguely, my heart buoying in my chest instead of drowning in my misery.

Heidi laughs so hard that she snorts, and it makes me crack a smile.

"You punk. Reverse psychology is so risky," I tell her, holding my chin high, and she laughs harder. "This isn't funny. It's depressing."

"No, it's not. Depressing is all of the other events in your life that have taken over and shaped your future. Call me a romantic, but this thing with him is beautiful. It is melancholy in a way, considering the circumstances, and it will take some groveling and patience from you. But if you feel strongly for him, I guarantee he feels that way for you. There's no stopping a force like that. So give him time. You came clean, and now you just have to wait."

"You're feeding my delusions," I mutter. "You should probably just tell me to move on."

"I just tried that, and you knew in your heart that it wasn't right."

I grab some chips from a bowl on the counter and eat them so I won't cry.

"Is Italy still on the table?" I ask out of curiosity.

"For you? Always. But don't toy with me like that. I need you to commit. I need you to do it for you."

Between everything happening with Edward, Jasper, and Jackson, leaving doesn't sound so bad right about now.

"I'll seriously consider it," I tell her honestly. "Thank you."

She waves me off before hugging me. "I didn't do anything."

"Yes, you did. You gave me perspective," I sigh, hugging her back. "And a cashmere cardigan."

We break apart, and she smiles. "Hey, now. I loaned it to you—it's Burberry, after all."

XXX

I lay low over the next few days, staying busy with work.

Jasper and I avoid each other. I'm still mad and hurt, and he acts salty, too.

While I'm at the office, he's home. When I'm home, he's at the bar or probably with Sam. I don't know who is giving the silent treatment to whom, but it doesn't matter.

After everything that happened with Edward, I appreciate the space to breathe.

Jackson doesn't give me space, though. He blows up my phone daily, but I send his calls to voicemail and don't reply to his texts. His last message was pretty desperate, though.

Jackson: I can't do this without you. You're my only hope for talking to Jane. Without your help, this case is paused.

I don't need to talk to Jane to confirm Rosalie's pregnancy because Edward already confirmed that. I don't tell Jackson that, though. But I am curious to see if Jane has any other information regarding everything, so I send her a friend request on Facebook and a private message asking if we can talk.

It takes her a couple of days to accept my request and read the message, but she doesn't reply. I don't bombard her, though. I wait.

It's the same thing I'm doing with Edward.

Just waiting and wallowing.

But Friday afternoon, I see him at Cafe Allegro.

With a blonde.

It stuns and stings me to see him with another woman. They're sitting at a table together, talking, but it looks tense between them. He immediately spots me when I walk in. We lock eyes, and his focus stalls my footsteps momentarily, so I'm stuck by the door. He continues his conversation with her even though his eyes are on me.

The woman turns around to see who he's looking at. And when she sees me, I want to run. But I don't, and I don't let their presence scare me off.

With my chin held high, I walk to stand in line to order coffee, then stay glued to my phone while waiting for it, never once looking their way again.

I can feel his gaze the entire time, though, and I stew. He's probably here confiding in her. Whoever the fuck she is. Telling her about his heartbreak. How I lied to him and hurt him.

And that's fair. He has every right to talk shit about the awful things I did. It still crushes me, though.

It's not until I've exited that he approaches me, and I wonder if he waited until I was outside to avoid a public scene.

"Bella," he says from behind me.

I stop on the sidewalk to face him. He has a black hoodie on underneath his wool coat, and I just know he's so fucking warm. I know he probably smells so nice. I know he would feel so good to hug.

"That's Charlotte, right?" I accuse.

His eyes pierce me. "Yeah."

"She's pretty. For the record, it's shitty of you to bring her here," I say, annoyed. "Almost cruel if you ask me."

He frowns. "And you would know all about being cruel, huh?"

I roll my eyes so I don't cry. "Yep."

I start to walk away, but he says, "I didn't invite her here if that's what you think. We ran into each other on the street, and she's upset about something that happened at the gala."

Pausing, I face him again. "What—upset that she wasn't your date?" I accuse, scoffing.

"No. Not even close. Something shittier that I'm going to have to deal with now," he says, his jaw tightening a bit.

I'm curious but don't push. "If you insist on torturing me by bringing women around my favorite coffee shop, that's fine. But I won't let you intimidate me from coming to my old stomping grounds."

I swear he almost smiles.

"Stomping grounds? Did you purposely try to make a coffee pun?" he asks.

Ugh.

I hate that I want to laugh, but I don't.

My heart clenches, and my eyes fill with tears.

"Scram," I mutter. "I don't want to see you or your little girlfriend here again."

The slight humor in his eyes fades. "You know I don't want her," he says firmly. "And what do you mean, scram?"

"I'm telling you to leave."

"I thought I was the one who was mad at you. Now you're ordering me away?"

"Yes. It's called self-preservation, bucko. I'm mad because you're mad and for bringing Charlotte around."

"That seems a little petty."

"Spoiler alert—I am! You dodged a bullet with me. Congratulations."

"Do I win a medal or something?"

"No. You win a lifetime of freedom to date all the blondes you want. Now stop trying to make me laugh," I snip. "Unless you actually want to talk."

I can hear the sliver of hope in my voice, but he looks torn.

"I don't know what I want," he says quietly. "I'm pretty fucking confused, and I just…"

"What?"

Drizzle falls from the sky, and he pulls his hood over his head.

"I don't know, Bella. I've never been in a situation like this before. Sorry if I don't know how to handle it."

I soften. "Well, me either."

"I'm still mad," he admits.

"Me too," I fire back, annoyed again.

"Fine," he says, looking a little irritated. And sexy. So, so sexy.

"Fine. I need to go back to work. By the way, I ordered you a horrendous couch. It comes next week. I hope you like leopard print."

I'm lying, but now I think seriously about ordering him something ugly to remember me by—a goodbye present.

"Great," he replies breezily. "I look forward to hating it."

"You do that."

I spin around to leave, and he grabs my arm to stop me.

His eyes are soft but guarded, and his voice is low. "I don't hate you. Okay? I hate what you did."

"Join the club."

His hand drops from my arm, and he searches my face. "Are you okay?"

"No," I mumble. "Are you?"

He shakes his head but doesn't offer anything else.

I miss you is on the tip of my tongue, but I'm not trying to make this harder than it should be.

Instead, I say, "Take care of yourself."

"Yeah," he whispers. "You too."

When I turn to leave this time, he doesn't stop me. And if he watches me walk away, I have no idea because I don't bother looking back despite how badly I want to.