Twilight belongs to Stephenie Meyer
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Where the Lines Overlap
Final Season - We are Broken
This Is Why
I woke before the sun crested the horizon, a faint glow spilling into the room, bathing Mark in soft light. His copper hair gleamed, a tousled halo against the pillow. Even in sleep, his face was perfect, his freckled skin smooth and glowing, his features relaxed. My gaze lingered on his lips, soft and plump, tempting even at rest. It made me wonder if I could taste the echoes of last night's passion there.
Mark always drew me in. Every inch of his strapping, 6'9" frame radiated strength and ease, from the broad set of his shoulders to the quiet rise and fall of his chest. My fingers itched to trace the familiar lines of his body, a map I'd memorized over our years together but still never grew tired of exploring.
It was barely a few hours ago that we'd collapsed here, tangled and satisfied, after an evening of unhurried romance. We'd made love until exhaustion claimed us. And still, warmth stirred low in my stomach, and I couldn't resist him. I rarely could.
Mark's libido was insatiable, rivaled only by my own. But he was the one who had made me this way—addicted to his body, his movements, and the consuming pleasure he provided without fail. Perhaps because of our very active sex life, the years had refined our communication into something fluid, seamless, and perfect.
And five months from now, I'd call him my husband, a thought that made my heart swell as much as my desire for him.
I pushed the sheet from his body, marveling at how even the simplest touch could spark a reaction in him. My hand brushed lightly over his navel, and his skin prickled with goosebumps. I smirked, emboldened, and leaned closer, letting my tongue flick over one of his nipples. A soft groan rumbled in his chest as it hardened beneath my touch.
Sliding lower, I let my hand trail down, finding him already awake in a way that made my pulse quicken. My lips followed, and just as I wrapped them around him, I felt his hand slide into my hair, fingers curling as his eyes fluttered open.
"My naughty little rogue," Mark murmured, his voice still rough with sleep, "hungry again?"
I looked up at him, lips curving into a grin.
"Starving," I replied, my voice a low tease.
I let my tongue swirl over him, teasing, before grazing my teeth over the sensitive skin in the way I knew would drive him insane. Mark's head tipped back, a deep moan escaping him.
"God, Moony," he groaned. "You always know exactly what to do to me."
I hummed in agreement, licking him slowly, savoring the way his breath hitched.
"Quick crash or teasing torture, Sunny?" I asked, my tone playful, though my eyes burned with intent.
Mark smirked down at me, his icy blue gaze heavy-lidded with desire.
"Is this an appetizer or snack?"
I didn't miss a beat.
"I said I'm starving," I whispered, my teeth grazing his sensitive skin again.
His response was immediate—his hand tightened in my hair, and a shiver coursed through him.
"Full-course it is," he growled, voice thick with anticipation.
I grazed him once more, earning another deep groan.
"Still didn't hear an answer, Bae," I teased.
He chuckled, the sound low and rich.
"Quick crash, little rogue, but you're in for a rough ride."
My grin widened and I raised a brow.
"Did I wake my stallion beast?"
"You bet," he growled, his voice dripping with promise.
I moved my mouth over him, letting my tongue slide slowly along the ridge beneath his length, relishing in his loud groan.
The next moments blurred in a rush of heat and sensation while I deep-throated him. Mark's reactions were intoxicating, each gasp and moan pulling me deeper into the rhythm of him. When he roared his release, his body taut and trembling, I felt a swell of triumph, satisfaction coursing through me as his tension gave way.
Before he could catch his breath, I retrieved the bottle of lube from the bedside drawer and pressed it against his chest.
"Prep," I said softly, our gazes locking.
Mark's demeanor shifted, softening as he pulled me close, kissing me tenderly. One arm wrapped securely around my back, while his other hand moved lower, his touch loving and thorough as he prepared me with practiced care, murmuring soothing words between kisses, his attentiveness evident in every movement.
When he was satisfied, he turned us, lying me on my back. He pressed kisses to my forehead, my cheeks, my lips, murmuring sweet nothings that left me feeling utterly cherished, his lips trailing over my chest and down my stomach. He took me into his mouth briefly, his tongue and lips teasing me with a slow rhythm that had me squirming.
Before I could beg for more, Mark flipped me onto my stomach in one swift motion, pinning me to the mattress. The air left my lungs in a sharp gasp, anticipation flooding my senses. My body tingled with eagerness because I knew exactly what was coming.
Mark's hands slid over my hips as he leaned in, his lips brushing the curve of my spine before he spread me open and began to rim me. A deep moan escaped me at the sensation, the intensity of his touch leaving me trembling and needy. He took his time, teasing and working me until I was practically melting into the mattress.
When he finally moved, it was to lie over me, his broad chest pressing against my back, his warmth enveloping me completely. I sighed, savoring the delicious weight of him on me. It was one of my favorite things—the way he fit perfectly against me, grounding me in his presence and his care.
"How rough do you want it, Bae?" he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of my ear, sending a shiver down my spine.
"A five," I replied, my voice steady despite the fire coursing through me.
That was the highest degree of roughness we ever ventured into—where trust, passion, and the intensity of the moment collided perfectly. It was a level we rarely touched, but when we did, Mark always ensured I felt secure, grounding me in every step.
He bit my earlobe gently, his voice soft but commanding.
"Safe?"
It was more than just a question—it was our way of checking in, an intimate part of the rhythm we'd perfected over the years. This was his way of making sure I was certain, reminding me that I could slow him down or stop him at any moment.
"Sound," I confirmed, my body arching into his touch, the word carrying not just my consent but my eagerness for what was to come.
Mark teased my entrance with the head of his cock, pausing just long enough to make anticipation buzz through my every nerve. Then, with a firm grip, he pulled me by the waist, guiding me onto all fours. As always, the shift sent a thrill coursing through me as I braced myself.
He didn't wait. With a low grunt, he pushed into me in one swift, deliberate motion.
I gasped, clutching the sheets.
"Sound, Bae," I murmured as he stilled. "Move, please."
From there, it became a heady whirlwind of raw sensation, his body moving against mine with powerful precision. Mark's movements were unrelenting, his strength and control driving into me with a rhythm that sent waves of pleasure crashing through my body. His low, commanding voice and the firm grip of his hands anchored me, and I surrendered to him completely, trusting him as I always did.
His pace built quickly, each thrust deep and forceful, the sound of skin meeting skin reverberating through the room. Our groans and gasps intertwined, filling the space with the intensity of our connection. My body arched into his with every movement, the sheer force of him overwhelming, consuming, and utterly perfect.
"Punish me," I begged, my voice breathless.
His hand came down on my ass with a sharp slap, the sting sending a shiver through me.
"More," I demanded.
Mark groaned, delivering another slap.
"I'm gonna last nothing this way, little rogue."
"Then ground me," I urged, glancing back at him with a smirk.
His hand tangled in my hair, pulling me back slightly as he slowed his thrusts.
"Enough?" he asked, his voice low and steady.
"Yes," I gasped. "Take me hard, Sunny."
Mark's pace resumed, harder and faster.
"Sing, Moony," he murmured.
I let go, moaning freely, knowing how much he loved the sounds I made. It drove him on, his movements growing even more intense.
When he suddenly stilled, I knew he was holding back his climax. I waited, my breath hitching as he resumed, his rhythm powerful and deliberate.
"I'm close, Bae," I moaned. "Just don't stop."
Mark groaned deeply, his voice thick with lust.
"About to crash, Moony."
"Take me with you," I whispered, breathless.
He released my hair, circling my waist with his arm to pull me back until my body was flush against his chest.
With a final surge, we both fell over the edge, our bodies trembling as we collapsed together in a tangle of limbs and sweat.
Mark pulled out slowly, his hands gentle as they smoothed over my sides. He pressed a tender kiss between my shoulder blades.
"Still safe?" he asked softly.
"Utterly sound," I replied with a soft chuckle.
He disappeared briefly, returning with a warm cloth. After tending to me, I rolled onto my back, my gaze finding his.
"I love my sweet stallion beast," I murmured, a playful smile tugging at my lips.
He chuckled, his smile tender.
"I love you too, naughty little rogue."
Sliding back into bed, he pulled me close, our bodies tangling once more. His lips found mine in a soft kiss as the first rays of morning light filled the room.
"Satisfied now?"
I nodded, grinning.
"But I want dessert."
Mark smirked, his tone playful.
"Your wish is my command."
We stayed in bed as the morning light grew brighter, exchanging lazy kisses, gentle caresses, and quiet laughter—completely lost in each other. It was moments like this, filled with love and intimacy, that reminded me how lucky I was to have him.
"I love you, Mark," I whispered, meaning it more than ever. "Always."
His hand found mine, squeezing gently.
"I love you too, Jasper. Every day and forever."
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The day had dragged on, but my mood lifted as I drove to pick up Mark. I called him, and he answered on the second ring.
"Hey, Moony," he said, his voice soft, as it always was when he spoke to me.
"I'm close. Where are you?"
"In the coffee shop across from the clinic," he replied.
"Got it. Be there in five. Love you."
"Love you too," he said before hanging up.
There was something about his tone—a faint strain beneath his usual tenderness. It was subtle, but I could hear it. I shook it off, chalking it up to exhaustion from his day, and kept driving.
When I pulled up to the curb, I saw him leaving the coffee shop. Just the sight of him—his relaxed stride, the way his hair caught the light—made me smile without thinking.
I got out of the car and met him at the door.
"Hey, you," I said, pulling him into a hug.
Mark melted into it, and I stood on my toes to kiss him lightly on the lips.
"Did you get me coffee?"
"Of course," he replied, handing me a bag.
We smiled at each other, sharing another kiss before I made my way back to the driver's side.
Sliding into the car, a strange, nagging sensation crept over me, like I was being watched. But before I could glance around, Mark got in. I turned toward him, and just like during the call, I noticed something in his demeanor seemed slightly off.
"You okay?" I asked.
"Yeah," he said quietly. "Just had a challenging day because of Cintila."
I immediately recognized the name. "She still giving you a hard time?"
"She's opening up little by little," he said, sighing. "But today, she was completely shut down again."
I reached over and took his hand, giving it a squeeze.
"You'll get through to her."
He smiled softly, but it didn't fully reach his eyes.
"I hope so. She's the most challenging case I've ever had."
For a moment, we sat in silence, the steady hum of the engine filling the space. Then Mark let out another sigh, this one heavier.
"I ran into Edward today," he said, almost reluctantly.
I blinked, surprised.
"When?"
"He was with me in the coffee shop," Mark said. "He left just a few minutes before you got there."
That weird feeling from earlier resurfaced, twisting in my chest. I didn't know what to say, so I just stayed quiet.
Mark glanced at me, his voice calm as he continued.
"He was nice. Polite. We had a good conversation."
"About what?" I asked, my voice coming out steadier than I felt.
Mark shrugged slightly.
"What else is there? You."
My stomach knotted.
"What about me?"
He kept his tone even, unbothered.
"He just wanted to make sure I knew he wasn't trying to mess with us. I assured him it isn't an issue if he wants to be part of your life again."
I nodded slowly, recalling something similar Mark had said after I'd told him about my conversation with Edward at my mom's house over four months ago.
Since then, we'd seen Edward regularly at Emmett's house whenever we visited on weekends. Occasionally, he'd join his parents at my mom's, though our interactions stayed somewhat limited. At work, we rarely crossed paths—just the occasional fleeting encounter in a corridor or the garage, usually as one of us arrived while the other was leaving.
It wasn't that I didn't want to rebuild our friendship or try to mend things; it just wasn't a priority right now, especially with the wedding approaching.
"You should invite him to our bachelor party," Mark said, almost offhandedly.
I turned to him, unsure how to feel.
"Are you really okay with that?"
He glanced at me, his expression soft.
"You've known me for over twelve years."
I nodded, knowing he'd never lied to me about anything. Even so, I pressed.
"I just don't want you to push your feelings aside to indulge mine."
Mark let out a long sigh, his hand reaching for mine.
"The only thing I want is for you to be happy. And I know how much mending that friendship would mean to you."
His sincerity settled over me, quieting some of my unease.
"I'll think about the invitation," I said after a moment. Then I squeezed his hand. "But enough about people from my past. I want to take you away this weekend. Where do you want to go?"
Mark's smile brightened, genuine this time, and I felt the tension between us ease as we shifted to planning the getaway. The weight of the day faded, replaced by the comfort of being together.
.
.
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The inspection had been going smoothly, Leigh Anne guiding me through the ER floor, pointing out areas for improvement. It wasn't a new place for me, but the details she brought up gave me a deeper appreciation for the work the staff did here.
Then, suddenly, the door to Trauma Room 3 burst open. A nurse rushed in, eyes wide with urgency.
"Doctor Cullen! Trauma 3 now!"
The name hit me with a sharp twist of recognition. Edward.
Leigh Anne didn't miss a beat.
"Come on," she said, already striding toward the room. I followed quickly, my pace quickening despite myself.
When we entered, chaos greeted us. A young man, maybe nineteen, lay on a stretcher, thrashing violently. His screams echoed around the room, and blood soaked through his shirt, dripping from an exposed fracture of his collarbone. The bone was jagged, a horrifying sight against the backdrop of his torn flesh.
Edward was promptly there, standing over him, speaking in quick, controlled tones.
"Hold him down! I need the pressure bandage, stat! We need to stabilize him now!"
The nurses rushed to assist, but the patient's panicked movements were making it nearly impossible to get a grip on him.
Leigh Anne stepped in at his side.
"Sedate him," she commanded, but Edward shook his head.
"No," he snapped, never taking his eyes off the young man. "Let me get this under control first."
Before anyone could react, the patient's arm shot out, slamming into a tray of medical supplies, sending instruments clattering to the floor. In the scramble, the patient's hand found a jagged piece of the broken scalpel handle, and he gripped it like a weapon.
"Watch out!" one of the nurses shouted, barely dodging the sharp end as the patient flailed again.
Edward didn't flinch. He moved in immediately, one hand catching the wrist of the young man, trying to control it before the situation escalated further. His voice was low but commanding.
"I know you're scared, but you're not helping yourself. You're going to get hurt. Let go of that."
The patient only struggled harder.
Then it happened.
In the frenzy, the patient's desperate movements tore through Edward's scrub shirt. The fabric ripped loudly as it was caught by the jagged edge of the broken scalpel handle. For a moment, Edward didn't react, his focus on the patient's wrist, trying to wrestle it from the grip of the young man who was barely aware of what he was doing.
The rush of the moment, the urgency of it all—it all happened too fast for me to look away. I didn't even realize I was watching until I saw it: the tattoo.
It was small, discreet, positioned just over Edward's heart. Nothing flashy—just a simple design etched into his skin. The contrast of the ink against his pale skin was stark.
I hadn't expected it to hit me like that, but I felt a sudden jolt, an unexpected pang of something I couldn't quite name.
But the scene wasn't slowing down.
Leigh Anne's voice snapped me back into reality.
"Get the sedative in him!"
The nurse rushed to comply, her hand steady as she injected the young man with the sedative. The patient's thrashing slowed immediately, his body going limp as the medication took effect.
Edward didn't take his eyes off the patient, his hands steady, his focus unwavering.
"Prepare him for surgery. I'll scrub in," he said, issuing commands without a single hesitation.
I watched as he turned, already moving to gather the necessary equipment. Only then did he seem to acknowledge the state of his torn shirt, a slight frown crossing his features.
Leigh Anne looked at me, her tone pragmatic as ever.
"Welcome to the ER, Doctor Hale," she said, her voice only slightly softer than usual.
I nodded, still a little off-balance, my eyes lingering on Edward for just a moment too long. His actions had been pure instinct, nothing held back, and somehow it left me with more questions than answers.
But I couldn't deny the fact that at that moment, Edward had acted with total precision. And though it was all over in a flash, the image of his tattoo remained in my mind.
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.
.
The smell of barbecue and the sound of laughter filled Emmett and Bella's backyard, a lively celebration of Emmett's birthday. Mark stood beside me, our fingers entwined as usual, grounding me in the cheerful chaos. We were talking to Jacob and his girlfriend, Anna, who was as lovely as Jacob had described, when Rosalie and Bella approached us, both wearing mischievous grins.
"Bro Bear!" Rosalie called out, already reaching for him. "We need to borrow you for a chat."
Mark raised an eyebrow, smiling.
"Girl talk," Bella chimed in, her tone teasing. "But don't worry, you qualify."
Mark chuckled, shrugging playfully as letting go of my hand.
"Guess I'm being abducted," he said, flashing me a smirk.
I grinned back.
"Just make sure to bring him back in one piece," I told them.
They all laughed, and I watched as they led him away, his tall frame disappearing into the crowd. Turning back to Jacob and Anna, I continued the conversation until Emmett's voice boomed from across the yard, calling Jacob over to help with something. Jacob excused himself with Anna.
That's when I noticed Edward sitting alone at one of the picnic tables, Emmett having just walked away. I hesitated for a moment, the memory of our last conversation still fresh in my mind. This felt like an opportunity, a chance to honor my promise—to try and mend things with Edward, rebuild our friendship.
Taking a breath, I walked over slowly, my beer bottle in hand. Edward's eyes met mine as I approached, and I gave him a small, tentative smile.
Sliding onto the bench beside him, I tilted my bottle toward his in a silent toast. He clinked his bottle against mine without a word, and we both looked out at the crowd.
"Can you believe Emmett and Bella are married?" he asked after a moment, his tone carrying a hint of disbelief.
I chuckled.
"Remember how we used to tease them about each other? And they'd just brush us off like it was nothing?"
A faint smile tugged at his lips.
"Yeah, we were relentless."
We laughed softly, the shared memory bringing a fleeting sense of ease.
After a pause, Edward's expression sobered slightly before he glanced at me.
"How are the nerves? The wedding's only three months away, right?"
I noted the casual ease with which he posed the question.
"Not really nervous," I said, shrugging. "Mark and I have been living together for over ten years. It's not like much is going to change—just making it official, finally."
Edward nodded pensively, pausing for a moment before his gaze drifted to my hand.
"Is it… a couple thing?" he asked hesitantly.
"What?" I replied, frowning in confusion.
He gestured toward my wrist, where the sun tattoo was visible.
"I noticed Mark has a moon in the same spot," he explained. "Same style."
A small smile crossed my face.
"Yeah, it is a couple thing. We got them for our 10th anniversary."
"What do they mean?" he asked, his tone almost tentative, like he wasn't sure if he was crossing a line.
I met his gaze, sensing the curiosity behind the question.
"You don't need to answer. I'm just curious not trying to pry," he added quickly
I shook my head lightly.
"Not a problem," I said. "I have the sun for him, and he has the moon for me. It's tied to what we call each other, what we mean to each other."
Edward nodded, saying nothing, but the silence between us felt charged, stretching for a beat longer than it should have.
A memory surfaced, unbidden.
"What does yours mean?" I asked softly, the question slipping out before I could stop it.
His brows furrowed.
"How do you know I have one?"
I shrugged.
"I saw it, a couple of weeks ago. That day in the ER, when that kid with the fractured collarbone ripped your scrub shirt open."
Recognition flashed in his eyes.
"Oh, yeah… you were inspecting."
I nodded. Edward seemed to consider this for a moment.
"What did you see?" he asked, his voice low.
"It all happened so fast," I admitted. "I'm not sure, but… letters, maybe? Or musical notes? There was a sharp line, like an A or… it seemed like the roof of a house. I don't know."
Edward stared at me, a flicker of surprise crossing his expression before he mumbled something about forgetting how observant I could be sometimes.
Then he exhaled, and I could hear the weight in his voice when he spoke again.
"You're right. They're letters stylized like music notes, and the sharp line represents the letter A. It's meant to mimic the shape of a roof." He sighed again, a hint of disbelief in his tone. "One single glance, and you caught everything."
"Not the meaning behind it," I blurted out without thinking, feeling a little off, like something had shifted between us. The words felt strange as they left my mouth.
We shared a charged stare, and for the first time in a long while, I felt something stir in me—something familiar. It was like the connection we used to share resurfaced, linking our gazes with an unmistakable clarity. Edward's eyes were open to me again, and I could see into their depths, I could read everything in them—the expectation, the longing. It hit me with a sudden jolt, and my heart skipped. My breath quickened slightly, the weight of his stare pulling me in like it once had, and I felt a strange flutter in my chest.
"It's my home," he finally replied softly. "My real home."
The air thickened between us, the silence suddenly too heavy to bear.
I forced myself to look away, breaking the connection I hadn't thought could ever be mended. Exhaling shakily, I stood and smoothed my hands over my jeans, noticing they were slightly damp.
"I should find Mark," I said, trying to inject some levity into my tone. "The girls abducted him a while ago, and he might need saving."
Edward offered a small smile but didn't say anything as I turned to leave. Walking away I could feel his gaze on me, heavy and unrelenting, the moment replaying in my mind.
.
.
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After that day at the barbecue, things between Edward and me began to smooth out, little by little. Whenever we crossed paths, our interactions grew easier, more natural. They weren't quite what they used to be—not yet—but at least they didn't carry the heaviness and tension that had weighed on every moment when he first came back.
I could tell our friends and family were relieved. They no longer had to worry about tiptoeing around the subject of us, about uncomfortable silences or sidelong glances when we happened to be in the same room. There was an unspoken understanding now, a mutual effort to keep things civil. And while our friendship hadn't fully healed, I could feel the cracks mending, slowly but surely.
I sighed softly, my gaze shifting from the memories of Edward to the present moment, to Mark sleeping in front of me. His broad shoulders rose and fell in steady rhythm, his face serene, his freckles just visible in the moonlight filtering through the curtains of my old room.
It was the night before our wedding, and we were staying at my mom's house. Tomorrow morning, we'd exchange vows in the yard outside, surrounded by the garden I'd watched my mom tend since before I could walk. The garden my father treasured. I couldn't imagine a more perfect place to begin this next chapter of our lives.
Looking at Mark, I felt a wave of love so deep it left me breathless. He was everything I'd ever wanted and more than I'd ever thought I deserved. The happiness he brought me was something I couldn't have dreamed of back when I thought I'd never feel whole again.
Just as I was getting lost in those thoughts, my phone buzzed on the nightstand. Frowning, I picked it up, my brows knitting when I didn't recognize the number.
Curious, I opened the message.
I'm in the yard. I need to talk to you. Edward.
I stared at the screen, my stomach tightening. We hadn't exchanged numbers. I didn't even know how he'd gotten mine. And it was past midnight. Surely he realized—everyone did—that the wedding was in the morning.
My eyes darted to Mark, still sleeping soundly. I knew I shouldn't. I knew better. But something in me couldn't ignore Edward's message.
Moving carefully so I wouldn't wake Mark, I slipped out of bed and went to the window. Sure enough, there he was, standing close to the fence, looking up at the house.
I glanced back at Mark one more time, guilt prickling at my chest.
What am I fucking doing?
But I couldn't stop myself.
Slipping on a sweatshirt, I crept out of the room and down the stairs, my footsteps barely making a sound. When I stepped outside, the cool night air hit me, sharp and bracing. Edward turned at the sound of the door.
"What is this about?" I asked, keeping my voice low as I approached him.
He didn't answer right away, just stared at me with an intensity that made my skin prickle. Without warning, he stepped closer and cupped my face with both hands.
"Edward, what the hell—" I started, but his touch stopped me cold.
His thumbs brushed lightly over my cheeks, and the desperation in his eyes was unmistakable. It was too much, too sudden. I grabbed his wrists and yanked his hands away, stepping back as my heart pounded.
"Are you out of your mind?" I hissed.
Edward's voice was barely above a whisper, his words tumbling out in a rush.
"I had to try, Jasper. I had to."
"To try what?" I demanded, my voice rising despite myself.
"I didn't want it to be like this… I tried not to come, I tried to hold myself back." He heaved a breath, his chest rising and falling as though he'd run a mile. "But this is my last chance. I had to do this."
"Do what? What the fuck are you talking about? Do you even realize what time it is?"
He stepped closer again but didn't try to touch me this time. His eyes searched mine, raw and unguarded, his desperation palpable.
"I love you," he said, his voice breaking. "I had to tell you—I still love you. I always have—it never stopped. And I want you back."
The world seemed to tilt beneath my feet, my mind reeling as his words hung in the air.