Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, the plot is my own!
Chapter 13
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The weekend came and went, uneventful for the most part—just work, back-to-back shifts blurring together until one melted into the next. The only highlight was working with Angela, who was full of questions.
"Did it go well?" she asked, raising her voice over the music blasting through the bar's speakers as she wiped down the counter.
I nodded, trying—and failing—to suppress a grin.
"Well?" She huffed, shaking my arm impatiently. I was in the middle of filling four water cups, so I shot her a look before carefully setting them onto a tray.
"We went out to eat," I said finally, keeping my tone casual, "and then he took me to a jazz club."
"Ooo, a jazz club?" She practically bounced in place, her excitement contagious. "That's kind of sexy. Wait—where was it?"
"Downtown," I said, grabbing a handful of straws and tossing them onto the tray.
Angela leaned against the counter, eyes shining. "Oh, this man is pulling out all the stops. So… did you get any?"
I paused, reaching for another glass, deliberately slow, before tilting my head toward her, a crooked grin breaking through.
She gasped, smacking my arm. "You totally did!"
"Shhh!" I laughed, glancing over my shoulder. "Keep your voice down."
"Oh, come on," she whispered dramatically, leaning in. "Details, woman. Spill."
I bit my lip, shaking my head as I loaded up the tray. "Let's just say… it was a good night."
Angela groaned, throwing the bar rag over her shoulder. "That is not enough. You're giving me crumbs."
I smirked, pushing the tray towards her. "Then you better learn to be satisfied with crumbs."
Her exaggerated sigh followed me as I weaved through the double doors leading into the warehouse, my grin lingering long after.
Edward and I had been texting throughout the weekend—neither of us could help it. He sent me a particularly striking photo.
It was Sunday night. He had asked me for a photo of my face. As I took my break, I granted him that. Took the picture in the bathroom, my titties even making an appearance.
Along with the photo I had sent :
Me: You miss me?
He responded almost instantly. I opened the image, thankful for the privacy of being alone. My breath caught as I saw Edward's hand gripping his cock, my red lace thong from the gala night draped through his fingers.
Suddenly, Sunday night felt a lot more interesting. A thrill ran through me, the kind that lingered, leaving a smile I couldn't wipe off for the rest of my shift. Even Emmett, fresh off medical leave, took notice. He asked what had me so cheerful, and for the first time in a long time, I realized just how heavy the weight of everything had been for the first time in a while. How long had I been walking around with that sorrow, completely unaware of how much it dulled me?
By Monday morning, I was on the roof smoking as Seth was already out the door, darting toward Jacob's truck to head to school. I lingered in the kitchen later on breaking out flour, baking powder, and salt from the cabinets. I was going to be making home made biscuits for the chicken pot pie that I'd started in the crockpot earlier that morning.
I took a break in between, choosing to clean a bit, check Seth's laundry, and start a new load. The usual process. Then I realized the drum wasn't working properly—it was making a weird rhythmic thumping noise as it spun. Not a good sign. After a quick look, I figured out the issue: a loose belt. Something I could thankfully fix myself.
I dug around under the sink for my toolkit, grabbing a wrench and screwdriver before heading to the laundry room. A few minutes of adjusting the belt and tightening it up, and the washer hummed back to life with a smooth, steady spin.
After all that, I went back to the kitchen, checked on the pot simmering away, and then began rolling my second blunt of the day just before the afternoon hit—not that I needed it, but it was hard to resist. Thanks to Edward, I had enough to last me a while. That big basket of goodies still sat in the corner of my room, untouched since he dropped me off Friday night. I'd just been staring at it, overwhelmed by the sheer excess of it all.
Maybe I was stress-smoking. Or maybe I just wanted to. Either way, I needed to call Dr. Foreman's office and see if I could get him to finally do the damn referral. The idea still made me uneasy, but I knew that was just old conditioning talking.
Growing up, getting outside help wasn't an option. Family business stayed within the family—no exceptions. But fuck all if that ever did anything to help. Where did it lead us? My mother's condition only worsened because of it. The stigma was deeply ingrained; therapy was for the unhinged, for people who had lost control. But maybe that thinking had been completely wrong.
Seth had nothing to lose. And with graduation so close we could taste it, all I wanted was to get him through these final weeks, to push him toward real recovery. Maybe this was the best way forward. Maybe, for once, I'd finally be making the right call.
I grabbed the landline and stepped out the side door, a blunt in one hand, the phone in the other. As I dialed Foreman's office, I took a slow drag, exhaling into the morning air.
After a couple of rings, the receptionist picked up.
With few words I asked to speak with Jerry, if he was in. She put me on a brief hold, before long Dr. Foreman answered. His familiar voice crackling through the phone.
"Leah?"
"Yeah, hey," I tried to sound somewhat chipper, but unease still gnawed at me.
"How are you?"
"Well...how about you?"
"Can't complain. What's going on?"
I launched into my explanation, keeping it short.
"I'll get a referral going," he assured me.
"Okay," I said, then hesitated. "Just—please don't stick him with some hippie or any weird shit."
"Leah," he said, his tone patient but firm. "I know you have your reservations, but trust me—this will help him."
I put my smoke out and sighed, rubbing my temple.
"Yeah," I muttered. "I hope so."
We hung up, the plastic of the phone resting against my chin as I held a pensive thought. I want this to work, although in order for that to happen, it's going to take hard work. Seth's going to have to be open to this. And his tornado of feelings has settled, for sure. But, it's still there. Bubbling up under the surface. Hot molten lava shooting up to scald me with every step. I just want him to be okay. I desperately need that.
There's no telling how long it will be before he has some semblance of normalcy.
I could hear an engine purring, seeing a familiar car pulling up in front of the driveway. I glanced over and saw Edward's car. I already had a smile on my face before I even saw him.
He stepped out, wearing a plain blue shirt and jeans. He stripped his sunglasses off and tossed them somewhere in the car before he closed the door behind him.
I began to walk down the concrete steps, entranced by the way his eyes caught mine. "What's got you coming all the way out here?" I asked.
He bounded toward me, pulling me into a deep, soulful hug that soothed my previous anxieties from the phone call just moments before. He lifted me off of my feet, his face nuzzling into the crook of my neck as he hummed against my skin.
"For you," he muttered.
I couldn't help but laugh, tickled by his affection.
He was grumbling about missing me as he set me down.
With a sentimental kiss, I finally admitted, shockingly, that I had missed him too. His lips were so soft, so beautiful. My fingers grazed his jawline, feeling the stubby hairs along there. It was fascinating how the roughness felt against my skin. I envisioned his mouth kissing my whole body.
"So, would you like to come inside?" I threw the question out casually, but my body betrayed me—tensing slightly as his strong hands slid down my sides.
Glancing around before his gaze settled back on me, nodding lightly. Edward followed me through the side door, walking past me into the small hallway, and then into the kitchen. I placed the phone on the table as I followed him in.
"Smells so nice in here," he remarked, voice smooth, almost thoughtful. He took a seat at the dining table.
"Yeah?" I tilted my head, watching him carefully.
"Like you," he added with a smirk. Radiant.
Oof. That was slick.
My stomach did a little flip, but I tried to play it cool, shifting my weight onto one leg. I was about to say something when the startling ring of the phone echoed through the mostly quiet house.
I glared at the phone, hoping it wasn't the shrink calling to schedule. My chest clenched, but I snatched the phone up, quickly answering it.
"Hey, girly," Old Quil's voice came through, gruff but familiar, clearing his throat.
I let out the breath I'd been holding. "Hey, Unc, what's going on?" I scrunched my brows and held the phone between my shoulder and my face as I bounced over to the kitchen counter to busy myself with making coffee. I left Edward sitting at the table a couple of steps away. I mouthed an 'I'm sorry' to him.
"I was wondering if you knew how to fill out this Social Security paperwork. Jr's been trying to help, but with his damn help, I might as well have a gnat doing it."
I fought back a laugh. "Uh…," I glanced over at Edward, who was quietly watching me. "I'm sure I can help you figure it out. I can swing by later, after Seth gets home."
"Alright, well, tell Seth we miss him," Quil said, his tone warm.
"Of course," I said, before asking if he wanted some leftovers. Turning towards the counter.
"Absolutely," Quil said.
I sighed and clicked the end button, my hand settling on the counter as I placed my other hand on my hip.
"Everything okay?" Edward's voice interrupted my thoughts. I spun around to see him sitting there, comfortably relaxed. One leg casually spread out, his elbow resting on the table, looking like something out of a magazine.
I tilted my head, smiling despite myself. "Yeah, it's fine," I said, forcing a smile, but it didn't quite reach my eyes. I was still worried about Seth, still coddling my uncertainty. Edward had a way of making me feel better though, comfortable as well, so I decided to say something. "I'm just… waiting on a call from the doctor's office about Seth."
His brows furrowed slightly. "Doctor's office?" He asked, concerned.
I swallowed before speaking again. "It's… for his therapy," I said softly, the words coming out in a hesitant flurry.
The silence hung in the air for a moment. I waited for him to voice any concerns, to judge me for having Seth go to therapy. Instead, Edward just nodded gently, as if he understood it all.
"That's good," he said with simple finality.
His lush green eyes were on me, steady. "You're doing the right thing," he added, his voice low, reassuring.
I took in a deep breath, relieved by his simple but kind words. But then Edward's tone shifted slightly, a hint of something more vulnerable.
"Have you ever thought about seeing a therapist?" He asked, his gaze holding me. The question was almost too casual, yet bold.
My heart skipped a beat. The thought of sitting across from a man whom I've known for maybe a month? Talking about everything that was swirling inside of me, made my stomach churn. I shook my head quickly, instinctively pulling back. "I'm not sure I'm ready for that." My voice was small, not fully ready to shatter.
"You can't let yourself stay in a bad place forever," he murmured, his voice soft but firm. "If you let the bird of sadness build a nest, it'll only get harder to shake it off."
I arched an eyebrow, the metaphor catching me off guard. "Nice metaphor."
He smiled faintly, a glint of understanding in his eyes, and the moment seemed to linger in the air between us. Then, sensing the right moment to shift, Edward reached into his pocket. He looked at me, with a quiet intensity.
"I want to give you something."
He pulled it out, something small, shiny, and sparkling in his hand. As he approached me, his fingers draped the object through the air like it was meant to be seen in its full glory. When he held it up, I blinked, a little unsure of what I was seeing.
A ruby red stone, set into a gold ring with tiny ruby gems encircling it. But the band wasn't whole—it was just the gem and its delicate setting now strung onto a fine chain, like a pendant.
I stared at him for a long moment, a mix of confusion and awe swirling in my mind. "What is this?" I whispered, feeling slightly thrown off.
"My mom's a Cancer, too," he said, turning the pendant between his fingers before meeting my gaze. "This was her ring. She told me to save it—for someone special."
My throat tightened, as I reached for the chain, my fingers grazing the cool metal, the gesture making my chest ache. I didn't know how to respond.
"Are we still moving at a snail's pace?" I asked, trying to lighten the moment, but the vulnerability was still there, raw and real.
His hands instinctively went up in a defensive gesture. "Okay, I know what we spoke about," he started, his voice sincere. "But you've got me considering things I've never considered with anyone else." He paused, his gaze softening. "Although, it may seem corny, I just wanted to use this as a promise ring."
The warmth of the gift settled on me. My hand instinctively went up to my face as a chill ran through me. I was happy—no, more than happy—to see this, to feel the care behind it. But the phone call earlier, the worry about Seth, still hovered in the back of my mind, prickling my anxiety.
But damn, I was smitten. Completely tickled pink by the meaning behind it. His gesture, this connection—unexpected and tender—wrapped around me, making my chest feel tight in the best way. It was overwhelming, but I didn't want to push it away.
"Thank you," I whispered.
It got quiet for a moment. Then I couldn't take it.
"Do you want some coffee? Or maybe lunch?" I offered, hoping to be a good host to my potential future husband.
His smile widened, slow and easy, like he enjoyed my little attempt at hospitality. "I'd love some coffee," he admitted, pausing for a beat before adding, "But I could take you out to lunch instead."
I barely had time to respond before he closed the distance between us, reaching behind my neck to fasten the chain. His hands brushed against my skin in a way that sent a ripple of warmth down my spine. When he was done, his hands lingered at my waist, standing close behind me. The touch was light—innocent, even—but enough to make me feel like I couldn't breathe. His presence, warm and steady, left me rooted in place as he leaned in, his breath feathering against the side of my neck.
"You don't have to go out of your way," he murmured, fingers flexing slightly against my hips.
I turned to face him, my pulse quickening. "I don't mind," I hummed, my hands instinctively reaching up, threading through his hair. It was soft, and he sighed under my touch, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment.
With a smirk, I gave his hair a sharp tug. His eyes snapped open, dark and searching, before narrowing slightly in amusement.
I chuckled. "I loved that photo you sent me Sunday night, by the way."
He wet his lips, considering me for a moment before speaking again. "Did you?" His hands slid down, tracing the curve of my waist before settling at my ass, giving it a firm squeeze that sent heat licking up my spine. "I had so much fun with the little gift you gave me."
"You are terrible," I teased, shaking my head.
"You started it."
His eyes trailed down to the necklace, then back to my face.
"Absolutely beautiful." His voice had dropped, rough around the edges, and the way he looked at me—possessive, unwavering—made the air feel thick, charged. My breath caught, the space between us shrinking to nothing.
Neither of us spoke.
The coffee was a distant memory.
Then, slowly, almost hesitantly, he leaned in, brushing his lips against mine in a kiss that started soft but quickly deepened, his restraint slipping.
A quiet hum escaped me as my hands slid down to his shoulders, pulling him closer. His grip on my thighs tightened, his fingers pressing into me, like he needed me as much as I needed him. His tongue invaded my mouth, tasting every inch of each other. I opened up for him, greedy, suckling on his tongue lightly.
With effortless strength, he lifted me onto the kitchen counter. A startled gasp left me, but it melted into a breathy sigh as my legs instinctively wrapped around his hips, pulling him in, anchoring him against me.
His lips never left mine, his body pressed firm and insistent against me, and I could feel the way he fought to keep himself controlled.
But I didn't want restraint.
Not with him.
The world outside faded away, leaving only the two of us, lost in each other. His lips trailed down my neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake, and I tugged at the waistband of his jeans, desperate to feel him closer. A soft moan escaped me, unbidden, as my need for him overwhelmed me. He responded with a groan.
"Edward," I whispered, my voice trembling with desire, "I need you. Now."
He paused, his breath hot against my skin, and pulled back just enough to meet my gaze. His eyes were dark, filled with a hunger that mirrored my own.
"You don't want that," he said, deep and rugged, his hands gripped my hips like he never wanted to let go.
I nodded. "I do," my fingers fumbled with the button of his jeans. "I've never been more sure of anything," I breathed, my heart pounding in my chest. "Fuck me."
He let out a shaky laugh, his forehead resting against mine. "God, Leah," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "You have no idea what you do to me."
Before I could respond, his lips crashed into mine again, swallowing my gasp as his hands slid under the hem of my shorts. He tugged them down, letting them fall to the floor, and I shivered at the sudden cool air against my skin—or maybe it was the way his touch burned through me.
I ripped my shirt off, my breasts freed from their confines. Edward reached out, his fingers gently pinching my nipples, rolling them between his fingertips. The look on his face told me he enjoyed the way I moaned at his touch, my body arching into his hands. He leaned down, hovering just above my skin, his breath hot against my flesh.
He paused, lifting his gaze to meet mine with a wicked grin. "You're so beautiful," he murmured, his voice thick with admiration.
I grumbled in frustration, my desire for him overwhelming any patience I had left. "Stop teasing me," I pleaded, my voice trembling.
He chuckled, low and deep, before flicking his tongue out to lick one nipple, then the other, lavishing attention on each in turn. His hum of approval sent shivers down my spine, and I gripped the edge of the counter to steady myself.
Then he moved lower, his tongue tracing slow, deliberate circles along my stomach, dipping down to my thighs, licking and nipping at the sensitive skin. I began to tremble, my breath coming in shallow gasps, and I could feel him smirking against my skin.
He pressed his hands against the underside of my thighs, spreading me open and lifting my legs over his shoulders, pinning me in place. I was completely exposed to him, helpless on the counter, my hands gripping the edge for balance. His eyes raked over me, dark with lust, and I felt a flush of heat spread through me.
Without a word, he leaned in, his tongue swirling around my clit, teasing my entrance, working to bring me closer and closer to the edge. He alternated between slow, lazy strokes and fast, hard flicks, each movement sending waves of pleasure through me. I bit my lip to stifle the noises threatening to escape, but it was no use—my moans filled the room, and Edward only seemed to grow more determined.
He looked up at me, his eyes locked on mine as he watched me come undone. "Let go," he urged, his voice rough with desire. "I want to see you fall apart."
And I did. My release crashed over me, my body trembling as I cried out his name. He groaned against me, his fingers replacing his mouth as I spilled over, my juices coating his chin. He kissed and licked eagerly, not wasting a drop, his tongue gently caressing me as I rode the waves of pleasure.
When he finally pulled away, he licked his lips, his eyes never leaving mine. He stood between my thighs, his chest rising and falling with each breath, and I could see the hunger in him.
The air between us was electric, every touch sending sparks through my veins. He kissed me again, hard and demanding, and I matched his intensity, my fingers tangling in his hair. When he finally filled me, it was with a slow, deliberate motion that made me gasp his name. He moved deep and steady, each thrust sending shivers of pleasure through me.
My back arched against the cupboards as we moved together, the rhythm building until everything else disappeared. His thick cock gifted me with unbearable pleasure, and I could feel him riding the same wave, his breath hot against my neck. His fingers tightened in my hair, pulling my head back as his tongue traced along my skin, his grunts of pleasure mingling with my cries.
I bit down hard on my lip. One of his hands thrumming against my receptive nub.
He pounded into me, each thrust driving me closer to the edge again, until we both shattered, he pulled out, finishing on my lower body, our bodies trembling as we clung to each other, lost in the fire we'd created.
"Shit, I'm sorry," Edward huffed, quickly grabbing a kitchen rag to clean me off.
I laughed, shaking my head. "What?"
"I just don't want you to think that's all I came over here for," he admitted, a flush creeping up his cheeks as he caught his breath.
Still grinning, I snatched up my clothes from the floor, slipping them on as I hopped down from the counter. I dashed to the bathroom near the stairway, took care of business, and returned fully dressed.
By the time I stepped back into the kitchen, Edward was leaning against the counter, watching me with a lazy sort of affection.
"So, what do you say?" he asked. "Lunch?"
I tilted my head, hesitating. I really should stay home in case the doctor calls… and then there's Quil.
Shrugging, I offered, "Food's almost done here. I could feed you instead."
His grin widened. "I love the sound of that."
"Besides, I have to head to my uncle's at some point, and, y'know… be home for Seth."
"Yeah, I get it," he said softly, his gaze never wavering. "I'm just looking for any arbitrary excuse to be around you."
Now it was my turn to blush, a slow shiver creeping up my spine as I brushed my hair out of my face. Trying to shake off the warmth creeping through me, I nodded toward the counter. "Wanna help make the biscuits?"
He smirked. "Do I look like I know how to make biscuits?"
"Do I look like I care?" I shot back playfully, handing him a mixing spoon.
Chuckling, he took it. "Alright, boss. What do I do?"
He eyed the bowl of flour and baking powder like it might explode. I started pre heating the oven.
"First things first—mix the dry ingredients," I said, tying my hair back.
"Sounds simple enough," he murmured, taking the spoon I handed him. He started stirring, a little too aggressively, sending a small puff of flour into the air.
I snorted. "Okay, maybe not that hard."
He paused, glancing at the flour dusting his shirt. "What? You don't like my artistic approach?"
I shook my head, grinning as I grabbed the butter. "Here, cut this in—don't just mash it in like a barbarian."
He arched a brow. "A barbarian? You wound me." But he did as I instructed, using the fork to break the butter into smaller pieces before working them into the flour. His movements were a little stiff at first, but he caught on quickly.
"You're doing good," I praised, nudging his arm.
He smirked. "I like how surprised you sound."
"I didn't say I had faith in your baking skills."
He scoffed, grabbing a handful of flour and lightly dusting it over my arm. "Oops."
My mouth fell open. "Oh, you wanna play?" Without thinking, I swiped my flour-covered hand across his forearm, leaving a white streak.
"Alright, alright!" he laughed, holding his hands up in surrender. "Truce, before we both end up looking like ghosts."
I pointed a warning finger at him before reaching for the milk. "Pour this in slowly while I mix."
He leaned closer, tilting the carton. "Tell me when."
I stirred as the dough started coming together, nodding when it was just right. "Perfect."
"Naturally," he said smugly, setting the milk down.
I grabbed the dough, gently patting it together before rolling it out. "Now, the easy part—cutting them out."
I handed him a cup to use as a biscuit cutter. He pressed it into the dough. When he lifted it, his brow furrowed. "Why does mine look…lopsided?"
I peeked over his shoulder, laughing. "Because you pressed too hard on one side. Here, let me show you." I moved behind him, guiding his hands with mine. "Even pressure, and lift straight up."
He glanced back at me, a crooked grin on his lips. "Am I a master biscuit maker now?"
"Eh, let's get them in the oven first before we start handing out titles."
With the biscuits arranged on the baking sheet, we slid them into the oven and dusted our hands off.
"Now we wait," I said, heading toward the sink.
Edward followed, and we both washed our hands, our elbows bumping lightly in the small space.
"Can you put the milk back in the fridge?" I asked.
I glanced at him as he reached for it, my fingers drifting to the necklace around my neck. The ruby ring felt cool against my skin as I rolled it between my fingers absentmindedly.
"So," I murmured, my voice softer, "you ever cook with your mom? Or have you always had cooks?"
Edward stilled for a moment before straightening, milk carton in hand. "When I was younger, I'd watch her cook sometimes, ask to help," he said softly. "She lives in Florida now." Closing the fridge with his hip, he added, "My parents separated when I was still a kid. She wanted to be somewhere warm, and my dad… well, he stayed."
I leaned against the counter, watching him. "Do you see her often?"
"Not as much as I should," he admitted. "We talk a lot, though. She's good people."
"And your dad?" I asked carefully.
His jaw tightened slightly, but his voice remained even. "He's still around. Lives nearby, actually." He set the butter down with a little more force than necessary. "But I keep my distance."
I studied his face, noting the flicker of something unreadable in his expression. I didn't push—just let the moment settle between us.
"Fair enough," I murmured, giving his arm a gentle squeeze. "Now, the fun part, cleaning up!"
His smirk returned, but this time, his eyes held something softer. "Whatever you say, boss."
As we wiped down the counters, the warm scent of buttery biscuits filled the air. We lingered in the kitchen, talking about everything and nothing, our conversation drifting between teasing remarks and comfortable silence.
When the timer chimed, I grabbed a towel and pulled the biscuits from the oven, setting the pan on the stove. The golden tops glistened, perfectly baked.
Edward leaned against the counter, watching me as I moved. I ladled chicken pot pie into a bowl, the thick, savory aroma filling the space. He didn't say anything, just stayed close, idly twirling a strand of my hair between his fingers.
I smirked. "You gonna help, or just stand there looking pretty?"
He grinned. "I think I'll just stand here looking pretty."
Rolling my eyes, I grabbed another plate, split open a biscuit, and spooned some of the pot pie over it before finally handing it to him.
"Here," I said. "Taste test."
Edward accepted it, his fingers brushing mine. "If this is how you treat your guests, I might have to start showing up unannounced more often."
His words made me blush, nudging him toward the table as I finished serving myself. "Eat first, flirt later."
He sat down, digging in eagerly, and I couldn't help but beam.
I know I'm a good cook, but watching someone—especially Edward—enjoy my food did something to me. I settled beside him, spoon in hand, taking my first bites.
"Fuck, this is so good," he groaned, wiping his mouth with a napkin before shooting me a playful look. "What, you start cooking straight out of the womb or something?"
I laughed, the comment tickling me. "I learned from my parents," I said, my voice quieter than my earlier laughter.
Edward leaned back, watching me with quiet curiosity as he chewed. He took another bite, savoring it. Covering his mouth as he spoke again, "that explains why it tastes like someone put some real love into it."
I smiled at the compliment, but something about the way he said it made me pause. My fingers curled around my spoon, then slowly, I set it down.
He tilted his head. "You don't talk much about them."
I swallowed, suddenly hyper-aware of the way my fingers toyed with the edge of the table. My mother was a thought I didn't want to entertain, not right now. Not when I felt good. So, instead, I latched onto the other parent. The one I could still talk about.
"My dad," I started, my voice softer, "he was the one who really got me into cooking. He worked a lot, but when he was home, we'd always be in the kitchen together. He had this way of making everything feel… warm." I exhaled slowly. If I thought really hard about it, I could practically feel sixteen again, feeling the familiar ache press against my ribs.
Edward's expression shifted, something tender replacing the casual playfulness from earlier. Staying patient to let me continue.
"He was walking one night, and got hit by a drunk driver," I went on, staring at my hands. "The impact threw his body into a ditch. No one found him until the next morning."
Edward set his fork down, his gaze unwavering. "That's awful."
"Yeah," I breathed. "It was."
Silence settled between us, not uncomfortable, just quiet. Then, as if sensing I needed it, Edward reached out, his fingers grazing mine again. A quiet gesture. One that said, I hear you.
Before I could disassociate, I cleared my throat, breaking the moment. "Anyway, he'd have loved this meal." I forced some lightness into my voice. "Speaking of, you want another bowl?"
Edward didn't push, didn't pry. He just gave me a knowing nod and smirked. "Depends. You offering to hand-feed me, too?"
I snorted, retrieving my spoon again. "Eat."
He chuckled but obeyed, and for the rest of the meal, the conversation softened—little jokes, warm smiles, and quiet understanding.
After we finished, I took the dishes to the kitchen, rinsing mine quickly before checking the time on the stove. Jacob would be dropping Seth off soon. I began to serve Edward another piping hot bowl.
"Y'know," Edward huffed as the chair scraped against the floor. He stood, stretching slightly before leaning against the wall near the kitchen entrance. "My mother would adore you," he said with certainty.
The hairs on the back of my neck rose as I turned to face him. His unwavering gaze met mine, steady and sure. A slow smile tugged at my lips. "You, Edward Masen, are officially getting comfortable."
"It wasn't obvious before?" He grinned as he accepted the bowl covered in aluminum foil I'd gave him.
I shook my head with a quiet huff, turning back to wipe down the stove, pretending his words didn't stir something in me.
"You should let me take you down to Florida for a visit."
I froze for half a second before forcing myself to keep wiping.
A trip?
A vacation?
My teeth found the inside of my cheek, pressing down as I blinked at him, caught off guard. It changed fast with me. Too fast. The reason? I'm in no position for any vacation or escapade. Why is he so forward like this? It pushed me towards an edge, to a cliff? Maybe not that exaggerated, but, until I could get a grip with Seth and his issues, I couldn't even begin to entertain the idea.
I knew this was just Edward being Edward. It had to be. I just had to play it somewhat cool.
"Walk that back by me?" I asked, tilting my head, eyes narrowing.
A quiet laugh rumbled from his chest, his head tilting slightly, eyes gleaming. "Everybody needs a little vacation, no?"
"Maybe at some point," I said with a sharp exhale of disbelief.
"Maybe," he echoed smoothly, stepping toward me. He caught the flicker of hesitation in my eyes, and instead of pushing, he simply reached up to tuck a curl behind my ear.
I looked up at him, my gaze drifting to his lips.
He didn't rush. He gave me a moment, a chance to pull away if I wanted to. But I didn't. And when he finally closed the space between us, his lips met mine in a slow, lingering kiss.
I sighed into it, my fingers curling against his shirt, savoring the warmth, the quiet reassurance in the way he kissed me. It wasn't demanding, just sure. Just Edward.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested against mine for the briefest second before he exhaled a soft chuckle. "I should go."
I nodded, as he released my hand. He gave me one last look before heading out. Leftovers in hand.
Not long after he took his leave, the phone rang as I was washing my hands. I wiped my hands on a towel, glancing at the caller ID.
Dr. Cohen's Office.
I hesitated.
This had to be the follow-up call from Dr. Foreman's referral. I knew it was coming, albeit I didn't come to the conclusion that it'd be this fast.
I had a feeling creeping up my spine. With a slow exhale, I answered.
"Hello?"
A voice, smooth as silk but carrying a rhythmic, almost poetic lilt, came through the receiver. "Good morning. This is Dr. Cohen hoping to speak to a Leah Clearwater."
His tone was calm—so calm that for a second, I thought rerouted us and I reached some kind of audiobook narrator instead.
"Uh, yeah, this is Leah," I replied, shifting my weight against the counter.
"I hope I'm not catching you at a bad time."
"No, no, just… cleaning," I said, like that was important information.
He let out a quiet chuckle, polite and measured. "Dr. Foreman passed along Seth's file, and I've reviewed the necessary details. I wanted to reach out personally to set up an appointment and discuss a few things with you before we move forward."
"Right, yeah, of course." I cleared my throat, trying to shake the weird formality of the situation. "So, how does this work?"
"For now, we can start with once a week?"
"Sounds okay, what do you have available?" I asked.
"Fridays at 3 p.m., if that's okay with you," he said smoothly. "The first month will focus on assessment. Getting a sense of where he's at emotionally, mentally. Building rapport. After that, we can adjust as needed."
I nodded even though he couldn't see me. The structure of it, the normalcy, settled me slightly. "Okay… that makes sense."
"Seth's experiences have been… considerable," Dr. Cohen continued, his voice gentle but firm. "Given the circumstances, our sessions may explore a combination of cognitive-behavioral therapy, talk therapy, and possibly EMDR, depending on how he presents."
I blinked. "EM… what now?"
"Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing. It's often used for trauma processing, but of course, that depends entirely on whether it's appropriate for him."
I pressed my lips together, absorbing that. Trauma processing. There was something unnerving about hearing it phrased that way—like Seth wasn't just hurting, but damaged.
I shifted uncomfortably. "So, no, like, voodoo or chanting involved?"
Dr. Cohen paused, then let out a low chuckle. "No witch doctors here, Ms. Clearwater. Just science."
I let out a breath of a laugh, even as my stomach twisted. "Good to know."
His tone remained patient, measured. "I understand this can be an overwhelming process. I assure you, nothing happens without your—and Seth's—understanding and consent. My job is to help, not to force anything upon him."
I swallowed. "Yeah. No, I get it."
There was a small pause before he spoke again. "Does Seth have any concerns about starting therapy?"
I rubbed my temple. "He's… quiet about it. Doesn't really fight me on it, but I don't know how much he wants to go. I think he just doesn't want to let me down."
Dr. Cohen hummed, thoughtful. "That's common. He may not know how to articulate his feelings about it yet. That's part of what we'll work on."
I nodded again, my throat tight. This was happening. And I wanted it to happen—I knew Seth needed this. But some old part of me, the part raised on tough it out and you don't need a stranger to fix you, still fought against it.
"Alright," I finally said, twisting the ring dangling from the necklace around my neck. "Fridays at three. Got it."
"Excellent. We'll see you both then."
I hesitated, my brow furrowing. Both of us?
"You'll join for the first session," Dr. Cohen clarified, his voice smooth, patient. "It helps set the foundation, gives Seth a sense of security."
I let out a slow breath. "Yeah, okay," I muttered. "Thanks, Doc."
"Of course. Take care, Ms. Clearwater."
The call ended, and I set the phone down, staring at it for a moment.
It was the right thing to do. I had to believe that.
I stood there, my hand still finding it's way to the necklace, marking dates on the calendar hanging in the dining area, when I heard Jacob's truck pull up. The rumble of the engine cut off, and soon, footsteps approached the side door. I opened it just as Seth stepped inside, muttering a quiet "Hey" before heading straight to his room without another word.
Jacob lingered on the steps outside, hands in his pockets, giving me a small nod.
"What?" I asked, leaning against the doorframe.
"There was a teensy predicament," Jacob shrugged, his casual tone betraying the tension in his eyes.
I crossed my arms, my bottom lip slightly poking forward, waiting for him to spill whatever bullshit he was about to say.
Jacob took a deep breath before continuing. "Remember those two window-lickin' kids I told you about?"
My brows furrowed in confusion.
He scratched his temple, trying to jog my memory. "You know, the day Seth got into that fight with those two idiots? I called you at work—"
I began to nod, the memory clicking.
"Fuck, you smoke too much weed, Clearwater," he added, his voice dripping sarcasm.
I rolled my eyes and gave him an soft kick to the shin. "I don't smoke that much," I shot back, pretending to be annoyed, though it could've been worse. Edward's visit earlier had left me with a buzz that wasn't entirely unpleasant.
"You're always droning on, Black. Get to the point," I snapped, giving him a playful smack on the shoulder.
Jacob recoiled dramatically, showing me my efforts were as effective as a mosquito bite. To my displeasure.
"There was a small scuffle," Jacob said, his hands moving like he was conducting an orchestra.
I stepped closer, narrowing my eyes. "What the hell do you mean by that?"
Jacob loved to tell the worst part of the story first, like ripping a Band-Aid off too quickly.
"Well," he dragged it out, "those little fucksticks said some crazy shit when I stopped at the red light. Windows down, they pull up next to us, started running their mouths. It's a long story, but you get the gist."
My shoulders deflated. "Jacob, just get to the fucking point."
"We eventually parked on the side of Sixth, got out of my truck—" Jacob gestured with his hands, looking like he was recounting a dramatic moment.
I raised an eyebrow, completely unimpressed. "Did you threaten high schoolers with my seventeen-year-old brother, Jacob?"
Jacob's mouth dropped open, like I'd just accused him of something absurd. "Me?" His voice rose slightly. "Me? I would never! Clearwater, point is, we reached an understanding."
I narrowed my eyes. "So, this didn't happen at school?" I asked, needing the confirmation.
He shook his head, and I sighed in relief. "Thank God."
"But," Jacob continued, "the real question is: are the cops gonna be looking for either of them?"
I raised an eyebrow. "What the fu—"
"I mean, technically, if they're looking for anyone, it'll probably be me." he interrupted quickly, then smirked.
I just stared at him for a moment, shaking my head slowly. "Unreal," I muttered.
He extended his arm to the side of him. "I filled their prescription, more cowbell."
I rolled my eyes, half-laughing, half-rolling my eyes in disbelief. "I know you're joking, but you need to shut the fuck up."
Jacob chuckled, shrugging casually. "I'm just keeping it interesting."
I shook my head, exasperated. "Just make sure this isn't a recurring thing."
"Course not, we spoke about it afterwards," Jacob said, his tone casual, but something in his eyes told me it wasn't as simple as he made it sound.
I rolled my eyes, not even wanting to fathom what "talked about it" actually meant. I thought back to Dr. Cohen, the first appointment being this Friday.
"I need to talk to you about Seth," I said, my voice firm as I crossed my arms, pushing the more casual conversation aside.
Jacob glanced up from his spot near the railing, already suspicious. "What's up?"
I shifted my weight, my fingers tightening against my biceps. "So, I've talked to Seth before, and I spoke with our doctor, and he thinks it's in Seth's best interest to see a shrink."
His face scrunched. "What, like a looney bin?"
I closed my eyes for a second, inhaling through my nose. Christ. Here we go.
"No, not a looney bin," I said, forcing patience into my voice. "Just a psychiatrist. An hour of talking, that's it."
He scoffed. "So, what? They think he's crazy?"
My jaw clenched. A flicker of doubt crept up my spine, but I crushed it before it could settle. I'd already spent the weekend wrestling with my own ingrained hesitations, the ones my parents drilled into me—that therapy was for people who were broken beyond repair. That family should handle its own problems.
But our family hadn't handled a damn thing. And Seth had been the one to walk in on the fallout of that failure.
I squared my shoulders. "No, it's nothing like that. It's just to help him work through things."
Jacob leaned back, rubbing his jaw. "Man… that kind of stuff is for rich people or—y'know, people who actually lost it."
I stiffened. "You don't think Seth needs it?"
My stomach twisted. I'd been afraid someone would say it—that someone would take my uncertainty and wedge it open.
He hesitated, shifting. "I don't know. I mean, we all go through stuff. People handle it, move on."
The words hit something raw. My fingernails bit into my skin. Move on? Like it was that easy? Like grief and trauma just untangled themselves and let you walk free?
I exhaled slowly, trying to keep my voice level. "He's not just gonna snap out of it, Jake. He's a kid. He needs help."
Jacob shook his head, scoffing. "That's what they say at first. Next thing you know, they've got him doped up and talking about his feelings like that's gonna fix anything."
A hot wave of irritation flared in my chest. "Jesus, Jake." I pinched the bridge of my nose. "It's not like that. He just needs someone to talk to—someone who isn't me or you."
Jacob exhaled, arms crossing tightly over his chest. "Yeah, and then they slap some disorder on him, and he's stuck with that label forever."
I gave him a sharp look. "So what? You'd rather he just suffer in silence?"
He didn't answer right away. His jaw flexed, and I saw the war in his eyes—the old-school beliefs clashing with something else, something softer. It was the same battle I'd been fighting in my own head.
Finally, he let out a long breath. "How often?"
"Once a week."
"Oof." He dragged a hand down his face. "What day?"
"Fridays at 3 p.m. If it's too much with the shop—"
"No, no, I'll make it work," he muttered, then shot me a look. "Why can't you take him?"
I arched a brow. "Because when we talked about it, he specifically asked for you."
Jacob ran a hand through his hair. "This kid is glued to me."
I smirked, though it didn't quite reach my eyes. "Well, he thinks you're fun."
He tipped his head down, flexing his arm against the railing as he leaned into it. His fingers absentmindedly gripped the wood, testing its give. His brows furrowed as he muttered something about needing to fix the loose rail.
"I'll be coming to the first appointment," I said.
He nodded. "It'll be like our own little convoy."
I watched him in silence, arms still crossed. I wasn't sure if I felt relieved or just drained. This was the right choice. It had to be.
After a beat, I spoke again, my voice quieter this time. "Thank you, Jake. Really. I don't know where Seth would be right now if you hadn't stepped in."
He exhaled, shaking his head with a smirk. "My good deed," he muttered. "Gonna slap it on my résumé."
...
..
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