AN: So, I took a poll in my Facebook group, and the majority has spoken. This chapter reflects that. Thanks to everyone who is still reading. And sorry for these long chapters. This Bella likes to talk, and I try to get as much in as possible to progress the story.

To Brina and May, thank you for doing your thang. Much love.

SM owns these characters. I just like playing with them.

Chapter Twenty-Two

-Expectations and Reality-

Everyone around me is still caught up in the adrenaline of the game's last twenty minutes. They're dissecting every play, arguing about how close the team came to losing, but I'm barely hearing any of it. My mind is miles away, focused on Edward. I need to talk to him, but I have no idea when that will happen. His phone is off-limits, and he's tied up in interviews, probably for the next hour. So, I sit here, wrapped in my own world, watching him on the screen, hanging on his every word.

What can I say? I'm obsessed. I always have been.

When Edward finally walks onto the stage in front of the reporters, my heart aches for him. He looks worn down, battered. The bruises are visible, a reminder of what he just went through, and yet there's this light in his eyes, a quiet resilience. He charms the reporters with that faint, tired smile, answering their questions as they dig into the brutal final quarter. They ask him about that last tackle and how he felt about his teammates leaving him unguarded and open.

My fists clench, anger boiling up at how those sadists seem to revel in the drama of it all.

But Edward doesn't bite.

With calm, unwavering confidence, he replies, "It's easy to analyze from the sidelines, but when you're in the game, your view is limited. Every guy on the Lions, every guy on my team, fought like hell to win. No one abandoned anyone. Next question."

His jaw tenses for a moment, like he's bracing himself. Then another reporter lobs a soft question about playoff chances, something so easy it almost makes me smile. Edward relaxes, that familiar smirk appearing as he answers, "They're good."

I stay glued to my seat until the press conference ends, a mixture of relief and worry settling in. He's putting on a show, acting like he's fine, like he's not hurting. And most people, including our family, believe him. But Emmett and I—we know the truth. Tomorrow, the bruises will deepen, and the pain will creep in. He needs rest, a chance to recover.

The right thing to do would be to tell him to go back to Seattle, to let him take the weekend to heal, to recharge before it gets worse. But tomorrow is the Gobble Gobble Parade, and shamefully, I want him here with me. Guilt twists in my chest, sharp and unrelenting. I should be better, less selfish. I'm a terrible person.

"So, who wants pie and coffee?" Mom's voice cuts through my thoughts of constant self-flagellation.

Everyone but me shuffles toward the kitchen, the sound of footsteps fading, but I'm too focused to notice them leaving. My eyes stay glued to my phone, fingers tightening around it, hoping—praying—it lights up with Edward's name. A call, a text, anything. Just something to close the gap between us right now. It's like waiting for the sun to rise, each second dragging on, achingly slow.

"Hey, B?" A quiet voice breaks my concentration. I glance to my left, finding Emmett still in the room, watching me with unusual seriousness, his gaze darting away as soon as our eyes meet. "Can I talk to you outside for a minute?"

"Um, sure." I stand, feeling the stiffness in my limbs as he grabs our coats. We step out into the evening chill, the sky darkening as dusk settles in, casting long shadows across the yard. The trees rustle softly in the breeze, and the scent of pine mingles with the crispness of the air. I pull my coat tight, offering Emmett a tentative smile that fades as I take in the worry etched on his face. "What's up?"

Emmett rubs his hands together, his breath a thin mist in the cold. He looks down, shuffling his boots against the wooden porch. "I wanted to apologize…for being an asshole."

My first instinct is to wave it off, to tell him it's okay like I always do. But I stop, the words sticking in my throat. Why should I pretend it didn't hurt? Why do we always do that, accept apologies as if they erase the pain?

"Yeah, you were," I say, crossing my arms. "And you hurt me."

He doesn't flinch, just nods, taking it in. "I'm sorry for that too. I meant to hurt you, B. I was angry, and I wanted you to feel it. That's why I said what I said."

His admission cuts deep, reopening wounds I thought had started to heal. I draw a shaky breath, the anger stirring in my chest. "You know that stress you put on me? It could have caused a miscarriage. Did you ever think of that?"

Emmett's face pales. "Wait, are you serious?"

"Yes, I'm serious. The first trimester is delicate. Stress can cause complications. You could've cost me everything."

He looks stricken, his voice barely above a whisper. "If I'd known… I swear, B, I wouldn't have—" He stops, swallowing hard, realizing that his intentions don't absolve him. He chose those words; he made that choice.

My anger flares, my fists clenching at my sides. "What? You'd have gone a little easier on me? Maybe held back a bit? You're supposed to be my big brother, Emmett. You're supposed to protect me, not tear me down when you're having a tantrum."

He stands there, shoulders slumped, the guilt plain on his face. "I know. I don't have an excuse. I was a jerk, and I'm ashamed. It's not my proudest moment."

I hug my arms around myself, feeling a shiver that has nothing to do with the cold. "Why, though? Why did you treat me like some gold digger, like I was just out to ruin Edward?"

He shrugs, looking away, his gaze drifting toward the dark line of trees. "Honestly? I didn't understand what you two had. It looked like a fling that went too far, and when you got pregnant, I thought he was just stepping up out of obligation, not because he wanted to. I was mad. I thought you were being reckless and that you let this happen without a second thought."

A bitter laugh escapes before I can stop it. "Faulty birth control. It wasn't some grand plan."

But deep down, a small voice nags at me, pulling at the threads of guilt. I could've been more careful, insisted on extra precautions, done more. I push the thought away, unwilling to carry any more blame than I already do.

Emmett watches me, his expression softening. "I see that now. I just… I didn't know how serious it was until I saw Carlisle's video. I heard Edward talk about you, about how he felt, and it hit me. I realized what an asshole I'd been. It made me think about how I'd feel if someone kept me away from Rose. That's when I started to get it."

"So you're okay with it now? Me and Edward?" I study his face, searching for any lingering shadow of doubt.

Emmett steps closer, pulling me into a warm hug, his arms solid and reassuring. "Yeah. I am. The best guy I know is with my little sister, and I'm proud of that. Proud of both of you."

I'm stiff and don't reciprocate his affections, but I'm not completely heartless. Emotions are rising and swelling in my chest. I blink quickly, trying to hold back tears, struggling to keep the tremor out of my voice. Don't cry, not now. I will not give him the satisfaction.

Emmett doesn't notice, though, and pulls back from me, offering a small, hopeful smile. "We good?"

I hesitate, letting the silence stretch between us. I want to say yes, to reassure him. But there's still that part of me that needs more than just words, more than just promises. "No, we're not good," I finally say, my voice low but strong. "You can't do what you did, say 'sorry,' and expect it to be swept under the rug. Look, I want to get right with you again, but it's gonna take more than just…" I search for the words, but they fail me.

He nods, his expression softening. "No, no, of course not. I get it," he says, his tone quiet but sincere. "Maybe in time?"

I meet his gaze again and give a small nod. "Yeah, maybe in time."

Emmett straightens up, a familiar grin starting to form on his face. "Alright. I'll make sure I work hard to get us back then." He pauses, looking almost shy for a moment. "Wanna get some pie?"

Just then, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I glance down, my heart leaping at the sight of Edward's name lighting up the screen. I hold up a hand to Emmett, giving him a quick nod. "Go ahead. I'll be in soon."

He notices the name, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. "Tell my boy I said, 'Good game.'"

"You got it." I watch him head inside, then sink onto the porch swing, letting it sway gently beneath me. I press the phone to my ear, my heart pounding as I answer. "Edward?"

"Hey, Bruiser," he says, his voice smooth, washing over me like a wave of relief. "We won."

"And you took a beating for it," I reply, wincing as the memory of those brutal hits flashes through my mind.

He chuckles, a low sound that settles the ache in my chest. "It wasn't that bad. I'm okay."

I roll my eyes, knowing he's downplaying it. "Oh, yeah? Why didn't you FaceTime me then?"

He sighs, and I can picture him running a hand through his hair, probably wincing as he shifts. "Fine, you got me. It was rough. But I took an ice bath, popped some ibuprofen. Good as new."

"You know, baby, you don't have to come all the way here," I say, trying to keep my voice steady and casual. But underneath, there's a thread of hope I can't quite hide. "You could fly straight to Seattle. I'll come home tomorrow, and we can be together then."

"No way." His answer is immediate, firm. "I already told the pilot to head to Forks. I'll be there in about five hours."

"Are you sure?" I murmur, biting my lip, feeling a rush of relief and excitement spreading through me like a spark catching fire.

"I'm sure. I'm fine, okay? Stop worrying. I want to be there—with you, with everyone." His voice softens, and I can tell he's treading carefully. "So… how was he?"

"He started out a bit jerky, but then your dad helped him see the error of his ways. He actually apologized, like now, just, like, two seconds before you called."

"Really?" There's a note of satisfaction in his voice. "My dad helped? How?"

I pause, searching for something vague but believable. "He just… told Em that you've been in love with me for a long time."

"Ah, nice." Edward sounds pleased, and I can almost see him grinning. "Glad he finally listened to someone and dropped his crap. You deserved an apology—but I hope you stayed strong, though. Not just forgive him. You know, you got to make him sweat a little."

"Oh, yeah, I almost just made it easy for him, too, but I held my own. I made sure he knew he had work to do."

"That's my girl," Edward's voice is light, but I can sense the pride there. "I'm glad you stood your ground. He needed that. And he needs you too, you know."

"Yeah, I know."

A comfortable silence settles between us, soft and easy, as if we don't need to fill it with words. I sink deeper into the porch swing, feeling the gentle sway beneath me. The cool night air stings my cheeks, and I close my eyes, letting myself imagine he's right here beside me.

"I can't wait to see you," I whisper, almost to myself, barely louder than the breeze, but I know he hears.

"I know, Bruiser. Me too. Five hours. Hold tight."

A soft laugh escapes me, the sound drifting into the quiet night. "I'll try."

We linger on the phone without saying a word, both reluctant to hang up, as if letting go of this moment would bring the distance between us rushing back.

Finally, I breathe out a quiet sigh, breaking the stillness. "Get some rest on the flight, okay?"

He chuckles, the sound warm and familiar, like he's already here. "Only if you promise not to fall asleep on that swing. I want you awake when I get there."

I roll my eyes, a smile tugging at my lips. Does he ever miss anything? "Deal."

Five hours and forty-eight minutes later, Edward finally shows up. I catch sight of the rented Tesla as it glides up to the curb, headlights piercing the damp evening mist that's settled over the neighborhood. The car barely makes a sound as it stops, and then he steps out, tall and composed, his gaze sweeping over the familiar front yard like he's grounding himself in the place before moving. He looks different somehow—maybe it's the way he holds himself after the long journey, or the way the soft light catches his face, shadowing his expression. He stands there for a moment, and then his eyes lift, finding me in the window. There's a quiet intensity in his look, one that makes it clear he isn't just here for a polite visit.

He's here for me.

The moment I see Edward heading toward the front door, I'm already moving. I dash down the hall, my heart racing, and fling the door open before he can even think about knocking. Without a second thought, I leap into his arms, wrapping myself around him, letting out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. But almost immediately, I hear him groan, his arms tightening around me with a tense, strained hold.

He winces, and it hits me like a cold shock—I completely forgot about his injury from the game. I scramble back, my feet hitting the ground as guilt twists in my stomach. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry!" I blurt out, my face hot with embarrassment. "I wasn't thinking… Are you okay?"

Edward manages a small smile, rubbing his side with a pained look. "Yeah, I'm fine," he says, his voice reassuring but a little breathless. "Maybe just… no more flying leaps for a while, okay?" He chuckles, but I can see the tension lingering in his eyes, and it only makes me feel worse.

"Okay," I say, but the guilt is already seeping into my gut, a dull ache spreading as I replay the moment in my mind. I shouldn't have jumped on him like that—I should've remembered.

Edward's gaze sharpens, and he studies me for a heartbeat, reading the self-blame that's creeping into my eyes. Before I can spiral any further, he pulls me close, his hands firm but gentle as he tilts my chin up. His lips meet mine in a deep, passionate kiss, silencing the flood of negative thoughts with a wave of warmth that chases away the guilt. His kiss is slow and unhurried, and somehow it speaks louder than any reassurance he could offer with words.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against mine. "You're not hurting me, Bruiser," he says, a tender smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Okay," is all I can manage, my voice barely above a whisper, still lingering in the memory of his embrace. I hold his gaze, searching for any sign of discomfort, but all I see is that soft, steady reassurance in his eyes, melting away the last traces of guilt.

But then, just as I start to lose myself in the quiet between us, the door behind us swings open, and the familiar sound of footsteps fills the entryway. Our moment shatters as the family descends upon us—voices overlapping with excitement and greetings, hands clapping him on the back, pulling him into hugs. I step back, feeling the rush of energy around us as everyone welcomes him home, and he gives me a quick, knowing smile before he's swallowed up by their warmth and laughter.

Even with the commotion swirling around, he finds my eyes across the room, and in that brief glance, it's like he's still holding me close, reminding me that this moment is ours, no matter how many voices fill the space.

After an hour of catching up with the family, Edward and I finally sneak out of the Swan house. We slide into the Tesla, the doors closing with a soft click that seems to seal us in a quiet, private world of our own. The streetlights cast a gentle glow through the windows as he pulls away, the car gliding smoothly along the rain-dampened streets.

As we drive, I glance over at him and ask casually, "So, where are you staying? Did you book a hotel for the next couple of nights?"

He just smiles, a subtle curve at the corners of his mouth—a look I know too well, one that hints at something he's been waiting to share. "Actually, no hotel this time," he says, his tone soft, almost playful. "I was going to tell you later, but…" He pauses, glancing over at me, his eyes warm and a little uncertain. "I bought a place here a while back. Thought it might be nice to have somewhere to call home when I'm in Forks."

I blink, trying to process. "A place? Like… a house?"

"More like a mansion." He gives me that small, almost shy smile again, his fingers tapping lightly on the wheel. There's a flicker of excitement in his eyes, as if he's been waiting for this moment—waiting for me to discover this part of him he's kept secret until now. He glances over, his voice soft but filled with unmistakable pride. "It's about five miles out of town. Want to see it?"

A small nod is all I can manage, my voice catching in my throat, but it's enough.

Edward's smile widens, and with a gentle press on the accelerator, he guides the Tesla forward, winding through dense trees and quiet roads until we turn onto a long, private driveway.

The car moves smoothly, the tires crunching over gravel as towering evergreens rise on either side, casting shadows that dance under the headlights. I sit up straighter, leaning forward, straining to catch a glimpse of what lies ahead, but the darkness presses in, revealing only the narrow stretch of road illuminated by the beams.

As we move further down the drive, the faint outline of a large structure emerges from the shadows—a grand, almost otherworldly sight nestled among the trees. Edward reaches over, his hand resting briefly on mine, grounding me as the reality of it all begins to sink in.

When we finally pull up, my jaw drops. The house—no, the mansion—rises before us, a sprawling, custom-built beauty with towering windows that reflect the fading light and a wrap-around deck that seems to float above the landscape. It's a blend of wood and stone, elegantly designed, like something straight out of a magazine.

"Edward… when did you buy this?" I whisper, still absorbing the sight.

He laughs, a low, warm sound that fills the space between us. "About a year ago. I figured if I ever retire, I'd want to come back here."

I turn to him, studying his face, searching for any hint of doubt. "I thought you'd want to retire in Chicago, close to your parents."

He grips my hand a little tighter, his gaze steady and intense. "Chicago isn't my home," he says quietly. "You are."

The words hang between us, charged and electric, sending a flutter through my chest. I manage a small, teasing smile. "Have you always been this confident you'd get me?"

"Hopeful, not confident," he replies, a sly smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. But there's a glint in his eyes, one I know too well.

Edward's always been this way—determined, relentless, and utterly unshakeable once he's set his mind on something.

And now, I realize, that something is us.

When he takes me inside, I'm immediately hit by the scent in the air—something warm, like cinnamon and nutmeg, cozy and comforting. The ceilings are high, supported by thick wooden beams that lend a rugged elegance to the space.

There's a strange familiarity stirring within me. This place, as foreign as it should feel, feels like home. Every room, from the spacious, open kitchen with granite countertops to the large pantry and laundry room, is somehow exactly how I would have imagined it. The floors are a smooth blend of hardwood and stone tile, grounding each step.

"What do you think?" Edward murmurs, his breath warm against my ear, sending a ripple of shivers through me that lingers in my limbs.

I take a slow breath, still trying to absorb the sheer grandeur of the place. "It's… something," I finally manage, my eyes roaming over the high ceilings, the polished wood, and the way the place feels both modern and timeless, like it's been waiting just for us.

He chuckles softly, a sound that wraps around me. "I haven't even shown you the best part yet."

I arch a brow, intrigued. "It gets better?"

"Way better."

He slides his hand to the small of my back, warm and steady, guiding me through the hall. As we walk, soft lights glow along the walls, casting a golden hue that makes everything feel dreamlike, almost otherworldly.

We reach a set of double doors at the end of the hallway. He pushes them open, revealing a sprawling master bedroom with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a forest that stretches as far as I can see. The moonlight spills in, casting silvery shadows across the room.

In one corner, a grand stone fireplace flickers softly, while in another, a plush, oversized bed draped in crisp white linens seems to beckon. The scent of cedar and fresh rain fills the air, blending perfectly with the peaceful silence around us.

"Welcome home, honey," Edward murmurs, his voice a low whisper that sends a shiver down my spine.

I turn to find him so close, mere inches between us, his dark eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that makes my breath hitch. He steps forward, his body pressing into mine, warm and solid. His hands slide into my hair, fingers tangling gently but possessively, guiding me to him as his lips capture mine.

The kiss is deep and searing, his mouth soft yet insistent, and a thrill rushes through me, electrifying every nerve. His hands drift down my back, pulling me impossibly closer until our bodies meld together, fitting perfectly as if we were made for this very moment. His taste lingers on my lips—familiar, intoxicating, igniting a heat that ripples through me. I press against him, losing myself in the urgency of his embrace.

Edward guides me backward, his movements slow and deliberate, each step like a gentle pulse that draws me closer. My heart races, and then I feel it—the backs of my thighs meet the edge of the bed. The touch jolts us out of our kiss, breaking the spell momentarily, only to make it feel even more real. In one fluid motion, he lifts me, his strength effortless, and settles me onto the bed, where the soft, cloud-like mattress envelops me.

I scoot back, making space as I reach the center, and he follows, eyes locked on mine. He kneels between my thighs, and I instinctively wrap my legs around him, pulling him closer. The heat of his body presses into mine, a delicious pressure even through our clothes, and I can feel every tense muscle, every inch of him, in a way that leaves me breathless.

His gaze is unrelenting and intense, grounding me with every heartbeat as his hands find my waist, gripping me just enough to feel secure. His voice drops to a murmur, barely more than a whisper. "You're so beautiful."

A shiver runs through me. "You, too," I reply, my fingers finding the collar of his shirt, tugging him closer. The mattress dips under us, cradling me as I sink into its softness. "Now kiss me," I demand, and in an instant, his lips are on mine again, hard and consuming, igniting something that feels unstoppable.

The spark between us blazes, spreading like wildfire. Our hands move urgently, fumbling to strip away the layers of clothing that feel like unnecessary barriers, each piece cast aside with a frenzied need. Bare skin meets bare skin, and the sensation is almost overwhelming, our breaths mingling in a shared rhythm that quickens with every second.

Edward pauses, his face hovering inches above mine, fingers gently tracing my cheek as his eyes search mine. "Can I?" he asks, his voice low and filled with longing.

"Yes," I breathe.

His lips find mine, soft and lingering, before trailing down to my neck, each kiss igniting a spark that spreads across my skin. He moves lower, pressing gentle kisses to my collarbone, then my chest, until his mouth closes around one of my hardened nipples. His tongue swirls, teasing, before he catches the peak between his teeth. The contrast—the gentle scrape, the wet heat—sends a thrill through me, a delicious tension that winds tighter with every touch. My whole body feels alive, every nerve heightened, trembling with anticipation.

He continues his descent, trailing kisses along my stomach, and with each inch, the longing intensifies, reaching a point that feels almost unbearable. My muscles tense as his lips move lower, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. Then he reaches me, his mouth soft and warm, and as he kisses and sucks, the tension inside me builds to a fever pitch. His tongue flicks over my most sensitive spot, a feather-light touch that has my hips bucking involuntarily. I clutch at his hair, needing to pull him back, feeling like I might explode from the intensity.

Through half-lidded eyes, I catch the smug glint in his gaze as he lifts his head. "It tingles too much," I manage to whisper, my voice barely steady.

"All right, honey," he murmurs, pressing one last soft kiss that sends a shiver through me. He moves up, his body warm against mine until we're face to face. "Just relax," he soothes, his breath mingling with mine.

I let my hips soften, thighs parting to make space for him. His weight settles comfortably between my legs, and the firmness of his arousal presses against me, drawing a soft sigh from my lips. "You feel so good…"

He adjusts his position, lining himself up, and then he pushes forward, filling me. The sensation is overwhelming, and a shared groan escapes us, raw and honest. His forehead comes to rest against mine, our breaths heavy, our connection a tangible thing, holding us both still as we adjust.

"Fuck," he growls softly, his voice rough with emotion. For a moment, he stays still, giving us time to sink into this closeness, this fullness.

"Please," I whisper, a soft plea that betrays the need simmering inside me.

He shudders, and then he begins to move, each thrust a slow, deliberate rhythm that pulls me deeper under his spell. His pace is unhurried, almost reverent, savoring each moment, each breath, as if it's something sacred. Every gentle movement, every shift, brings us closer, our bodies speaking a language of intimacy that fills the space between us.

A low moan escapes me, and I find myself gripping his tense, muscular biceps, anchoring myself in his strength. "You're so big, and…"

He silences me with a soft "Sssh," leaning in to capture my mouth with a kiss. It's gentle but consuming, a kiss that melts the world away until all that remains is us, wrapped up in each other. The feel of him, the way he moves against me, fills my senses, blurring everything else until it's just us in this shared rhythm.

Our bodies move together, perfectly in sync, each motion deliberate as the tension between us builds—a slow burn that smolders and intensifies with every second. His eyes find mine, and there's a raw intensity in them—a quiet desperation, like he's teetering on the edge, holding back just as much as I am. I can tell he's close, but I want to be the one to push him over that edge. Gently, I shift, urging him onto his back, and he follows my lead, a look of surprise mixed with something deeper flickering in his eyes.

I climb on top, settling myself against him, savoring the shift in control and the closeness it brings. His gaze drops to my chest, his eyes widening with a mix of wonder and hunger. "Jesus, Bruiser," he breathes, reaching up to cup my breasts, his fingers warm and firm. "Did you grow overnight?"

I laugh, a blush spreading up my neck and across my cheeks. "I don't know."

He can't resist, pulling me down until his mouth latches onto me, his tongue warm and eager. He loves this part of me, and the way he devours me sends a thrill racing through my body. The sensation of him buried deep inside me, his mouth working magic on my sensitive skin—it's overwhelming, a perfect storm that leaves me breathless. I feel myself spiraling, a soft wave of release washing over me, gentle but enough to keep me grounded, enough to give me that sense of control.

I close my eyes, savoring the tingling aftershocks, letting them fade before I slowly lift myself, his mouth releasing me with a soft pop. His gaze meets mine, and there's something wild, almost awestruck, in the way he looks at me.

I shift, rocking my hips, finding a rhythm that feels right. Edward seems dazed at first, caught up in the sensation, but then his hands find my hips, holding me firmly yet allowing my motion. The angle is just right, every movement bringing us closer, with each shift of my body caressing him deeply. A heat builds between us, an intoxicating blend of power and vulnerability, as I lean forward, pressing my palms against his chest and feeling his heartbeat thundering beneath my fingertips.

My hair falls over my shoulder as I pick up the pace, my gaze never leaving his. Edward's eyes are dark, filled with a longing that sends a shiver through me. His hands slide up my sides, steadying me as I rise and fall, our bodies perfectly in sync. I can feel the tension coiling in my stomach, tightening, winding towards a place deep within me. It's a relentless build, urging me to move, twist, and find that perfect spot.

"Fuck!" he hisses, his eyes clenched shut, breathing heavily. I lean down, brushing my lips against his, and he reacts instantly, cupping my face as he deepens the kiss.

That's when he takes over, flipping me onto my back, his hands lifting my legs as he enters me again, harder this time, driven by a raw need. His eyes meet mine, filled with a primal hunger, a silent promise to claim me fully. The tenderness has faded, replaced by an urgency that makes my pulse race.

"Oh, God, Edward," I moan, my voice breaking with each deep thrust.

His hand finds my waist, his other cradling my neck as he moves in and out, his eyes locked onto mine, intent on watching me unravel. He wants me to come undone first, to let go completely before he follows.

"Come on, beautiful," he whispers, his thumb tracing my bottom lip, sending another jolt of pleasure through me.

That gentle touch does it. The feel of him, the way he looks at me, and the taste of myself lingering on his fingers—all of it pushes me over the edge. "Mmm, I'm coming!" I gasp as the release crashes through me, stronger and deeper than before. Edward feels it too, responding with a low groan as I tighten around him, pulling him in as wave after wave of pleasure overtakes me. My moans echo around us, filling the space, but I'm beyond caring who hears me.

"Jesus. Fuck!" he growls, losing control, releasing inside me as his body shudders and his pace slows.

The tension he'd held back for so long finally breaks, leaving him exhausted as he collapses on top of me, his breathing heavy and labored. He twitches a few times, the last remnants of his pleasure coursing through him, and then he stills, lifting his head to meet my gaze.

"You're better than any drug out there," he murmurs, a soft smile playing on his lips, his eyes full of contentment.

I smile softly, running my fingers across his back, but he flinches, a sharp wince betraying the pain he's trying to hide. "Seems like my effects don't last very long."

He chuckles, attempting a playful thrust, trying to lighten the mood. "Nah, you still feel pretty good," he teases, but there's a tension in his voice he can't quite mask.

I tap his shoulder, gently urging him to roll off me. "Let me take a look."

As he shifts to his side, I sit up, bracing myself before examining his back. But nothing could prepare me for what I see. The bruising sprawls across his lower back and ribs in angry shades of purple, with patches of red and mild swelling. The sight is brutal, a testament to the hits he took on the field, and I can almost feel the impact echo through me.

My breath catches in my throat. "Oh, baby…" I whisper, my voice tight with emotion.

"It looks worse than it is," he says, his tone casual, but his words are betrayed by a sharp hiss as I lightly touch a dark, sore spot.

I grit my teeth, struggling to hold back the anger that rises within me. "This should've never happened," I murmur, barely able to contain the edge in my voice. "You shouldn't be taking this kind of punishment."

He places a hand on my leg, his touch gentle and steady. "It's okay, Bruiser," he says softly, trying to calm me. "We won—that's what matters."

I slide down beside him, brushing the damp strands of hair from his forehead. His eyes, usually so clear, are dimmed with exhaustion, and it pains me to see him like this. "You put too much on yourself," I say, my voice softer now, brushing my thumb over his brow. "Not everything on that field is your responsibility."

He meets my gaze, a flash of stubborn intensity in his sage-green eyes. "I'm the quarterback. That field… it's mine. I decide what happens out there."

The weight of his words, the pressure he places on himself, feels so familiar. It's the same relentless drive he's had since we were kids, always determined to carry the weight alone. "Maybe," I begin, the words slipping out before I can catch them, "maybe it's time to choose a different field."

I brace myself, expecting a defensive reaction. But instead, he sighs, his hand moving to my arm, rubbing it gently. "I've been thinking about that too," he admits quietly.

Surprised, I pull back slightly, studying his face. "Really?"

He nods, closing his eyes for a moment as if the confession is both a relief and a burden. "I had been planning to re-sign with the Seahawks when my contract's up. But since Vegas, things feel different. I'm not sure I see Coach the same way."

A mix of emotions washes over me—excitement, concern, and a hint of sadness at the thought of him leaving behind something that's been such a huge part of his life. "Where would you go?" I ask.

"Where would we go?" Edward corrects. He shrugs, his eyes drifting shut, fatigue overtaking him. "Somewhere warm, maybe."

"I would like that." I smile, brushing a soft kiss against his forehead. Before I can ask him anything more, his breathing evens out, and I watch him slip into sleep, his hand still resting warmly on my arm. I settle beside him, a sense of peace and resolve filling the room as he finally lets go, if only for tonight.

In Forks, the Gobble Gobble Parade is a cherished tradition that brings the whole community together. The parade kicks off at ten in the morning, right in the heart of town, with a small procession of floats, quirky turkey-themed costumes, and marching bands made up of local high schoolers. It's a colorful celebration, complete with papier-mâché turkeys, children throwing candy to the crowd, and even a few town pets dressed up for the occasion. There's an easygoing charm to it all, with families lining the streets, bundled up in scarves and jackets against the crisp autumn air, sipping hot cider from thermoses.

Unlike in the big cities, Forks doesn't get caught up in the Black Friday frenzy. The nearest Walmart is a good drive away in Port Angeles, and most folks aren't willing to brave the trip. Instead, the day after Thanksgiving is all about celebrating the parade and then gathering at the high school for a good old-fashioned cook-off. The community cook-off is one of the highlights of the day, with everyone competing to make the best dishes using Thanksgiving leftovers. Long tables are set up in the school gym, covered with pies, casseroles, and every variation of turkey dish imaginable.

By evening, the town has a mellow, peaceful vibe. People are home early, snuggled up by firesides, winding down from a day filled with food, laughter, and a touch of nostalgia. And though it may be small, I can't help but get excited every year. It's a simple kind of joy—a small-town fiesta that doesn't need much glitz or glamour to feel special. Just the familiar faces, the traditions we've always known, and the cozy comfort of a town that feels like home.

For Edward, though, it's been years since he's experienced this. The last time he attended was nearly fifteen years ago. I've always loved the traditions, but when he and my brother hit their teens, they suddenly became too cool for all of it. Back then, they'd spend their time at La Push, getting drunk and making out with girls. Edward denies it now, but I remember those days vividly. I was hopelessly in love with him and tortured myself by stalking his Snapchats, piecing together every detail.

As we step out of the Tesla into the cool November breeze, Edward glances around, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "That parade was a lot more fun than I thought it would be," he admits, shoving his hands into his pockets.

I laugh, shaking my head. It was fun, but I can tell he loved the fanfare even more. News travels fast in Forks, and as soon as we reached Forks Avenue and set up with the family, heads turned his way. We hadn't even settled in when a swarm of people surrounded us—old friends, neighbors, and former classmates, all eager to clap him on the back, shake his hand, or pull him into a hug.

Even his old girlfriends wandered over, their smiles polite, though I could sense a hint of something else. Watching those girls, the ones I used to compare myself to in high school, eyeing Edward with a touch of longing made me feel strangely victorious. Imagine seeing the beautiful boy you dated grow into an even more successful, handsome man, only to realize the so-called "ugly duckling" Swan girl ended up with him.

Or maybe, just maybe, I'm imagining it all. Who knows if they're really thinking any of this? But I can't help indulging in the thought, just a little.

Edward pretended to be bashful, but I could see the glint in his eyes. He loved every second of it. He's a star here, the hometown boy who made it big. But as I watched him among these people, I could see that, in their eyes, he was still just Edward.

"So, what are we doing now?" he asks, taking my hand as we make our way toward Forks High's gymnasium.

"It's the annual Friendsgiving cook-off," I say, leading him through the crowd.

The gym is alive with laughter and the savory-sweet smells of Thanksgiving leftovers transformed into new creations. Long tables are set up, each one a colorful spread of dishes that would make any Thanksgiving lover proud. There are the Stanleys' Turkey-Stuffed Bell Peppers, the York family's Coconut Turkey Curry, and Crowley's Cranberry Swirl Pound Cake.

I look forward to this every year, but the main event, as always, is my mom's famous Thanksgiving Leftover Casserole.

As we approach her table, I'm not surprised to see the line stretching halfway across the gym. "Perks of being family," I say, giving Edward a wink. "We don't have to wait."

My mom spots us and grins, her face lighting up. "Hey, kiddos!" She hands us a plate piled high with casserole, then nods toward a cooler on the left. "There are sodas if you're thirsty."

We settle behind her table, savoring the meal. I watch Edward take a huge bite, his eyes widening in surprise. "Holy shit," he murmurs, glancing over at me, almost in awe. "This is really good."

I laugh, nudging him with my elbow. "Told you so."

Across the gym, I spot Rose, who has been participating in the cook-off for a couple of years now. Her table boasts a dish called Mashed Potato Zeppole—a delightful creation of mashed potato donuts with a sugary glaze and cranberry dipping sauce. She has a solid line, too.

My dad appears next, balancing a plate with Webber's Leftover Stuffing Waffles and a grin that's all for my mom. He leans over, giving her a quick kiss before noticing us. "Hey, you two," he greets, settling down beside me. Edward, too engrossed in his food, just grunts a hello, making us chuckle.

I watch my dad dig into his plate, and for a moment, I just take it all in—the hum of conversations, the clatter of plates, the warmth of family. It's everything I love about this town, wrapped up in one noisy, delicious scene.

I catch sight of Emmett across the room, laughing as he greets Rose at their table, and a thought flickers in my mind. Turning to Dad, I lean in, choosing my words carefully. "So, Em mentioned you're retiring?"

He pauses mid-bite, his fork hovering, and a slight heaviness settles in his shoulders. "Yeah," he sighs, almost to himself. "It's time."

I reach out, placing my hand gently on his arm, feeling the warmth of his flannel sleeve under my fingers. "I think it's great, Dad." He looks at me with a hint of surprise, as if waiting for the punchline, but I meet his gaze steadily. "Honest. You've more than earned it."

He hesitates, glancing down at his plate before giving a small nod. "Your mom and I… we wanted to tell you sooner," he starts, his voice soft. "But, Bella, we were worried."

"Worried how I'd take it?" I ask, catching the look he exchanges with Mom across the table. She's busy serving another helping of casserole to a group of townsfolk, but her eyes flick to us, full of concern.

"Yeah," he admits, sighing. "With everything you've been dealing with, your mom and I didn't want to add more."

I nod, understanding more than I expected. Since I found out I was pregnant, it's like I've been walking a tightrope, juggling the pressure of the unknown and trying to keep myself together. The fighting with Emmett only made it harder, pushing me to the edge of what I could handle. Every small shift, every new worry, feels like it could tip the scales at any moment.

"When are you thinking of leaving… officially?" I ask, my tone gentle, more curious than anxious, though there's a hint of hesitation in my voice.

Edward's hand moves in steady circles on my back. He doesn't say anything, but his touch is warm, silently reminding me that he's here, supporting me.

Dad takes a moment, his gaze thoughtful before he gives a small nod. "Sometime after the New Year," he replies as if settling into the idea. "I wanted to get through the holidays without the hassle." He smiles, a touch wistful, and adds, "Luckily, your brother's a natural. He's been paying attention."

He lets out a chuckle, but it's laced with something bittersweet. "It'll be okay," he says, a quiet reassurance, almost as if he's speaking to himself as much as to us.

I shake my head slowly, a smile of disbelief spreading across my face. "It's crazy, Dad. You not being the town Sheriff. I always figured we'd have to bury you in that uniform."

Dad scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest, a wry smirk tugging at his lips. "Gee, thanks, Bells," he replies, sarcasm dripping from his words, though there's a spark of humor in his eyes.

I feel my cheeks heat up, and I fumble for a response, suddenly flustered. "What? Uh… you know what I mean," I stammer, glancing down, trying to hide my embarrassment.

Dad's smirk softens, and he lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "Yeah, yeah, I know what you mean," he says, his tone growing more gentle. "But, Bells, there's more to life than this badge. Took me a while to figure that out myself."

I smile, nodding. "Yeah, I know… but won't you miss it?"

"Of course, I'll miss it. But I'm ready for something different… something a little quieter." He pauses, then adds with a small grin, "Besides, I'd rather not be six feet under just yet, if it's all the same to you."

The weekend in Forks felt like a breath of fresh air, wrapped up in the warmth of family and familiar laughter. It was exactly what Edward and I needed, a reminder of the life we were building together. For the first time in over a month, I could picture it so clearly—the future, the beautiful moments ahead—and it nearly brought me to tears more times than I'd care to admit.

By Sunday, everyone was making their way back to their routines. Edward and I packed up for Seattle, while Esme and Carlisle headed off to Chicago, promising to return for Christmas. As the cars pulled away, reality settled in again, and with it, the anticipation of the coming week: the long-awaited appointment, back to the grind of school, work, and another round of away games by the weekend.

I hated thinking about being alone in the apartment without Edward, but going with him wasn't an option anymore. The coach was forbidding it, and frankly, I didn't want to cause any more trouble. All we needed to do was make it through these next three months, and then Edward would be free to sleep in the same bed with me, vacation in the Bahamas or Greece, and quietly shop around for another team.

Out of everything happening in our lives, today holds the most weight. This appointment—finding out the sex of our baby—was all I could think about. I hadn't slept a wink, and without caffeine to keep me going, I was barely holding it together.

"You're shaking," Edward murmurs.

Dr. Stewart's office is quiet and warm, with soft lighting and a faint lavender scent that should be calming, but I feel like I could jump out of my skin. Sitting on the examination table, I squeeze Edward's hand, taking a deep breath.

"I couldn't sleep last night," I admit. "I kept thinking about today, about what they're going to tell us. We're finding out if it's a boy or a girl. It just feels… huge."

Edward leans back, rubbing the back of his neck, his smile turning thoughtful. "Yeah, it's wild to think we'll be parents to a little person. Or maybe a little troublemaker," he adds with a wink.

I laugh, imagining a tiny version of Edward or me. "I just want them to be healthy. But… if you had to choose, would you want a boy or a girl?"

He ponders it, his gaze drifting to the ceiling. "I've thought about that. A girl would be amazing—someone who's strong, smart, and maybe just a little bit stubborn like her mom."

I nudge him playfully. "Hey, I'm not that stubborn."

He chuckles. "Sure, sure. But really, a girl would be great. I'd love to be that dad who tries to intimidate her dates when she's older."

I roll my eyes. "Of course, you would. But what about a boy?"

Edward's smile softens, and he takes a deep breath. "A boy would be incredible, too."

I bite my lip, feeling that familiar swirl of excitement and nerves. "I've actually been thinking about names."

Edward's face lights up. "Yeah? What've you got?"

"Well, if it's a girl, I was thinking maybe 'Lily' or 'Emma.' I want something classic and sweet, you know?"

He nods, a soft smile on his face. "Those are beautiful. Lily… I love it. And for a boy?"

I take a deep breath, hoping he'll like my ideas. "How about 'Henry' or 'Jack'? I want something strong, but simple."

Edward grins, nodding approvingly. "Henry's great. And Jack, too—strong names for sure. I can picture him now, running around causing trouble."

I laugh, imagining it. "Or what if it's a girl and a boy? We'll have to come up with two names!"

Edward raises an eyebrow, chuckling. "Two at once? You're ambitious, aren't you?"

I shake my head, smiling. "Just covering all our bases. Who knows?"

He pulls me closer, resting his chin on my shoulder. "Whatever they are, I just hope they have your heart. And maybe my sense of humor," he says, making me laugh.

I roll my eyes, giving him a playful shove. "You're not that funny."

He grins, pulling me back in, his gaze soft and intense. He leans in, his lips brushing against mine, and I feel the world slip away, just the two of us caught in this perfect, quiet moment.

"Ahem," a gentle voice breaks in, and we spring apart, startled, to find Dr. Stewart standing there, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Sorry to intrude," he says with a knowing look, clearly trying to keep his composure.

My cheeks flush, and I can tell Edward is just as embarrassed, his hand rubbing the back of his neck as he lets out a small laugh.

Dr. Stewart only chuckles, his expression kind. "Young love," he says, almost to himself.

We exchange an awkward smile, and Edward gives my hand a reassuring squeeze.

"Are you ready to meet your little one today?" Dr. Stewart asks.

"Yes, we are. We're very excited," Edward says, but I can't quite find my voice. I try to smile, but suck at it. My heart racing as I grip his hand a little tighter.

Dr. Stewart moves to the ultrasound machine with his usual demeanor, setting up with the ease of someone who's done this a thousand times. "Let's take a look," he says, squeezing the cool gel onto my belly. I grip Edward's hand as Dr. Stewart begins moving the transducer, his eyes narrowing at the screen.

The monitor flickers to life, and vague, grainy shapes appear in the black-and-white haze. I can't make sense of them, but Dr. Stewart's focused expression starts to chip away at my own sense of calm.

"Ah… there we go," he murmurs, his voice almost too soft, as he points to a small form. "That right there is your little girl."

"A girl," I whisper, glancing over at Edward, who's leaning in, mesmerized.

But Dr. Stewart doesn't relax; his eyes dart back to the screen, and his brow furrows.

"Hold on…" he mutters, adjusting the transducer, his face clouding with something that makes my heart stop. He's silent, almost too silent, and the room feels like it's holding its breath.

"Is… everything okay?" Edward asks, his voice tight, worry slipping in around the edges.

Dr. Stewart clears his throat, sounding hesitant. "I… I wasn't expecting this…" He shifts the transducer, and a new, unmistakable shape appears on the screen. "It looks like… there's another one."

Edward catches my eye, his voice edged with disbelief. "Another…"

"Baby." Dr. Stewart remains composed, his tone steady. "A twin brother, actually."

I stare at the screen, unable to process what I'm seeing. "Wait, what?"

AN: The poll was to vote on whether their baby was a boy or a girl. May (Maplestyle) added an extra choice: twins. That one one out, so, voila. TWINS!