2,886A/N: Listen, it's been hard enough. I think I cradled this to self-soothe since it's the last and the only wip I have left in my docs. I added more (blame me for mistakes). Hope this finds you well and healthy, because that's all that matters. Onward.
..::.. Epilogue - Chapter 10 ..::..
Home is a cottage on this island. I made all the arrangements after I inquired about the many properties Paul manages, as he so proudly shared that day I met him. Jess pushed me. She planted the seed of the momentous idea. I needed an anchor before she had to leave, a fleshed out plan if this was going to work. Tommy and I needed to have a roof over our heads. But, mostly, it was to keep me accountable.
Just like that, we knocked on Paul's door the next morning. I made him an offer he couldn't refuse when he presented property options. He helped a stranger, and I'm still not sure why he did.
Though, money does speak volumes.
It's not much, but the land is rich, private, and spacious enough to make what we'd like. Paperwork with a lawyer is still pending, ready for a signature if my plans work out.
I took a leap. For us.
If it weren't for Jess' expert eye nothing would be possible. The lump sum in an account under my name was left untouched.
Mint and pink. Him and me.
As we rushed to do the unthinkable, to plan and leave Chicago behind, she found a shocking truth under my name after a few calls. We were left speechless. The many zeros lined up on a screen told me I was a millionaire, not a penniless, broken woman trying to find a new way to live after tragedy.
We sat at the kitchen table at Dad's and Sue's, and we were silent but for Tommy's hungry cries. I scooped him up and I cried over his shoulder as I saw the bank account over Jess'.
Alice did say Edward left her sons a portion of a remaining sum their parents held for them, but she must not know what he did with the rest. Five million dollars does help you live comfortably.
Jess laughed at the turn my life was taking.
… What I deserve.
I cried knowing he had given up his part.
I watched him live dollar for dollar on the island, and he worked many jobs to leave his safety net for me.
Paul didn't know, but that day he looked out at us on the sand reunited, he understood. Sam Masen does have a story, but one I know from start to finish.
And it ends like this.
I cut a mango into cubes and toss them in a bowl with the rest of the fruit.
I look out the window and get a glimpse of those tiny feet running away lightning-fast.
He wanted kids? Now he has one to chase after, keeping him from committing tiny crimes.
I snort when I hear him whistle at the boy who now runs, to stop him from eating something off the yard. Tommy jerks with a start. He freezes at the shrill. Then, he cries as Daddy scoops him right up.
The sound of waves is faint where I stand in the kitchen. Crashing onto the shore and rocks we'll have to worry about in the coming years. How do you childproof an island?
"Daddy's so mean," I coo teasingly, as I walk out to sit. I watch a tired man sigh over his boy's head as he limps over to sit by me, yet again, after the third attempt at relaxing.
This is the lazy, fresh-start Sunday routine.
Tommy hiccups after a good wail. I stuff that cubed piece in his mouth and soon the sorrow turns to sounds. He sucks on mango crushed in his fist in no time.
Daddy attempts to slide that little one onto my lap.
"Nope, all yours. Your turn now." I chased him all morning myself. Edward grunts, but lifts him single-handedly like he weighs nothing, to smother that neck again. Who is he kidding? He'd keep him in his arms day and night. Tommy nestled in Daddy's elbow exploring the world.
We watch Tommy struggle through the sweet fibers and we chuckle.
Edward's eyes close as he leans back on the patio chair. When he feels the lingering stare, he opens one eye toward me.
We do this, quite a lot.
Just stare.
Maybe at the grandiose of it all.
And it just reminds me of the faces he made when I brought him here the first time.
…
…
"We'll have to get a car," I say. "But the ferry is a good alternative."
He's quiet. I talk anyway.
We walk down the dock where a small boat dropped us off. The floorboards creak. The sand surrounds the yards close to the water. The village is tucked around a bend of the island. Far from tourist locations.
There are sparse properties here, trees and bushes making them barely visible between.
I stop at the yard and so does he.
He looks up at the well-built four walls that give to possibility.
"Ours," I say. "Well, yours, but you left me all that money, I figured I'd put it to good use. We can sign the papers anytime, but Paul lent me the keys." I jingle those. I suddenly feel sheepish. "Is that … all right?" I ask. I look at him in silence. I shrug. "It's got good bones."
He's quiet as he stares at his surroundings, Tommy asleep on his shoulder already—no plan to let go.
Well, he's speechless. His Sunday turned out differently. He leans on the back of an old lawn chair left in the yard and watches. He buries his nose in a blanket with yellow birds on it, lost in his thoughts.
I take the chance. I open the door to an empty house, and that's that. Let him walk in when he's ready. Lots to do and still a lot we will do around the yard and house. I just know it.
I walk around. I step into the kitchen with an old pallet sink. Cabinets aged in teal blue. The windows looking out are small. A door to go out back has cracks where the sun peeks through.
I feel him enter the kitchen behind me.
"Maybe a few windows here? It would be a shame to block the view to the back."
I walk out to a big yard, some leading out to the beach.
He follows. I breathe a little.
I toss a few fallen leaves, large Monstera ones in potted plants. "I could shape these back up to life I think." I walk back in, leaving him there to simmer, hoping he follows.
"It's all one floor but I think we could make a second with a master bedroom, a balcony, and a few more bedrooms, right?" I shout from inside.
No answer.
It's fine. I grin to myself when I see a bassinet in the bare, large bedroom. Babies were here. A family.
I drag it out to the living area, to the sunlight, to ruffle the fabric and clean it out.
I find him sitting in a lone plush chair by the old bay windows, still holding a sleeping Tommy. His fingers run over his back rhythmically. A view of the crisp, blue ocean before him.
I leave him be while I put my bags down and get a rag to clean out the bassinet. I find paint cloths in a closet, neatly folded. The closet door makes a loud clicking noise when it shuts. Sounds like those will be the soundtrack for this house for years to come.
The house is quiet where I sit … and wait. I laid out the cloth and just sat here. No other places to be.
And wait.
For him.
I give him time.
My thumb over my glowing phone screen. Jess' questions. Her curiosity. Wanting to know. I tap a few words, fighting a grin.
"Just time," I type.
"Time," she replies.
I look at the back of his head. At the clouds beyond it. The leaves sway against a breeze. I lean elbows over knees.
"I know. Peaceful," I say, just enough to not disturb the atmosphere, the gentle energy he's wrapped in. "Isn't it? First thing I thought." I muse. I keep this verbal, going, moving.
I see Tommy's sleeping lids, the eyelashes bunched over his puffed cheeks. Edward noticed them too, I guess. His lips ghost over them, lost in his vivid thoughts I could almost see dancing above his head.
"A life here," I try. "Just like you wanted." I bite my lip to not burst. "Right?" I whisper. I turn an eye toward him. Maybe I need assurance.
After a long stretched moment, I see those glistening, wet eyes under his lashes. He sniffs back tears softly, running a thumb over those small cheeks.
I can't hold back. I take the baby from him and lay him in the bassinet. He looks perfect inside it.
I work my way over to the silent man to wordlessly grab his hand. I pull him over to sit by me on the blanket. He obliges, carefully, slowly.
We lie here as the sunset changes the colors of the chipped ceiling paint, only to soon watch him close his eyes to let the tears pour out. A constant stream down his temples. I wipe them clean with a finger, a knuckle or two. He swallows a couple of times, and those droplets keep coming. He drifts soundlessly. Like he finally takes a breath and a restful sleep. Like the haunting memories let him be, for just that moment.
I give him time.
Time to spare.
…
..
...
Jess stayed for the signatures and to help furnish the house before she left. It was a relief to have her settle me in while Edward was mostly gone, working his many shifts. Some nights not able to make it back to the house to avoid missing a shift he had to cover. But when he could, he'd appear down the dock, walking toward the house to get to us, the moon a glow behind him over the water. One night, he carried bags of groceries in his fists. Gestures that reminded me of a far away time when we were young.
He didn't want us to part when he walked me to my hotel that Sunday. He hugged us both, stroking Tommy's hair where we stood outside the doors. The lobby lights cast a glow over the pavement and parking lot lines. Far from the house we left behind, locking the door securely behind us.
I promised things would get better each day we'd meet. "We'll be right here," I said. "We won't leave." His throat bobbing, a thick swallow; yet again. His furrowed brows over sad eyes, silently dreading we must part.
He leaned in to kiss me fiercely, then that tiny, soft head on my shoulder. He ripped himself away without uttering a word. The night swallowed him up as he walked away to his room at the hostel.
When Jess packed her bags and dragged her luggage toward the door, I saw him offer to grab them for her. I watched, far away at the dock, when he said brief words and gave her a nod like all the transgressions boiled down to a single apology. She answered with a nod of her own. Not perfect, but a lasting truce between the two.
In the past, he did wrong by her and her father, but he sought a pardon. That's what Jess told me in emails to describe the exchange.
"As long as you take care of them," she said to him. His vigorous promise as her eyes pierced through him.
I guess this gives me peace, in a way.
The days passed, and I worked hard to settle and move furniture around the house with hired help. Edward would walk into something new every day. He quietly observed the changes. Hesitant. He cleaned his plate after a meal only I offered. He sat in the living room or the porch when he was home, his work boots off and neatly lined outside the door. He never went near the kitchen or fridge; like a visitor tip-toeing around unfamiliar territory.
Ultimately, that lone chair we kept was his soft landing. He would sit on the porch, taking it all in. Then, he would go to work, only to appear at the dock late at night after a shift. He'd sleep on the couch so as not to wake us. I realized, he never stepped foot in our bedroom if not to help get furniture in on delivery days. With all the chaos and Jess' short stay to help, it just settled that way.
I held my breath every morning, wondering if he'd come back, if this would ever work out as I had hoped, if at all.
I can't take it any longer.
I'm waiting up for him tonight.
When he arrives, I warm him dinner. He eats. Tommy sucks on a pacifier in his sleep. He looks over and watches him as he chews, both of their mouths going.
Tommy is our buffer, our topic of all conversation. Updates on what an infant does in a day. It's never much, but I flatter Edward anyway. His curious questions are inevitable when he gets the chance.
"How was it, when I wasn't there?"
Here it comes. I tilt my head.
Edward looks down at his plate, scraping the next bite. "The first month, the first day. What happened when he was born?"
I shrug. "Pain, screaming, pushing. What else is there to say?" I chuckle slightly, suddenly feeling shy. What I do remember is my utter turmoil upon seeing the spitting image of him, wailing in my arms.
Edward gives me a look. "Everything," he replies.
I nod.
Right.
After a sigh and a lot of courage, I do tell him. Everything.
"It was hard," I say, after the tedious details of hiding it, about Jess driving us far away outside the city. "I cried … a lot. Not so much from the pain—well, yes, but after—it's like your body never went through it? Like you instantly forget. A relief." I trail away. "I thought of Mom. I … thought of you. And … I knew that this fight wasn't over. I had to do absolutely everything in my power to protect him when I saw that he looked exactly like you."
A sad look in his eyes. They wander to Tommy in the bassinet to picture it all.
"Then?" He insists. I bite the inside of my cheek. I think. He looks up when I take too long to answer.
"Sorry, I'm just trying to figure out how to form thoughts around the terrible regret, depression, and exhaustion that followed." I shrug. "I mean, how do you explain a deep desire to die?" I laugh a little. He doesn't. I clear my throat. My insides coil. "Don't worry. Good ol' Jess to the rescue," I say, to fix that.
"I'm sorry," he says. I quickly shake my head.
"You didn't know. No one did." I wipe down the countertop.
This is not the conversation I wanted to have tonight. What I wanted to do was confront him.
"It wasn't easy, is what I mean. He was colic. We moved into Dad's after he … saw the mess I was in, because not even he knew." I sheepishly grin. "We endured." I nod to reassure him.
"If I had known, Bella …" he says, shaking his head.
"I know." I shrug. "You were dead." I pick up the dishes to keep busy. "And, honestly, maybe that was best. They stopped following me eventually."
His eyes darken, he leans his elbows over the island top.
I look up, noticing his reaction. "What? You supposed the moment you left everything would be over?" He watches me blankly. "You don't think they would do what your grandfather did to Emmett?" I ask.
His jaw sharpens with a hard bite. He sighs frustratingly as he looks over at Tommy.
"What about you?" I figure I should ask, change the subject. He has never offered details. "What happened after you saw how I betrayed you with Ben?" My brows bounce, cutting to the chase.
He makes a noise at the back of his throat and takes a drink of his water. I grimace where he can't see.
"Wasn't he your boyfriend once?" he stabs back.
"Is that what you thought? Us two, against you?" I laugh heartily. "No, hon. I was just as confused as you looked. Undercover, right under your nose." I shake my head. He's quiet behind me. "For what it's worth, those accountant names? I couldn't avoid them. Then, I had no choice." I scoff. "As if that made a difference to your eventual confession."
I continue. "He used Sue and Dad against me, so did your uncles. Surely, you knew. You must have." I point. "You being the wizard and all, right?" He doesn't try to answer.
"So? What happened?" I finish asking.
I look over my shoulder, our eyes stick. He sucks on his molar, a dark expression as he looks away. It's a spark of his old, tameless self.
"Same procedure when they catch a big fish. Spear. Gut. Boring stuff. Nothing new." He replies.
"Did they get you help? You were really hurt," I mention, remembering how worried I was, how badly I wanted to see him. He rubs his neck without another word, but his eyes look far away, like he's remembering. I could guess they took their time, which resulted in his permanent state.
I hum a bit. "Then you deposited a lump of cash, picked yourself up, and left for your adventure. Never to look back." I tie that bow with a finish.
I feel him watching me, and that stab will only set him back more. The guilt, definitely the regret, but he'll be quiet for a while.
I'm … awful. Insufferable.
I sigh.
I stand at the sink when the chair he sits on drags over the floor. I soon feel him by me to deposit his empty glass. "Thanks for that," he says close, about dinner, but I know what he really meant. His warm chest by my shoulder for a beat when he quietly walks out.
A thanks? His food, his cup, his house, and an added low-blow to boot. Yet, he thanks me?
I am angry. The kind that makes you boil over fast.
I turn off the faucet and drop the dishes. I move Tommy to his crib before I find Edward on the porch. We look at one another, a gaping space between is a clear sign of how this has all boiled down to; a tense, silent relationship.
"If you think leaving you was a fucking breeze, you've got it all wrong, Bella," he argues, as if I came to fight. "I didn't fucking free myself from any of it. I dragged it the fuck along with me." He staggers, holding on to the porch railing. "It killed me to do it, but I had to let you go," he says, a beat to his chest with a fist. The darkness in his eyes, the snarl over his lips, but the pain in his words are clear.
I say to him, "Come here." I point before me, like he did to me once.
His eyes quickly scan me for a moment, thrown by the request.
I wait.
He waits.
He takes a step, I take a step back.
He watches me intently, figuring this out.
"I said, come here," I repeat, with grit.
His brows knit slightly. When he takes another difficult step, I step back.
He's getting angry.
I walk backward into the house. He hesitantly follows. I turn and head for our bedroom. He limps far behind me. I look back to see narrowed eyes and flared nostrils. The anger sends ice down my spine.
I revel inside.
I step into the room, and when he's close, I pull him right in. Then, I find his lips.
I haven't kissed him for days. It is instant; the longing, but not yet his hands around me, as if unpracticed or dubious.
I grip his shirt and yank him close. I break that seal of adamacy under the dim glow of a bare bedroom. I pull his shirt off, then mine. I run my hands and lips over his chest, fingertips to his waistband. I feel his breath over my hair as I tug on his belt.
"Kiss me madly, take my clothes off," I demand. His eyes close with the feel of my hand slipping down to grip him.
He eventually does, tugging them down my hips.
I move slowly over him when I push him to sit on the bed. His eyes stuck to me. I cup his chin where I straddle him so he looks into my eyes.
"I bought this for him. But this house? It is yours, too. Not just his, not just mine. Yours," I say, with a bit of bite.
I will remind him every day. I will go as far as placing a copy of the house key in his wallet.
I crawl over him. I move my hips. Everything I've missed, pressed between my legs, feels exactly like I longed for in dreams. Where I ached for it. What was left of my man in just memories.
"Do you want this?" I whisper around a sigh. I bury him inside me. "Do you want me or not?"
I find a rhythm as he watches. His eyes flutter as they always have when I'm naked.
I lean in close, chest to chest, to bite his gaping lips. "I am in love with you. I did everything I could to make it clear. I came all this way, and you don't touch me?" I say, words ghosting over his mouth. "Not one touch." I pump my hips and the sounds out of my lips are involuntary. "Edward …" I whimper.
He grunts. His breaths come hard. He grips my hips to make the point. A surrender. He understands the torture in my eyes; we've only got us now. He turns us over and for hours he does touch, watching me through every stroke and sigh.
Us. Like time apart was a blip.
He kisses away my smug grin.
The past can stay where it is. I don't care for any of it, but him. I show him and he shows me. This second chance we've got.
We're loud and passionate, slow and lax, in the very first room that's ever been ours.
The next morning, he wakes at dawn to start on the first house project before he has to head to work. A loud, leaky faucet at night can stir any person to move and do.
I couldn't hold back a smile from spreading over my lips, despite my eyes closed, trying to get back to sleep.
Now I listen to him work as he quietly talks to Tommy.
"You gave Mom trouble when I wasn't around, huh?" he asks. "You and I have business to discuss." Tommy makes sounds from his bassinet, the creaking is probably him kicking his feet and making it move. "We've got to be respectful and hard working from now on. She is the one who feeds you. You've got no choice, Buddy. You got that?"
I laugh, listening from the bedroom alone. They go on like this for a while.
There goes sleep.
When he's tinkered enough and Tommy keens to be picked up, he appears with him rolled up in a blanket, himself in boxers. The two had a long, labored morning in the kitchen making repairs after Tommy woke to be fed.
Edward lays him between us and we watch him coo and kick, looking up at us. Definitely too early for him to be this wide awake. I grumble, with a chuckle. This will be a new norm with these two. I can feel it.
"He's fine," Edward says, in a sing-song way about my protest. He lifts Tommy high above his chest—that one just loving it. I scoot over to smother them both with kisses.
I watch this, capturing a mental image for keeps.
"You're putting him back to sleep."
Edward's tanned hands, looking strong against the soft, white blanket, holds him steady, like nothing. He buries his mouth in his soft neck. No protest from him, but squeaky pecks of kisses.
Tommy spits up on his chest. I wheeze. Then, he's asleep in no time, curled up on there after Edward cleaned up.
Edward didn't mind one bit.
…
..
…
Slowly, Edward learns to accept what he thought he didn't deserve.
It does take time to adjust here. To live. Starting from scratch. Money saved for construction and rainy days, and from what I've saved of my own. He still works for the daily necessities.
"You know, we could go somewhere if you wanted, if you didn't like it here," I say, popping a cubed mango in Edward's mouth. "Paul can send you on assignments. It's safe. You're never to step foot in the States, but they never did say anywhere else. The world is pretty big," I add. He chews. He thinks.
Edward looks out in thought, probably realizing just how free he really is.
"You can finish the boat. We can take it out," I suggest. He hasn't been back to Paul's since we've been here.
Tommy sticks his wet finger in Daddy's mouth to get his piece, too. I, in turn, freely suck the remnant juice off my thumb watching them both. Same profile, same nose, same drive to hunt and take. They play-fight over the piece when Tommy manages to get more. He squeals. Tommy is two months shy of a year now.
Edward looks over at me again, the same burning gaze he gives me daily. "Why would we go anywhere else? I love it here," he says.
Now. Before, for him, this island was a life sentence.
I hum agreeing. The 'we' in that is very clear. It is pretty perfect.
The house is now a substantial investment. The changes and add-ons are a real estate dream for pale-skinned foreigners—as Paul ironically describes them, as if he isn't one, himself. This is a vacation home if it wasn't our home. Tall glass windows and wood panels accent the crisp white cement walls. Paul is eager to flip more properties now that he's seen what we've done with local materials.
"The boat sounds good." He says this before leaning in for another cube. "I could get time off." He speaks after a swallow. I can, too. It turns out, the newspaper needed a copywriter, so I get to do some freelance at home once in a while.
Maybe I'll write a book about this crazy life of mine. The ending; a sad, sad tragedy. Not like this. No one can know about this bliss.
I smile a little. "We're a bore now, aren't we? No crimes, no hustle, no tax collecting. Forget embezzling," I insinuate, humorously. "Boring tax-paying citizens. What will you ever do with yourself, Boss?"
He cuts his eyes to me, and that lip turns up at the corner despite the narrowed eyes. "Don't you ever call me that." I bite my lip with a stupid grin. It does seem like another life. So far, so off. He gives me a dark expression before he looks away.
He speaks.
"We could be a boring married couple." His eyes toward the beach. Like that right there wasn't gut-wrenching.
His deliveries were always so blunt, matter-of-fact.
I shrug, but my insides are …
"We could. Next level lame." I sigh. "I guess it makes sense with another baby on the way," I say. "Two down, three to go?" I hint with mischief.
I didn't expect to say it like this, but this turned out perfectly.
He sits up suddenly. Tommy is jostled on his lap. His eyes to my middle, then at Tommy he holds tight.
He sighs, tired, thinking. "Two down and we're good."
I laugh so hard it echoes through the trees surrounding the house. It takes a while for me to recover. Okay, maybe I roll off my chair, wheezing, as he stares annoyed.
A tired Dad is a tired dad.
"That's what I thought! My job here is done."
He pulls me off the grass by my arm to sit me up, he pins me between his knees and kisses me hard. Tommy crawls all over us, thinking it's a game, drool down his chin as he smiles, two little teeth.
Edward gets exactly what he wanted—a house, a family, and the freedom to capture it all through photos. What I got out of it was … all of it.
An aim. A goal. A rich, whole life.
Memories to make and no old ones to worry about.
But who knew I would be a mother of three (joke's on me), and a partner to this redeemed man who will never take anything for granted? He lives by rules he keeps to himself, but I notice them. It makes me smile watching him. I remind him that I was right; he was made for so much more than what he was.
That faint grin said so much as he quietly watched the sunset off the coast of so many places we were able to visit, his camera around his neck fulfilling the captures and assignments. First, island hopping in the surrounding peninsula. Then Australia. Then Hong Kong. Then India.
Sam Masen's editorial photos reach far, both in print and the internet. Never too outlandish, just noticeable enough to one day reach his sister's lap when she looked hard enough in a magazine. Her lips grinning the same before she closed it back up, placing it on the rack at a doctor's office.
The years pass, things change, but Alice remains constant. Anonymous connections here and there, and photos of her nephews on her phone where they fade like they've never existed. Maybe she should've found paradise too—as word soon comes that her four grown, handsome sons would pay too many visits to Uncle Jasper.
The story repeats itself.
The blood of a Cullen will always seek power and money. And Jasper is still hungry. Confinement doesn't stop him.
Alice will forever continue to fight for her family, but sadly, that's not something we can mend anymore.
Today, we're back on the island. We pack up our things and pile them all in the boat Edward painstakingly restored years ago. Everyone is in and ready to go. Edward wears a silly captain hat he found in this old boat, a linen shirt, and a smirk. The ocean in front of him, where he looks. He navigates us to a holiday in the old man's boat. Paul befriended this little family and has been more than giving during the years.
The kids are loud and curious. Me, wondering how I got here after yelling, shouting orders, and changing swim shorts or little water shoes; two blue pairs, one pink. Regardless, I smile when the sun is setting, and all is quiet as we sway over water.
"Bella, do you love me?" he asks, pulling me in. The moon is bright and large over rippling water. His words vibrate through his chest just the same. I feel them. He always asks in moments like this, especially after a grueling day for a mom. His face set in a grimace, but he chuckles.
"Yes, Love of My Life," I answer with a sigh. I lean against him. "I always have, and you just … continue to ask," I say, feigning annoyance. "If I didn't, you would surely know by now."
He looks back at the babes, napping one on top of the other. He knows he would surely be left alone with the chaos; Mom missing in action … possibly overboard. Quick and freeing.
"Hm." He smirks. He slips me his stupid captain hat and a lip-locking kiss.
"I knew, Bella. I always knew."
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The End.
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Another thanks to Frannie for reading this over again, to May and Unwritten Selene for pre-reading, and to myself for taking years to fucking finally finishing this ... very forced piece of work (forced on myself). God forgive me, but I can't leave things undone. I gave it my best, but I must move on. Love you all for reading and reacting along the way. You're the very best. xoxoxo.