Title: What She Needs

Summary: When a new neighbor moves in, Edward's attraction to her is instantaneous. But there's something different about the recent arrival. He quickly figures out her problems are bigger than he ever could have imagined. Is he willing to put away his visceral desires and be what she needs?

Pairing: ExB

Rating: M

Word Count: 14,641

DISCLAIMER: Twilight and its inclusive material is copyright to Stephenie Meyer. Original creation, including but not limited to plot and characters, is copyright to the respective authors of each story. No copyright infringement is intended.

What She Needs

"Ungh!"

Thump. Thump.

"Yeah, right there."

Thump. Thump.

Not again. It's 2:00 a.m., and this is the second round for her tonight. I scrub a hand over my face and close my eyes, hoping her John gets his quick so he can get the fuck out of here.

"Give it to me, big boy."

Thump. Thump.

I roll my eyes. Give me a fucking break. I'm never gonna get to sleep. I reach my fist to the wall behind me, banging a few times and yelling as I do. "Come on! Tryin' to sleep here!"

Thump. Thump.

"Ohhhhh God!"

Thump.

It's quiet, and I think the guy's finally done. Thank God. I'm not sure how much more of that shit I could take. I hear murmured voices before her door opens and closes, and I wait. If she's going back out, it'll be in a few minutes. Then I hear her shower start. Yeah, the walls are that thin. Must be quittin' time.

It's nothing new. Having temporary guests who entertain is a usual occurrence. Some of the girls are here for an hour or two, and some others rent the place for the whole night. On those nights, I pray I'm working late. But that's what I get for choosing to stay in some seedy motel in this part of town. Thank fuck it's a slow Tuesday for her.

...

I fumble for the snooze button for the second time. The tinny music pumping through the shitty speaker is not what it should be. Call me a weird motherfucker, but classical music not only puts me to sleep, it wakes me up, too. Though, looking at me, you'd never guess it. But it's been tuned to a rock station—the one we listen to in the shop all day—so it's good music ... I just know it's been changed.

The only explanation is the cute, little brunette Marcus just hired to clean the rooms. At least she has good taste.

The brunette's a tiny thing. I've tried not to be a creeper, but I've been watching her. She's short and curvy in all the right places. She zips around this place and does her job but keeps to herself. She must've been desperate to look for work at this shithole, though. As far as I can tell, she cleans all forty units herself. It's a lot of work for only one person.

Most of us living here at Sunset Motor Lodge are long-term guests, but a few of the rooms are like revolving doors. I'm supposed to be in what Marcus calls an extended stay unit. A mini fridge, coffee pot, microwave, and the occasional six-legged pest are included with the rent.

If this is what an extended stay unit looks like, I'd hate to see a basic room.

Anyway, this chick showed up here in March, almost two months ago. She's friendly but quiet; she keeps her head down and does her work. She says hello if I happen to see her when I'm coming or going, but she keeps her distance. She's actually living here, too—right above me, in fact.

Like clockwork, I hear her shower turn on every morning at the same time. Lying here looking at my clock, it should be in…three, two, one. There it is. Right on schedule. But earlier in the week, I could hear her retching bright and early, before her shower. I figure she must've partied a little too hard then because I haven't heard it since.

If I time my departure just right, I can catch a glimpse of her when she's between rooms. In the meantime, I'll lie here imagining what she looks like under the spray of the shower.

Arms up washing her hair. Head thrown back rinsing it all out. Hands using one of those poufy things to soap up her—I need to stop. Time to grab a shower of my own and get rid of some of the tension she causes every morning.

I start my shower and let it heat up. Hopping in, I let the warm water wash over me. Yeah, warm, not hot. Like I said, Marcus is an asshole. A cheap one at that. I wash my hair, which could probably use a cut, and grab the bar of soap, working up a lather. I scrub the colorful skin—swirls of ink, black and vivid color—that covers my chest and back. I tilt my head back and let the warm water rinse the suds from my body.

With my eyes closed, I let thoughts of the sexy housekeeper flood my mind. Thoughts of her washing that cute, tight little body of hers. Thoughts of her in the shower with me, pressed against the wall as I hover over her. It doesn't take long for me to get hard. I grasp my dick. I'm still a little tender, though. My apadravya piercing was just done about two months ago, so I gotta take it easy. I use gentle strokes, thinking of her down on her knees, my cock in her mouth.

It doesn't take long until I'm shooting my load all over the shower wall. As good as that feels, I'm anxious to take the piercing for a proper test drive—with a copilot. Waiting for it to be healed enough to try has been a lesson in patience.

I usually get a pocketful of phone numbers every week, but I've yet to pull the trigger. Needless to say, my dick is not very happy with me.

After I take care of business in the shower, including washing away the evidence of my self-love session—don't want shorty to have to see that—I get out to dry off. Looking in the mirror, I decide to skip a shave. It's only been a few days; it can wait. I rummage through my drawers, find my last pair of clean boxers and slip them on. I sip coffee, scarf down a meager breakfast, and watch TV to pass the time until I have to leave for my shift

Looking around, I spot the jeans I took off last night thrown over the back of a chair, and I pull those on. I'm having a hard time finding a t-shirt that doesn't smell too bad, though. Damn, I need to do laundry. Noticing the time, I realize I'm somehow late, and I need to get moving. I grab my wallet, keys, and all my other shit and head out.

As I'm turned toward my door, locking up, I hear the music before I hear her voice. She's in the neighbor's room, and the door is wide open. Standing just to the side, I have a perfect view of her. I'm pretty sure it's Theory of a Deadman playing on the radio, but it's her voice I hear over the music, belting out the words.

I still hate my job

My boss is a dick

I don't get paid nearly enough

To put up with all of his shit

Well I hate my job, all of my rich friends

I hate everyone to the bitter end

Nothing turns out right, there's no end in sight

I hate my life

She's swaying her hips as she sings. I'm unsure if I want to say something or not. But before I can decide, she spins around, and I'm caught staring. Her squeak lets me know me she wasn't expecting to be caught either. In a flash, she steps behind the poor excuse for a chair in the corner of the room, and her gloved hands firmly grab onto the wood. Even from my spot in the doorway, I can see how fast she's breathing.

"Hey, sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. You okay?"

She laughs, her breaths stuttering, and it's uncomfortable to even hear. Her eyes flash to an abandoned aerosol can on the desk before they look back to me. "Yeah, you just surprised me. I don't usually see anybody this time of day." She takes a deep breath and blows it out slowly, trying to calm herself, I guess. "Sorry if my pathetic attempt at singing disturbed you." Her voice is small, quiet, and the way it's shaking—hell, the way her whole body is shaking—tells me something is wrong. It almost looks like shit I've seen in movies or on TV when someone has a panic attack or something. I can sense she's wary of me, so I take a step back and slip my hands into my pockets.

"Nah, it actually wasn't too bad. You sang it with ... feeling ... from the heart." I shoot her a wink, causing her to roll her eyes and shake her head as she loosens her grip on the poor chair. She looks a little more at ease as her tense stance relaxes.

"Feeling? I guess you could call it that. You have met Marcus, right?"

I bark out a laugh and nod "Yeah, he's not very good management material, is he?"

"Honestly, I don't know how he manages to keep this place afloat. I think it's a front for something. He can't possibly make enough profit to keep it running." She steps away from the chair and picks up the can she's been eyeing.

I shrug. "Whatever it is, it's a roof over my head. And it's cheap enough that hopefully I'll save enough to get outta here soon."

She nods and smiles. "It's definitely cheap. And you're not the only one who's counting their pennies to get out of here."

"Not your plan to stick around here for long ..." I pause expectantly.

"Oh, I'm Bella."

"It's nice to officially meet you, Bella." I reach out my hand to shake hers. "Edward Masen."

She holds up her gloved hands, wiggling her fingers. "You really don't wanna shake my hand right now. If you'd seen the woman who stayed here last ..." She visibly shudders, and I chuckle.

"Yeah, I caught a glimpse of her last night, and I heard her for that matter. You're right; I don't want to shake your hand right now." That earns me a laugh. "So, it's not your plan to stick around here for very long, Bella?"

She shakes her head, her smile still in place. "No. As soon as I can, I'll be moving on." Her grin falls just a little. "But I'd guess a lot of people say the same thing, huh?"

"True." I study her for a little longer than I probably should, and what I see—her fallen smile, the tension that seems to radiate from her, and a not so hidden sadness in her eyes no one her age should have—makes me even more curious than I was before we spoke. "But I have a feeling we just might be two of the lucky ones."

"That would be nice," she says softly.

I blow out a breath, suddenly needing to get the hell out of here. The heaviness of the moment is a little too much. "Well, I need to hit the road. My boss isn't gonna be happy with me; I'm already late. Sorry again for scaring you."

She shakes her head, smiling, and walks toward the bin of cleaning products sitting on the counter. "Thanks, but I'm pretty sure I'll recover. And as nice as this was, I really need to get back to work myself." She looks up at me and smiles. "And it's Swan, by the way. Bella Swan."

"Well, Bella Swan, it was lovely meeting you," I say with a slight bow. "Maybe someday we could split a pizza or something, get to know each other better? Since we're neighbors and all."

She looks pensive, like she's deciding if it's a good idea. Finally, she nods her head. "Sure. Can't have too many friends in this town, can you?"

"No, I'd say you can't. Catch ya later."

"Good meeting you, too, Edward."

Walking away, I've got a skip in my step. The cute, little shorty is actually pretty cool. Maybe I'll have to order that pizza soon. As I walk to the parking lot out front, I pass the pool that was advertised as sparkling in the online ad, but hasn't been anything except bright green since I moved in.

Climbing into my monster of a truck, I crank it over, hearing it rumble to life. L.A. traffic can be murder, but considering I leave so late in the day, it isn't bad. I pull into the lot behind the shop and into a spot. Over the Moon Tattoos has been my home away from home since the day I got to L.A. a little more than a year ago.

I'm still low man on the totem pole, so I scrub the nasty toilet, take out the trash, and do all the other grunt work. At least I've been able to quit the stocking job I had right after I rolled into town. It feels like it's been a long road to get here, but I'm finally finding my feet.

Walking into the shop, I notice Liam and Stefan both have customers in their chairs. The piercing room door is closed, so Maggie must have a client, too. Vlad, Stefan's partner in the crime that is Goth, is at the counter looking through a copy of Inked Girls, no doubt looking for spank bank material.

"You're late." He doesn't even look up from the magazine.

"Yeah, sorry. Overslept." Lies, all lies, but no one else needs to know that. He must mistake my meaning, though.

"Oh yeah? Hot piece of ass keep you up too late last night?" He looks up, smirking at me.

"You could say that. Chick was screamin' all night." He doesn't need to know that it was the whore next door.

"All right, Masen." He puts up his fist for a bump, and I oblige just so I can get to work.

"So, do I have any actual appointments today? Or am I on walk-in duty?"

"Uh, other than one appointment later, it's all walk-ins for you, buddy."

"Who's the appointment?"

"One of your regulars. Ms. Tanya Denali is back for more. She asks for you every time. You hittin' that? 'Cause, damn, she is hot."

Shaking my head, I give him the answer he probably isn't expecting. "Nah, man. Not my type."

"How is she not your type?" He sounds personally offended, and I laugh.

"Plastic parts and a bottle blonde job to go with them aren't my type, no matter how hot."

"So, it won't be steppin' on your toes if I try to get her number?"

"Go for it, Vlad. If you can get her number, more power to you."

And with that, I head back to the supply room to check inventory. It's a slow day, being a Wednesday. Usually, the weeks are full of regulars, or people coming in for one of their multiple sessions for large pieces. The weekends see more crowds of tourists, partiers, or bachelor or bachelorette parties coming in for something fun.

When six o'clock rolls around, the bell rings, and Ms. Denali saunters in, swaying her hips as she moves. Compared to shorty's swaying hips ... well, there's no comparison.

"Masen, your six o'clock is here."

Breathing deeply, I take a moment to steel myself before dealing with the barracuda. She's been relentless. She even caught me on my way out of the shop one night, propositioning me in the parking lot. I've turned her down repeatedly, but she won't let up. Her persistence is one of the biggest turn-offs to me. I don't like to be pursued. I like to be the one ... pursuing. My thoughts automatically go to a particularly shy brunette.

I walk up to the front counter, a smile plastered on my face, trying to appear professional. "Ms. Denali, if you'll follow me."

"Hello, Masen." She's attempting to sound sexy, but it just seems to me like she needs to clear her throat. I show her to my chair, and she has a seat. I see she has my portfolio binder in her lap.

"So, what can I do for you today?"

She hands me the binder, opened to one of the tats I've done in the past. She points to the picture of a sunflower nipple tatt. "I want this."

Great, I'm about to get up close and personal with her tits. Before I can even get started, she whips off her shirt, putting her oversized, disproportionate rack out on display. The woman has no shame.

"All right. Just give me a few minutes to make the transfer, and we'll get started."

I spend almost two hours on her tattoo, trying to ignore the peaked nipple taunting me as I ink her. Liam told me a long time ago that skin is skin, and not to think about what I'm working on. Although I've had a few ladies in my chair lately who got my attention, I always keep it professional.

"Okay, Tanya, all done. You know the drill. Keep it clean, and after tonight, you can use the A+D ointment on it. I'd suggest skipping a bra for a few days, too. Don't wear anything too tight."

"Okay. If I have any problems, can I come see you?" Wonder how many days before she has a problem I need to help her with?

"Sure, but this isn't your first tattoo. You should be fine."

"Well, here." She thrusts a piece of paper in my face—her number, I'm sure. "In case you want to call and check on me." I gently, and as politely as possible, push her hand away.

"Tanya, if you have any problems, you can just call the shop." I really hope she catches my drift.

Her pout says she isn't deterred. I swear, she's so goddamn persistent. I wonder how long it'll take her to figure out I'm really not interested. I watch as Vlad rings her up. I'm guessing he goes for her number when she glances my direction, and I give her the best disinterested look I can manage. I recognize the moment she gives up and slides that slip of paper his way. Vlad grins like a loon as she makes her way out the door.

"You know, she might back off if you'd just give in and fuck her." Liam's chuckling behind me. He knows how much trouble Tanya's been and how many times I've blown her off.

I just shake my head. "No way, man. I think there's more plastic in her than the play place at McDonald's. Besides, she strikes me as the type who's been around the block more than a few times. That shit's not for me."

I get an understanding nod from my friend, mentor, and now boss. He's known me long enough to realize girls like Tanya Denali just don't do it for me.

I met Liam Donnelly and his girl, Maggie, the day I walked into the shop where they worked in Chicago. It was almost five years ago. I had just turned eighteen, and I was there to get my first tattoo. That tattoo—the bold script letters spelling out my last name across my back—is still one of my favorites. Liam had his own chair, and I was in it many times over the next few years, as well as in Maggie's chair for all my piercings.

It was through them I realized I wanted something different than the life my parents had planned for me. It was enough to cause a rift between me and my folks. So much so, they cut me off.

I ended up on Liam's doorstep, begging for an apprenticeship and a couch to crash on. He offered me both. So, for a few months, I slept on his sofa, ate ramen, and did grunt work in the shop, all while learning the fine art of tattooing. My own skin became a canvas, and a few of the images blended into one of my sleeves are some of my first attempts at ink. When I became comfortable, I worked under his careful eye, honing my craft. Not long after that, Liam got a call from a buddy here in L.A. saying that he was selling his shop, and he wanted to sell it to Liam. Needless to say, he, Maggie, and I packed up and moved out here a month later.

And the rest, as they say, is history.

The rest of the evening is quiet. Thankfully, throughout the week we close fairly early. Friday and Saturday nights we're open until one in the morning. We're closed on Sunday, and I have Mondays off. It's been a good schedule. Unfortunately, this weekend I didn't get my laundry done, so I'll have to find some time this week. The last pair of clean boxers is on my ass right now.

We lock up and head out at the same time. Liam and Maggie turn down the sidewalk toward their apartment, while me and the Goth twins hop in our cars to head home. I need something to eat, so I stop at the grocery store on the way.

Tonight's end-of-the-day discounted deli feast is a few pieces of fried chicken with some macaroni and cheese. Food in hand, I head to the register, and as I do, I spot the shorty brunette, Bella. She looks different from this morning. Her hair is down, not up in its usual bun. And damn, it's long. Like almost-to-her-ass long. She's in the produce department, minding her own business as she fills her cart. I start in her direction. I wouldn't want to be rude, after all.

"Hey, Bella. Fancy seeing you here."

"Oh, hey, Edward. How are you?" She pushes her hair behind her ear, and in the bright light of the supermarket, I notice the small jeweled stud in her nose. It's perfect for her delicate features.

"Good. Just stopping in to grab a late dinner." I shake the plastic box in my hand. "What about you? You always shop this late?" I can't help but look into her cart, curious to see what she's out for at his time of the night. She has some produce, a couple of canned things, some peanut butter, and juice. It's an odd mix for someone living in a motel.

"Not usually, but I had a late appointment after work, and the bus always makes everything take ten times longer."

Bus?

"I'm headed back when I leave here. You wanna catch a ride with me? Save the bus fare?"

"Oh, could I? I usually wouldn't bother you with it, but I'm wiped out. It was such a long day. Marcus had some extra work for me, which took longer than I thought it would, then the bus ride to my appointment. So, yeah, that would be great."

"It's really no problem. I have what I came for, so whenever you're ready, we can go."

"Yeah. Let me just ... " She points to the back of the store. "I just need to grab some milk and cheese. Why don't you go ahead and check out and I'll be right there?"

"Yeah, okay." She's trying to scoot me along, though I don't know why, so I head to the checkout. Once I'm finished, I hang out just past the registers and wait for her. The cashier eyes me like I'm gonna rob the place or something. I know people look at me, see all the ink and metal, and think the worst, but I'm used to it. That still doesn't stop me from fidgeting, clacking my tongue ring against my teeth.

I see her coming after only a couple of minutes. She stops, and I see her fumbling with her bag, looking for something. She must find it because she steps up to the register. I'm close enough that I hear her speak to the cashier. Her voice is low, and she almost sounds embarrassed.

"This is a wick purchase."

Wick? What the hell is that? The cashier nods, and proceeds to ring her up. When she gets a total, she hands over a stack of what looks like coupons. Oh, it must be some kind of assistance program. I wonder how she qualifies for that. I looked into it for about five minutes before I realized I made too much money. I know she works, so it's not like she's milking the system. But if she's on food stamps, why is she buying such weird food? You'd think shit she could microwave would be better for where we live.

The cashier seems friendly enough, making small talk as she checks off items on the slips of paper and hands them to Bella to sign. "Have a nice night."

"Thanks. You, too." Bella's smile is as genuine as the one she usually gives people, even after a long day.

"Ready?" I push off the wall I was leaning against, walking with her toward the door.

"Yep. Thanks again for doing this. I really appreciate it."

"What kind of asshole would I be if I didn't offer my neighbor a ride?" She's smiling but shaking her head.

"No, not an asshole, but not everyone would be that thoughtful. Really, thanks."

"You're welcome. Anytime you need a ride, you know, you could ask me. If I'm headed that direction, I don't mind giving you a lift." We've reached my truck now, so I unlock and open her door for her.

"Thanks." She walks a wide arc around me and climbs in. I walk around and get in on my side. Over the rumble of the engine I hear her again. "And thanks for the offer, but I wouldn't want to put you out."

"You wouldn't be. If you need a ride, just ask. Worst case, I say no. Best case, you get a ride. No big deal."

"Okay then. Thanks." The rest of the ride is quiet. Before too long, were pulling up to the motel. Her head is leaning against the window, and I'm not sure if she's fallen asleep, so my voice is low to get her attention.

"Bella? Hey, we're home."

I guess she was sleeping because she discreetly checks her lips for drool, and it's fucking adorable. "Sorry, I must've fallen asleep. Not very good company, huh?"

"No worries. I probably would've conked out too if someone else was driving. Do you need help carrying your groceries up?"

"No, I've got it, thanks. I was gonna have to lug them all home on the bus, remember?"

We both get out of the truck, me with my pathetic dinner, and Bella with her bags and milk. She heads toward the stairs to go up to her room.

"Thanks again for the ride, Edward."

"Anytime, Bella."

With a smile and a nod, she turns to go. I make my way toward my room, stopping to watch and make sure she safely makes it into hers. Unlocking my door, I listen. Next door is quiet. Maybe I'll luck out and the room will stay empty tonight. I can only hope. I toss my keys on the table near the door and set down my already-cold meal. I take a minute to crack open the window; a little fresh air couldn't hurt.

After hitting the bathroom and washing up, I grab my food and plop down on my bed. It's not as I left it, though; I know I didn't make it before I left this morning. Knowing Bella was in here making my bed makes me equal parts happy and, as I look around and see the empty wastebaskets and wiped down surfaces, self-conscious. I heave a sigh and remind myself it's her job to clean, even if it was my mess. I turn on the TV to catch the late news. That lasts for about five minutes. There's only so much bad news and political coverage I can stomach.

Marcus offers limited channels, so I find some half-decent episode of Austin City Limits on PBS. It's then that I hear it. Yelling. Bella must have her window open, too. I mute the TV and move to the window so I can hear better.

"No, I'm not. You're the one who wouldn't help me." It's quiet for a minute. "I'm not coming home, Charlie. You believed that piece of shit over me, and I can't forgive that."

Charlie? Is that the boyfriend? Does he think she cheated or something?

"I'm sorry, Dad, but if you don't even believe me, I'm not coming home." Silence. I'm sitting up now, perched on the edge of my bed when she starts shouting again. "No, you sided with him over your own daughter. I only called home to make sure you were still alive, not so you could harass me. I see that you're okay, so you won't be hearing from me for a while. Goodbye, Charlie."

She must end the call because it's quiet again. That is until I hear her scream, followed by a crash. I almost run and see if she's okay, then I hear her again. She's crying.

Hard.

I rub at my chest, my heart hurting for her. She sounds so broken, nothing like the smiling girl I talked to earlier. Her sobs finally quiet down, and the sound of her window sliding closed is the last thing I hear from her. Guess my snooping is done for tonight.

Thankfully, the rest of my night is quiet, blessed silence coming from next door, and I get a decent night's sleep. The next morning is uneventful, and for once, I arrive at work on time. My day is slow, even for a Thursday. My thoughts drift to last night, running into Bella so late, and what she said to the cashier. Maybe Maggie knows. She's at the counter looking through a magazine, wasting time between customers like the rest of us.

"Hey, Maggie?"

"Yes, Masen?"

"Do you know what wick is?"

"WIC? Like the assistance program?"

"Yeah, I guess, like with the coupons. To get groceries. Is it, like, food stamps or something?"

"Not exactly. I had a friend who was on it a couple years ago. It stands for Women, Infants and Children. It's for pregnant or nursing women, and kids under five, I think. It's a supplemental program. Helps them get food that fills in the gaps of what they're not getting. Why?"

"Um, no reason. I heard someone say it at the store last night."

My mind is spinning. I'm pretty sure she doesn't have a kid, so that can only mean one thing.

Bella must be pregnant.

...

The rest of my shift and my whole drive home, I can't get it out of my head. Pregnant? But where the hell's the father? Why is she all alone? Hearing her say what she did on the phone last night only adds to my questions. What was so bad that she won't go home? And where is home? How the hell do I get her to open up about any of it? Do I even want her to?

Yesterday, I was jacking off thinking about her on her knees in front of me. Now, I don't know what I'm thinking. If she is ... pregnant, logic is screaming at me to back the fuck off, that getting to know her is probably more trouble than it's worth. Besides, if it's true, she needs a friend, not some horny asshole drooling all over her. And what if the guy is still in the picture? Even if he isn't, that still means some crazy, jealous ex could show up here one day, see me with her and get the wrong idea, and beat my ass. I mean, fuck, what the hell am I thinking? Baby daddy drama is the last thing I need. Then again, it looks like she's all alone in this city. We could probably both use a friend.

I shake my head, trying to rid myself of the thoughts. It's really none of my fuckin' business. Nothing has changed, except maybe now I won't pursue her. No reason I can't still be her friend, right? Like she said yesterday, you can't have too many friends.

Pulling into the motel parking lot, I see her walking up the sidewalk toward me, carrying laundry. Christ, it's almost ten at night, and she's out walking alone in this neighborhood?

I hop out, hoping to catch her.

"Bella!" She looks my way with a wave and a smile. I run up to where she's stopped, waiting for me. She takes a step back when I finally reach her. "You headed to the laundromat?"

She looks down at her bag and laughs through her nose before looking back to me with an amused smile. "I am, why?"

"Want some company? I'm totally out of clean clothes."

"Oh, um, sure. I don't mind. If you're sure you don't have anything better to do with your evening."

"Nope, it was on my list of things to do tonight anyway. Hang on and I'll go grab my stuff."

"'Kay." She sets her laundry bag down and sits on the bench just outside the motel office. I take off in a sprint toward my door. I hurry around my room, grabbing all my dirty clothes, stuffing them in my own laundry bag. It only takes me a few minutes before I'm back to Bella.

"All right, lead the way." We walk the few blocks to the laundromat in relative silence. When we reach it, I open the door for her.

Again, she walks in an arc, avoiding coming too close while she steps through the door. "Thank you. You know, I'm not used to that." She heads straight for the bench to sort her clothes. I'm not the sorting type, so I dump clothes into the empty machines, using two for all the laundry I have.

"Not used to what?" I toss a couple soap packs in the machines, pop the quarters in and start them up.

She's shaking her head, laughing at me now. "Do you know how hard it is on your clothes to wash them all together like that? It's amazing your t-shirts are still in one piece, getting tossed around with your jeans like that." She's taking her time putting her clothes into three different machines. "And the thank you was for you getting the door for me, and the ride last night. I can't remember the last time anybody did something nice for me."

"Well, get used to it. Friends do nice things for each other, right?"

"Right." She seems lost in thought for a while, sorting, loading, starting the machines. "So, you never said where you worked."

"I didn't?"

She smiles as she shakes her head. "No, you didn't."

"I'm a tattoo artist."

"Really?" she asks, her eyes wide. "Where?"

My head bobs once. "Yeah, at Over the Moon Tattoos. I'm finally working with clients, which is really cool."

"Oh, that's right. Don't artists have to do an apprenticeship for a while before they can start working on people?"

I'm impressed. Not everyone knows this; a lot of people think you just go train somewhere and they hand you a tattoo machine. Not the case.

She's moved to one of the hard plastic chairs to wait on our clothes.

"Yeah. I just finished up the first year of mine a couple months ago." I hop up on one of the benches where you fold your clean stuff. "I've got my own chair. Not too many regulars of my own yet, but I do a lot of walk-ins." I shrug. "It's a start."

"That's really great. So, you're following your passion then?" She sounds genuinely interested.

"Yeah, I gave a lot up to follow my own path, but it's been worth it. I'm happy. I meet all kinds of new people every day, I get to express myself artistically, and at the end of the day, I know I'm being true to myself." As the words leave my mouth, I can say I truly believe what I'm saying. For the longest time I questioned if I'd made the right decision. But not anymore.

"That's really great, Edward. Not everyone can say that." She's looking down now, staring at her entwined fingers.

"What about you? What do you want to do? What's your passion? Surely it isn't working for Marcus forever."

She looks up and smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes. She shakes her head. "No, I don't plan to work for Marcus any longer than I have to. But as far as what's next? I'm not sure anymore. Right now, I'm just trying to get by day to day."

Sensing her discomfort, I clear my throat and change the subject. "Well, I'm pretty sure you're not from around here, so what brought you to the city of angels?"

She seems to weigh how much she's going to tell me, which is cool. I get it; I don't go around telling my story to everybody who will listen either.

"Honestly, it's kind of lame. I was looking for my mom. This was the last place I knew she was. It was a long shot, but I didn't have anyone else to go to." Her eyes meet mine, and her bottom lip goes between her teeth. Her expression is pensive, and if I had to guess, she thinks she's said too much.

Her answer only gives me more questions.

I shake my head. "That's not lame Bella. It's natural for us to go to our parents when we need help. And I know first-hand that they're not always there when you need them. Can I assume she wasn't here when you got here?"

She releases her abused lip from her teeth and breathes a small laugh through her nose, shaking her head. "No, she wasn't. The last letter I had from her was several years old, but it was all I had to go on. I knew it was a long shot when I got on the bus. Doesn't matter anyway. I was close to broke when I got here, so I knew I'd be sticking around a while, even if it was just to save some money to get to somewhere else."

"So, where would you go if you could go somewhere else, Ms. Swan? What would you do when you got there?"

She's quiet, stumped, until her wide eyes meet mine. "I have no idea." She looks lost in thought, her gaze dropping back to her hands.

"You didn't have some idea when you were in school about what you wanted to do?" I'm pushing, but I want to know more about this girl.

"Not really. I knew what was expected of me, but not exactly what I wanted for myself."

"I can relate to that."

"I mean, I grew up knowing I probably wouldn't go to college. Even if we could afford it, my dad didn't want that for me. He has different ideas about a woman's place. That's one of the reasons my mother left when I was little. I don't remember much of her, just that she was always unhappy. I don't remember ever seeing her smile."

"Damn, Bella. I'm sorry."

Our words hang in the air. The only sounds are the swish and hum of the washing machines running nearby.

"Was it just you and your dad? Do you have any brothers or sisters?" I ask quietly.

"Nope, just me and Charlie. What about you? Any siblings?"

"No, it was just me. It was kinda lonely. My favorite times were going to Seattle to visit my cousins. Emmett and Jasper were a lot of fun to be around. We got into so much shit." I chuckle thinking about them. I cross my arms over my chest and smile, recalling how they're part of the reason I am where I am.

"Growing up, Jasper and I used to draw our own comic books just for the hell of it. Man, he was so talented. Funny thing was, he always talked about opening his own tattoo shop. He was the first one of us to get inked. I was fascinated with it. The day I turned eighteen, I was in Liam's chair."

"Are you still in touch? With your cousins, I mean."

"Not really. We lost touch after I started at Northwestern."

"That's not much of an excuse. You couldn't have been so busy you couldn't pick up the phone."

I shrug. "No, but for a while, our lives were headed in completely different directions, and we literally lost touch. I'm not even sure how I would reach them these days. And besides, we were orbiting very different worlds."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, you could say different universes. Pre-law studies made Edward a very busy boy."

"Pre-law? Wow, Edward, I'm sorry." She's laughing. "I'm sorry, but I just cannot picture you in a courtroom. A lawyer? Wow!"

"Okay, don't sound so surprised. I'm offended," I say in mock hurt, hand on my chest.

The washing machines start to buzz, one after the other, signaling our clothes are done washing.

Bella hops up to move hers to the dryers. "No, you're right. That was really rude. I'm sorry. I just can't picture it."

I slide off the counter to yank all mine out and dump them in a rolling cart. "Nah, don't worry about it. Although, keep in mind that I wasn't quite as ink and steel covered when I started school." I motion to my head where the metal in my eyebrow, lower lip, and ear are likely shining in the bright fluorescence, and the swirls of black lick up my neck. "I only had a few tattoos at that point. But you know what they say; you can't have just one. It's kind of an addiction for a lot of people, and I guess I fall into that category."

I slam the door of the final dryer and start the machine, leaning against it with my arms crossed to watch her load hers. "When I started school, what I did have was hidden under my clothes. But I got drawn into the artistry of it. Designed a lot of the work I've had done."

"That's really cool. I always wanted a tattoo, but by the time I was old enough to have one done, I had too many people in my life calling the shots."

I decide to test the waters. I know it's not advisable for a woman to have any work done while she's pregnant, so maybe she'll tell me.

"Well, you're old enough now, right? And you're on your own. Why don't you come down to the shop and get one done?" Watching her expression, I see it go from wistful to resigned.

"Can't really afford one right now. Maybe next year sometime, if I'm still here." She's focused on putting the quarters in the machine, not looking at me.

"Sounds like a deal. Hit me up when you're ready. I'll even give you the friends and family discount." I catch her eye, and my wink earns me a laugh.

"You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Masen. We'll see. But it's anyone's guess where I'll be a year from now." She's quiet until she whispers, "Hopefully, not still here."

The rest of the time spent waiting, we talk about inconsequential things. I tell her about some of the strange things people want permanently inked on their skin, and she tells me about a few of the strange things she's come across cleaning the rooms.

"So, Marcus doesn't want us doing any cooking in our rooms, right? But somehow, a guest was able to sneak in some kind of stovetop, I guess, I'm not sure. They had already checked out. They'd cooked this huge meal, and there were dishes all over the place. A few still had food in them, but the smell of whatever it was they cooked in that tiny room, oh my God, it about knocked me over when I walked in. I don't know why they left all the cookware and dishes behind. It was really strange."

"So, what? Did you have to set fire to the room to get the smell out?" I tease.

She shakes her head and laughs, and the sound does some weird shit to my chest. "No, but I did manage to hold my breath long enough to clean the dishes and haul them to my room." Her grin makes me chuckle. "What? I wasn't going to just throw them out. Even if I can't use them here, I'm not planning on living in a motel forever. Someday, I'll need stuff like that. I'm slowly buying things I need. I came to LA with a backpack and a body-bag-sized duffel bag. It was almost everything I owned. Sad, right?" The light tone we had going back and forth is suddenly gone.

"No, not sad. It's probably the same for a lot of people who step off of that bus. In fact, I didn't have much more than that when I came here. Everything I had fit in my truck. I drove that beast here all the way from Chicago. Man, that was a long haul. I followed Liam and Maggie to L.A. when he bought the shop off his buddy. Haven't looked back since."

"Well, I'm glad you did. It's nice to have a friend here."

"It is." Just then our dryers start to cycle off, one at a time. We exchange understanding smiles and get to work folding. Glancing between her pile and mine, I can see that the colors of her clothes are still bright, and my pile looks dull and dingy. I'm folding my jeans and wondering if there's something to her sorting theory, when I glance in her direction. She happens to be folding her delicates, which at the moment, consists of a tiny pair of black panties.

I quickly look away. Shit. Now the image of her in those little ... Shit. Friends, right? Yes, just friends. A probably pregnant friend. She doesn't need any more complications in her life. Fuck, I don't need that complication in my life! Okay, I need to get that image out of my head. If she is pregnant, she's going to need a friend, not some asshole fantasizing about her in her underwear.

We finish up and head back toward the motel. I offer to carry her folded clothes back, so I've got both of our bags over my shoulder. As we walk up to the motel, I realize I'm not ready to say goodnight, even if it is after midnight. I think she feels the same, because her steps have slowed.

"My late nights are Friday and Saturday, so I won't be home until almost two in the morning. I really want to split that pizza like we talked about. So, how does Sunday sound?"

"That sounds great. I should be done early enough, and I don't have any appointments that day. Yeah, I'd like that a lot. A pizza night sounds really good."

I follow her upstairs to her room. She unlocks her door and opens it. Somehow it looks better than mine; the personal touches around the room give it a homey feel.

I set down her clean clothes just inside her room. "All right then. Thanks for allowing me to crash your laundry party. Any time you want company for that terribly boring chore, let me know."

"I will. That was the most fun I've had doing laundry that I can remember. Thanks for the company." She's smiling, so I'm pretty sure she means it.

"You're welcome. Okay then, I'll see you on Sunday, Ms. Swan. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Edward." She closes the door softly.

I smile and head down to my room. It's a little strange hearing my first name from someone who's not family. Everyone here knows me as Masen but hearing her say it makes that weird feeling in my chest come back.

The next couple of days fly by, with just quick interactions between us. Weekends are busy for her. A place like this has a lot of "short term" guests, so she's got rooms that need to be completely cleaned between check-ins. By Saturday afternoon when I see her, she looks completely wiped out.

Looking at the clock, I know I've got enough time before my shift to go get her a little pick-me-up. I run across the street to a little coffee shop, and get some kind of chocolatey, caramely, ooey, gooey whipped cream topped, something they call a coffee cavity in a cup. It looks like a chick drink. On a whim, I grab a healthy-looking muffin.

I run back across the street just in time to see her putting away the big ass cart with all the cleaning supplies. She's locking up the supply room when I come up behind her.

"Hey, Bella." She jumps in surprise, making some kind of squealing, squeaking noise. She spins around to look at me.

"My God, you scared me. You've got to stop doing that!" She's got one hand on her chest, the other on her lower belly.

"Sorry. I shouldn't have snuck up on you. Um, I got you something." I thrust the cup and the bag with the muffin at her, and her eyes widen.

"Oh, wow. Thank you, Edward. That was really sweet." She bites her lower lip and tentatively reaches out to take it.

"Well, you looked like you could use something to help you get through the rest of your day. So, a little something sweet, and something I hope is kinda good for you. The muffin in the bag is some kind of wheat, bran, berry something."

"That sounds really good. Thank you. I can dig into this while I'm waiting on the laundry to wash. I need a break anyway. I pushed myself to get the rooms done early, so I'm dead on my feet."

"You're welcome. I'm glad I could help out. I hope Marcus isn't working you to death."

"No, not really. I'm just exhausted these days. I could take a nap at the drop of a hat. So, thank you."

"You're welcome. Well, I need to hit the road, so I hope you have a good afternoon."

"Thanks, you too." I start to head toward the parking lot, then I turn, walking backwards as I go. "I'll see you tomorrow. Bye, Bella."

"Bye, Edward."

With a smile on my face, I nod and spin back around, heading for my truck.

The rest of my day flies by. It's a busy night, one customer after another. I even have a couple customers give me their numbers. As usual, I end up tossing them in the trash after they leave. I don't even blink when I toss them. In the past, some of them have intrigued me, and I've been tempted to take up an offer, but this time, the thought of hooking up with one of them does nothing for me.

On my drive home, my thoughts go back to Bella. With just the little bit of time we've spent together, I'm even more intrigued than I was when I first laid eyes on her. I want to know what her story is, but I don't want to push. Obviously, some major shit went down before she left home, judging by the call she made the other night. I'm hoping I can get her to open up, even a little, when we get together for pizza tomorrow.

Once I get home, my night is surprisingly quiet; next door is, too. I sleep like the dead, and it's almost noon before I decide to get up. Normally, I spend the day catching up on laundry and grabbing a few groceries. But the laundry is done, and I have enough snacks and boxed shit to stretch until next weekend, so I end up watching TV while keeping an eye on the clock.

Around three o'clock, I decide to go seek her out. I'm hoping she's almost done for the day, and we can hang out, or maybe I can take her somewhere if she needs to go out. I don't know. I poke my head out my door, looking for her monster-sized cart. I spot her on the ground level, and she's unloading linens into the laundry room.

I step out to the railing and yell her name from a distance, hoping I don't startle her this time. "Bella!"

She turns toward me, a smile lighting up her face. "Hey, Edward. How are you?"

"I'm good. Had a late night, but I slept in. Good as new now." I lean over and rest my forearms against the railing. "How about you? Are you about done for the day?"

"Yeah, I think I'm just gonna dump these in the bin and wash them tomorrow. I'm wiped out."

"You still feel up to splitting a pizza with me tonight?"

"Yeah, I've been looking forward to it all day."

For some reason, that makes me ridiculously happy. I almost miss what she says next. "Um, when do you want me to head down to your room?"

"Whenever. I'm free to take you somewhere if you need to run any errands or anything."

"Really? You don't mind?"

I shrug my shoulders. "I wouldn't have offered if I didn't want to do it."

"Well, if you really don't mind, I need to pick up a prescription at the pharmacy a couple miles from here. I was going to walk, but I'm beyond tired."

"Yeah, that's fine. Just let me know when you want to leave."

"Okay, I'll finish up here, hop in the shower, and then we can go. I really appreciate it, Edward. Thank you."

"You're welcome. I'll just hang out in my room till you're ready to go."

About forty-five minutes later, she's knocking on my door. It took all my self-restraint not to imagine her in the shower while I waited, but somehow, I managed. I open the door to a freshly showered Bella, her long hair still damp, dressed in denim shorts and an oversized Foo Fighters t-shirt. Even though the shirt is big on her, I can see her curves.

Friends. Friends. Friends.

I must stand there staring a beat too long, because she clears her throat.

"Are you sure you don't mind doing this? I mean, I could still walk. I'm feeling a little more energetic after my shower."

"No, no, it's fine. Sorry, I just kind of spaced out there for a second. Come on, let's go." I lock my door and motion for her to lead the way. We walk to my truck, and I get her door for her.

After we're both buckled in, I ask where we're headed.

"The CVS on Western. There's a Pizza King just across the way from there if you want to go ahead and pick up one early."

"Yeah, that's fine. How about we order it first, then go to CVS to get your stuff? I know it's not even five yet, but I didn't really eat much when I got up, so I'm starving. That okay?"

"Sounds like a plan." The rest of the short drive is quiet, and when we pull into the lot of the pizza place, she starts rummaging through her bag. "So, I can only spring for ten bucks toward a pizza. I promise I won't eat much."

I immediately start shaking my head. "No way. I invited you. It's my treat. What do you like on your pizza?"

"Oh, Edward, I can't expect you to do that."

"Yes, you can. Now, what do you want on it?"

"I'm not picky."

I raise one eyebrow, as if to say 'really?'.

"Really, whatever you want is fine. But if you're getting the pizza, you have to let me get like chips and soda or something."

"You're not gonna let it go, are you?"

"No," she said, shaking her head and smiling.

"Fine. Come on, then. Let's go order some food." I hop out, and while she's fumbling with her bag again, it gives me time to come around and get her door for her. She says a quiet thank you, and we head inside.

We're both looking over the menu, and the way she keeps opening her mouth like she's going to say something but doesn't, I know she wants to order something specific, but she hasn't spoken up. I do a quick scan of the specials and decide to speak up. "Okay, how about we do that family pack deal?" I suggest, pointing up at the menu. "It's two pizzas, a lasagna, wings, salad, and garlic bread. Then we can have leftovers for the rest of the week, maybe have dinner together tomorrow, too." I slip that last bit in there, just to see what she says. I think it surprised her.

"Oh, um, okay. Dinner tomorrow sounds good." She's nodding, looking down. Then she looks up to me, one eye squinting, like I'm not gonna like what she's about to say. "So, you wouldn't be upset if I asked for ham and pineapple on mine?"

I can't help but snicker at her. "Ham and pineapple, huh? I'll order it, under one condition."

"Which is?"

"That you share," I say with a grin. "I can't believe I found somebody else who likes that combo. I was teased relentlessly by my roommate at Northwestern for ordering fruit on my pizza. Okay, Swan, a Hawaiian and what else?"

"I don't care. As long as I get my ham and pineapple, I'm good."

"All right then. How about pepperoni and mushroom?"

"Sure."

We place our order, and we're soon on our way to CVS. Walking through the store together, Bella starts to look almost nervous. When we get to the counter, she gives her name.

"Pick up for Isabella Swan."

The pharmacist flips through the filled and waiting prescriptions before plucking one from the stack. She turns back to us. "Do you have any questions?"

"No." With red cheeks, Bella checks out, and then we're navigating the aisles, picking out chips and soda. "Okay, Edward, you pick. When it comes to snacks, I haven't met one I didn't like."

"Then how about good old nacho cheese Doritos and Mountain Dew? Brings back memories of late-night study groups fueled by caffeine and snacks." I grab a bag of the chips and turn toward the soda display.

"Doritos and Dew for you"—she picks up a six pack of Dew, but a two liter of something else—"but root beer for me. I'm trying to limit my caffeine, and that delicious coffee you brought me met my quota for about three weeks."

"Shit, I'm sorry. Should I not have done that? I just thought you could use a pick-me-up."

"It was fine. It was delicious, and you're right. I needed a pick-me-up. I just need to watch how much sugar and caffeine I'm taking in."

"You're not diabetic, are you? Or have a heart condition? God, I'm sorry. That would be just my luck. I try to do something nice and it could fucking kill you."

She's laughing at me. "No, I'm not diabetic, and my heart is fine. I just have to be careful not to have too much."

We make our way to the front and check out. She insists on paying for the snacks, and I try not to argue with her. We get back to the pizza place, and I go in to pick up our order. When I walk out to the truck, I can see some asshole at her open window, trying to talk to her. He's tall, with broad shoulders and coal black hair, and he's leaning in with his hands resting against the top of my truck, his fingers drumming away as he tries to talk to her.

I could kick myself; I didn't leave the keys, so she couldn't roll up her window. But seeing how he's practically climbing through it, she probably couldn't, even if she'd had them. As I get closer, Bella's face comes into focus through the windshield. I can hear the dickhead, and I see red.

"Come on, baby. Don't be like that. I just asked for your number."

Bella looks terrified, not just scared, but like this guy is about to hurt her. When he reaches up and pushes some stray hair behind her ear, she squeezes her eyes shut. At this point, I'm running toward the truck.

"Hey! Get the fuck away from her!" My voice and presence startle the guy, and he jumps away from the truck.

"Sorry, man. I didn't know she was your girl. She didn't say anything." I don't bother to correct him. I just want him to get away from Bella. She's obviously more than a little upset.

"She didn't say anything because she didn't want to talk to you, ya fuckin' moron!"

The guy starts walking away from the truck, hands up in surrender. "Sorry, man. No hard feelings."

I watch him walk away until he turns and starts down the sidewalk. It's only after he's far away that I turn to look at Bella. She's still got her eyes closed tightly. Her breathing is fast, and it looks like she's trembling. I set the food down on the hood of the truck and speak softly, hoping my voice doesn't freak her out.

"Bella? Are you okay? Did that douchebag hurt you?"

She shakes her head. I'm beginning to worry, because her breathing isn't slowing. She looks flushed. I can see her pulse pounding in her neck, and I start to worry she's gonna pass out or something. Minutes pass before I see a single tear escape her eyes, then I hear her whisper.

"He didn't hurt me. I just couldn't get away from him. He reminded me of someone I used to know, that's all."

That's all, I think to myself. That is not all, but looking at her, I know I can't push.

"And I'll be okay, I just need a few minutes."

"Okay, I'm gonna get in the truck. I don't want the sound of the door to scare you." She just nods. I open the door, flip my seat forward, and put the food in the back of my extended cab. I hop into my seat and sit there for a few minutes, listening to her breathing even out. When it returns to normal, her eyes flutter open.

"Sorry about that. I haven't had a panic attack in a few weeks. That one actually wasn't too bad. I'm sorry if I upset you." Her voice is so small, and it makes that ache in my chest come back.

"You're worried about upsetting me? Bella, I'm fine. I'm just worried about you. Will you be okay?"

She tries a smile, it's small, but a smile, nonetheless. "I'm already better. Thank you for chasing him off. He came up to me and for a split second, I thought he was someone who I used to know, and I just shut down. I knew I couldn't get out of the truck, but I couldn't even say anything. God, I'm such a mess." She covers her face with her hands, almost in shame.

"Hey, don't beat yourself up. We all have moments when we wish we could've said or done something different." I don't know what else to say to her, so I start the truck and head back to the motel.

If her voice were any quieter, I wouldn't hear her. "It's one of the things I've been working on in therapy, speaking up for myself. And the first time I really need to do it, I just shut down." She's looking out the window, shaking her head, like she's disappointed in herself.

"Just like any other new skill, I guess you just have to work at it." There, that seems reasonable. I don't know what the fuck I'm doing, though. If she's in therapy, then she's obviously got someone trained to deal with this stuff. I'm just winging it.

"That's kinda what Maria, my therapist, said. That it's something I've never done before, so it'll take time to get the hang of it."

I let the moment pass in silence, absorbing everything she's said. I'm dying to ask questions, but I bite my tongue, quite literally holding the barbell there between my teeth. Somehow, I know now is not the time to ask. But when I don't say anything, she continues all on her own.

"I always had to get what my dad and his friends wanted, even when I was little," she says softly. "I only happened to try a piece of Hawaiian pizza at an after-school function my senior year, and I loved it. After eating meat lover's pizza my whole life, I didn't know pizza could be sweet." She laughs a small, humorless laugh through her nose. "It's pretty pathetic. I've had every single decision of my life made for me until the day I decided to get on the bus to L.A. So, it might seem small, but telling you what I wanted was kind of a big deal for me, even if it was just pizza." She turns to look at me. "Thanks for that."

"You're welcome," I say with a nod.

The rest of the drive to the hotel is quiet, each of us probably still processing. The lot is nearly empty when we pull in, and I cut the engine. We unload and walk in companionable silence to my room. I set the food down on the tiny table, then grab the ice bucket.

"Just make yourself at home. I'm gonna run down and get some ice."

"Okay, thanks."

I hurry down the steps and fill the bucket, anxious to get back to her. When I get back in the room, she's already set out plates, napkins, and glasses.

"Hope you don't mind. I saw your dishes over there." She points to the shelving unit in the corner. I don't have much, but I have a few things to make this place feel more like a home.

"No, I said to make yourself at home. Here, take the ice, and I'll wash up so we can eat." I walk over to the sink, and I know she can hear my stomach growl from across the room when I hear her giggle. "What? I'm starving. I really should've had something when I got up this morning."

"Sorry, it was funny!"

I shake my head and smile as I dry my hands. "Okay, let's dig in."

While we eat, we play a silly game of twenty questions. I discover she's from Washington state, she'll be twenty in September, and her favorite color is green. She graduated from high school last year, and on question nineteen, I find out she doesn't have a driver's license.

"How the hell do you do anything without a license?" We're sitting at the tiny table, working on the pizza. I'm kicked back, my legs stretched out in front of me, feet crossed at the ankles and resting on the bed. She's curled up in the chair, her bare feet on the seat and her knees pulled up to her chest. I don't see how she can eat like that.

"Well, I do have a state ID from Washington." She shrugs. "I was never allowed to get my license. Dad wanted me to depend on him or friends of his. If I couldn't get a ride, I either walked or took my bike. Once I got here, I didn't have the means to take the test. And I don't have a car or even know anybody to borrow one to take it. It's not a priority anyway. The bus line runs right by here."

"Well, that's just fucking ridiculous. Do you want to get your license now? I mean, hell, Bella, you could use my truck for the test."

She smiles. "I'll think about it. My life is so ... uncertain right now. I don't know what I'm gonna do, but I'll keep it in mind."

"Okay then." Feeling the need to lighten the mood, I go for silly. "Now that all of that is settled, let's move on to more serious matters, Ms. Swan. How do you feel about an intense game of go fish?"

Her responding laugh brings a smile to my face and that ache back to my chest. We spend the next three hours playing all kinds of card games, never taking it too seriously. When she realizes how late it is, she decides to call it a night. As we pack up her stuff, her bag falls off the bed, spilling the contents all over the floor. I help her gather it all and happen to be the one to pick up her bag from the pharmacy. I check the label before handing it to her. As I suspected, it's a bottle of prenatal vitamins. I hand the bag to her, trying to get her to look me in the eye.

"Bella?" My voice is low, gentle. I don't want to spook her. "Hey." She finally looks up, and she takes the bag from me.

"Thanks."

"So, I just remembered I have one more question left." She squeezes her eyes shut, like she knows what's coming next. "Bella? Are you, I mean, are you having ..."

"I'm pregnant." She speaks so softly that I can barely hear her. We're both silent for a few beats. "Oh God, I'm having a baby." Her breathing has picked up again, and her eyes have filled with tears.

"Hey, it's okay. Just breathe, Bella. Did you just find out?" Even though I want to offer her some kind of comfort—a hand to hold, a hug, anything—I get the feeling that I shouldn't touch her.

She shakes her head. "No, it's just the first time I've told anyone who isn't a doctor." She's almost gasping for breath as she speaks. "I've known for about six weeks, but I haven't had to tell anyone else."

"Bella, hey." She looks at me, panic evident in her eyes. "You're okay. Take a deep breath. Slow down. I don't have a paper bag for you to breathe into. In, out. That's it, beautiful. Hey, breathe with me." I make exaggerated breaths, trying to help her slow her breathing. When she's finally breathing normally, I sit and pat the bed next to me. "Here, sit for a minute. I can't let you go off alone yet."

She nods and takes a seat next to me. We're close, but not touching. It dawns on me, in the time we've spent together, we haven't, even once, touched. "Wanna talk about it?"

She just shrugs her shoulders, fidgeting with her fingers in her lap. "You're the only person who knows about it besides my doctor and my therapist. I left home before I found out. I was here for a week or two when I started getting sick. I thought it was just the flu or something, but it didn't go away. With all the crazy going on in my life, I didn't even realize I was late. I found a clinic to take a test. They told me all the options I had ... have ... but I know, for me, I couldn't get rid of it. I still don't know if I'm going to keep it, but I know abortion isn't an option for me. So, maybe adoption. I don't know." Her head drops into her hands, and she rubs at her temples.

"So, if I'm the only other person who knows, does that mean the father doesn't know?" The thought of not knowing that I had a kid out there makes me uncomfortable. I'd want to know, even if I wasn't with the mother.

She's shaking her head again. "No, and I don't want him to know. He can't know." She looks up at me, fear in her eyes. "Edward, you can't say anything to anybody. If he finds out, I don't know what he'll do." Her arms are wrapped around her middle, as if to protect herself and the life growing inside her.

"Okay, okay, I won't. It was just a question." I take a deep breath, steeling myself to ask the question that's suddenly gnawing at my gut and making my chest ache in an all new way. Even though I'm internally seething at just the thought, I try to soften my voice. "Bella, what did he do? Did he hurt you? Is that why you left?"

She suddenly bolts upright, grabbing all her stuff. "I need to go." Before I can stop her, she's already at the door. "Thank you for the pizza." Then she's gone, and I'm left standing there, wondering what the hell just happened.

On auto pilot, I clean up the food and trash and wash the few dishes. I go through my nightly routine before I sit on the edge of my bed and cradle my head in my hands. With everything quiet again, my mind sorts through all the chaotic thoughts swirling around in my head.

She never answered my question, but it's obvious by the things she's said and the way she's acted, she's been hurt. She left home with a duffel bag and no plan. She said the guy at the pizza place reminded her of someone, and the way she reacted to him—her panic attack—must mean he reminded her of someone who hurt her. My gut screams at me that it was her asshole ex. It's no wonder she wants to hide the baby from him. My stomach clenches and nausea rolls through me, and I flop back onto my bed, scrubbing my hands over my face. Just the thought of somebody hurting her ...

I feel a sudden rush of protectiveness for Bella. She's all alone, scared, pregnant with a baby she may or may not keep. It's in that moment that I vow to myself to be there for her—as a friend, someone to talk to, someone to look out for her.

I spend the next day running a few errands, then I pop in to say hey to Bella, careful not to bring up last night. She apologizes for taking off like she did, and I wave it off, not wanting to make a big deal about it. I'm careful to keep my physical distance and to keep my voice easy and calm, even though I'm dying to beg her to talk to me. But my approach seems to make her more at ease, so I go with it. We make plans to eat the rest of the pizza and the lasagna left from last night for dinner.

Neither of us mention the baby, her ex, or anything else that might make her uncomfortable. It's a pleasant evening spent talking and playing cards. Even with the elephant in the room, it's nice to just hang with a friend.

The next few weeks go like that. I take her to the store a few times and pick her up a couple of times from her group therapy session. And we spend time almost every evening together, even if it's just watching some dumbass movie on cable and sharing a bag of microwave popcorn. Bella's sworn off soda except for weekends, saying that her doctor wouldn't be too happy with her sugar intake.

We still haven't really talked about the baby. It's come up in passing, like her comment about her doctor, but I can tell she doesn't really want to talk about it. So, when she asks me out of the blue if I can go with her to her doctor's appointment the next day, I'm a little surprised. We're at the laundromat, like we have been the last couple of Sundays, when she speaks up.

"I understand if that's crossing some line of our friendship. I just really don't want to go alone. My last appointment was too early to hear the heartbeat, and I don't want to be alone when I hear it. Or worse, be alone if they still can't find it, like if something is wrong." She's twisting her fingers and fidgeting again, so I feel the need to jump in, since she's still rambling.

"Bella, stop. Yeah, I'll come with you. Don't worry about it. What time is your appointment?" Her scrunched up nose and squinty eyes are enough for me to know I'm not going to like the answer, even if she does look adorable. "Bellaaaa?"

"Nine in the morning." She says it quick, like she's ripping off a Band-Aid.

I can't stop the groan that comes out of me. "Nine?" I know I sound like a whiney kid, but damn, that's early for me. "I'm not even awake that early on my day off." Now I'm just pouting, which is making her giggle.

"I'm sorry, but I had to schedule it early, before my shift starts. How about I treat you to breakfast for driving me?"

I'm giving her my version of the evil eye, half-hearted though it is. "Fine. But I won't promise that I'll be in a good mood."

"Thank you!" She hops up on her tiptoes and gives me a quick peck on the cheek. It's the first physical contact we've had, and it catches me off guard. Even though it's quick, it leaves my cheek warm and tingly.

The next morning greets me way too early. I'm knocking on her door at eight-thirty, and as promised, less than chipper about it. She opens the door, and I'm met with her smiling face.

"Hey. Let me grab my bag, and I'm ready to go." I just grunt in response. We walk down to the truck, and she gives me directions to the clinic. Pulling up, I can see that it isn't the greatest place, but I don't say anything. I'm sure it's the best she can do right now, no need to stress her out about it.

We walk in, and the waiting room is already almost full. There are pregnant women and little kids everywhere I look. As we wait, I get a few stares from the moms, and a few of the kids, too. I'm used to it, though. Bella seems lost in her own head, so I don't try to start up any conversation. They eventually call her name a few minutes after nine, and she stands. She looks down at me, biting at her lower lip before she speaks.

"Will you come back with me?"

"If you want me to."

"Please?"

I nod, stand, and follow her to an exam room. They get her weight, and the nurse tells her she's up two pounds from last time, which I guess is a good thing. In the room, the nurse takes Bella's blood pressure and says it's all good.

"The doctor will be in to see you in a few minutes." Then she's gone.

"Thank you for coming with me. I didn't want to be alone for this."

I give her a smile. "Isn't that what friends are for?"

"Yeah, I guess. To be honest, I didn't have many friends growing up, and definitely none I still keep in touch with. So, I guess that makes you my best friend." Before I can respond, a woman in a white lab coat steps into the room. She's older, maybe in her mid-fifties, with a kind smile on her face.

"Hello, Miss Swan. How are you today?"

"Good. Um, this is my friend Edward."

The doc looks in my direction, still smiling. "Hello there. I'm Dr. Woods. It's nice to see Bella have some support. Thank you for coming with her." She turns back to Bella. "Okay, so according to your chart, you're at fourteen weeks, putting your due date at November seventh, so we should be able to hear the heartbeat today. But let's get all the other stuff out of the way first."

She proceeds to ask questions about symptoms, her diet, stuff like that, all while examining Bella.

"We got your lab results back, and the STD screening came back negative, so that's one less thing to think about. I know you were worried." I see Bella physically relax at that. "Just keep in mind, if you're sexually active, you're still at risk for an STD, even if you can't get pregnant, so be sure to use protection."

The thought of Bella being with anyone puts a knot in my gut, but I push it away when I notice Bella's face turning a weird shade of red.

The doc starts pressing down on Bella's abdomen. "Okay, it's still a little early to get a measurement on you. Pull up your shirt and roll down your pants a bit." When she does, I can just make out a barely there bump between Bella's hip bones. Bella is so tiny, and so is the bump. The doc then starts feeling around, pushing in spots. I want to jump up and ask what the hell she's doing, pressing on the baby like that, when she speaks up.

"We'll measure you starting at the next visit, I think. Here, give me your hand." Bella reaches out, and the doc moves her hand to her belly. "Do you feel this? This is the top of your uterus, or the fundus, and down here"—she moves her hand lower—"is where we measure from at each visit. You should grow roughly one centimeter per week, and that will tell us if the fetus is growing properly." She turns to the counter to get something, but she continues to speak to Bella. "I want you to try to eat a little more, though. Fresh foods especially and watch out for the carbs. I don't want you to develop gestational diabetes. You need to be gaining just about a pound a week at this point. We're going for an overall gain of twenty-five to thirty-five pounds. Though with your small frame, I'd say closer to twenty-five pounds is better. Did you have a chance to get any of the books I mentioned last month?"

"Yeah, I checked some out from the library. I've been reading them."

"Good. Okay, let's get to the good part. This shouldn't be cold. It was in the warmer." She squirts some blue gel on the end of a little wand-like thing she calls a doppler and spreads it around Bella's bump. The doctor flips a switch and a sound fills the room. I can hear weird noises, gurgling, swooshes, and then I hear something that sounds like a galloping horse. The doc stills her movements.

"There it is—your baby's heartbeat."

Bella's hand shoots out toward me, and I grasp it. A strange feeling comes over me. Hearing that sound, knowing there's a life growing inside Bella, seeing the silent tears slipping from her eyes, that protectiveness that I felt before explodes. In that instant, know I'll do whatever I can to protect them both, whatever comes her way. I then realize how fast the beat is. I clear my throat and ask the question rolling around in my head.

"Is it supposed to be that fast?"

With a kind smile and a nod, she answers. "Yes, it sounds perfect. Bella, do you have any questions?" She removes the little wand and wipes down Bella's stomach.

"No. I think I'm okay. If I think of something, can I call the clinic?"

"Absolutely. Just remember, if you feel any cramping or have any spotting, don't hesitate to call. You're officially in the second trimester, and your risk of miscarriage is drastically reduced, but there could always be problems. I won't see you again until eighteen weeks. There's a small chance you could feel fetal movement by then, but more than likely it will be after your next appointment. If there's nothing else, I'll just see you then. It was nice meeting you, Edward, and call if there are any problems, Bella." We both give a nod, and with that, she slips from the room.

"You okay?" I ask. She looks like she could burst into tears at any second, but she nods at me. "That was pretty awesome. Thank you for sharing it with me."

She turns to me. "No, I should be thanking you." We're still holding hands, and judging by the grip she has on me, she won't be letting go any time soon. "And that was pretty awesome." She has a teary smile on her face. I can only imagine the emotions running through her.

"Okay, let's go schedule your next appointment. I remember the promise of breakfast for dragging my lazy, grumpy ass outta bed so early." That gets a giggle. I tug on her hand, helping her to stand. We make our way to the desk, and she talks to the receptionist to see what's available. I suddenly realize I want to come with her next time, too. I overhear their conversation, going over what's available.

"We have on opening first thing at eight, or an eleven o'clock that day. That's all I have open. Sorry."

"Oh, I guess the eleven. It'll take me a while to make it over here on the bus." It's then that I step up next to her.

"Take the eight. I can bring you again." Her eyes are huge.

"Are you sure? I know you don't like getting up so early."

I just shrug my shoulders. "It's just one day, right? I'll survive." What I don't say is how much I want to come with her next time. She schedules her next visit, and we're off to find breakfast. We decide on a little diner that's on the way back. We're seated in a booth, and after looking over the menu, we place our orders.

"So, I think I've made a decision."

"Yeah? About what?"

"The baby."

My heart is pounding now. I can't explain why, but the thought of her giving it up tears at my insides. "And what have you decided?"

She sits up straight, resolve on her face. "I don't know how I'm gonna do it, but I'm going to keep it."

"Yeah?" I can't hide the smile on my face.

"Yeah." She's smiling too.

"What helped you decide?"

"Hearing that heartbeat, I don't know, just made it more real, I guess. There's a little person growing inside me. Someone who's half me. It isn't the baby's fault for sharing genetic material with an asshole. Besides, I would spend the rest of my life wondering. Wondering where he or she is, if they're happy, being taken care of. I honestly don't know how it's gonna work out, but I can't give it up."

I reach across the table and take her hands in mine. I don't know what the hell I'm doing, but that tingly feeling is back, and I kind of like it. Any reservations or fears I had about getting too close to this girl and her complicated life disappear. "I'm sure it'll all work out. We'll figure it out together."