DaPK Chapter 18 - Broken Up Beats

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Chapter 18 - Broken Up Beats

EPOV

"Yo, dude." I whip my head around, startled, my heart slamming against my chest. Jasper's eyes widen and he takes a step back like I might start swinging at him. "Whoa, what the hell, Edward? I've been calling your name for like five minutes."

I close my eyes and try to ignore the warning bells clanging in the back of my mind. Something's wrong with Bella; I can feel it. I blow out an icy breath, pissed and cold and wanting to be anywhere but standing in the middle of a soccer field three hours away from her, freezing my balls off.

Think about next weekend. Think about next weekend. Think about next weekend, I chant over and over in my head.

It helps, but that foreboding feeling still lingers. I ignore Jasper for a few minutes and stretch, concentrating on getting loose and the game, instead of the fact that I can see my own breath because it's so damn cold. Ahh, soccer in December. Joy. I tug on my knit hat and flex my glove-covered fingers. The tip of my nose is probably red, my ears, too, I bet, and we've only been out of the car twenty minutes.

It's going to be a long ass day.

"Spill it. What's going on? You already thinking about next weekend?" Jasper waggles his eyebrows as he pulls his gloves on.

I can't stop the grin that spreads, but it's short-lived. "Nah, man, not really. It's just Bella. I have a feeling something's wrong and I can't shake it."

"You two are fine, right?" I roll my eyes because of course we are.

"It's nothing like that. It's her mom. I didn't get to talk to her much last night and then we had to leave so early this morning so I haven't heard from her yet, but I know she was worried about Renée. She had a fever and Bella wanted to talk to Dad. She was so distracted by the time I got back on the phone with her, she barely said more than a few words."

I lose my train of thought for a minute while my mind wanders and then I focus again on Jasper, who's waiting patiently for me to keep going. Our teammates are warming up around us. Emmett's in the goal with the assistant coach kicking ball after ball after ball at him and normally my blood would be singing, my body primed and ready to play, but right now, the only thing I want to do is go home. "I just don't know how Bella will handle it if anything happens to her mom. I should be there with her, not here."

Frustrated, I hop up and look around for something, anything to help me get rid of some of the tension. Nothing. I clench my fingers, making fists, which isn't anywhere near satisfying enough because I have gloves on; I can't get them to close tight enough. I groan. I take a few deep breaths because really, right this second, I feel like I could scream, and then in the next second, I unclench my fingers and roll my shoulders. I'm acting like an idiot.

"Hey," Jasper says quietly as he stands next to me. "She'll be okay, and if she needs you, she'll call. If anything's going on with her mom, you know your dad will be there with her, too."

I nod. "I just came to the same conclusion."

He slaps me on the back, not that I can really feel it considering I'm wearing three layers of clothing just to keep from freezing to death. Thirty-five degrees might not seem that bad, but it's the asscrack of dawn, it's damp, and it's fucking cold - I don't care what anyone says. The schools in California are looking better and better all the time.

"Your girl's strong. She's not the same girl you told me about over the summer, not even the same one I met a few months ago. Trust her to let you know if she needs you." The look on my face makes him laugh and then he shrugs his shoulders. "What? Just because I'm not as close to Bella as Emmett is, doesn't mean I don't pay attention or care about what happens to her."

"I know," I tell him because I do know. That's just the way he is. "And you're right. She's so much stronger than before. She'll handle whatever it is, and if she can't, well, then I'll just make damned sure I'm there." A deep breath and I focus on what I need to do. "Let's do this shit and kick some ass. I hate playing this fucking team."

He laughs and agrees with me. "Bunch of whiny pussies. Remember last time we played them and the forward tried to do that lame ass bicycle kick and wound up flat on his back? Funniest shit ever, man."

Nerves finally settle and I shake off the worry about Bella and Renée. It's not like it'll go away, but I have two games to play and I can't let my team down by losing focus. Standing up straight, I put my game face on and take a deep breath, hold it until it burns, then let it out, relishing the adrenaline flowing through my veins.

"That's the Edward I know and love." Jasper grins as we walk to the bench for the same pep talk Coach gives us before every game.

Once the whistle blows and my legs start moving, everything fades away but the way it feels to be on the field. Muscles flex and stretch as I run. Pushing, maneuvering, shooting, the game, right here, right now, is all I can think about. Working the ball with Jasper, executing the perfect play, it's everything. The game ebbs and flows in a flurry of shouts and elbows and by the end we win, of course, and I revel in the high.

"Awesome game, my man." Emmett grunts as he plops down beside me on the bench. His jersey's a mess, his face, too, but he's got a smile a mile wide despite looking like he's been rolling around in the mud … which I guess he has.

"Any word?" Jasper asks as he sits on the other side of me and I shake my head. I checked my phone as soon as I walked off the field. "Not even a text," I tell him and sigh. "I wish she'd just let me know everything is okay."

"What? What's going on? Is Bella okay?" Emmett asks and the smile that was just there is gone, just like that.

I shrug. "No idea. I haven't talked to her today. She was worried about Renée last night and spoke to my dad. I just have a really bad feeling is all."

"Well, fuck." Emmett huffs and I nod.

"Exactly," I agree.

"Let me know when you hear from her, okay?"

"Yep." He'll worry every bit as much as me all day until we hear something. I know him. Under all that muscle is a heart of gold and he loves Bella.

We don't have time to dwell though, so after shooting off yet another text to Bella, we meet up with the rest of the team to check into the hotel and change before the next game. I get sad for a minute as I listen to the guys laugh and joke around as we walk toward the parking lot. This has been my life for the past few years, playing on the weekends, spending the night in the same hotel, going to the same few restaurants to eat, hanging out in our rooms at night. I'm going to miss it. The tournament this weekend is one of the last few we'll play together as a team. There will be two or three in the spring, and then, this will all be nothing but memories - good ones; ones I'll never forget.

Even with the nagging suspicion that all is not well at home, the rest of the day goes by quickly. The second game is harder than the first and by the time we're back at the hotel to change for dinner, I'm sore as hell and tired, so tired. I check my phone after a quick shower and finally there's a message from Bella. It doesn't make me feel any better; if anything, it only makes things worse.

Bad day. I'll talk to you later.

That's it. No I love you, not even an X or an O.

Shit.

I don't even bother to text her back, I call instead. Voicemail. God damn it. I call Dad, thinking if it's Renée, he'll know what's going on. His goes to voicemail, too. Mom doesn't answer hers either and I don't know Phil's number or else I'd call him. I know Rose hasn't heard from Bella because she'd have told Emmett and he'd tell me before they even hung up.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Anxious, I pace, clutching the phone in my hand. The sense that something's wrong is so fucking strong. I can feel it seep into my bones, and it sucks being so far away, reinforcing every reason I have for wanting Bella to come with me after graduation. It's not so much that I don't think she's capable of being on her own or without me, because of course she can; it's more about me than anything. I know this. I want to be there for her, beside her, helping her if she needs me, encouraging when she's scared, and the one who's front and center whenever she does something that merits celebrating. And selfishly, when I play, wherever it is, I want her in the stands, cheering for me. Even though we haven't spent the night together, and holy hell I can't wait for next weekend, I already know it's what I want every single night. She's what I want.

"Ed ..." Jasper says, but then stops when he sees me pacing, still in just my towel. "What happened?"

"I still don't fucking know. Bella finally sent a text but all she said was that she was having a bad day. I've tried getting in touch with Dad and Mom, but they're not answering their phones. I don't know how to get in touch with Phil or Maggie and I know Rose hasn't talked to her or else Em would have said something. She won't answer her phone or my texts and I'm about to go out of my fucking mind. This isn't like her, Jas, not at all."

He runs a hand through his hair, then shoves his hands in his pockets. A beat, then, "No, it's really not." We stare at each other, saying nothing, until he clears his throat. "I know this sucks but there's nothing we can do about it now. Let's just meet everyone in the lobby and go eat. Maybe by the time dinner's done Bella will call back or you'll hear from your parents."

As much as I am not in the mood to be around everyone else, I'm starving and I know that sitting around the room, worrying, isn't going to do anything but give me a headache, so I nod, grab my clothes, then get dressed in the bathroom.

Dinner's decent. It's not where I want to be, or what I want to be doing, but listening to the guys cut up and try to out-gross each other is always entertaining. You'd think Emmett would run out of ways to burp and fart and generally be disgusting, but he really hasn't. Sitting around the table, I watch Emmett, he watches Jasper who in turn watches me in some weird, but strangely normal, merry-go-round of glances. It kinda makes me want to laugh at how ridiculous we must look, but instead, it's comforting to know they have my back … like always.

I check my phone every few minutes, so much so that Marcus quips, "Cullen's either in trouble with his girl or she's sending him dirty pictures because I swear he's checked his phone about fifty times since we sat down."

Everyone at the table laughs and even though I don't much feel like going along with the teasing, I do, because these are my friends and my shit's … well, mine. "Dude, you're just pissed I have a girl, don't even lie." To my ears my voice sounds flat, even though I try not to let it, but everyone laughs, so I guess no one noticed.

Except Coach.

He doesn't say anything out loud, merely raises an eyebrow and I give what I hope is at least a semblance of a smile and nod, before turning my attention to my food.

The walk back to the hotel is boisterous and rowdy, like it always is when a bunch of eighteen-year-olds guys are together and we spill into the hotel, causing everyone in the lobby to look in our direction. We're waiting for the elevators, when finally, fucking finally, a phone call from Dad.

"What's going on? Tell me," I demand without even saying hello but it's the too-long pause, followed by the sigh … the doctor one that turns my blood turn to ice.

"It's bad," I choke, knowing the answer before he can even tell me.

"Son," he says, then he clears his throat. A bad sign - a really fucking bad one.

"Just tell me."

"Renée spiked a fever and was having some complications, but we've gotten it under control," he begins slowly, but it's his voice, the way he's trying to speak calmly that has me about two seconds from pulling my hair right the fuck out of my head.

"Dad," I say through gritted teeth.

Another sigh, and this one makes me fall into the closest chair and close my eyes. "Bella's not handling things very well."

My heart stops and I'm up on my feet, the relief that Renée is okay gone.

"What? What do you mean? What's wrong? Why hasn't she called me?" I fire questions at him one right after the other, each one making my voice raise higher and higher, so much so that Jasper's got one hand one shoulder and Emmett's is on the other, holding me in place.

"Edward, son, calm down. I know this is hard but getting yourself upset and worked up isn't going to help anyone, least of all Bella."

I want to yell at him, but I know he's right so I concentrate on taking a few deep breaths so I can find out what the fuck is going on. "All right, I'm listening."

"Bella called me early this morning, right after you boys left, to say that Renée had a slight fever and was very pale. I went by the house to check on her and discovered that she was correct and there was a slight build-up of fluid in her lungs … the early stages of pneumonia most likely, which I'm sure you know can be quite serious for someone in Renée's condition. Bella was right to be worried, but I started her on an IV and Renée's fever hasn't gotten any higher so I'm fairly confident we've caught this before it can get any worse."

He sounds tired and worried, and I know that's the Dad in him slipping out, not the doctor.

"Well," I begin slowly, and squeeze my eyes closed. "It could have been worse," I cringe, whispering the last part.

God, just saying that out loud makes me feel like a gigantic asshole, but fucking hell. The thought of Bella upset is killing me, especially when she's all alone.

"Yes, it could have, quite easily, too, and it's been quite a wake-up call for Bella I'm afraid. Renée's condition has been so stable that it's been easy to cling to the hope that she could wake up, but this is the first real complication Renée's had and Bella was not prepared."

"Motherfucker," I mutter, not even caring that I just said that to my dad.

There's another pause and my skin prickles and a shiver walks down my back. "Dad, tell me. What else?"

He blows out a breath and I can just see him rolling his eyes and staring at the ceiling like he always does before he's about to say something I don't want to hear. I'd be willing to bet he's twirling a pen around in his fingers, too.

"Just tell me," I implore.

"Phil called," he says then stops for a moment, and simply says, "it didn't go well."

"Define not well," I demand, stomping back and forth in the entry. My mind's already working, planning, trying to figure out how the hell I can get back to Forks.

"There was a lot of yelling and crying on Bella's end. And then she was quiet, and now she's outside, and she's been there for hours with the door locked. Maggie says there's a key, but I don't feel comfortable barging in there when she's upset and clearly wants to be alone." Then quietly he says, "She needs you, son."

I freeze in place as if my feet have been covered in cement. Every ounce of breath leaves my body is one painful gush and my chest feels like it's caving in. Struggling to breathe and fighting wave after wave of pure, unadulterated anguish at the fact that I'm not there, I try to focus on Bella. Like a slideshow, images of her flash in my mind … her crying, needing me, and feeling all alone because I'm not there.

God damn it. I knew it. I felt it. I knew something was wrong, yet I left anyway. Motherfucker.

Throat raw, eyes burning, I force it all down, bury it for the time being. The only thing that is important right now is getting home, getting to Bella.

"Dad, I didn't drive. I guess I can try to find a place to rent a car or something, but it'll take time." Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Mind racing a mile a minute, I am already trying to calculate how long it will take me to get to a rental car place, fill out the paperwork, and get on the road. Hours. Four at the least until I can get to Forks. Shit.

I'm so close, so fucking close to losing it right here in the lobby until I feel keys pressed into my palm.

Emmett.

"Take the truck. I'll have Rose or my mom come get us tomorrow, or we'll have Coach bring us home. Don't worry about me and Jas. Go. Now."

"Dad, I'm on my way. Tell Bella I'm coming. I'll be there in a few hours."

I hang up after promising him I'll be careful and not speed, one he has to know I made while keeping my fingers crossed because, yeah, fuck that.

I look from Emmett to Jasper, a million things I should say, want to, need to say, but all I can manage is, "Thank you."

"As if." Emmett waves my thanks away, but his eyes are glassy and I know he wants to go with me, too. "Go. I'll talk to Coach, but make sure you call him from the road and let him know what's going on and send a text when you get to Forks. We'll drop your gear off when we get home tomorrow." Jasper throws his arms around me, then Emmett does and we stand that way for a few seconds.

"You guys are the best," I whisper hoarsely, tears threatening and feeling closer to them both than I ever have in my life.

"Be careful," Jasper warns, "and give Bella our love. If you guys need anything, call. We'll be home by tomorrow afternoon."

"Tell the team …" I gulp, knowing there is nowhere on Earth I need to be more than with Bella, but still, they're my team and I hate letting them down.

A slap on the back then a slight shove from Emmett. "They'll understand, don't worry about it. Edward, go," he urges when he sees me hesitate again.

And with that, I turn and rush outside without looking back. I try not to think as I maneuver through the traffic toward Forks. There are so many thoughts bouncing around in my head it feels like it might explode. Worry for Bella is at the top, followed by being pissed she didn't call me, then guilt for being mad … and for ditching my teammates, followed by the need to just be home so I can see and hold my girl and make sure she's okay.

Mile after mile passes, no radio, no sound besides the hum of the engine and the drone of the tires as they slap against the asphalt.

My foot presses the gas pedal harder, my fingers tighten on the steering wheel and I swear I can feel Bella.

"I'm coming, baby. Hang on for me," I whisper into the night.

~~~~OOO~~~~OOO~~~~

BPOV

"Bella, sweetheart," I hear after a soft knock on the door. "Edward's on his way. He'll be here as soon as he can," Carlisle tells me and I pull the wool blanket tighter around me. I open my mouth to say something back, but the words die in my throat. I want him here, I do, and I tell myself to hang on just a little longer until he can put me back together again. It's not fair, I know it's not, to need him in this way.

"Do you need anything?" he tries again and I hold my breath until I hear his footsteps crunch across the ground as he walks away, leaving me alone.

The way I'll be when Mom leaves me.

Tears come again, hot and fast, even though I don't know how it's possible I have anymore left inside of me. It feels like I haven't stopped crying for days.

I close my eyes and rest my chin on my knees, curling my fluffy-sock-covered toes over the edge of the loveseat, and wonder how in the hell everything got so bad so fast. One minute I was waking up early to send Edward a good morning/good luck text before he left for Seattle and the next I was standing beside Carlisle as he injected my mom with antibiotics to try to keep her from slipping any further. The whole morning is pretty much a blur, but the panic, the bone-crushing fear of this being the end still lingers, making it hard to breathe.

I should call Edward, send him a text at least, but my phone's in the house and I have no desire to go back in there. No, here, on the loveseat, wrapped in my dad's blanket suits me just fine. My eyes wander, everything familiar and in its place, but providing none of the comfort it usually does. Not my drums, not the car, not even the worn, somewhat scratchy blanket I huddle under.

Wrapping my arms tighter around my legs, I close my eyes, and press my forehead against my knees. Words from before flit through my mind. Hateful words. Painful words. Words unable to be taken back, even if they're somehow forgiven.

How could you?

You ran away!

If you loved her, you'd be here!

My father wouldn't have ...

I curl tighter, squeeze harder, trying to make myself as small as I can like it might change things, but still the words bang around in my head.

Phil must be so angry with me, so hurt, and I wouldn't blame him a bit. God, the things I said to him.

I'm tired, so very tired, and I let myself lean against the arm of the loveseat and try not to think about the ramifications of the words hurled at the man who's done nothing but love me and treat me as his own.

Gnawing on my bottom lip until I taste blood, I stand in the corner and watch Carlisle as he checks Mom's vitals. He murmurs quietly to both Maggie and Kate who nod every few seconds. The monitors beep intermittently, the whooshing sound of the oxygen being pumped into her body makes her chest rise and fall, rise and fall. She's pale, so pale, ghostly white and the inky blue of her veins beneath her translucent skin looks like some sort of grotesque abstract art, blue lines dripping down white canvas. Lying prone, and so very still, eyes closed like always. All she's missing is the fancy dress and the coffin. The thought slams into me and I swallow a sob and some weird sort of cough/choke sound bubbles up my throat.

Oh. God.

I close my eyes, and push back the image of seeing Mom laid out on her deathbed and try to take a few deep breaths. It hurts. It hurts so much. Every part of me aches and I hate it. Carlisle's only been here a few hours but it feels like days, weeks. Every fear, every worst case scenario I've lived over and over again in my head, a hundred times, a thousand, just since this morning. I thought I was close to being ready to say goodbye, to let Mom go, but I'm not. Not like this, not now.

"Bella, sweetheart, why don't you go sit down in the living room? I'll come get you when I'm done in here. There's nothing really to do now but wait. Everything's stabilizing so I think we've dodged a bullet. You look like you're about to collapse. Go drink some juice or something and then you can come sit with Renée if you'd like."

I blink at Carlisle and I wait so long to reply back to him, he's tipped his head and starts to walk forward, worry written plain as day all over his handsome face.

I want Edward.

The thought comes unbidden, but as it spreads through me, I know it's nothing but the truth. He'd hold me, whisper in my ear that everything will be okay, and make it all better.

Even as I stand in my mom's sick room, because let's be honest and call it what it truly is, breaking apart on the inside, I'm still selfish enough to want Edward with me.

"You should call him," Carlisle says softly, knowing exactly what I'm thinking in that crazy, Carlisle Cullen way where he sees way more than a normal person. Always.

I nod, knowing that as much as I want to talk to him, as much as I need to hear his voice … I won't call.

Turning, I hide in the kitchen. The warmth of the room, all the hints of red and green and white, Santas and snowmen and angels and reindeer spread throughout the house, and I'm cold. And tired. And God, so damn scared. Angry. It's there, simmering below the surface. I can feel it.

I fucking hate it.

Carlisle comes out a few minutes later, giving me an update. The words wash over me, in one ear and out the other. There should be relief that as these things go, it was minor. A slight fever, a little bit of fluid, and soon things will be back to normal. Whatever the hell that is.

The phone rings but I make no move to answer it. Carlisle raises his eyebrows and I nod. I don't much care who is on the other end anyway and I certainly don't feel like talking to anyone. Not even Edward and that realization makes me wrap my arms tighter around stomach. God, I'm such a bitch sometimes.

"Bella, it's Phil. He'd like to talk to you," Carlisle says hesitantly, like he's not sure whether or not I'll snap.

I take the phone from him, tentacles of anger and fear wind and slither around inside of me. It's hard to breathe, my skin feels tight, too small for my body and my pulse thunders in my ears. It's been so easy to pretend that Mom will get better if I keep hoping enough, praying hard enough. If I keep talking to her, that somehow, someway she can hear me.

Lies … I've only been lying to myself all this time and I feel lost and confused.

As if I'm having some sort of out-of-body experience, I watch myself take the phone from Carlisle. I lift it to my ear and wait and then listen as Phil begins to speak. I don't catch much of what he says at first, my mind still too scattered to pay attention, but it's when he says, "Bella, honey, we really need to talk about and have a plan in place for when something like this happens again."

Not if … when.

He's already given up; he did a long time ago. And suddenly, I just can't take it anymore. All the pressure, all the bitterness, the guilt, the fear … the anger just bubbles up and up and up until it just explodes in a torrent of words I can't stop, even if I try.

"When? When? Don't you mean if? Oh, wait," I scoff, bile burning my throat, "that's right, you left her and gave up a long time ago. You left me here to watch her die."

I hear him suck in a breath. "Bella … you know I love you both. I know-"

I cut him off, ignoring the shards of hurt and loss that feel like I'm being skinned alive. "You don't know anything! You got her a nurse and hid her away and left me here while you went gallivanting all over the country acting like someone you're supposed to love isn't lying in a bed wasting away a little at a time. You haven't been here to watch her get worse. You aren't here, holding her hand, trying to talk to her, and hoping and praying she can still hear you. You say you love her, but you don't love her, otherwise, you never would have left her side!"

"Bella, everything I've done has been for you. You asked me for more time, you said you weren't ready to let her go yet." His voice wavers. A prickle of panic, because he's right. I didn't just ask, I begged, pleaded with him. "I've tried to help you prepare yourself for this. I knew you weren't ready to face it, so I've been waiting for you," Phil tries to explain, but I'm beyond listening to reason.

I can't. Reason means thinking and I can't do that.

Steeling myself, I go on, using every word to inflict the most amount of pain so I'm not the only one feeling this way. "Do you just pop in every few months so you can see if she's still alive? Is that why you come to Forks? Maybe hoping that she's gone, so you don't have to deal with this anymore – deal with me?" I choke on the hateful words … and with the next, go for the jugular. "My father never would have left me alone to make decisions I would never be ready to make. He loved her and would never have been able to live without her and he surely wouldn't have given up on her like you have.

"Instead, you've left this all up to me. Me! You've made it be about me not being ready, but you've made me watch her wither away. You didn't want to face it, so you made me do it. It was your job to take care of her and watch over her, but you ran away when it got hard!" I storm on, not giving him a chance to get a word in edgewise.

"You left me alone, watching over her, watching her DIE. How could you do this to me, Phil? How can you leave me to make these choices? How am I supposed to be able to decide when enough is enough and tell her goodbye? I can't do it; I don't know how. She's my mom, Phil, my mom." Voice gone now, raw and bleeding.

With tears streaming down my face and unable to catch my breath, I smash the button to cut off the call and throw the phone across the counter. I am so furious, so lost, so confused, I don't even realize I'm not alone.

"Bella," Maggie calls softly, but I can't stand to be around her right now, or anyone else for that matter. I just need to be alone.

I dart out of the house and into my building, the only safe refuge I have at the moment.

A jangle of keys, a wiggle of the doorknob, and then Edward fills the doorway. I fly off the sofa, the blanket pooling around my ankles as we stare at each other. My breath catches in my throat as I see him stand there, so strong, my rock, his eyes bouncing from my face to my hands clenched beside me, all the way down to my toes then back up again.

"Baby," he breathes, sagging in relief and then he holds his arms open.

~~~~OOO~~~~OOO~~~~