All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of S. Meyer. The original plot is the only thing that belongs to me. No copyright infringement is intended.
Credit to SarcasticBimbo for her beta and pre-reader skills, and to 71star, starsmina and rebadams7 for pre-reading.
This is a light and humorous story.
As I'm waiting impatiently for my plane to land, my hands tap insistently on my knees. I'm leaning forward in my seat, as though I can simply launch myself out of it and straight into her arms. It's been five long, tortuous goddamn years since I've seen her. I've spoken to her frequently, especially in the last week, but I was friend-zoned five fucking years ago. Five years, three months, six days, and approximately two hours.
But who the hell is counting.
I can remember what that day looked like. It was a hot, dry day, just like it always was in Phoenix. The sun was blinding me, even through my sunglasses, and the smell of creosote was stronger than usual.
I could tell she'd been crying, even behind the large, dark sunglasses she wore. You know the slope of your lover's shoulders, the tilt of their head, and I knew that the way her nose was reddened and her chest was flushed meant that she was upset. It was in the way she continuously ran her hands through her hair instead of accepting my embrace, the way she stood an arm's length from where I was waiting.
"I'm leaving, Edward. I...I told you the other day…" she trailed off.
I remembered, how the hell could I forget? She broke up with me after telling me she was probably moving out of state.
"I know, but you weren't certain then. So, I guess this means it's concrete." I yanked off my sunglasses and scrubbed my hands over my face before replacing them.
"Yeah. Yeah, it's concrete." She was fidgeting, nervous. Scared to disappoint me.
There were two ways this could go. Two ways I could make this go for her.
I smiled, a huge, fake grin that I felt split my face. "That's fantastic. You'll be great, Bella, just like we always said. Seattle is a great market, you know, it's such a big step for you." I clamped my mouth shut before the rambling gave me away.
She gave a tentative smile. "Maybe you can catch Good Morning Seattle online and let me know how I'm doing."
"Absolutely, Bella, of course I will. Do you need to get going?" I gestured to the cab idling behind her. I couldn't hold on much longer.
"Yes. I do, yes," she repeated. She glanced behind her, holding up one finger to the cabbie before returning her attention to me.
"So I'll see you sometime, I'm sure…" I said lamely. My heart was cracking into a million shards, and 'see ya' was all I could come up with.
"Um, yeah." She pushed her hair over her shoulder before leaning towards me. I stayed perfectly still as I breathed in her subtle perfume. Her lips, dry instead of their normal lush feel, touched my cheek as her hands gripped my shirt tightly. She backed away, slowly letting go of my Eagles t-shirt.
"Goodbye, Bella," I said quietly. She gave a tiny wave before jumping in the taxi. I watched, rooted to the spot like a chump, until they were no longer in my sight.
The bumping of the wheels on the tarmac bring me out of my memories, and I straighten in my seat.
Here we go.
Sea-Tac airport is almost as big as Sky Harbor International. I don't see Bella as I struggle not to get lost on my way to baggage claim, and I wind up waiting for her for more than forty-five minutes before I give up and head outside to the long line of yellow vehicles. I've got a headache the size of The Hulk, and I'm quickly becoming as pissed as the big green guy.
Clenching my jaw, I give the address of the hotel I've chosen to the driver, and sit back against the seat. I'm not surprised she didn't show, which sucks all by itself, but I am incredibly annoyed. Why in the hell would she call me, asking me to come all the way to Washington, and then not even bother to be available when I land? It's important for me to drop everything and come running, but not important enough for her to act like she cares I came.
The answer to her disappearing act appears to be simple. She's selfish now that she's a big star.
But then why the teary phone call?
It's not like I've been rolling this very question around in my head since she contacted me a week ago. Not like I have anything better to do than ruminate on my One True Love. Yes, that title deserves capitals because, fuck me, I still love her with a sickness. What's happening with her that she called? Why did she beg me to fly here with little to no information as to why? Why does she suddenly want me to visit Seattle when we've shared about a dozen phone calls over the past five years? Should I break into a verse from Here Comes The Rain Again?
Why the fuck did I drop everything to run when she asked?
Well, I do have a reason that keeps me from looking whipped by my ex. I can save face while still running when called, like a pet dog. Call me Kong and throw me a T-bone.
My cover story is that I'm being scouted by the Seattle Sounders, and they're considering buying out the end of my current contract. See, I've not been idle the entire time Isabella Swan was becoming well-known by Seattle's morning commuters as they sipped their overly priced funnily named coffees. She may be the number one meteorologist in the Pacific Northwest due to her position on Good Morning Seattle (and uncanny ability to predict the rain), but I've been enjoying a rising soccer career in the Valley of the Sun. Now, instead, I have the pleasure of enjoying more rain per capita than any other state in the union. Forecast? Rain. Every. Day.
These are the thoughts circling the drain as I watch the blurry scenery through the rain streaked window of the cab. I have a shot out here, to move to the place I couldn't five years ago. When Bella broke up with me to move here and advance her career, I simply wasn't free to come too. I had just signed my contract back home, and I would've lost everything if I'd tried to tag along.
It almost killed me, practically broke me, to pretend to be happy for her. I was thrilled for her advancement, but not happy in the slightest that she was leaving. It was something we'd discussed before, the idea that our careers could take us in different directions. I just never thought it would actually happen. I envisioned her working for the local television station, marrying me and the two of us having spectacular careers in the same state. I never pictured this misery that I've been living through and around, like the proverbial elephant sitting on the Barcalounger in grandpa's living room.
The driver pulls up to the hotel and I unload my things before dashing inside, shaking the cold rain from my hair. I need a haircut, but I haven't had the time, so it flops in my face a little. I ignore the overtures made by the big boobed blonde girl (what? I'm still a guy) behind the desk, and take the elevator alone to my room. I unload my luggage directly in front of the door before collapsing on the bed and falling into a deep sleep.
This was a plot bunny that attacked me after hearing a song.
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