Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. This story is meant for fun.
Author's Note: For Eva. As promised.
Chapter 1: Carlisle
It was Saturday and we Cullen men had been left on our own for the day.
Esme and the girls had gone shopping, so we males had been left to our 'masculine pursuits'…as my lovely wife told me as she and our daughters pulled out of the garage headed for Port Angeles' shopping mall.
I chose to retire to my study…not that I don't like spending time with my sons, mind you…but despite their 90 plus ages, they all tended to act according to their physical ages—meaning, of course, they act like adolescence.
Their current hobby, when not with the girls or us, was playing a gaming device known as an X-Box. I myself have tried to understand their interest, have even played with them a time or two, but I must admit the enjoyment is lost on me.
Perhaps…as Emmett [loudly] whispered to his brothers the last time I played with them…it is because I am an 'oldster'.
Despite my physical youth, I am more than 300 years old and so perhaps I have 'aged' somewhat in that time.
So while my sons find excitement in video games, I find solace in a good book.
Carlisle, I thought to myself with a wry smirk, you really are out of date…
I grinned to myself as I listened to the sounds of the boys hooting and hollering, 'ragging' each other—as they call it—and generally making enough noise to scare off any nearby wildlife for a hundred miles (at least that what it seemed to me).
The noise didn't bother or annoy me, though.
I always enjoy listening to the boys' good natured arguments and horse-playing…
The sound of something crashing, along with an electrical type explosion had me snapping my head up, however, instantly alert for trouble.
I was back downstairs in seconds (literally) and was astonished to find a football embedded in the center of what had once been our rather large (rather expensive) flat screen television that was hanging above our mantle, but was quite thoroughly destroyed now.
It seemed my sons were as astonished as I, for all three stood frozen, simply staring (quite wide-eyed, I might add) at their handiwork.
I raised an eyebrow at them. "What happen?" I asked, suspiciously.
"I-It was an accident," all three stammered at me at the same time.
Had the situation not been so serious, I would have smiled.
They all looked like naughty little boys at that moment…which, of course, they were.
My other eyebrow joined the first. "What sort of accident?" I asked, crossing my arms over my chest.
"The type of accident where one of you—however unlikely—stumbled over the football, causing it to fly up and hit the TV…"
They continued to stare at me wide-eyed.
"…Or the type of accident where you were playing ball in the house—something you know your mother and I strongly disapprove of—one of you threw the ball, one attempted to catch it, while the third intercepted it knocking it into the flat-screen?"
"Emmett threw it," Edward said, quickly.
"Jasper was supposed to catch it," Emmett said, glaring in annoyance at his blonde brother.
"Edward tackled me," Jasper responded, not surprising me by being the calmest of the three, "and it flew past me and…uh…well..."
"So," I reasoned, "you are all to blame, then?"
They looked at each other, and then down at their feet.
"Yes, sir," they answered in unison.
Esme and I have never placed a lot of rules for our children to follow. They may come and go as they please, return when they choose, and so long as they inform us they are all right may stay gone as long as they feel necessary.
However, there are certain things that are absolutely essential when one is dealing with eternally adolescent teenagers.
These we call our 'house rules' and my sons had just broken one of them... and they knew it.
"Go up to your rooms and wait for me," I ordered them, sternly. "I will be up to talk to each of you in a moment."
They all nodded, knowing better than to argue, and did as they were told.
This isn't the first time they have been in trouble, mind you; it's just the first time all three are in trouble at the same time.
Knowing that I needed a chance to think what I should do—or rather say, since I knew perfectly well what I was going to do to them—I cleaned up the mess they had made.
Upon throwing the broken flat-screen into the trash—with the football still embedded in it, I might add—and sweeping up the glass and bits of wire on the floor I decided I was calm enough to speak to my errant sons.
I headed up the stairs with only one decision that needed to be made.
Who would be first?