Edward's POV. . .
Continued. . .

I run both hands through my hair a few times, keeping my eyes down on the steering wheel I'm currently sitting in front of. Heck, I've been sitting here staring for over five minutes.

An image of Nicki sitting in the booth in front of me flashes before my eyes, causing my palms to grow clammy and my heart to beat erratically.

Little Nicki I used to tease for being ridiculously skinny and dorky, her huge forehead that looked like it was just begging for me to write something on.

When did she become so....beautiful? It's like an ugly twig blossom transformed into a stunning, vibrant, red rose. Each petal perfect with a slim and graceful touch to it, glowing with life so bright you could see it from miles away...

Crap. I'm beginning to sound as sappy as Mom now.

"How come you never tried to contact me?"

I sigh, rubbing my aching eyes as her liquid smooth voice reverberates in my ears, a guilty feeling pressing down on my chest.

If only she knew how many times I hovered my thumb over her 'friend' icon on Facebook. How many times I looked her up just to see her face again when times were especially hard. How each time I looked at her, it seemed to rekindle the hope dimming inside me.

I draw in a few calming breaths, conflicting thoughts turning and twisting in my head a mile a minute without any real reason.

Forcing myself to move instead of continuing to just sit here like a creep in a driveway, I gently pop my door open, sliding my legs over so they hang over the seat. Plopping down on the ground, I carefully shut my door, grimacing as it screeches in protest to the movement.

Walking around the front of my army green Classic 2002 Jeep Wrangler, I run my hand over her beat up hood that doesn't shut correctly, a small smile at the corner of my lips.

It may look like an old piece of scrap to some people. But to me, it's like a second home.

Quickly jogging up the few steps leading to the front door, I twist the door handle, opening the unlocked door and stepping inside the pleasantly cool house. Pushing the door to and locking it behind me, I make my way to the kitchen.

Mom and Saige stand with their backs to me as they icing a few cookies on a plate, a few giggles going on. I take in the flour mess on the counters and the handprints on their aprons, a smirk taking hold on my face.

Sneaking up behind them, I inch closer, holding my breath as I come up right behind them. The smirk doesn't leave my lips as I jerk forward to lightly grab Mom by her shoulders.

"Boo!"

They both scream in surprise, and Mom reels around with wide eyes to face me. The alarm in her eyes immediately softens to annoyance, her face hardening. I chuckle, reaching around her to grab a cookie off her plate.

She smacks my arm with the end of the icing tube as I bring it back around, and I jerk back with a mock shout of pain. Must be, 'beat Edward up day' today. "Geez, woman," I mutter as I shake my arm out, stuffing the cookie in my mouth so it hangs halfway out.

Mom cocks her hip, narrowing her eyes at me. "Edward Beck Patrick!" I wince at the mention of my whole name, taking a step back. "How many times have I told you not to sneak up on me like that?" She questions, sounding more than pissed off despite the fond spark of humor that never leaves her eyes.

She secretly loves it.

I shrug, biting the cookie off and holding the other half in my hand. "Dunno. Can't remember." I say through chewing, earning a withering glare from Mom. "And those weren't even for us," she huffs, giving me one more evil glare before turning back to her plate.

I smile over at Saige, who's watching the interaction with amused eyes, mouthing 'someone's mad' while pointedly looking at said person.

Walking closer to Saige, and stuffing the last bite of the sugar cookie in my mouth - coach is going to kill me if he hears I ate this - I wordlessly scoop Saige up and swing her over my shoulder so she hangs upside down over my back while I grip her legs, ignoring the flour I'm getting all over my shirt.

She giggles out of control as I run around the counter isle in the middle of the kitchen, gripping the bottom of my shirt. Mom watches us with an arched brow, leaning up against the counter behind her with her arms crossed. Unamused.

After I've completed two full circles, I carefully place Saige back down on her own two feet, her flushed face beaming up at me. "Eddy! I'm getting too big for you to do that!" She says, though it doesn't look the least bit like she cares.

I lean down to her height, tapping the middle of her forehead. "Nah. That'll never happen." I smile, and she gives me a big hug before returning to her plate of half decorated cookies. Patting her on her head, I walk back over to Mom, leaning up against the counter next to her as I copy her stance.

All the anger leaves her, and she lets a sigh out, dropping her head down on my shoulder. "It's good to have you home again." She looks up at me. "It's not the same without you." Her eyes grow sad, her face suddenly looking much older.

I stare at the drawn skin around her eyes with concern, and I swing my right arm around to pull her closer to me. "I know, Mom," I mumble, tilting my head down to place a tender kiss on the top of her head.

I ignore the pressing thoughts building in my mind, trying to relish this moment like a breath of fresh air instead of dwelling on other things.

She suddenly pulls away, sniffling once before she straightens her apron and fixes her hair. "Could you take Drew his medication, sweetie?" She meets my eyes before looking back down at her plate of cookies. "He was supposed to take them an hour ago, but," she holds up her flour smeared hands. "I've been a bit preoccupied, sadly." She smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes.

Which is just her subtle way of telling me she can't deal with his stubborn ass attitude right now.

I nod, "Sure," glancing over at Saige who seems oblivious to our conversation as she searches through a cabinet for, undoubtably, more candy to put on her cookies.

Sugar addiction if I've ever seen one.

Mom reaches above the stovetop, opening a cabinet before she pulls out a small plastic cup. She hands it to me, and I take it. She places a hand on my arm, making me look at her. "Thank you." She says. "Oh, and tell him I'm only able to give him one ibuprofen this evening." She winces, biting her lip.

After she pulls her hand away, I quickly fill a glass of water up, heading towards the door and patting Saige on her head as I pass her, much to her enjoyment. Taking the stairs expertly two at a time without spilling a drop of water, I walk to the end of the hall on the second floor, not bothering to knock before I push open the door at the end of the hall.

Curtains drawn across the windows, lights off, and a large pile of blankets and pillows stacked on the middle of the bed with a barely noticeable impression of a body underneath.

Just like how I told Nicki.

Placing the cups down on the bedside table, I don't hesitate to pull off the main comforter, along with almost every other blanket and pillow, in one swift movement.

"What the hell!?" Drew immediately jerks like he's been shocked, and he makes a noise in the back of his throat like he's a vampire in direct sunlight before he quickly dives his head down underneath a remaining pillow, holding it tightly in place with both hands as he lays on his stomach.

Stepping over a few loose clothing articles laying carelessly on the floor between where I stand and the bed, I push his legs away as I take a seat on the edge of the double sized mattress.

I nudge his shoulder, only earning a pitiful yowl from him. "Leave me alone," he mumbles through the pillow, the words sounding slightly muffled and garbled. I nudge him harder, figuring he must be feeling better if he can speak, none the less actually comprehend someone's trying to get his attention.

Sorry man, but you ain't scaring me off.

"You need to take your meds." I pause, nudging him again when there's no response. "You're overdue."

He halfheartedly swats my hand away. "Go away, asshole," he whines, scooting farther away from me while continuing to hold the pillow to his head. The image of a beached whale struggling to move comes to mind as I stare at him.

I roll my eyes. "I'm not leaving until you take them." I harden my voice, any sympathy I'd been feeling long gone.

Nope. That flew out the window real quick.

Drew stays silent, probably debating his choices. Which are very limited at the moment seeing as he can barely even move at this time.

I blow a tired breath out, squeezing my eyes shut and pressing on the bridge of my nose with my right index finger and thumb. Exhaustion weighs down on my limbs, and I seriously feel like I could pass out about anywhere at this point.

"Fine," Drew finally growls, slowly pushing himself up into a sitting position. He keeps the pillow wrapped around the back of his head, holding it up with his hands at each side of his head.

"Nice helmet," I comment, and he sends me a glare that looks more like he's having trouble focusing, muttering something under his breath as he comes to sit cross legged beside me.

I take a moment to look his face over. His cheeks look more hollowed out than when I saw him yesterday, and there's a dent in his forehead from squinting so much, dark smudges plaguing the skin underneath his eyes. My eyes unconsciously lower to his frail arms and the way his T-shirt sits on him like a bag.

Suddenly that sympathy doesn't seem so far fetched anymore. Never mind the bucket of guilt that's slowly being dumped into my chest the longer I look him over.

Drawing in a breath and looking past him instead of at him, I set my jaw before grabbing the two cups off the bedside table and practically shoving them into his chest.

He hesitantly places the pillow down beside him, keeping his eyes narrowed as slim as humanly possible, before taking both cups.

"Mom said you could only have one ibuprofen this evening." I shrug, placing my hands in my lap. "Guess you've already met your quota of medication for the day."

Drew looks the contents of the med cup over, his face slowly curling up in distaste. "Right..." He mutters, quickly tipping the cup back and pouring the pills in his mouth. He takes a drink, swallowing them all in one go.

I frown. "You know that's not good for you?" I say even though he's already been informed in the past. Multiple times. By multiple people.

He gives me a sidelong glance before handing me the cups back. "Do I look like I care at the moment?" He gestures to his bad bed hair and crumpled clothes, shooting me a 'duh' look.

I shake my head, making a move to stand up. "You're still the same stubborn old man." I tell him, straightening up as I stand over him. He retakes his laying position, pulling on the pile of covers currently half off his bed and half on as he shoots me a disgruntled look and the finger.

Nice.

"And you're still a prick," he shoots back, disappearing under his pile of blankets like an old hermit crab. "Now goodbye," he yells through the fabric. I snort, getting the urge to flip the light switch on just to piss him off more.

Though, knowing firsthand how bad migraines are, I manage to contain myself. Just barely.

"And shut the door when you go," he grumbles as an afterthought. I cross my arms, glaring down at the pile of blankets before I turn and leave.

I don't bother to shut the door.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
A/N