Chapter 1 ~ Twisted Roots

EDWARD

 Do you believe in fate?

I don't know why you keep him around, Carlisle.

All things happening for a reason and all that bullshit?

Just like his mother.

Everything having a distinct purpose and pre-determined disposition?

I'd kick that boy out on his rear end quick than a dog could lick it's ass, if he were one of mine.

Because, I don't.

He's not yours.

The sky taunted me, with its perfectly blue tinted horizon and its absence of anything cloud like.

Not a disturbance to be found.

It was a distinct contradiction to the storm brewing in my mind as the plane flew, turbulence free, across the country, taking me closer and closer to the heart of my estrangement.

And thoughts I hadn't allowed into my well fortified mind in…well, 'round about forty-eight months.

Give or take.

He's just going to give the vineyard a bad name, you know that.

I could have just said no to this.

Doesn't have a lick of sense.

I should have just said no.

Nothing but a thorn.

But then, I'd just be that more or a douche, I suppose.

Regardless, I was on my way back to Napa and even the five hours or so in a large tin box with no way of escape from Columbus Metro Airport all the way to Sacramento wasn't enough to get my mind off of why I was heading in that direction.

It had the completely opposite effect, as a matter of fact.

You'll lose the vineyard.

I spent the first few hours trying to sleep in order to escape my thoughts but then realized it was useless and threw on my head phones, turning up the iPod to its fullest extent to let angry music play in an attempt to drown them out.

Also didn't work.

Another hour in the Yellow cab to Napa and the stomach churning finally started kicking in.

My Tums bottle was empty when I reached in for another one of the milky substances, so I had to settle for some breathing exercises I'd learned in the field to help deal with the stress of battle.

Eyes closed…breathe slow.

What was I scared of?

I was Sergeant Edward Anthony Cullen.

Leader to one of the most talented squads in the United States Army.

Sub-sequentially, part of my company's highest ranking Platoons.

Trainer of grunts.

Proven champion in hand to hand combat.

I'd busted my ass to make my rank in my four years of duty, faced fears that civilians couldn't possibly dream of facing.

And yeah, I'd killed a few people…which, let's be honest here, is a whole hell of a lot worse than accidentally starting fires.

In the Army, anyway.

What was I scared of?

When the cab dropped me off in front of the old stone building that I used to call home, it didn't exactly seem out of sorts but as I paid the guy for the ride, something didn't set right.

Perhaps I should have taken the Army up on that free counseling they'd offered me before I left Georgia.

But then again, counseling really wasn't my thing.

Swinging the old duffel over my shoulder, I turned and faced my nemesis.

One of them, anyway.

The house.

The key I'd kept for whatever reason still worked after all those years, which surprised me, but as I took in the mess that encompassed the front foyer alone, I was almost wishing it hadn't.

"Jesus."

The entire credenza that had taken up the better part of the entry way wall was on its side, along with every trinket, every keepsake that had adorned it was scattered around on the floor as though the house had been broken into and they'd been discarded without a second thought.

I didn't even wanna think about what the rest of the house looked like.

"You might want to visit church, if you're looking for Jesus."

The snide, snarky remark didn't exactly surprise me but still, I spun around to find my dad's groundskeeper.

Never call her a maid, for the love of god.

That would be a bad move.

"Alice."

I realized, as I said her name, it was almost like I was in front of my commanding officer, again, back at Ft. Benning.

She stopped gawking after another moment and then went about picking things up off of the floor as she made conversation with me.

If you wanna call it that.

"This is how I found it," she said. It was a defensive tone but I'm sure she only meant it in the most derogatory of ways.

"Just got back from some time off, Edward, not that it's any of your concern, being that you haven't been around in nearly five years."

"Four…four years," I corrected her because I didn't really need her to point out the amount of time I'd been gone. I knew how long it'd been. She was just twisting the knife a little more, that's all.

"Your father fell over there," she said, ignoring me as she nodded her head in the direction of the front living room. "The doctors aren't sure what it was but I'm willing to bet it was a stroke."

She threw an old towel over her shoulder as she grabbed a broom that was leaning in the corner, probably from earlier in the day, and began sweeping glass up into a pile by her feet.

"A stroke? Dad?…He's…"

I was about to say 'fit as a fiddle' but the oh so beloved chatty one didn't let me finish.

"Very weak these days, Edward, it's not easy running a vineyard by yourself, at his age…"

"By his self?" I laughed. Dad was never by himself. "What about…"

"He left to work another winery after the…."

She didn't finish the thought, but instead, just cryptically told me, "He's got his own problems to worry about."

"What do you mean? What happened?"

One of my oldest, closest for a time and also not so much of an actual friend of mine anymore but still…I wondered what would have possibly caused him to leave the winery.

He was loyal to a fault.

Someone had to be, I guess.

Alice kept sweeping, unwilling to make any eye contact, whatsoever.

"Not my story to tell, Edward. You should go see your father, though, no telling how long he'll be…"

And at that, she slowed her movements some, thoughtfully. "You just never know, is all."

She bagged some of the trash she'd swept up and left me there.

Breeeaaaaaathe…slooooooooow.

I headed up the stairs to my old room which apparently now, was a guest room and threw the duffel onto the bed, then checked the closet for something.

Things were crammed onto each of the shelves in those clear, plastic tubs that people like to put shit in so they could put them away and not think about them and I made it through three before I found what I was looking for.

Then I made myself a sandwich, grabbed a cold one and called another cab to take me over to Sonoma to see what was left of my dad…from…whatever it was that had happened in that house.

"I'm sorry, visiting hours are over," the young nurse informed me after I inquired about where to find him.

"Well, can't you make an exception? I'm his son."

And the look I received was…it said a lot.

"Son?"

Oh, come…on.

"Yeah, son, you know, like in, his child, the fruit of his loins, the pain in his ass, I just got in from…."

"I'm sorry, it's just that…I mean well, he didn't mention any children."

Excellent.

I didn't say anything else to her, it wasn't her fault my father had neglected to inform the hospital that he had a son that would probably be coming to see him.

Then again, maybe he didn't expect me to.

Or better still, want me to.

I hadn't even thought of that.

Well, shit.

I sat there like an idiot, thinking it over until suddenly the nurse interrupted my inner debate session.

"Sir?"

She took a bit of a pause to the look I'd given her, probably because it must have reflected the anger I was re-living.

At him.

At me.

At Napa in general.

"Sorry…" I mumbled, pulling my ID out and showing it to her so I could head back to wherever Carlisle was hiding.

"Oh, you're…military…I'm…really sorry, it's just…"

"Yeah, I know, he didn't mention me," I finished for her and then she had me fill some paperwork out before leading me to where nothing would be said anyway because he was out…or…in a coma, something.

It wasn't like I knew what to say anyway but I still just stood there, watching him. And waiting. For something.

He's not yours.

Good thing.

Mind your own business.

This is my business, Carlisle, that's my vineyard burning down to nothing but useless roots out there.

"Edward?"

OH shit.

I wasn't ready for this encounter.

I wasn't really ready for any encounters yet.

Actually, I'd hoped to make the visit short and get outta dodge before any encounters.

"Edward Cullen," he said again, this time, making absolute sure that I heard him.

Carlisle lay there, still, quiet but I wondered if he knew.

Knew I was there, that I had come home.

Knew I'd cared at least that much.

The footsteps that were sounding from behind me became closer and closer, telling me at least one person knew I was back, though.

And that person couldn't possibly be happy about it.

Anyone else in that situation might have left, fled the scene, found a place to hide until the threat had dissipated.

There was nowhere to go, though and anyway, I hadn't been taught to be a coward, I been taught to face any confrontation, regardless of how that confrontation came about or how it affected me, mentally.

Defend what's yours, at all costs.

So I turned around to face him…and my past.

"Hey, Emmett."