A disclaimer - there will be a character death in this fic. I won't disclose which character, but I just want everyone to know before they continue. If that's a hard limit for you then you probably won't want to proceed.
Characters belong to SM. Everything else belongs to me.
Chapter 1 – The Cowboy and the City Girl
"Chug, chug, chug, chug!"
Half the bar was now chanting at Emmett McCarty and Royce King. Each man had a pitcher of beer resting against his lips and was drinking as fast as he could.
"C'mon, McCarty!" Jasper Whitlock shouted from behind the bar. "I may be working tonight, but I put money down on your redneck ass."
Emmett flipped his friend the bird and took larger gulps of the amber-colored liquid. The beer was ice cold against his teeth and his stomach felt like it might burst, but Emmett refused to let Royce win. He and King had been rivals since high school. They competed for everything – the title of captain on the varsity football team, prom king, and a full scholarship to the University of Michigan. Now they were both back in Beaufort, celebrating their first post-college summer and, in Emmett's case, a two-month hiatus before heading off to NFL training camp.
Emmett almost sighed with relief when the last few drops of beer slid down his throat. He slammed the pitcher down on the table and pumped his fists in the air while the small crowd that had gathered around them roared.
Royce put down his half-full pitcher and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. "That beer was too cold to chug."
"Explain to me how McCarty managed to finish it then?" Edward Cullen asked with a smirk. Emmett laughed and gave his best friend a fist bump. Up until two years ago, everyone in the small North Carolina town was convinced Edward would be a perpetual bachelor. He surprised them all during his sophomore year, however, and married Isabella Swan, a gorgeous redhead from Tennessee who possessed the perfect combination of class and sass.
"Relax, boys. King is just pissed because Emmett can still out-drink him, even after spending four years at a Yankee school," Alice Brandon-Whitlock drawled out, elbowing her way through the crowd until she was sandwiched between Isabella and Emmett.
"Fuck you, Brandon," Royce spat out.
"I suggest you bite your tongue and apologize to my wife if you want to step foot in my bar again." Jasper rested his elbows on the polished mahogany and fixed Royce with a hard stare. Royce raised his hands in a gesture of surrender and backed up.
"Sorry, Alice," Royce mumbled. He looked back and forth between his two sidekicks, Peter and Mike, before grabbing his flannel shirt from the back of a nearby high-top chair. "I'm fixing to call it a night, boys. What do you say?"
Isabella, who had remained silent up to that point, smiled sweetly at the trio. "That's the best idea you've had since you got here." Her words were decorated with a colorful sarcasm that the Beaufort clan had come to know and love.
"Four years didn't do a damn thing to change him." Jasper shook his head and grabbed the empty bottles off of Royce's table. "He's still as arrogant and ignorant as he was when we graduated."
"And here I thought that prim and proper New York girl he's marrying would have knocked some sense into his head," Alice laughed.
"You know what they say…" Edward held his beer up, cocked his head to the side, and cupped his ear with his free hand.
Emmett knew this was his cue. "You can take the boy out of Beaufort…"
"… but you can't take Beaufort out of the boy!" Jasper finished. The three men broke out in laughter and high fived one another.
Alice shook her head and placed her hand on her hip. "You three are living proof of that statement."
"That's right, baby. The difference between us and Royce is y'all will never hear us claim otherwise." Jasper snaked his arm around Alice's waist and pulled her tiny frame into his tall and lean one. He kissed the top of her head and smiled against her hair. "And you love me for that."
Alice twirled her hair around, feigning disinterest. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Keep telling yourself that, cowboy."
"As much as I love to watch the social phenomena otherwise known as exhibiting public displays of affection, I think I'm going to call it a night as well." Emmett grabbed a few rumpled bills from his wallet and tossed them down on the table.
Edward punched him in the arm. "Aw, c'mon McCarty! The Denali twins just walked in the door! That's reason enough for you to stay!"
Emmett looked across the bar and smirked when his eyes fell on the set of tall, voluptuous blondes. Every male in his class had fantasized at least once about undressing the duo. Emmett was lucky enough to have had the privilege of actually undressing them – at the same time!
"Ladies and gentlemen, I'm proud to say that four years in Michigan left me a changed man." Emmett grabbed his baseball cap off of the table and slipped it over his dark hair.
Jasper's eyes grew wide. He reached out and placed his palm flat against Emmett's forehead. "Are you feeling okay?"
Emmett swatted his friend's hand away and shrugged into his hoodie. "I'm far too drunk to take anyone home, Whitlock. Unless you count that pretty little wife of yours."
"Get the fuck out of my bar."
Emmett laughed and waved goodbye to his friends. He checked to make sure his truck was locked before setting off on the two-mile walk back to his parents' coastal home.
Jasper's bar sat about 100 yards off the beach. Their friends had always wondered why he didn't go for a location in the small downtown area, but Jasper was a beach bum at heart. Spending his days looking out at the stunning sapphire expanse that was the Atlantic always put a smile on Jasper's face.
Not as big a smile as Alice inspired, but it was close.
Emmett kicked off his sandals and let his feel sink into the cool, wet sand. The beach was the one thing he missed the most when he went off to college. Sure, he'd traveled to a few of the Great Lakes during his four years in the Midwest, but it just wasn't the same. A person couldn't surf on the shores of Lake Michigan any more than they could ski down the hills in Hollywood.
He closed his eyes and smiled as thoughts of bonfires, girls, volleyball games, and one too many beers flooded his memory. For a brief moment he was no longer standing on the beach; instead, he was jogging backward on the football field, arm held high over his head, pigskin clutched tightly between his fingers, preparing to release the pass that would win the game.
Emmett sighed and opened his eyes. He needed to make sure this was a monumental summer. For the first time since Edward's wedding the whole gang was back in Beaufort. There were memories to be made, fights to be had, and laughs to be shared.
He resumed his walk home, thinking of when and where their first summer clambake should take place. The sight of Sunset Pier gave him his answer.
Emmett tossed his shoes onto the sand and jogged out on the pier. He climbed the railing and perched himself on it. Warning bells were going off in the back of his head, but he ignored them. He'd done far worse things while intoxicated than sit on the edge of a pier.
The wind picked up and blew a mist of salty ocean water on him. Emmett closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The air smelled sweet tonight.
What the fuck is with this trip down memory lane, McCarty? Get your ass off this pier and home to bed.
He started to sling his leg back over the railing when his hand slipped out from under him. Before he realized what was happening, Emmett was falling headfirst toward the dark water. The sober part of his brain was screaming for him to cover his head. The intoxicated part – the larger part at the moment – was laughing happily.
Thump!
"FUCK!"
Emmett felt the blow when the side of his head connected with the edge of the pier. He felt the sting on his bare legs when he landed in the ocean water.
The last thing Emmett saw was blackness as his consciousness slipped away.
…
- IWRY -
…
Rosalie Hale glanced at her watch in irritation. She pushed a damp chunk of brown hair out of her eyes, puffed her cheeks up, and blew out a loud breath. She turned to face the mirror and repeated this process, poking her fingers into her cheeks and making silly faces at herself.
Five minutes later she was glancing at her watch again, wondering why she'd ever agreed to spend the summer in Beaufort.
You know exactly why you're here.
Two years ago, Royce King meandered into her organic chemistry class. They had dinner that same night and within a week their romance was official. The two of them fit together perfectly. Rosalie came from a wealthy Pennsylvanian family and Royce's father was the mayor of Beaufort. He planned on going into sports medicine and she hoped to become a pediatrician. They shared a love of red wine and French food, and their friends thought they were one of the classiest couples at Columbia.
In November, Royce popped the question and gave Rosalie his grandmother's vintage diamond. It wasn't until she'd started planning their wedding that Royce told her he wanted to get married in his hometown.
They spent a solid week arguing over this. Rosalie made a list of the pros of getting married at the Plaza and the cons of getting married in "the sticks down south." Royce argued that she couldn't really come up with any cons until she spent time in the small town, and that was how she ended up stuck in Beaufort for the summer.
She'd tried to get herself excited on the drive down, and at first it worked. As soon as they reached their destination, however, Royce went from being his mild-mannered, respectable self to a rowdy heathen. He bought a can of Copenhagen and a pack of Marlboro Reds at the service station, traded in his polo shirts for flannel ones, and started cursing like a young sailor. His southern drawl, which he quite obviously worked hard to cover up in New York, began setting in a few days after they arrived, and was getting more and more pronounced with every minute that passed. This was a side of him that Rosalie had never seen before, and to be quite honest, she wasn't sure if she liked it.
They'd only been in Beaufort for a week. There might not be a wedding come October if Rosalie had to endure this behavior for the remainder of her summer.
This was the third night that Royce had gone out with his boys. And, just like the previous two times, the few hours he told Rosalie he would be gone had turned into nights that didn't conclude until two or three in the morning. Patience was a virtue the Hale family didn't possess, and at that moment, Rosalie felt the last of hers slipping away.
She stood abruptly and slipped on her sandals. If Royce wanted to go out and tie one on every night without her, that was his choice. He was mistaken, however, if he thought she was going to sit in the guest room at his parents' house and count down the minutes on the clock while he did it.
"Can I get you anything, honey?" Royce's mom called from the living room.
"No, but thank you for asking. I'm on my way to meet Royce down at that beach bar – what's it called again?" Telling good little white lies was one skill the Hales did have.
"I'm guessing you mean Jasper Whitlock's place – Surf's Up." His mom was quick to dismiss it, rolling her eyes and clicking her tongue. "I can't for the life of me understand why anyone would open a bar like that here in Beaufort. California maybe, but this quiet town?"
Rosalie shifted awkwardly between her feet and reached for the front door. Prior to this, she had only spent a week with Royce's parents. As a result, she wasn't quite sure how to act around them. "Have a good night, Mrs. King."
"Make sure Royce comes home in one piece," his mother said with a wink. "And please, call me Annabelle. There's no need for formalities in this house."
Rosalie nodded in acknowledgment and slipped out the front door. Even though it was well after eleven, the night air was hot against her skin. She silently cursed herself for not putting on a pair of shorts.
The King house sat two blocks off of the beach, and the beach was the only thing Rosalie had to navigate by. She walked at a brisk pace, afraid she might miss Royce or, even worse, get mugged.
This isn't the big city, Rose. Time to take a chill pill.
She slowed her pace when she reached the row of sand dunes that marked the start of the coast. She couldn't deny that this part of the country was beautiful. A seaside wedding might not be such a bad thing…
"Yeah, until I get sand in my dress," she muttered sarcastically. A kick of her bare toes sent a shower of the gritty, taupe colored crystals flying ahead of her. Rose could see the neon sign of the bar in the distance. She heaved a sigh and started trekking towards her destination, and, hopefully her fiancée.
"FUCK!"
Rosalie heard the strangled, masculine shout before she saw the dark water splash around the bottom of the nearby pier. She squinted her eyes, trying to figure out who would be jumping into the ocean in the middle of the night. When she didn't see anything pop up in the water, and realized that the pier was otherwise empty, her instincts took over and she found herself running across the sand and wading in.
"Hello?" She could see the outline of a figure from where she stood, but she couldn't tell if the figure was moving or not.
"Hello?" She called out again, this time in a frantic tone. The water was up to the middle of her thighs when the clouds broke and moonlight illuminated the pier.
A large man was floating face down in the water. Rosalie's hands flew to her mouth and she let out a silent scream. She felt a surge of adrenaline rush through her body, but her legs wouldn't move.
"HELP!" she screamed, looking around her for someone, anyone who could assist. The beach was just as empty as the pier, and the bar was still too far away for anyone there to hear her.
The emergency response courses she'd taken for her various jobs may have taught her basic first aid and CPR skills, but nothing fully prepared her for a situation like the one she currently faced.
"I'm going to be a doctor, for fucks sakes. I can do this." She whispered the words of encouragement to herself and dove into the water. Each stroke of her arms brought her closer to the man, and when she finally reached him, panic set in.
This guy was huge. He had to be at least a foot taller than her 5'5" frame, and probably close to 250 pounds. She swam around to his side and tried to raise his arm over her shoulder, but he was too heavy for her to swim that way with. She stretched her torso across him and grabbed his other arm, rolling him over onto his back so that his face was no longer submerged. Blood trickled down the side of his face and she could see an inch-long gash on his right temple. Rosalie grabbed his hand, tucked it under her arm and began to swim. When she reached the shallow area, she stood and grabbed both his hands in hers, pulling him up on shore so that only his feet remained in the water.
Calling 911 was the first order of business, but Rosalie quickly realized she'd left her cell phone tucked in the back pocket of her now-soaked jeans. She dropped to her knees next to the stranger and prepared to do whatever she could until a passerby spotted them.
Rosalie placed her fingers against his neck and felt a weak but steady pulse. Thank God, he's alive. She listened for his breathing, but heard nothing. She tipped his head back, pinched his nose shut, and blew two breaths into his mouth. She repeated this process twice with no luck.
"HELP!" she screamed out again. She tipped his head back further, hoping to open his airway more in the process, and blew another two breaths in.
"Someone, please, help!" Hot tears stung the back of her eyelids as she went in for another two breaths. This time, the stranger started coughing and sputtering, spewing out a mouthful of seawater.
"Thank god," Rosalie breathed, tucking her arm beneath the stranger's head and propping it up. He still hadn't opened his eyes, but continued to choke up water.
"Emmett?" The sound of a man's voice behind her startled Rosalie. She looked over her shoulder to see a tall bronze-haired guy and an auburn haired girl jogging toward them.
"Call 911, please? My phone isn't working!" Rosalie pleaded. The guy dropped to his knees on the other side of the stranger while the girl stopped and got on her phone.
"Jesus Christ McCarty, what the fuck happened?" Bronze slid his arm just beneath Rosalie's and looked up at her. "Was he in the water?"
She nodded. "I heard a scream and a splash, and when I went to see what happened he was floating face down. I think he may have fallen off the pier."
"An ambulance is on the way," Auburn said, sinking to her knees in the sand next to Bronze.
McCarty, as Bronze had called him, sucked in a ragged breath and blinked his eyes open. He tried to speak, but his voice was so scratchy that no words came out.
"Don't talk, man, just relax!" Bronze looked over at Auburn and shook his head. "First night back in town together and this clown has to go and do something ridiculous."
"Don't be that way, Edward," Auburn said, slapping his arm. "I'm sure it was just an accident."
"I'm Rosalie," she blurted out. Her cheeks reddened in embarrassment when she realized just how inopportune of a time this was for an introduction.
"I'm Bella," Auburn said with a smile.
"I'm Edward," Bronze muttered. Sirens started wailing, and not five minutes later an ambulance and two police cars pulled up on the beach. Rosalie and Edward were relieved of their duties while the paramedics got the confused McCarty on a stretcher and started tending to his head wound.
"Edward!" One of the police officers approached and patted him on the back. "It's good to see you again, though I wish we could have had our first meeting under better circumstances."
"It's good to see you too, Mitch." Edward smiled and cocked his head in Rosalie's direction. "This young woman is the hero of the hour. I'm sure you've got some questions to ask her."
The police officer backed up and looked Rosalie up and down. His eyes widened. "How in the hell did you manage to pull my son out of that water?"
Rosalie's cheeks reddened in embarrassment once again. "I've been asking myself that same question for the past ten minutes."
"Rose?" Royce ran up and pushed his way around Edward. "What's going on?"
"You know her?" Edward asked.
Royce rolled his eyes. "Of course I know her. She's my fiancée," he barked out.
"Well, Mr. King, your fiancée just saved my son's drunk ass from drowning."
Royce stepped back and furrowed his brow. "What were you doing down on the beach with Emmett?"
"I was on my way to the bar to find you."
"I told you I'd be back in a few hours, babe."
Rose laughed. "A few hours? That was at six o'clock, Royce! It's after midnight now! That's hardly a few hours."
"I hate to interrupt your lover's quarrel, but I have a couple of questions for your fiancée." Mitch stepped forward and gestured at Rose. "Can I steal you for a minute, darlin'?"
Rosalie nodded and followed him down the beach. She gave him her account of what happened and headed back to Royce
"I guess I haven't trained her well enough yet, Cullen. She should have let McCarty's stupid ass drown." Royce's words cut through her, and Rose wasn't sure which emotion she felt more – anger or hurt.
"You better watch your fucking mouth, King. The summer is still young – we've got three months to go around." Edward balled his fists up and smirked.
"Alright gentlemen, that's quite enough." Mitch stepped between the two young men and placed a hand on each of their chests. "Cullen, get your ass in the ambulance with Emmett. I'll drive
Bella to the hospital. King, take your fiancée, and your piss poor attitude and get home. And boy, don't ever let me hear you talking about your fiancée like that again. She's one hell of a woman."
Rosalie couldn't help the satisfied smile that spread across her face. She watched as the small crowd dispersed.
"C'mon, grab your shoes." Royce shoved his hands in his pockets and took of down the beach in front of her.
"Thanks for waiting for me," Rose called after him. Royce stopped and turned to face her.
"I wouldn't have to wait for you if you'd of just stayed at my parent's house like I asked."
"You don't own me, Royce. And besides, why is it so important that I stay behind every time you go out? Is there some bar hopping tart you're running around with"
Royce rolled his eyes and resumed his trek toward the house. "I thought you left your overactive imagination in New York."
"The only thing that was left in New York is your manners. Oh, and the Royce I started dating. He jumped ship when we crossed the North Carolina border."
"You knew who I was when we started dating, Rose," he called over his shoulder. "I don't even want to hear it."
Rosalie shook the sand from her flip-flops and slid her feet back into them. She followed Royce onto the street, making sure to remain a good fifteen feet behind him.
Tomorrow morning she planned on booking herself a ticket on the first flight back to New York.
Then she planned on thinking long and hard about whether or not being married to Royce King was really what she wanted.
…
- IWRY -
…
Light.
Bright, blazing, white light was all Emmett could see. It blinded him and left him feeling like his head had been split in two.
He slowly opened his eyes and blinked several times, trying to get his surroundings in focus. He definitely wasn't at home. No, home wasn't as clean – or as boring looking – as this place.
A familiar head of bronze hair popped up in his peripheral vision. "Welcome back."
Emmett looked in the direction of the voice and saw Edward and his father, Dr. Carlisle Cullen, standing next to him.
" What's going on?" Emmett tried to sit up, but the motion made his stomach churn. Tiny white stars speckled his vision and he squeezed his eyes shut to make them go away.
"You're in the hospital, Em," Edward explained. "You fell off the pier and hit your head. You have a mild concussion."
"And a nice head wound," Carlisle piped in. Emmett blinked his eyes open once again.
"When was I on the pier?"
"Last night." Edward took a seat in the chair next to Emmett's hospital bed and ran a hand through his unruly hair. "You left the bar and must have stopped at the pier on your way home. If
King's fiancée hadn't been walking on the beach you might be dead."
"King's fiancée..." Emmett's words trailed off as the sound of a sugary sweet voice played in his mind.
"Call 911, please? My phone isn't working!"
"She was on her way to find Royce and heard you fall into the water. I still can't fathom how she managed to pull your big ass out, but she did." Edward rested his forearms against the bed rail and smirked.
"How does your head feel?" Carlisle brushed his fingertips over Emmett's temple, causing him to wince.
"Like someone took a jackhammer to it," Emmett answered honestly. Carlisle walked across the room and grabbed a syringe off the counter.
"I'm going to give you a final round of pain killers and let you get some more rest. By the time you wake up I think you should be good to go home." He emptied the syringe into Emmett's
IV and scribbled something on his chart.
"Sweet dreams, sleeping beauty," Edward teased.
"Come get some coffee with me. He needs to sleep." Carlisle led Edward out of the room and closed the door behind them.
Emmett shut his eyes and let his head sink back into the pillow.
First, he needed to get better.
Then he intended on finding this woman and asking her why in the hell she'd want to spend the rest of her life with Royce King.
And, while he was at it, he would make sure to tell her thank you for saving his.
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