A Rough Start By ItzMegan73.pdf

A Rough Start By ItzMegan73

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5319052/1/

A Rough Start

Chapter 1 – Father Figure

Edward put his empty beer bottle down on the table with a loud clatter, definitely

a sign that he'd had enough. He looked over at his friend, Emmett and held up

his hand, a signal not to engage in another round.

"I swear, if it wasn't for porn, a good brew, and Rosalie when she's not on the

rag, life wouldn't be worth living," Emmett said as he slumped down in his chair.

The Forks lumber mill had just made its second round of cutbacks and though

Edward, Emmett and their good friend Jasper, had managed to come away with

their jobs intact, they had a lot of friends who didn't make it. And in Forks, there

weren't many ways to make a living.

"You thinking about relocating?" Edward asked Emmett.

Emmett shrugged. "I think about it all the time, but in reality, you have to have

money to move and I don't have any. Companies are hardly hiring and the ones

that are, aren't paying moving expenses."

Edward nodded in agreement. He'd been trying to relocate from Forks to Seattle

for the past six months, but he hadn't been able to find anything that didn't

require a college degree. Besides, now was not the time to take a vacation from

work, and that's exactly what he would have needed to attend a job interview out

of town.

"It's definitely a never-ending cycle," Edward said.

Emmett let out a loud belch before popping a handful of peanuts into his mouth.

"Oh, look. Here's Jasper."

Edward turned to see a forlorn looking Jasper Hale approaching.

"Hey, man, what's up?" Edward greeted.

Jasper worked in the administrative offices at the lumber company, so his day

had been even more stressful than Edward and Emmett, as he had to look into

the faces of men he'd worked alongside for years and hand them their last

paycheck.

"Kill me now," Jasper sighed as he sat down in the chair that had been reserved

for him. "I had to break up two fist fights today. Tension is running high."

"Just tell me we've reached the end of the cutbacks," Edward sighed.

"No can do, bro," Jasper mirrored Edward's heavy sigh. "Though people might not

lose their jobs, if they can't break even on this round, they're going to start

cutting hours."

"Fuck," Emmett muttered.

"Now, don't go getting worried, yet," Jasper held up his hand against the notion.

"It's a big if. And if you guys keep doing what you're supposed to be doing, you'll

be fine."

Edward wasn't at all comforted by Jasper's words, but he didn't let on. Instead,

he listened and laughed at one of Emmett's asinine jokes and tried not to think of

work, at least for a few minutes.

"Hey, Edward, did you ever find out why Social Services was calling you?" Jasper

asked suddenly.

"Nah. They're closed by the time I get off and I don't have time to deal with that

shit at work. Especially not now that they're watching everything so closely,"

Edward explained.

Ironically, when Edward stumbled in from the bar that Friday evening, there was

a message from someone named Heather calling him from Social Services. She

referenced a certified letter that Edward was sure he hadn't received. As soon as

he deleted the message he had no intention of returning, Edward shuffled out to

his overflowing mailbox and pulled out three different peach-colored slips telling

him that he had a certified letter to pick up from the post office.

"Maybe some rich relative put you in their will," Emmett said the next Monday

over the hum of the saw. "You should check into that shit."

As promising as that sounded, Edward knew his luck didn't run that way. He fully

expected the letters to reveal some long lost income tax bill or the fact that

someone was using his social security number, but he was responsible for all the

debt they'd racked up.

"No. I don't have time," Edward insisted.

So he let the matter drop for another day.

And that turned into two days, which turned into a week.

On Friday of the following week, a woman dressed in a steel gray suit, entered

the lumberyard. Eyes all over the area turned in her direction, as it was obvious

that she wasn't from around there.

"Edward Cullen!" The loud voice of the foreman boomed throughout the vast

area.

Edward looked up to see the well-dressed woman standing next to Jasper and the

plant supervisor.

"This lady needs a word with you," the foreman shouted when he saw Edward

take notice.

Edward quickly moved in their direction, anxious to get all eyes off him. He threw

an inquisitive glance in Jasper's direction, but Jasper merely shrugged, having no

information to offer.

"Gentlemen, is there a secure room where Mr. Cullen and I can speak in private?"

the woman asked.

"Sure, take my office," the foreman offered.

The woman nodded before gesturing for Edward to follow her inside. Once alone,

she locked the door, closed the blinds and turned to face Edward.

"Well, Mr. Cullen, you sure are a hard one to get a hold of," she smiled and

extended her hand to him. "I'm Heather Daily from the Department of Social

Services. Have you gotten my calls? Letters?"

"Yeah, but I work. By the time I get off work no one is available for me to call,"

Edward excused himself.

"That's what lunch breaks are for, Mr. Cullen," Heather smirked.

Edward couldn't help noticing the edge to the woman's voice. It unnerved him

and made him immediately anxious.

Instead of engage in further small talk, Heather put a file folder on the desk and

pulled out a photo.

"Do you recognize the woman in this picture, Mr. Cullen?" she asked.

Edward squinted at the familiar face and immediately knew who it was. "Yeah.

That's a girl I went to high school with. Her name is Jessica. Jessica…Stanley."

"And do you remember the last time you saw Miss Stanley, Mr. Cullen?"

The way she kept saying his name, 'Mr. Cullen', made Edward think she was

going to put him in handcuffs and haul him off to prison if he even looked at her

wrong.

Edward let out a loud burst of air. "Gee, uh…it's been years. At least five, I'd say.

We dated a little bit after high school but then she moved to Oregon with her

parents and I stayed here. Why?"

Instead of answer, Heather pulled out another photograph, this time, of a little

boy with piercing green eyes and light brown hair.

"How about this picture. Do you know who this is?"

Edward looked down at the child and instantly saw the resemblance to Jessica.

But aside from the eye color, there appeared to be nothing that genetically tied

him to Edward.

"I don't have any kids," Edward said without delay.

"Well according to this birth certificate recorded August 26, 2004 in Salem,

Oregon, you have a son, Anthony David Stanley, born August 4, 2004."

Edward didn't pretend not to know that Jessica had gotten pregnant. Almost two

months after they'd broken up, she'd called him and told him that she was "late".

After profusely telling her that there was no way in hell that he was getting back

together with her, he'd asked her what she wanted to do about 'it'. That's when

she informed him that she didn't want to be with his "unmotivated, low-class,

going-nowhere ass" and that she would "take care of it". Three days later he'd

mailed her two hundred dollars and they never spoke again. As far as Edward had

been concerned, she'd taken care of "it".

Now he was being told that "it" had grown into a "he" and she had effectively

been taking care of him for the past five years.

"How do you know he's mine? Jessica never mentioned anything about having a

son. Are you sure you've got the right guy?" Edward asked.

"Of course you'll need to submit to a paternity test, Mr. Cullen, but I'm not here

for a delayed baby shower. The reason that I am now involved is because Miss

Stanley passed away nearly a month ago. Since you are listed on the birth

certificate as next of kin, we have been attempting to release him into your care,

contingent, of course, on a paternity test."

"Jessica…died?" Edward asked incredulously. "What happened?"

"Car accident. She and her mother were returning from a lunch date and they

pulled out into oncoming traffic."

"Her mother?"

"The only survivor was the driver of the other vehicle. The little boy was not in

the car at the time."

Heather's no-nonsense demeanor was beginning to bug Edward. She was talking

about the lives of human beings as if they were inconsequential and unimportant.

"And where is he now?" Edward asked, trying to wrap his mind around the

situation.

"Foster care."

Edward's heart sank at the notion of it. "What about Jessica's dad? Why isn't he

with him?"

"Mr. Stanley is almost seventy years old. His health does not allow him to take on

this type of responsibility."

While Edward sat mulling the whole situation over, Heather was pulling

something that looked like it belonged in a laboratory out of her briefcase.

"Now if you're willing to submit to a paternity test, we can get this situation

sorted out in a timely manner."

"Sure," Edward shrugged.

It was amazing how fast the state could get something done when they wanted

to. Four days later Edward received a certified letter informing him that the

probability of paternity for a Mr. Edward Anthony Masen Cullen to an Anthony

David Stanley was 99.99%.

Edward Cullen had a son.

That Thursday, after work, Edward made the tiring drive from Forks to Salem,

Oregon. Though his heart stung a bit knowing his son had to spend extra time in

a foster home, it wouldn't do either one of them any good if he'd lost his job in

the midst of this ordeal.

My son.

No matter how often Edward said it to himself, and he did say it often, it still

wasn't becoming real to him.

Over the solitary hours of his journey, Edward imagined meeting his son for the

first time. It played out over many different scenarios, all of the imaginations

getting hung up at the same point: did he introduce himself as 'Edward' or as

'Dad'? That line of questioning led to Edward wondering if the little boy had ever

considered anyone else to be his father. Did Jessica have a doting boyfriend out

there somewhere that had been there since the very beginning but had no legal

rights? Would the little boy whimper some other guys name in the middle of the

night – night terrors and separation anxiety gripping his tiny soul?

The little boy… Anthony was his name. Edward wondered if Jessica had planned

to one day tell him that they had a son, because in her giving him Edward's

middle name, it was as if she was securing a tie to her son's father, even if she'd

never told him of his existence.

As the city of Salem began to appear on destination markers along the interstate,

Edward felt his level of apprehension elevate. He glanced over that the empty

passenger seat and wondered if he should have brought a present, a toy, to

break the ice. His internal monologue was badgering and accusing. Of course he

should have brought a toy! The little guy…Anthony, had just lost his mother and

had to move in with a complete bunch of strangers! He probably didn't have

much to call his own anymore. A toy probably would have been nice.

Six fast food stops, four coffee runs and three gas station trips later, Edward

exited the off-ramp and followed the short directions to Gardener Avenue. His

eyes darted around cautiously as he considered the neighborhood the little

boy…Anthony…his son had been staying in for the past few weeks. It appeared to

be a lower middle class dwelling area, with overgrown lawns, broken fences and

dilapidated vehicles on the street. Still, it looked better than where Edward lived.

At least these places had lawns.

4571 Gardner Avenue. Edward found the house much too soon. He hadn't even

solved the dilemma of how he would introduce himself to his son for the first

time. And speaking of introductions, how should he introduce himself to the

person who answered the door? Would he announce himself as Edward Cullen,

the father? Or Edward Cullen, Anthony's father? Or would he simply state

"Edward Cullen" and leave it up to them to form the appropriate conclusion?

Even as his feet made it to the door, he still hadn't made a decision.

He knocked once, as opposed to ringing the doorbell, halfway hoping that no one

was home; a way to buy himself a little more time to come to terms with his

situation.

There was a shuffling sound on the other side of the door, a pause, in which

Edward assumed someone was looking out of the peephole, and then the distinct

sound of a safety chain being unlatched.

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