Vines By FictionFreak95.pdf

Vines By FictionFreak95

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/6346090/1/

Prologue ~ Sour Grapes

Edward

Grapes.

Huge pain the ass fruits, in my opinion.

They like to play hard to get, make you work for the outcome you so desperately

desire and literally, can make or break your entire year.

See, if they don't get enough sun, or if they're watered down too much, they lose

their taste and if you're looking for a sweet wine or hell, even a bitter one,

suddenly, you're shit outta luck. On the flip side, when the summer is too long,

and just too damn hot and the grapes get too much of that sun, or not quite

enough thirst quenching water, your crop can come out sour, so to speak.

You've gotta have a sixth sense of sorts for the grapes' needs and a eye for what

others just don't see.

In other words, good timing, in other words, although some might call it talent,

others refer to it as just plain old dumb luck.

Either way, something I've struggled with my entire life.

There were times throughout that life that my dad referred to me as a sour

grape, when I was bitter and unruly and trying to piss everyone off from Napa to

Sonoma.

Frankly, I didn't typically see his point regarding those sour grapes, myself. They

were the ones that had all the alcohol in them, after all, and my dad did also used

to refer to me, very lovingly, of course, as a drunk, quite often.

I never did have the balls to tell him he was contradicting himself. Mainly because

he'd a put a hurtin' on me like I'd never forget.

He wasn't a saint, my father, although, ask him and he'd disagree.

Regardless, in the end, I did the next best thing to telling him about his

oxymorons.

As soon as I graduated from high school, I visited the closest US Army base,

signed my life away and left the son of a bitch to grow his own goddamn grapes.

How's that for sour?

And as I got on to the bus to leave Napa, without so much as a goodbye for him,

carefully avoiding the eyes of the nameless faces that sat in the old torn seats,

seeming to hold the same questions swimming around in my own mind, I couldn't

help but remember something my grand dad had said to me when I was younger.

"You can't be your own person, if you don't even know who that is yet, Edward."

I'd been in the sand pit at the playground and some jerk, bigger than me but not

as smart was trying to take my bucket.

I liked that bucket. It was strong and sturdy and held every ounce of sand and

dirt I'd pounded into it without the slightest hint of breaking or bending.

Nobody was taking that bucket.

Especially not Felix, the Great.

His personally chosen nick name, not mine.

I kicked his ass and he went running to his mommy with tears stinging his eyes

and a bruise on his keester.

I thought it was pretty funny, but apparently, I was alone in that opinion.

It never did make any sense to me, why my grand dad had said those words that

day.

I mean, I knew who I was.

I was Carlisle Cullen's son.

Heir to the Cullen Vineyard.

Friend to few.

Trouble to many.

Breaker of treaties.

A crooked soul, as the church goers liked to put it.

But above all, and most importantly in Napa, these days...I was an arsonist.

Accidents happen but when the accident is caused by someone who was nobody's

favorite hell raiser, it didn't really matter what the circumstances were. Facts

spoke loudly and when you've been perceived as a liar for most of your life,

people just aren't very inclined to listen to what you have to say.

It was a long time ago, but even so, a lot of people would never forget it.

Including me.

My point is, I knew all the things I was known as.

I just didn't know if it all equated to who I was.

Know what I mean?

"Maybe the army will make him into a man," my dad had said, the night before I

departed, to some buddy of his over the phone.

Maybe he was right.

Four years later, though, and I was still me.

Still angry and pissed off and not ready to face the demons that had landed me in

the US Army in the first place.

Which is why, when I visited my commanding officer to put in my official request

to re-up I was caught a little off guard when he flat out told me, "No can do,

Cullen."

"What do you mean, no can do?" I asked, irritated that he was so quick to deny

me my God given right to serve the United States of America again…and then,

the look I received reminded me that this wasn't off hours, it wasn't a bar and it

certainly wasn't weekend leave.

I was in his office and he deserved respect, so I straightened up and stood at

attention, waiting for the explanation.

Still irritated, though.

"Just got a call from a…" he looked at a note pad he'd written on. "Sonoma Valley

Hospital…"

And hearing that name, well, it made my stomach sink a little, not gonna lie.

I didn't move a muscle though, because if there was one thing the army had

taught me well, it was, show no fear.

Even if that meant I was about to be told the one thing I didn't want to be told.

Ever.

"It appears, your father's very sick, Sergeant. You're goin' home."

And there it was.

Show no fear.

"Yes, sir."

"Your flight'll be ready by oh nine hundred hours, I expect you on it."

I remained silent as he eyed me for a few minutes, then commanded, "At ease."

I stood at a relaxed attention as he got up and walked over to me, putting a hand

on my shoulder. "Edward…"

My eyes stared forward, not meeting his and I cut him off. Not something many

do to their commanding officers, but we'd known each other long enough for him

to know I wasn't exactly a team player on all sides of the football field.

"It's all good, sir, I'll touch base once I'm settled and can give you a re-up date."

His hand disappeared behind his back with the other and he took a long, deep

breath in through his nose before answering me.

"Take your time, we'll talk soon…dismissed."

I nodded and left my and as I walked back to my barracks, I wondered a little bit

about what had put my dad into the hospital and even started to question why

this was the first I'd heard of it, except, let's face it, I knew why.

"Leaving in ten, Cullen!" one of the guys called out as I got to my bunk and

started to pack up but Vegas was just gonna have to wait.

"Count me out," I said, quietly. Defeated a little and almost to myself.

"What? Dude, we can't go without you…we're…"

"Count me out," I said again, more sternly that time…and I could feel the space

between my eyes pinch and burn. Whether that was the direct result of trying to

convince him, or me, I wasn't sure but it was becoming more and more real to

me what was about to happen.

I was going home.

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.

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