A/N: Why, hello there! Is anyone still reading twific?

If you are like me, then yes, you are nostalgically still very much reading twific...

So I did a little experiment: A while ago I wrote a non twific story which I posted here. But I was always yearning and in my head turning it around and playing with the characters. So now, I've really done it, I've made it a twific. I've changed a few things here and there to make the story work... so...

If you are one of the 5 people who read the original (non twific) One Last Chance, then you may or may not want to read this (again). But if you didn't read it because it wasn't twific, then this might be your chance to give One Last Chance another chance!

This is a test, just to see whether people will be interested in reading. It's all written, and re-written already, so just let me know if you'd like me to post it or not.

As usual, Packy is my partner in crime, Stephenie Meyer owns twilight and I only own the mistakes left here.

Hope you enjoy it!

Mac.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

They lost.

He's sitting on the turf, head on his hands while his fingers pull at his hair.

My stomach twists inside of me because I know how much this means to him, and he is not one to take defeats easily. Approaching him tentatively, I lower myself into a crouch next to him. My hand reaches for the back of his head, my fingers run in his soaked hair.

"Not now, Bella." Even though his head is down, and his hands shield his face, he knows it's me, and in spite of his use of my standard nickname, there is nothing loving about his tone — he is pissed.

"You did your best," I still try to comfort him. "Don't beat yourself up over it."

When he lifts his head, I know I've done something wrong. The anger emanating from his eyes makes me drop my hand at once.

"My best?! That was clearly NOT my best." He is seething, panting harshly as he glares at me.

I notice the bruise that's starting to form in his cheekbone from where he clashed heads with one of the other team's players. "Are you okay?" I reach for his face, trying to help him in any way that I can, but he flinches away from me.

I sigh, dropping my hand again, and he replies with a groan, lowering his head back onto his arms.

As he retreats to his shell, I notice the shape a few yards away from us — standing with his hands on his hips and still noticeably panting.

Of course, everyone on the team has worked hard on this game.

When our eyes meet, he looks down.

My eyes search the rest of the field. It's just the three of us, Emmett, still cursing, sitting in front of me, and then his best friend, Edward, a few yards away, still looking at us.

I wonder why Edward is still out here.

When he finally makes eye contact, he sends me an apologetic glance — he knows Emmett is being an asshole.

"Are you okay?" I mouth the words. He still pants profusely, so I worry.

He nods his answer and his hand stretches, pointing a finger in my direction. "You?"

The exchange is quick and somehow awkward. I've known Edward for as long as I've known Emmett, but we've never been close. He has always kept to himself.

I glance back at Emmett, placing a hand on his arm, but he gets up suddenly, making me fall on my ass.

"I need a moment, okay?" His voice is sharp and clipped, straining with the effort of not losing it, but I know him — this is him trying to not be more of an ass than he's already been.

We've been together for four years, Emmett and I. He's impulsive, sometimes explosive, but he has a good heart.

I still look at him, astonished as he walks past me — my mouth hanging open and my ass still planted on the turf. He storms off the field without another word and not even a glance back in my direction.

I wipe my hands on my jeans to get rid of the dirt as I get up. I'm a bit embarrassed by Emmett's outburst but luckily, when I turn to Edward, I notice he's now facing the opposite direction, both hands on top of his head. I sit on the bench and gather my things, getting ready to leave.

This has been a difficult season for Emmett, I tell myself. The harsh criticism he received after the last tournament affected him in the worst possible way, and he hasn't been the same since. He's under the overwhelming impression that he has to be flawless now, but that is obviously too much to ask, even for Emmett. His overthinking of every play has taken a toll on his game, on his confidence, and — especially — on his mood.

I try not to think too much about it. I've tried to be as understanding as I can possibly be, but at the end of the day, him treating me this way hurts.

Edward walks by me on his way to the showers, and when I look up, his eyes are on me. He gives me a sheepish smile, halting briefly in front of me, but with a shake of his head, he keeps going into the tunnel.

A few seconds later he's out again though, and walks back closer to me.

I peek at him in confusion. We've never really interacted before. Nothing more than the usual greeting each other during a team's event. He keeps to himself most times, and even though he and Emmett are very close, I've always felt like he doesn't like me.

Edward stalls in front of me, a hand scratching the back of his head. He opens and closes his mouth a couple times, until he finally sits next to me.

"I'm sorry," he says, looking down at his hands. I can feel the warmth emanating from him.

"What are you sorry for?"

"He really shouldn't treat you that way." Apologies swirl in the green of his eyes as they meet mine.

I'm a little taken aback by his words. I was hoping he had not noticed Emmett's little outburst. I feel a bit embarrassed now, insulted, defensive... "He's frustrated. He must be exhausted and-"

"So am I," he interrupts. "But you don't see me yelling at you."

"I know, but-"

"Don't make up excuses for him, Isabella." His voice wraps around my name with sincerity. He feels strongly about this. I've never had him address me like this before. "It's not right."

I glance back at him, I can't help but feel judged. "I don't see how this pertains to you," I add a little defensively.

"That was appalling to watch," He counters with a frown. "I felt like I needed to say something."

"And now you have... so?" I cross my arms in front of me.

"Right..." He runs his hands on his thighs a couple times before getting up. "I shouldn't have said anything. I'm sorry."

His apologetic expression is so genuine it disarms me. I know I shouldn't be upset with him. He's done nothing but try to be nice to me, and here I am being nothing but a bitch to him.

"Edward?" I call behind him, as he is about to re-enter the tunnel.

He turns his head in my direction.

"Thank you," I say.

He grins briefly again with a nod, before retreating into the tunnel.

"That was appalling to watch," Edward's words replay in my head.

Indeed it was…

With a sigh, I get up and leave.