"I just figure Sloan needs somebody. I've missed having him around, and I don't want to blow this chance to show him that I still care." He shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over the back of a chair. "I wanted to talk to him anyway."

Bree studied him a moment, and decided Carolyn Elliott was a very lucky woman. A man who displayed that kind of commitment to an old friend who had abandoned him, had to be a dream when it came to showing his devotion to the woman he loved.

Unwilling to dwell on another woman's good fortune that just happened to highlight her own disappointments, Bree stood and stretched out aching muscles that had seen too little sleep and too much inactivity. "I sure hope he appreciates it. But keep in mind, he's not going to be in any shape to talk about much of anything."

Troy grinned. "There are other ways for men to communicate."

She arched her eyebrows in silent question.

"Male bonding. In other words, getting drunk. I figure he can't refuse going to bed if he's passed out cold."

"Ah. You're almost as devious as Mr. Carver."

"Monkey see, monkey do."

Bree smiled at the truth of it as she grabbed her purse and headed for the door. She hesitated, her hand on the door jamb and her mind momentarily drawn to the hazy gray mist that shrouded the past. "Sometimes I wonder..."

"Wonder what?"

"Do other people experience so much pain and lose all the people they care about, Troy? I mean, all of us have lost a parent, or a friend, or something we really care about. And all in the last few years. Is that normal? Or are we just unbelievably unlucky?"

He didn't answer her, and she supposed there was no answer to that question.

She headed for the elevators.

As Franki strolled into the ICU she donned a bold demeanor that she didn't feel. She hated hospitals,

and up until now her bravest foray into the bowels of Owen Sound General had involved visiting Lydia Hampstead. But those visits had rarely extended beyond the ten-minute mark, and she had almost always had Bree for company. Besides, although she liked and respected Bree's mother, Franki felt no deep connection to the woman who had withered away to a shell of her former self.

This was different. She had considered not coming. In fact she had spent hours trying to convince herself that she shouldn't-that there were enough people hovering around with nothing to do other than worry and drink gallons of bad hospital coffee. And then she had found another mission that superseded this one. That had turned out to be pointless and troublesome. And once she had seen to that she had no other excuses. She had never felt such an aversion to a task. And she had never felt so compelled to do it. She stopped at the circular nursing station. Situated at the center of the open-concept room it acted as a hub, ringed by a dozen beds. "May I help you?" asked the craggy-faced receptionist. "I'm here to see Craig Sternberg." The woman scowled, and the wrinkles deepened until Franki could almost feel them cutting into her own flesh. "As you can see, Mr. Sternberg already has a visitor. An unauthorized, and very stubborn..." She hazarded a glance in Sloan's direction. "And very spooky one, at that." Franki pulled herself up to her most regal bearing. She might feel like a five-year-old facing her first day of kindergarten, but she didn't have to look like she did. "Actually that's why I'm here. I know that he'll leave if he knows I'm here to stay with Craig. That will give him a chance to sleep and eat, and maybe come back looking a little more human."

"What makes you think you can get rid of him when nobody else could?"

"You'll just have to trust me. But you have to promise that I'll be allowed to stay if he leaves."

The receptionist snorted. "You're lucky. Rita, his nurse, is an old softy. As long as you sit quiet I don't

think she'll mind." She dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Honestly, I think she'll be grateful. If he doesn't shower soon he's going to start to smell." Franki relaxed at the token show of humanity in this inhuman place. "So I can go in?" "Mmm. He's pretty stable and they'll be moving him out of ICU in a few hours." Franki waited. Finally the woman waved her hand toward a bed in the corner. "What are you waiting for? Go, already."

Franki tried to walk noiselessly, but the clicking of her heels was about as subtle as a drum roll. She should have worn other shoes. She should have worn jeans and sneakers and an old comfortable T-shirt. For once in her life she should have dressed sensibly. But she had wanted to look good for him. She'd wanted to look good for Craig.

The tap of her heels stopped abruptly at the end of the bed.

"Can I help you?" asked his nurse, her eyes wary.

But the receptionist saved her the trouble of answering. "Rita," she called from the desk. "Come here a minute." With a final, wary glance in Franki's direction, Nurse Rita left her post. And left Franki alone with her fears.

She stared at him. Bandages seemed to swathe him from head to toe, and tubes sprouted from his limbs like a macabre fountain. He just lay there, looking pale and used up and helpless. He didn't move. He didn't speak. Not that she had expected him to. She didn't know what she had expected. But she certainly hadn't expected to feel such an intense, physical reaction-like a wrecking ball plowing into her gut.

"Oh, Craig," she whispered around the glob of emotion in her throat. "I'm sorry."

A sad bundle of soggy cotton stirred to life. "Franki?" croaked out Sloan. "What are you doing here?"

Franki turned her attention to Sloan. He was almost as pale as his friend. His eyes were sunken and bloodshot, his complexion pasty. The only bit of color was the patch of black and blue that ringed his left eye.

"You look like shit," she surmised as she rounded the bed and planted herself in front of him.

"Thanks. But I hope you didn't come in here to cheer me up, because honestly, you're lousy at it."

"That's not why I'm here. You don't cheer up people who are facing this kind of pain. That would be insensitive and pointless."

Sloan blinked his bleary eyes. "That-that's right. I'm surprised that you-" He clamped his mouth shut and turned his eyes back to Craig.

"You're surprised that what?"

"Nothing. I just appreciate the sentiment, that's all."

"Don't give me that crap. You were thinking that you're surprised that I was sensitive enough to think about that. You think I'm a lot of fun, and maybe you think I'm smart, but you also think I'm shallow and self-centered."

His fists clenched, but his eyes didn't meet hers. "I didn't say that," he growled. "You're putting words in my mouth. You know how much I care about you, Franki. You're just rationalizing again, coming up with elaborate reasons to explain why I never felt about you the way you wanted me to."

She shook her head sadly. "I don't blame you for saying that. Any other time it might have been true. But I've been doing a lot of thinking in the last twenty-four hours, and I've come to the realization that I am shallow and self-centered, and, very likely that is exactly why you were never attracted to me like you were to Bree."

Sloan rubbed his temples with a pair of stiff index fingers. "I can tell that you've given this a lot of thought, but I think you deserve to talk to someone who isn't sleep deprived and can concentrate on something for more than thirty seconds at a time. Why don't we talk about this when Craig's...better."

"You don't understand, Sloan. I came to that realization, and now I want to do something about it. I'm here to relieve you. I want you to go home with Troy or Bree, have a shower, and some food, and curl up to sleep for about fifty hours. I'll stay here and I promise I'll let you know if anything changes."

He slumped back into the chair. "You don't understand. I need to be here. Until his family gets here, I'm all he's got. I can't leave."

Franki knelt down in front of him, and covered his hand with hers. "No, you don't understand, Sloan. This isn't just for you. I need to be here. Please share this with me. I'll go crazy if you shut me out."

Sloan frowned. "I don't get it. I know that you two were...intimate. But a passionate one-night stand doesn't mean you have to take on this kind of responsibility."

"You're not listening. I'm not doing this because it's my responsibility. I'm not doing it for you, or for Craig for that matter. I'm doing it for me. I want to be here. I need to be close to him."

Sloan's blue eyes just kept drilling into her like truth-seeking lasers.

Franki had to swallow and concentrate on keeping the tears out of her voice. "And I know how it looks, but it wasn't a one-night stand. I feel more for him than even I understand. I know it's hard to believe, but it's true."

Slowly, deliberately, like an eighty-year-old who had experienced the premature onset of rigor mortis, Sloan leaned forward and cupped her cheeks between his chilled palms. "Are you saying what I think you're saying, Francine Waters?"

She swallowed. "I don't know. What do you think I'm saying?"

"You know. You just don't want to face it. But I think you have to. You have to say the words to make it real. I don't think you've ever said them before. At least not so that you meant them. And I think it's high time you did."

"Sloan..." she pleaded. "This is none of your business."

"Bullshit. Now, say it. If you say it, and mean it, I'll go and leave you two alone. But otherwise you're shit out of luck."

"All right," she whispered.

Sloan waited, his hands growing warmer against her skin while she screwed up her courage and tasted the words on the back of her tongue. They inched their way forward, a millimeter at a time, until they pressed against the inside of her lips. "I-I think I love him," she sputtered. "I know it's crazy. I mean, I've only known him a couple of days. But, somehow...I don't know. We just clicked, and I feel different with him than I ever have with anybody else." Once she got started she couldn't seem to stop herself.

"I don't know how else to convince you. I don't know what else to say. I've never been good with words like you. I-"

He stilled her lips with his own. The kiss was brief and sweet. In it she tasted no lust or malice. Only understanding and friendship.

"It's all right," he said softly as he leaned back and brushed a wisp of hair off her face. "I believe you. And I know you'll take good care of him."

Franki risked a glance at Craig and took in the tubes and the monitors, the bandages and the pink tinge of blood. It all terrified her. But nothing frightened her more than the thought that it might all be for nothing. What good did the admission do if he never woke up? She'd never felt so vulnerable in her life.

She smoothed her damp palms over her shorts. "I don't know if I'm up to it. I've never been very good at sitting still."

"I think you'll surprise yourself."

"He's going to wake up. Right, Sloan?" She turned pleading eyes on her friend as he stretched out his back, and indulged in a wide yawn. "And when he does he's going to be fine. He'll be the same Craig I fell..." She felt herself blush. "He'll be the same Craig."

"Yeah." His lips curled in a weak smile. "At least, that's the plan. Later, Franki." And with that abrupt farewell he walked toward the doors, each step a torturous battle with gravity.

She turned back to Craig and blew out a breath that she hoped carried all her fears with it.

She cradled his limp hand in hers and whispered. "I'm here now, you Hebrew god, you." But somehow the humor and the reference to their recent pillow talk seemed out of place. "I'm here and I'm not going anywhere."

She pressed a soft kiss to his forehead just as the nurse resumed her post.

"So you're the next shift?" asked Nurse Rita.

"I guess."

"Okay. Just stay out of the way and I won't sic security on ya." She smiled, but her lips seemed ill-accustomed to the motion.

Still clutching Craig's hand, Franki pulled the chair a little closer and sat down. "What are his chances?" she asked quietly. "I mean, with being in a coma and the injuries and everything."

The nurse considered the question as she checked Craig's pulse and gazed at her watch. "I wish I could say for sure, but head injuries are very unpredictable. Plus the fact that he lost a lot of blood, and that could have affected the oxygen supply to the brain. He might wake up and be fine. He might never wake up at all. And he might fall somewhere in between."

"In between?" asked Franki as she stroked Craig's hand.

"Well, some wake up and lose just a small portion of their cognitive function. But it's so nominal that they can easily compensate. While others lose...well almost all of it-the memory, speech, reasoning.

You name it." Franki swallowed thickly and whispered, "You mean he could be a vegetable." "You said it, I didn't. But between you and me, some of them ain't got nothing on a five-eyed potato." "Oh." She blinked back tears and squeezed the hand that had recently become so important to her.

Why did she seem so determined to fall in love with things that she couldn't have? "Please bring him back to me," she prayed to a God she had never known. "Please bring him back and I promise I'll be good." The trouble was, she'd always been lousy at keeping promises. Especially that one. And she suspected God already knew that.

"So, what's on the menu today?" asked Bree as she swept into the room, a faux-finish smile on her face.

Lydia regarded her suspiciously. "They haven't brought it in. And why are you so chipper? What's

wrong?" Worry lines creased her forehead. "Is Craig worse?" "No, no. He's the same. Don't worry so much, Mom. You have enough on your plate without worrying about someone you hardly know." "Don't tell me who to worry about!" Bree was surprised as much by the vehemence of her mother's words, as the tears that glistened in her eyes. "He's a nice young man, and he obviously means a lot to Sloan. I'll worry about him if I damn well please!" Bree couldn't remember the last time her mother had exhibited such energy. "I'm sorry," she soothed. "I just hate to see you so upset. It can't be good for you." "Don't be silly. It won't hurt me to worry about someone else for a change. I've been so wrapped up in my own little world of self-pity and suffering-" "Now you're being silly. You've never been one to indulge in self-pity." Lydia shifted restlessly against her mountain of pillows and lifted her gaze to the window where a gray, overcast sky was threatening rain. "I'm afraid you don't know the half of it, sweetheart. I'm pretty good at keeping things to myself when I need to." Bree began straightening and tucking. "Are you telling me you've got secrets?" she teased. But the lengthy silence that followed that question surprised her.

"How about Sloan?" asked her mother, in a blatant attempt to switch topics. "He must be taking this pretty hard." Bree's hands stilled on the blanket. "Honestly, he's a wreck. He looks almost as bad as he did the week after his father died. But Franki promised to get him to take a break and-"

A soft mewling from her mother's direction caught her attention. Bree looked up to see her obviously fighting tears. "Mom? What is it?"

Lydia swallowed and wiped impatiently at her eyes. "I need to see him."

Even though that request didn't really surprise her, her mother's fragile emotional state did. "Uh...I'm sure he'd come up if I asked him. Maybe tomorrow morning after he's had a chance to rest."

"No." The word barely registered as a whisper, but there was no mistaking the determination behind it. "I have to see him now. Go down and try to catch him before he leaves the hospital."

"But...he's exhausted. He hasn't slept in more than twenty-four hours. Surely-"

"Please, Sabrina. I really ask for so little, but I'm asking you this now. I have to talk to Sloan before the day is out. I've been protecting myself and your father's memory long enough. And I'm afraid Sloan has paid the price. There are things he deserves to know."

Bree felt like she was caught in a vortex. All she could think to say was, "Mom, I don't understand."

"I know you don't. But you will. I can't say anymore right now, but..." She shook her head in mute frustration. "For now all you need to know is that I won't be able to live with myself if I keep this to myself another day."

"What on Earth are you talking about?"

"Please don't ask me. I'll explain everything to you later. But right now Sloan is the one who needs to know. He's lost the most. I don't believe he knows as much as they think. But maybe it's time he did."

"They?" Bree's head was spinning. "Knows what?"

Lydia didn't seem to hear her. Her gaze was far away, perhaps in another time. "He deserves the truth, and it seems like I'm the only one who is willing to give it to him." Her eyes filled with tears and a few glittering jewels of sorrow spilled down her cheeks. "Just indulge me in this, and go catch him before he leaves. Now."

Bree just stood there, dumbfounded.

"Sabrina!"

Shaken and confused, Bree dashed from the room. She blasted on past the nursing station and ignored the elevators, heading straight for the stairs.

A thousand questions ricocheted around inside her brain as she dashed down the stairs. What was her mother hiding, and what did she know? What did she mean about Sloan losing the most? And what did she mean about protecting Dad?

She hadn't come up with any answers by the time she reached the waiting room. She found it empty. She took a chance and peeked in through the ICU doors. She didn't see Sloan, but she did see Franki sitting beside Craig, gazing down at the hand that she had sandwiched between her own. And despite the distance that separated them, Bree saw something in her friend's eyes that made her breath catch in her throat.

Franki Waters was in love. The thought simultaneously thrilled and devastated her. But even as she worried over the fate of Franki's heart, Bree felt her mind drawn back to her mother's cryptic statements and earnest entreaty.