Sloan blinked in disbelief. "Troy!"

He looked up sharply. "What?"

"She knows."

Troy stared at him.

"She knows everything. Perry told us all about how David was conceived. He was so proud of how he manipulated you. You, the older, popular brother, who had always been Daddy's favorite, but still struggled with feelings of inadequacy. He crowed over how superior he was to you in the end."

Troy continued to blink at him, disbelief etched in his features.

"He also told us," continued Sloan, "how he lied to you about a conversation he had with Carolyn. She never said she feared for your marriage if you didn't have children. Perry made that up. He knew you always had trouble accepting the fact that she chose you. Hell, everybody knew that you didn't feel worthy of her. You think far too little of yourself, buddy. You always have. And that made you vulnerable."

"B-But... How does she know?"

"I told her."

Troy's mouth gaped.

"I knew something you didn't." Sloan allowed himself a smile. "I knew she loved you too much to let any of that matter. With you lying on a deathbed, she had to forgive you. Not that she wouldn't have otherwise, you know. You underestimated her, my friend. Just like you underestimated yourself."

A hint of color had crept back into Troy's cheeks. "I thought if she knew she wouldn't come see me. I never brought it up b-because I was too afraid."

"Well, you can stop being afraid. She's not going anywhere." Sloan laid a hand on Troy's good shoulder. "We're all here for you no matter what happens. And that includes sitting through a trial and standing up as character witnesses."

Troy closed his eyes in misery at the grim reminder of what awaited him when he got out of the hospital. "Right. So now, in addition to having a husband who's a fraud she'll have one who's a convicted felon. Criminal negligence, aiding and abetting aren't exactly petty offenses." Troy's voice cracked. "God knows I deserve it, but how can I put her through that?"

"You're not convicted yet. And even if you are you have no idea what the sentence will be. You were being blackmailed. They'll take that into consideration."

"They won't care."

"The lawyer I've recruited thinks differently, and he should know. He's one of the best. He'll be in to see you as soon as you're up to it."

Troy stared at him. "Why are you doing this?"

"Why am I helping you?" Sloan sighed. "Haven't you been listening? Because I care. We all do. We're here to stay whether you like it or not."

Troy remained silent. He seemed to be digesting all this, and Sloan knew he had done the right thing.

But then Troy looked at him and breathed, "But are you?"

"Am I what?"

"Here to stay. You're going back to California, aren't you?"

Sloan shrugged. "I...don't know yet. Franki is, you know. She and Craig are going whole hog with this thing. She figures she can sell real estate anywhere, and why not California."

"That's Franki," muttered Troy. "Why not is as good a reason as any."

Sloan smiled at the truth of it. "They might even get married within the next few months. I don't think Craig's mom would put up with any 'shacking up'. She and Mrs. Sternberg have already butted heads over a couple of things, and I think Franki's finally met her match."

Troy smiled for the first time. But then it faltered. "But what about you and Bree?"

Sloan shrugged. "We're gonna make it work, too. I'm just not sure where yet. I hate to ask her to leave her shop just as she's gotten it established. But honestly, I don't know if I can leave LA permanently." He had very specific reasons for this, but wasn't quite ready to share them with everyone yet.

"I think you'll work it out. But just remember two things."

"Yes, oh divine master of knowledge on the ways of women?" smiled Sloan. "What are they?"

"Number one, you've got a friend here for whenever you need one."

That hardly needed to be said, but it was good to hear nonetheless. "And two?"

Troy sucked in a deep breath and winced. "Don't ever lie to her again. Promise me you won't."

Sloan nodded. "Actually, I'm glad you mentioned that, because I have one more thing to clear up with everyone. And after that, my days of deception are over."

"What?" Troy arched his eyebrows. "More secrets?"

"Just one," said Sloan as he lifted his eyes to the colors that seared the sky like celestial neon. "Just one."

Chapter Twenty-Four.

Los Angeles, California.

Sloan opened the car door and Bree stepped out into vibrant California sunshine. The heat and intensity of it still astounded her, even after having spent a week here. And what a week.

Sloan and his trusty sidekick had shown her and Franki all the sights, and even introduced them to a few stars whose names already escaped her. She doubted that even Keanu Reeves could distract her from the man who now held her hand and was leading her down a flagstone path lined with roses and delicately formed lilies.

They were getting to know each other again, and getting along better than she ever remembered. They'd been together almost two weeks and had only fought three times. It was a new record.

Franki and Craig, on the other hand, had yet to disagree over anything as insignificant as a choice of entree or movie. They were so completely gaga over each other that Bree and Sloan had taken every opportunity to put a little distance between themselves and the new lovers. No doubt they were mooning over each other right now, gazing into each other's eyes over steaming cups of vanilla-mocha-cappuccino and thin-crust pizzas with pesto sauce and artichoke hearts.

They reached the end of the walkway and stood before a stately old mansion, with towering pillars and hand-cut stonework.

"What is this place?" she asked at last. The building struck her as a little too large to be a private home, even considering the neighborhood, but there were no signs advertising it as an institution. "And what is this surprise all about?"

Sloan smiled, but his eyes were sad.

"You'll see in a minute." He led her across the porch to a pair of heavy oak doors. He pressed a button that Bree assumed was a doorbell, but a moment later a woman's voice with a faint British accent asked politely who was calling.

"Carver," replied Sloan. "I called earlier."

She thanked him and a moment later, the door clicked open.

He led her inside.

"Is this a house?" she asked, incredulous at the security system. "Some sort of fortress for one of your star-type friends? Is this supposed to impress me?"

He chuckled. "Not exactly. I know better than to try and impress you."

And as they stepped inside, and she took in her surroundings, she knew without a doubt, that her first impressions had been correct. This was not a private home.

A woman at a reception desk motioned to them and asked Sloan to sign some sort of guest book. In the background, men and women dressed in pastel-colored uniforms flitted about. Their presence seemed incongruous with the lush tropical plants and luxurious furnishings.

Sloan took her hand and led her down one of the hallways that branched off the main entrance.

"It's some sort of hospital," she observed. "But who are we visiting?"

Sloan said nothing, but his palms had begun to sweat.

They took a flight of stairs, and stepped out into an atrium with a wide skylight, a small grove of palm trees and a fountain. He led her to the far side of the space, and down another hall. Just a few doors down, he stopped.

There was no number on the door, only a picture of an orchid.

He stared at the door, but didn't go in.

"What's this about?" she whispered. "Maybe it will be easier if you tell me."

He shook his head. "No. Nothing will make this easier." But then he looked at her and squeezed her hand again. "Except, of course, having you here. That means a lot."

She shrugged helplessly, and he finally seemed to find the strength to open the door.

Still holding Bree's hand, he pushed it open and they stepped through into a spacious room flooded with sunlight, that smelled faintly of lavender. A slight woman in a mint green uniform stood at the window. She ceased her fussing with the curtains and turned to look at the visitors. Her face broke into a smile.

"Sloan," she said, as if he were a long-lost friend. "I told her you were coming. I swear she smiled when I mentioned your name."

Only then did Bree notice the still figure on the bed. "Janelle?" she said in disbelief. She blinked as if to clear the hallucination from her brain, but when she opened her eyes again nothing had changed. Lying amidst a mountain of pillows, her eyes vacant, and her lips slack, lay an older, more frail version of the woman who had been Lydia Hampstead's best friend.

"I-I thought she was dead," she said stupidly.

Sloan shook his head, and she could swear his eyes glistened.

The nurse walked over to them and laid a hand on his arm. "Take your time. You have a lot of catching up to do."

Sloan nodded and the woman slipped out.

Finally, he let go of Bree and moved over to the bed. He picked up one of those delicate hands, and sat down on the mattress beside his mother.

"Hi, Mom," he whispered. "I'm sorry I've been away so long."

There was no response.

Bree moved over to join him. She sat down on the wicker chair beside the bed and placed a hand on his knee, surprised at herself that she felt no anger or irritation with him for yet another deception. She could no more scold him than she could scold a wounded puppy. The pain on his face seeped right through to her heart.

"She lost a lot of blood that night," he said softly as he stroked his mother's hand. "I thought I'd lost her, for sure. She arrested twice in the ambulance, but they got her to the hospital alive. They gave her blood, and did everything they could, but it was too late. The damage had been done. She never woke up again. The oxygen supply to her brain had been diminished for too long. It was almost like she'd had a massive stroke. Her heart and lungs were fine, but her mind would never be the same."

He took a deep breath and Bree waited.

"I left her at the hospital in Owen Sound while I headed home to do what I had to do. I came up with the whole Armand thing to hide both the fact that I thought she had tried to kill herself, and to protect her from the humiliation of having the whole town see her like..." He swiped roughly at his eyes. "Like this. Like a vegetable.

"I knew I needed to get away, and as I was writing those fake letters, I realized writing was what I really wanted to do. I decided on Los Angeles, and made arrangements to have her brought here for what I hoped would be her rehabilitation."

"But it didn't turn out that way." He shook his head, and looked down at her hand, laid so gently in his. "No. I stopped visiting her after about a year, once it became obvious that she would never get any better. She was fine here. She was getting the best care money could buy. I couldn't help her anyway, so what was the point." He met Bree's gaze. "But that wasn't all of it."

"What was the rest?" she prodded gently.

"I couldn't stand to be near her. I hated her for what she had done, and I decided to punish her by not visiting. But that was so stupid. Because she didn't know the difference." "You were only punishing yourself." He nodded. "And then when I told all of you my story, I let everyone think she was dead because it was easier and because I told myself I was protecting her. But now I know it was easier for me. Not for her. And now that I know the truth..." His voice faded away. "God, I let her down. She did everything for me when I was a kid. Even though she couldn't cook worth a darn, she took care of me and Dad. She always bent over backwards to put us first. And look how I repay her. The first little glitch-the first sign of trouble and I bolt. I take off like a spoiled brat."

Bree smiled and smoothed her hand over his freshly shaved cheeks, which were damp with tears. "You're here now, Sloan. So why don't you make the most of it, instead of wasting your time stomping around in a fresh puddle of guilt. She doesn't need your remorse. She needs your love."

He looked at his mother's slack features that had once been so vibrant and full of life.

"She doesn't remember my name," he whispered. "She doesn't even know I'm here."

Bree stood to get a better look at Janelle. The eyes were vacant and sunken, but the dark hair and high,

pronounced cheekbones were just as Bree remembered them. Perhaps, inside that shell, she hadn't

changed all that much either. "You don't know that, Sloan. Maybe inside she's doing cartwheels because her son is holding her hand, and just told her that he loved her."

He looked at her with puzzlement. "I didn't say that. Did I?"

"Yeah, you did. You just don't know it."

Suddenly, he stood and grabbed Bree's hands. He drew her close and cupped her cheeks in his palms.

"Have I said it to you?" Stunned, she barely managed to stutter. "Said what?" "That I love you." She stared at him, as the hospital room, and the woman on the bed faded into the background. For that split second, they were alone in the universe. She couldn't breathe, but somehow she managed to say,

"What?"

"Have I told you that yet?" he asked earnestly. "With all that's happened, I just realized...I don't think I've told you."