My neck hurts a little too, but the x-rays came back negative for everything, so I guess I'm okay. I still can't believe how few questions the doctors asked us. They didn't ask how Owen's cast broke, how he got a black eye, or why I had a concussion and a fist-shaped bruise on the side of my face. No, they just treated us, took our insurance and called it a day.

Owen's new cast is bright red-matching the school's colors-and the bill is going to his apartment this time instead. He has to start over on healing, but he'll be okay. The doctor said I have no permanent damage, and I just need to take it easy for a few weeks. He warned me to call them immediately if I start hallucinating or lose my vision, but he also said that both are exceedingly unlikely, so I'm not worried.

Owen sits next to me in the back seat and stares down at his feet as Tina drives us home. He hasn't said a word all afternoon. His eyes are wide and dark, and I don't think I've ever seen him look so hopeless and lost.

"Talk to me," I whisper, running a hand softly through his hair. He continues to stare at his feet.

"I'm never going to see my mother again now," he mumbles.

"That's not true," I argue. "She still loves you even if..."

He interrupts me by holding up his phone so that I can see the message on the screen.

"Your father told me what you did. Don't come home. Mom."

My mouth hangs open as I try to wrap my mind around his mother's words. How can she think this was his fault? His father started the fight! If anything, it was my fault for getting involved. Owen had nothing to do with it until he tried to protect me.

I'd do it again if I had to, though. A concussion for me is better than watching him get dragged back down into his nightmares again.

"I'm so sorry," I whisper, and I lean over and hug him.

"Not that she ever loved me anyway," he grieves, leaning his head against my shoulder.

I want so badly to tell him that he's wrong, but I can't bring myself to do it. Who am I to tell him that? I've seen his scars and heard his stories. I've met his father now. What right do I have to hurt him by pretending what he feels isn't real? That's what it all comes down to-he feels like his mother doesn't love him anymore. Even if she does-even if she's just been beaten into submission by his monster of a father-he's lost his family for now.

"What do I do now?" he asks miserably. "My parents are gone and my sister's dead. What do I have left?"

"Me," I answer, squeezing him tightly.

"What am I, chopped liver or something?" calls out Tina from the front seat. "You've got me, too!"

"Don't forget about Craig," I add. "He's the one who went and got help. I hear he got a black eye from your dad while trying to hold him back, too."

He sighs and lays his head on my chest. I stroke a hand softly through his hair and feel his chest heave as he starts to cry. I wish I could make him happy. I wish so badly that I could go back in time and fix everything so that he'd never need these tears, but I can't. All I can do is hold him close until they stop.

"Whatever happens, you'll always have me," I whisper, and I kiss him softly on the cheek.

"Always."

Monday, March 18 3:30 PM.

Maria.

A network of deep, beautiful gorges both encircles and crisscrosses the Cornell campus, and while I've always hated those stupid "Ithaca Is Gorges" shirts, nothing could describe this town better.

Owen walks beside me, his hand entwined in mine, down the precarious, slippery stone staircase to the bottom. The budding trees and ivy-covered buildings disappear above us as the jagged rock walls close in.

The ice-cold mist from the thundering waterfall clings to my skin as we descend, and I shiver uncomfortably. I probably should have brought a jacket. Warm spring day or not, it's still chilly down here.

"I love when the snow finally melts," Owen shouts over the roar of the waterfall. "It's so beautiful down here!"

A black slate path follows the stream away from the university and out toward our apartments. The jagged cliffs tower above us, mostly gray but with faint hints of green if I look closely enough. Even down here at the bottom, there's no denying that it's finally spring.

"Places like this are what make Ithaca so awesome," I agree, kneeling down and sticking my hand into the stream. I quickly yank it back as my fingers nearly freeze solid. It won't be warm enough to swim down here for several more months.

We abandon the trail and scale a tilted, crumbling staircase carved into the side of the gorge. It winds back and forth up the cliff face until it finally emerges into the woods at the top. The trees are just beginning to blossom and their branches are dotted with tiny green leaves.

I need to tell Owen something-to get it off my chest-but I'm scared of what he'll say back. I take his hand in mine as we walk beneath the trees, and I take a deep breath and pray for luck before letting it out.

"Owen... we only have three months until graduation," I blurt out anxiously. "What happens to us then?"

"I don't know," he answers, his voice serene and quiet. "Where do you want to go?"

"I have no idea. I just want you to be there with me."

He smiles at me and squeezes my hand.

"I want to be there too."

We walk along the edge of the gorge, staring silently down into its dark, cold depths, and Owen clears his throat nervously.

"Um... I applied for a continuation with my grad advisor," he says, stumbling over the words as if ashamed to tell me. "I... I might be here next year doing my doctorate degree."

I can't tell if he's happy or not.

"Do you think you'll get it?"

"I hope so. I don't have anything else lined up yet."

I inch closer to him until our shoulders touch.

"Do you actually want it?"

"Depends," he answers, shrugging noncommittally.

"On what?" I press anxiously. He clears his throat again before answering.

"On whether or not you'll be here next year."

I smile and put my arm around him. I wish I knew where I was going so that I could tell him. I can't even imagine how much it'll hurt if graduation separates us. I only just found him-I can't lose him already!

We take the next staircase on our left back down into the gorge. The stream isn't very deep, but I can feel the bitter cold rising off the water as it rushes past. The footbridge to our apartment is on the other side, and I hop from stone to stone across the stream.

"You're coming over for dinner tonight, right?" I ask as he follows behind me and makes the last leap to my side of the stream. "I'm not letting you go hungry."

"The school sent me my paycheck. I'm okay now.

"You've got another medical bill on the way now," I protest. "You're going to be broke soon enough anyway. Come on."

"Only if you're offering," he mumbles, looking embarra.s.sed. It's so silly that he feels ashamed to let me take care of him when he needs the help.

I'd probably be the same way if the tables were turned, though.

"Will you come eat dinner with me if I call it a date?" I tease, sticking out my tongue at him.

He smiles, pulls me close and kisses me softly on the lips before answering. A heavenly tingle meanders down my spine as his lips touch mine, and I can't help but giggle and beam at him. His warm eyes and beautiful smile almost make me dizzy.

"A date sounds perfect," he whispers.

Together, we walk hand in hand across the bridge and up one last staircase to my apartment.

"Hey, don't use up all the hot water," I call into the bathroom, knocking loudly on the door.

The shower immediately turns off, and I roll my eyes as I hear the curtain slide open. Owen's been in there for almost thirty minutes! Did he fall asleep in the shower or something?

The door opens, and it's all I can do not to stare as he comes out wrapped in a towel. He's so good-looking that it hurts.

"Oh G.o.d, it's so cold out here!" he stammers, his teeth chattering already. I laugh as he bolts past me into the bedroom, and I shake my head and head in for my turn in the shower. The hot water feels so luxurious after a long, muddy day of hiking.

I can't help but agree with him when I finally shut off the water and get into my bathrobe. The temperature dropped precipitously as day turned to night, and now even the bathroom is freezing. I'm not going to turn the heat back on-not with Dinah and Lacey away for Spring Break and Tina off somewhere with Craig-but it's really tempting.

"Okay... just race for the bedroom," I whisper, bracing myself for the subzero hallway. I yank the door open, squeal as the frigid air hits me, and race to my room.

There's a note from Owen on my door.

"Ran out for a bit-be right back."

"Huh... okay, then," I mutter. I hurry into my room and sigh happily as I feel the warmth radiating from my little floor heater.

I plop down at my desk, my hair still dripping onto my bathrobe, and check my e-mail while I wait for Owen to come back. I never get anything interesting; it's always course information or messages from my research advisor. His e-mail from this morning wants to know if I can stay over the summer to train his new grad students on laboratory techniques.

Wait a second... how did I not think of this before?

My brain starts whirring as I realize what I need to do. I pull up his summer training request and quickly type out my response.

"Hey I know you want me to stay this summer. Still thinking about it. But first... do you have any spots open for new graduate students? I'd like to apply if so. Maria."

Just as I send the e-mail, Owen knocks on the door.

"Come on in!" I call out and then immediately panic as I realize I'm still in my bathrobe. Too late now.

"Hey, sorry about running out on you," he apologizes, peeking into the room.

His face suddenly turns bright red as he sees me, and he starts to close the door again.

"c.r.a.p, I'm sorry Maria! I didn't mean to..."

"It's okay," I interrupt, waving to him. "Come on in. Where'd you go, anyway?"

He grins at me and holds out a bottle of red wine and a pomegranate. My face glows with delight.

"You are so awesome!"

"I headed back to my place while you were in the shower," he says. "I told Tina I wouldn't stop bugging her and Craig until she drove me to the grocery store."

He pops the cork, pours us each a gla.s.s of wine, and then awkwardly sits next to me. He's so nervous about my bathrobe, as if I haven't already let him touch me and there's still some invisible line that he's afraid to cross. Why am I not nervous? I actually feel okay sitting next to him like this-more than okay, even. I'm as relaxed as I've ever been with him.

Ithaca nights are still freezing cold, springtime or not, and I shiver as I cuddle up against him to stay warm.

"To broken hands and terrible headaches," he declares, offering me the lamest toast I've ever heard.

"And to the new starts that come next," I toast back.

The wine is so bad that we both burst out laughing and put down our gla.s.ses.

"G.o.d, Owen... your toast was so bad that you spoiled the wine!" I sputter, laughing so hard that tears stream down my face. "This is the worst wine I've ever tasted!"

"I should have known," he groans, making a face as the terrible, bitter wine. "It was on sale for three dollars, but I never knew wine could be so bad!"

I'm laughing so hard at the terrible wine that I can't breathe. It's not this funny! Why can't I stop laughing? I curl up in a ball on the bed as wave after wave of unjustified hilarity rolls over me. They only stop when Owen's arms wrap around me and a new feeling of warmth takes over.

"Do you have any idea how beautiful your laughter is?" he whispers in my ear. His breath tickles my skin and I squirm in his arms.

"No, I don't," I play along. "How beautiful is it?"

"So beautiful that I want to hear it forever," he whispers, and I giggle as he pecks a ticklish line of rapid-fire kisses down the back of my neck.

"Owen..."

He doesn't answer, but instead keeps kissing slowly down my neck and shoulder. The touch of his lips makes me shiver, and I feel my pulse quicken.

When he finally stops and looks up at me, a warm but mischievous smile on his face, I sit up and plant a soft kiss on his lips. The wine tastes better on his lips than it did in my gla.s.s, and I let myself linger and enjoy the indescribable feeling of contentment as he holds me close.

I plant kiss after kiss on his lips and cheek, nibble playfully on his ear as he squirms ticklishly, and then I whisper to him, "Turn off the light."

The sheer desire radiating from my quiet demand surprises even me, but I know what I'm feeling. I've never felt it before with anyone else, but as strange and alien as it is, I still recognize it.

I love him.

He kisses me once more, reaches behind me, and then yanks the chain of my bedside lamp. The light goes out and leaves us together in the dark.