"We don't know anything yet, so let's not make things up."

"You're right." She looked unseeingly out the window, features pulling in tight in concentration. "He'll be okay. He's strong. I just...I don't understand why he'd come home."

"You know his friend Troy?"

She nodded.

"It was his birthday. I guess a bunch of the guys came home for it."

She gave him the stink eye. "How do you know?"

"Your dad and I have been talking."

"Oh." She sniffed, reached into the glove box and pulled out a napkin. Blowing her nose, she tipped her head back and closed her eyes.

An hour later, she still hadn't said a word to him. With every mile that ticked by, he tried to come up with ways to get her talking to him. But nothing came.

Because words didn't matter. Actions did. He was the third person in her life she'd let in who hadn't chosen her. His only hope was to be there for her-prove it through his actions.

"Dylan." She reached for the stereo and lowered the volume. "Thank you for taking me home, but I don't want you to get the wrong idea."

"Okay."

"I'm not...we're not getting back together. I don't know if you even want that-"

"I want that more than anything."

"It's never going to happen. I'm glad you're not transferring, and I wish the very best for you, but we'll never be together again. You may think you see things differently now, but the truth is, you could go back to your mom at any time." She stiffened. "I didn't mean it like that. Oh, God, that sounded terrible. She's your mom. She's your priority-she should be."

"I'm my priority, sunshine. I should've been all along."

She looked a little stunned. "Okay...I...wow."

"This didn't happen overnight. When I was fourteen, my aunt and uncle had me in Alateen meetings. My penance for stealing their car. So I've heard all this stuff before. Borderline personality disorder, manipulation, accountability...it's nothing new. And it even made sense on some level back then, but my mom's influence was a lot stronger. I thought I was all she had. I thought without me...well, you know what I thought. But your dad asked me some hard questions, and it made me kind of sick to think my own mom would use me the way she has. She doesn't see me as her son. She sees me as a means of meeting her needs. That's pretty fucked up." He took in a breath, held it, and chanced reaching for her hand. When she didn't move hers away, he grasped it. She didn't turn hers over to clasp his back, but she didn't pull away either. "I'm moving on. And until she wants what's best for me, I don't have anything to say to her. I'm done with the life I hated so much."

She gave him a wary look. "I'm...happy for you."

Time to tell her everything. Put it all out there. "I'll tell you what did it-what pushed me over the line." He withdrew his hand, rubbing it over his chin. "If I didn't make a change...fuck, Nicole, I wouldn't have you. I mean, Jesus, it hit me hard. Missing you was this physical pain that wouldn't go away, and I couldn't really figure out why I had to give you up. How would it help my mom? Until I realized she just wants me for herself because there's no one else to pay her bills. If I let her, I'd give up everything I am to serve her."

She shot him a look, this one filled with compassion. He was getting through.

"And I let it happen. All the way up until she asked me to give up you. That was the game-changer. That made me see her for who she really is for the first time. And once I did, I realized that, yeah, I love my mom-she's my mom-but I'm only enabling her to continue to live this life she's created for herself. The only hope she has of changing is if I change."

"But you were so worried what might happen to her. How did you let go of that?"

"Well, that's the thing, isn't it? I could give up everything, and she could still wind up dead of an overdose."

"You think you can stick with it?"

"Absolutely."

"How do you know?"

"Because I see it now. You can't go back from that."

At the Help desk in Greenwich Hospital, Dylan asked for Brandon's room, while Nicole called her dad.

"No change." She looked up from her phone.

They headed for the elevator. He wanted to reach for her hand-more than anything, he missed touching her-but he couldn't risk upsetting her. Besides, even after all he'd said, she still hadn't warmed to him.

At the Intensive Care Unit, they had to press a buzzer to gain entrance. Fortunately, her dad waited for them behind the door, watching through the round window.

She threw herself into her dad's arms. He swallowed her up, one big hand covering the back of her head. "I'm so scared."

"Me, too, sweet pea." When he let her go, he led them down the corridor to Brandon's room. She went right to him, resting a hand gently on her brother's arm.

"He looks so peaceful."

Dylan came up behind her, standing close.

"How bad is it?" she asked her dad.

"Depends." Her dad jammed his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans. "He's in the ICU because of alcohol poisoning. Not sure about anything else yet."

"Alcohol poisoning. Oh, my God." She watched her brother. Dylan took in the tubes, the monitors, the steady beep of the machine. It was pretty damn scary.

"I didn't know he drank that much." Her dad seemed confused. "Sure, he drinks, but I've never seen him out of control."

Nicole shot him a look. "It's not your fault."

"We have alcoholism in the family. I watch for it with them." He nodded to the bed, to Brandon. "You, I don't have to worry about."

"What was he doing?" She looked to her dad.

Her dad shrugged. "Boyce and Parker came in for Troy's birthday. They went for some beers. I guess someone had the bright idea to skate on Pequot pond."

"Was he unhappy? Why would he drink that much?"

Her dad shook his head. "No idea, angel."

"He's got everything. Everything. And yet he's so miserable he drinks himself unconscious?"

And that was it. He'd given her enough space. He stepped around to her side, wrapped an arm around her. When he looked up, he caught her dad watching.

"Hey, now," a crisp voice said. They all turned to see a nurse enter the room. "Thought I told you to wait outside?"

"Now, Marnie," her dad began, his usual charm a little tattered.

"Hi, I'm Nicole." She stepped away from Dylan. "His sister."

"And your brother needs his room cleared out so we can get to him." She tipped her chin to Bill. "Which I thought I did a nice of job of explaining before. Now, scat, all of you. I will personally come to the waiting room when it's time for a visit-one at a time."

They headed out. She turned to her dad. "What about Ryan? Is he on his way?"

Her dad gave a terse nod.

"God, Dad, what if..."

"Nope. Not going there. My boy's going to be just fine."

"Hey, pumpkin. It's time to wake up."

That familiar voice tugged at her consciousness, and she fought to open her eyes. When she came awake, she saw an expanse of broad chest covered in a light blue button-down.

She jerked upright, her back and neck stiff and aching. Looking around, she found herself sprawled across Dylan in the waiting room of the ICU, her dad crouching before her. "Dad. Is he all right?"

"Still no change, sweetie. Listen, the doctor wants us to go home. If anything changes, he'll let us know."

"No, I'm...can't we just wait?"

"Pumpkin, I'm gonna camp out right here. I'd like you and Dylan to go home, get some sleep, and let me call you the minute I hear anything, all right?"

She glanced at Dylan, who watched her carefully. "Yeah, all right."

The moment they got inside the warm house, Nicole reached for her luggage.

But Dylan held onto the handle. "Hang on. I've got some stuff in there, too."

"Oh, of course." What was she supposed to do with all these emotions? She couldn't handle being with Dylan, when all her energy needed to be with her brother. She watched him set the bag down, unzip it, and rummage around for his plastic toiletry bag, a T-shirt, and a pair of gym shorts.

He zipped it back up. "I'll carry it upstairs for you."

"No, it's fine. I'll just see you in the morning." She wanted to thank him, ask him if he needed to get back to school, but the words didn't come.

She climbed the stairs, feeling him watching her, but she didn't look back.

She never looked back.

Teeth brushed, face washed, she grabbed her phone and walked out of the bathroom to find Dylan taking up the whole doorway. "Do you need something?"

"Sorry. I brought you this. Thought it might help you sleep better." He only came in a few steps, holding a mug of steaming tea. She could smell the lavender from where she stood.

"Thank you." She approached him, too aware of the thick muscles in his arms, his damp hair, and the strain of the shirt over his broad shoulders.

"You okay?"

She shrugged. "Not really."

"Do you want me to stay? Till you fall asleep?"

Her mind said, No, but she couldn't push the word out of her mouth. He stood there so strong and powerful, and she couldn't deny the need bearing down on her. Maybe she couldn't have him because, ultimately, his mom would always come first-as she should-but she could have the comfort he offered tonight.

She'd done such a good job of steeling herself against him. Talking herself out of the drama of wanting a guy who didn't want her enough to overcome his issues. If she let down her guard-even for one night-would she fall back into that morass of wanting what she couldn't have? She didn't think she could bear it.

He really did sound like he'd overcome his issues, though. And he'd said he'd done it for her.

"Just till you fall asleep." His voice, so calm, did more for her than the warm cup of tea. And, well, he'd made her a cup of tea.

She barely nodded, turning quickly to her bed and setting the mug on her nightstand. Pulling down the covers on her side, she got in. He got on top of the duvet.

"You're going to be cold."

"Your house is pretty warm."

"No, you're just a furnace."

"That, too."

She sat up, pulled the throw from the foot of the bed, and shook it out, tossing it over him.

He nodded to the mug. "Drink your tea. Someone I know says lavender relaxes you."

Okay, so she smiled. He was wonderful. That didn't mean anything, though, because in a month, a year, two years, his mom could do something drastic, call him back, and he'd leave her just like that. As easily as he'd done on New Year's Eve.

She lined up some pillows behind her, took the mug in her hands and brought it to her face, letting the steam rise up to her. "Do you want some?"

Resting on the pillow, he shook his head. Those soulful eyes watched her carefully.

And that's when it struck her. His eyes. For the first time, they didn't have that guarded look anymore.

Why did that make her so happy? "Maybe this isn't a good idea."

"It's a great idea."

"It's hard enough with you living across the hall again. I'm not sure I can handle you in my bed."

"I don't want to make things hard for you."

"What do you want?"

"Your forgiveness."

She set the mug down, shifting toward him. "You've got it. I don't blame you for choosing your mom. I understand it. It's not like I ever thought you were a bad person."

He swallowed, his Adam's apple jerking. "No, sunshine, you were right. It wasn't my mom I was choosing. It was my past. What I was most familiar with. But, Nicole, that lasted all of a week. One week before I called your dad and got help."