Chapter 5

"You asshole! What the hell do you think you're saying? Are you insane? Sunshine's bashing must have warped your brain!" Debbie's shrieking can probably be heard throughout the whole hospital. "You're fucking out of your mind! My son would never do..."

"Debbie..." Vic starts, but he's instantly cut off by his sister's continuing tirade.

"Don't ‘Debbie' me, Brother Dear! Don't you dare tell me you believe this nonsense? My Michael is a good, honest, decent man, unlike some people I know," she adds, glaring directly at me, indignant fury clearly written all over her face.

About that time, security comes rushing up. When one of them goes to grasp her arm to try to get her attention, she whirls around and slaps the uniformed man hard across the face. While all of us stand there in shock, she has already moved around him and is heading in my direction.

The security man comes out of his daze and roughly grabs her - halting her in her steps - but she notches up the volume of her accusations and threats.

Apparently, though, someone has called the police, because two officers are already running towards us; the portly gentleman from earlier, not quite as fast.

"Does someone want to tell us what is going on?" one of the officers demands, breathing heavily from exertion, making me assume they ran up the stairs in their haste to get here.

"Damn right I will!" Debbie replies, her eyes flashing. "This good-for-nothing asshole just accused MY son of bashing Sunshine!"

The man's brows rise. "Sunshine?"

I sigh. "Justin Taylor. He was hit in the head by a damn bat - and HER SON did it!" I add, my disdain unabated as I stare back at her defiantly.

"He's fucking lying!" Deb screeches.

"Ma'am, keep your voice down; one person at a time," the officer admonishes her sternly, miraculously shutting her up, at least temporarily. But I knew it wouldn't last for long. "How do you know that? Sir, do you have any proof?" By now the other officer from earlier has caught up to our little group and taken over the questioning.

"No, he doesn't have any proof! Michael comes in for emergency surgery on his knee, and this asshole thinks that means my son is some crazed psychopath!"

"You're blind! I've got all the proof I need..." is all I can spit out before she struggles to unsuccessfully wrench herself from the guard.

The detective takes out his handcuffs, and Debbie starts screeching again. "That's right, Officer! Arrest him! I'm filing charges against him for defamation of character! How dare he talk about my Michael that way!" She looks at me in horror. "He's your best friend!"

"Not anymore," I tell her firmly. I feel angry, but also sad. Truth be told, Michael hasn't been my best friend for some time now; that's Justin.

The officer remains calm but determined as he explains, "Ma'am, I took these out for you. Do I need to put them on you, or are you going to sit down and BE QUIET, so I can find out what exactly is going on?"

Debbie continues to try and break free of the man's hold, but she is no match for him. "No, I won't be quiet! He has no right..."

"Officer Harris. A little assistance, please? Take Ms...?"

"Mrs. Novotny, and what the hell are you doing?"

"I'm going to have Officer Harris take you down to the station. This is a hospital... the surgical unit, no less. It requires a quiet environment, and you're volatile and out-of-control. Since you obviously aren't willing to comply with my instructions, I have no alternative but to have you taken down to the station until we determine precisely what is going on."

During the detective's little spiel, Officer Harris has handcuffed a screeching Deb, who's threatening to sue all of them. I take a quick glance at Ted and Emmett, who are standing stock still and apparently in shock over the whole display. I then notice Vic, who has sunk into a chair, with Jennifer on one side and Daphne on his other, holding his hands and whispering to him. This whole thing must be taking a toll on him; he looks pale.

"Like hell, I'm going anywhere with any of you! My Michael is in surgery and I intend to be here when he gets out. Take your hands off me, mother fucker!" The entire scene is surreal; everyone within earshot of her tirade has turned to stare over at this unexpected outburst of profanity and fury.

Officer Harris and a security guard start hauling Deb away while Harris recites the Miranda Rights to her. With the way she's struggling, it's a good thing the security guard is a big man. He must have three inches on me, and seventy pounds. Finally, they round a corner and her loud screeching slowly dies away. I sigh and turn to look at the remaining officer standing close to me.

"Now, I'm Detective Horvath. Can someone please explain to me what is going on?" he says, as he takes his notebook and pen from his pocket.

I figure since I made the assumption and accusation, I should be the one to start. "Remember earlier when we spoke with you and reported the bashing?" He nods at me, his pen poised over the small notebook.

"Well, a short while ago, Debbie's son was brought in with a severe MCL tear. He claimed that he fell, but his story changed as to where exactly he fell. The doctor stated since he doesn't play sports, he would have had to suffer blunt force trauma to the knee. Coincidently, it's the right knee, the same place I hit the attacker when I picked up the bat in the parking garage."

Horvath nods. "I'm knowledgeable about MCL tears, and the trauma connected to them. My son suffered one in high school playing hockey. But right now, this is all just speculation?" he questions.

I briefly close my eyes. How can I explain Michael to him? Michael has always done things; things others would probably find hard to believe. Nobody plays the dewy-eyed innocent better than Michael. I attempt to explain one more time.

"Michael left town tonight with his boyfriend, who apparently put two and two together and sent his lying ass back to the Pitts. He had taken him to a doctor in DC, who sent Michael's X-rays here, and then the guy turned around and sent Michael back home." I continue until I get the entire story out, ending with his most telling 'that can't be right' comment, and even though at this point it is speculation, I assure the detective that's what I believe happened.

"Do you have a contact number for this boyfriend and the consulting doctor?"

"As far as the doctor, the hospital should have that information. As for David..." I trail off, looking at the others. Vic speaks up then.

"I have David's number. He contacted me earlier asking how Justin was."

"If I could get that, I'd appreciate it," Horvath says at the same time Vic holds out his cell phone. "We also have the spit and blood sample, so we can cross-check that. That should verify it one way or the other. I'll leave word with the hospital to call me as soon as Mr. Novotny is out of surgery. For now, I'm going to head back to the station and call DC and see what I can find out. Any word on the victim's condition?"

A huge sigh from Jennifer has the detective looking in her direction. "Yes, my son came out of surgery. He spoke briefly, then went right back to sleep. The doctor feels he will recover, but as for any lingering disabilities, we'll have to wait and see. They have a nurse with him that is supposed to come and get us if he should wake up. I'm heading back in there now, though." She pauses briefly before adding with a half-smile, "Thank you for asking, Detective."

"Your welcome, ma'am. I wish him well. I'll be in touch." And with that, he turns and heads towards the elevators.

We all stand there for a second, absorbing everything that has happened this last hour. I rake my hand down my face. I am so mentally exhausted. I don't know how much more I can take. What was Michael thinking? Well, I just can't focus on that right now. I need to get in there and see Justin. I need to make sure he's okay. That's all that matters right now.

"Well, everyone," Emmett says, finally deciding to join the conversation. "This has been a night from hell. Brian, Sweetie, give me your keys. I'm going to the loft and getting you some fresh clothes. You need to get out of that stuff. I'll also bring back some fresh coffee. Does anyone want something to eat?"

Murmurs of ‘no' echo around the room. Jennifer has already left in the direction of Justin's room. As I go to hand my keys to Emmett, reality kicks in.

"Fuck. My jeep is still in the parking garage of..."

"The Priory," Daphne helpfully adds.

"Teddy, can you give me a ride? Vic, do you want to go home and lie down, or stay here? Do you have your meds?" Em has apparently nominated himself to get things done.

"I should really go home, but if Sis shows up..."

"Vic, stop at the house and get your meds and a change of clothes and stay at the loft. If you want anything to eat, you should probably grab that, too. I'll be here all night, so you won't be bothered."

"Brian, I really can't..." Vic starts to protest.

"Oh, yes, you can," Emmett insists. "Now, come on. You're coming with Teddy and me. Let's go." He looped arms with Vic and the three started off down the hallway before the older man could reconsider.

Daphne turns to face me with a heated, dark look. "He might be your best friend, Brian, but if Michael was the one that took that baseball bat to MY best friend..."

I held up my hands. "Say no more. I agree with you 100%. Are you up to seeing Justin, or are you heading home, too?"

"I'm definitely staying. I have to talk to him and make sure he's okay. Are you going in, or staying out here?"

"Fuck, no; I'm coming in. I'd rather wait until Jennifer leaves, as I don't want any other confrontations tonight, but I suppose that's not going to happen, either."

"Come on, big guy. I'll protect you." Daphne gives me a lopsided grin, and I can't help but think of the difference between the friendship that she has with Justin and the one I had with Michael. He was always causing trouble, egging the jocks on, until I had to step in, and ended up getting more bruises on top of the ones Jack rained on me. I shake my head to erase those dark thoughts; I need to be here for Justin. He's all that matters right now.

"Lead the way, darling. I'm right behind you," I tease, causing the tension to ease a bit.

"Nah, come on," she replies, grabbing my hand. So, I'm forced by this pint-sized girl to walk down the corridor while holding her hand. It's a good thing there's no one here that I know, who will witness me being manhandled by her.

~ ¤ ~

Justin finally woke up a few hours later. Emmett had come and gone, so I was cleaned up and in fresh clothes. We had some tense moments to start with, when Jennifer thought it would be best if I went home and she sat with her 'baby boy.' Daphne started to say something, but I chose to set her straight.

"Actually, Jennifer, you have no right to be here." I hold my hand up to stop her protest before continuing. "I gave the hospital your name, since I felt you'd want to know, but I was under no obligation to do so. After Craig refused to pay for Justin's college tuition, and with advice from my attorney, Justin filed papers to be emancipated; otherwise, he wouldn't qualify for any student aid. He didn't want to go to Dartmouth. He's an artist, Jennifer. His talent already surpasses some of the artists at Ryder's. I wasn't going to let him give up on his dreams. I offered him the money, but he didn't want to take it. He finally agreed to accept a loan over and above what the financial aid would cover. Me? I could care less if he ever pays it back, but he insisted a contract be drawn up. Also, even though he's not aware of it, he does have medical coverage, which I pay the premium on. I felt that was a necessity after you and Craig dropped him off of yours. So, if you want to stay, fine, but no more talk about who's staying or who's leaving, unless of course, you feel the need to get home."

Daphne had once again grabbed my hand in silent support during my ‘talk' with Jennifer. It was nice... comforting, which I desperately needed at this time. Jennifer didn't say anything, but finally gave a slight nod, acknowledging that she heard and understood. I caught the unshed tears in her eyes, and momentarily felt bad for being abrupt and bordering on rude, but my nerves were frazzled, too.

We all sat in silence until I saw a flicker of movement on Justin's face. I voiced my joy, the other two looking at me questioningly, until I told them to watch. We sat for another fifteen minutes until he opened those baby blues, blinking a few times, before groaning and saying one word, "Pain."

Daphne laid on the call button, and when the nurse came in, we told her to get Justin something, reminding her it couldn't have any Tylenol in it. She said the doctor had already gone over his list of allergies and approved what he could have, but she would leave an EpiPen just in case.

We dimmed the lights, and all grabbed a hand or arm, waiting for the medication to take hold. When he slowly opened his eyes a few minutes later, he looked at all of us, settling on Daphne, then me, then back to Daphne, saying, "Did you just leave the prom?" Then he glanced at me, saying, "You should have come, Brian. You could have recaptured your youth."

~ ¤ ~

The next afternoon finds me visiting my best friend. Yeah, right. Cold-blooded killer, is more like it. Detective Horvath had come and gone, and after everything - all the implications and facts - had sunk in, I decided to go have a little chat with Michael. Upon my request, Michael had not yet been told the results of the DNA testing, or even their suspicions. Deb is still sitting in a jail cell, awaiting a court appearance for disturbing the peace and her inability to listen and obey a police officer. If I had to guess, I'd think it was a ploy to keep her away from the hospital; hopefully, it will also make her realize that she can't go off on people the way she did and refuse to listen to a police officer. But knowing Debbie the way I do, and unfortunately, regrettably too well sometimes, I doubt this will stop her the next time things aren't the way she seems to think they should be.

When I get to Michael's room, there is a uniformed guard at his door. Apparently, Horvath must have told him I was coming to see Michael, as he crooks his eyebrow, saying, "Kinney?" and with my nod, he just tilts his head for me to go in.

Michael is sitting up in bed, and upon seeing me enter, he lights right up, smiling widely and holding out his arms. If the fucker thinks I'm getting anywhere near him, he's nuts.

Glancing down at his leg, about all I can think of to say is, "Your knee looks like shit." And it really does look painful. Funny, I feel no sympathy towards him.

"Oh, Brian. You have NO idea! And these fucking doctors are so stingy with the pain meds." He sighs, still holding his hands out toward me. "Can I get a hug? I feel like I haven't seen you in forever."

"Come now, Mikey. I just saw you last night before you went into surgery. I held your hand and gave it a firm squeeze." I feign concern as I ask, "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"Of course not. It's just that a hug or a kiss hello would be nice." He's still holding out his arms expectedly like some frozen statue.

I shake my head as I brace myself against the door frame. "No can do. Don't want to get too close and accidentally bump your knee. You should be more careful getting out of cars, so you don't trip stepping up on the sidewalk. Look at the damage you did to your knee."

"Huh?" He gives me kind of a strange look, and I can almost see the wheels spinning. Probably wondering if that's what he told us last night. Then he says, "Oh, yeah. David parked way too close. I couldn't even step out of the car. It was awful, Brian! I have never been in so much pain! Then there were all these rude people on the plane. Horrid, absolutely horrid!" He hesitates for a second before continuing. "Uh, Brian, can I stay with you after I get out of the hospital? I could never make it up all those steps at Emmett's, and I can't stay at Ma's for the same reason. Your loft is the only place acceptable. Besides, you're my best friend. You owe me."

My eyebrow arches in disbelief. "Excuse me? Owe you? Owe you for being my friend? Since when did friendship come with a price tag?"

Michael finally lowers his arms, dropping them by his sides on the bed as he replies, "Come on, Brian. I didn't mean it that way."

"Well, I'd really like it explained to me, because you distinctly said... 'owe me'."

He frowns at me, not quite sure what to make of my reaction. "Why are you acting like this? I'm injured! It was a slip of the tongue! Hey, do you know where Ma or Uncle Vic is? Maybe Ted or Emmett? Nobody has come to see me today. I thought for sure Ma would be here, driving me crazy already. I asked for a phone earlier, too, and they wouldn't bring me one. Maybe I can use yours. I can call the diner and see if Ma's there."

"Well, you know Deb. I'm sure she'd be here if she could be. I'm sure she's holed up somewhere. She'll probably be along shortly. And, I can't let you use my phone. No cell phone usage in a hospital. Hospital policy."

He lets out a long breath, disappointed. "So, um..."

"Cat got your tongue, Mikey? I see you shaking your head. It's just you and me. Best friends. We tell each other everything, right? We don't lie to each other... right?"

Michael huffs. "Brian, you sure are talking strange, even for you. What are you getting at?"

"I'm hoping you'll level with me and tell me the real way you damaged your knee."

"I told you, I fell." He sounds confused and hesitant, his brow wrinkled in confusion. Is he really this dense, or just disillusioned?

"Alright, if you insist. But, it's time for you to level with me. Where did you fall? Should we start with the most recent? Getting out of David's car and tripping, or..." I shake my head in disbelief. "You really are clueless and have a horrible memory, you know that?... Was it then, or did it happen at the airport, while you were trying to walk up the escalator; or was it at Emmett's, when you were racing to leave after you picked something up that you forgot there... only Emmett said you had nothing there. And let's not forget the airport has surveillance systems; if your memory is all fucked up, I'm sure we could get a clear picture from them. What's wrong, Mikey? You're looking a little ill. Now, should we go back a little further than that, and discuss what really happened? How about the parking garage when I hit your knee after you bashed Justin's skull in? WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!"

Michael's face scrunches up with righteous fury. "IT'S YOUR GODDAMN FAULT! It's always 'Justin this' or 'Justin that'!"

Before he can say anything else, a uniformed officer comes in with Detective Horvath who states, "Michael Novotny? You are under arrest. Anything you say may be used against you in a court of law..."

I have already started walking out - it had taken everything in me to stand there as calmly as I had. I can't stand to be in his presence one second longer. I don't even pause and turn around as I hear the distinct clank and click; Michael's arm is most likely being handcuffed to the bed rail.

~ ¤ ~

Three months have passed, and a lot has happened. After spending a week in the hospital, Justin is more than ready to go home. Jennifer wanted him to go to her new condo, but Justin voiced his displeasure, and after a glance at me, Jennifer didn't say any more. I jokingly asked Justin if I looked scary.

So, with a promise to come in religiously for his therapy appointments, we pack him up and - against his wishes - he's wheeled down to the entrance, only to come to a standstill. He can't make himself walk out of the hospital. The hustle of people coming in and out has him frozen to the spot, so ultimately, they wheel him to a more secluded area while I drive the jeep around to pick him up.

It takes two more days for me to locate a therapist who is willing to come to the loft for his treatments. I have to give him credit for his diligence. Daphne stays with him during the day while I work, which also helps keep his spirits up. Two weeks later, and with the trial looming, I implore Justin to go outside to help him readjust to crowds. We start taking walks in the evening, staying close to the loft. Then bribery comes into play. I tell him if he can manage daytime on a busy Liberty Avenue sidewalk, I'll take him out for dinner at a nice restaurant. The little shit quirks an eyebrow at me, saying, "Like a date?"

All I have to do is tell him, "Sure, but do you remember me telling you the only date I've ever been on, I fucked the waiter? Do you still want to go on a date... or just go out and have a nice dinner at Papagano's?" He chooses to go out to have a nice dinner.

The trial is a nightmare. Deb has already distanced herself from everyone. She doesn't want anything to do with anyone who does not support Michael. She had shown up at my office one day, demanding as Michael's best friend that I hire him a good lawyer. When I told her that I wouldn't do any such thing, and that I felt Michael was getting what he deserved, she lost it. After the slap to my face and ranting about how she spent years - years - patching me up after my father beat me up, bloodied me, and broke my ribs, she turned to go out. It was then that I noticed my office door wasn't closed, so that kind of clued the office into my childhood, leaving me feeling sick in the pit of my stomach. Cynthia had already called security, who did an admirable job of preventing her from continuing to scream all the way out.

But, back to the trial. David arrives to testify and so does Dr. Cromley... giving testimony regarding what Michael said while in DC. And I am so proud of Justin for getting up on the stand. He speaks with passion, relaying what he can remember; how he woke up after the surgery, and the only thing he could remember from that night was seeing Michael in the parking garage. He speaks of the disabilities he suffers with and how he's not sure if he'll be able to go to PIFA, after being one of the select few to be chosen. But when he looks Michael in the eye and tells him how he has taken from him what should have been the best night of his life, Michael jumps out of his seat, yelling, "That's what you get for dancing at your prom with a guy! Isn't that right, Brian?" He asks as he turns to peer over at me. "If WE had danced together, we'd probably have gotten beaten up and left for dead! I just did what Brian told me years ago! That was supposed to be your last dance, Boy Wonder!" he spits out, venom dripping from his voice.

Well, Michael pretty much seals his fate with that outburst. He is found guilty and sentenced to eighteen years in prison, plus $60,000 in punitive damages awarded to Justin. When we question the DA afterwards, he relays that many factors go into sentencing for aggravated assault felonies. Michael's almost 'proud' at what he has done; his refusal to take responsibility for the crime and showing no remorse accounted for a large portion of the sentence. But other factors that were considered were Justin's reoccurring injuries. The fact that he was intending to be an artist and had been accepted at a prestigious school like PIFA, had also held a lot of weight in determining the sentence.

Deb explodes. Her outburst and name-calling towards the judge result in her being held in contempt. I don't think it helps when she tells the judge he'd better sleep with one eye open, either. She is sentenced to only three days' imprisonment. I think the judge realizes that the type of sentence he has handed down to Michael might make any parent momentarily unbalanced.

I wish I could tell you that it makes her realize she needs to keep her mouth closed and avoid confrontations, but not good old Deb. I hear all the details from quite a few, so there must be some truth in it.

About two weeks after her release from jail, when Deb is delivering food to one table, one of the guys at the next table says, "Can you believe that psycho? His ass deserved to be fried!"

Deb drops the plates she is still holding, shattering them on the floor. She turns around and marches over to him, hauling off with a resounding crack across his face, her fingernails leaving long scratches across his cheek. She starts screaming about how ‘nobody is going to talk about my Michael like that,' as if he was so important people would still be talking about him. It turns out the guy's dad had caught his wife in bed with another man and killed them both. They had retired to Florida and the guy was given the death penalty, so, yeah, he was literally going to be fried.

Needless to say, Deb is fired. She has no pension to speak of or money saved, so she signs over the house to Vic and takes off... going south to stay with an old friend. Vic says the two were practically inseparable in school. Loretta Pye, with a 'y'. A brash big mouth, just like Deb. Vic is worried about being able to make the payments with only his pension. Deb owes quite a bit on the house, and Vic worries the bank will repossess it. I have Ted do some pretty fancy stuff with my portfolio, freeing up a hefty sum of money, which I use to make a balloon payment on the house for him, thus lowering his payments drastically. I speak to Emmett, who says he will move in with Vic, thus helping out by paying him rent.

They are now talking about trying to start a catering company. I think it would be a good move for Vic. He's an excellent chef. He worked in the kitchen of one of the top restaurants in New York for many years. Emmett is a natural party planner, so I can see a booming business being started. His youth and enthusiasm for life should be good for Vic.

~ ¤ ~

EPILOGUE:

It's been nine months since that fateful night. Justin has deferred starting school for one semester. Oh, they put up a hell of a fight, but that was when Melanie paid the board a visit. They tacked on a penalty for the loss of payment and an empty spot, but Justin doesn't mind. He has the money drawing a high interest rate. After David sends all of Michael's stuff back, and with an okay from the court, Michael's prized possessions are sold off. I contact Heritage Auctions in New York. Justin has no problem receiving his $60,000 from the proceeds. The rest goes towards Michael's hospital bill. Which is a good thing, as Michael just doesn't know when to keep his mouth shut. He's told to move the line forward at the prison commissary, and instead of looking to see who gave the order, he yells at him to go fuck off. 'Tiny' takes offense to that. Michael is involved in an accident shortly thereafter. He ends up losing his bad leg, and the crack on the head inflicted on him leaves him in a vegetative state due to cerebral damage. They figure he won't last much more than six months in his current condition.

Justin is doing extremely well. His determination to not let any handicaps hinder him has aided in his recovery. He's returned to the vibrant youth he used to be, only a little older and a little wiser. Looking at how he views the world has also helped me grow as a person, too. At least I try to tell myself that. We both still occasionally trick, but after what we have gone through, we leave the bed at the loft just for us.

He suffered terrible nightmares when he first came home. One time when I was out of town trying to acquire a new client, I looked up a psychiatrist that specializes in trauma. Yes, Brian Kinney saw a shrink. But hey, it was for Justin. She told me that when Justin is asleep to place earbuds in his ears and play the song from Prom. Who knows... maybe it will even jar a memory? It's a good thing he sleeps like the dead, as I don't think he has ever realized I do that. It's surprising, but the music has calmed him, allowing him better rest and helping in his recovery. Every now and then, I hear the song being hummed softly under his breath. I wonder if he even realizes he's doing it.

Tonight, we're in New York, a celebration of sorts. It's Sunshine's birthday, but better than that, he is one of the three students selected to participate in an Emerging Artist's Show. His art is spectacular. I book reservations at Eleven Madison Park, the restaurant where Vic was a chef years ago. Justin always said he would like to eat there if given the chance.

We are almost done with our dinner, when I excuse myself. Unknown to Justin, I have prearranged a surprise for him tonight. I want this to be special. I want it recreated perfectly. On my way to get myself ready, I nod to the maître d', signaling I'm ready and will be right back.

A few minutes later, I appear behind the waiter who is speaking to Justin. After clearing my throat, the waiter moves and Justin glances at me, surprise evident on his face. There I stand in a replica tux and white silk scarf, just like I wore to the prom. Holding out my hand, I ask, "May I have this dance?"

Justin hesitates, then gives me that smile so reminiscent of prom, and my throat catches. I lead him to a section that has been cleared off just for this special occasion. The first strands of Save the Last Dance for Me start. Justin gives me a surprised look; I figure he thinks the song is old and sappy.

Halfway through, he starts to unbutton my jacket. He pauses and starts kissing my chest before circling around my back, removing my coat. Where he flings it to is anyone's guess. And just like before, I lead him through a series of spins, with him moving effortlessly, before I pull him tightly back into my chest. I grab him around the leg - afraid he might be dizzy - tucking it around me, before lowering him into a dip.

When I pull him up from the dip, I see recognition enter Justin's eyes.

~ ¤ ~

JUSTIN:

As soon as Brian dips me, scenes start playing in my mind:

Brian standing in front of me.

"I thought you wouldn't be caught dead in a room full of eighteen-year-olds."

"I thought I'd recapture my lost youth."

Unbuttoning his jacket, tossing it to Daphne. Fancy footwork. Spins. A dip.

And when I come up from that dip, I see the sheer love reflected in those hazel eyes that I love so much, just like back then. I realize that Brian had given me a gift this night; he had opened himself up to me. He had allowed me to see what he has shown very few others.

I pause... our lips centimeters from each other, before pulling his head down and giving him a searing kiss.

I touch the white silk scarf Brian placed around my neck before he whirled me around the dance floor and I know that things are going to be better. I remember. And I don't plan on ever losing that memory again.

It was Ridiculously Romantic.

THE END