The intern stayed with me until I calmed down, and then she asked, "Would you like to have us call someone for you?"

"Nolan," I whispered hoarsely.

"Can you give me a phone number?" She pressed.

I numbly pulled out my phone, pulled up Nolan's name and hit send. Then I handed the phone to her. I heard her voice talking to you, but I didn't comprehend the words. I was so sick with fear that I thought I might actually puke right there in the waiting room. At least the intern had brought me to a private waiting room for family and friends of trauma victims. There was no way I would have wanted to sit in the sick, germy, crowded, noisy ER waiting room.

I had no concept of how much time was passing, my mind only focused on one thought – if you died, our fight would be the last thing that I would remember about you. I hoped you would know, without a doubt, how much I loved you.

"I love you, Zayn," I whispered quietly, not expecting a response.

But then I heard Nolan's voice, "He loves you, too, sweetie, and he'll be okay."

I practically leapt into my brother's arms, overcome by a new wave of tears and sobs. He held me silently until I calmed down. When I could finally breathe again, I said, "You don't know that, Nolan. He crashed. When they dragged me out of his room, they were trying to revive him."

"I know, but the woman who called me said that he was stabilizing."

"Why didn't she tell me that?" I wondered.

"Maybe she did and you just didn't hear her. I can imagine you've been quite upset."

I sighed deeply and said, "Of course." I fell back onto one of the small couches, pulling him with me so that I could lean against him.

"You know, Riv, even if I didn't have the first clue about his condition, I would still guess that he's going to be all right."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because he has something to live for now."

I smiled, thinking that maybe I had given you a fresh outlook on life.

Nolan continued. "Besides Zayn isn't your average guy. Most men wouldn't follow their true love halfway across the world and watch them for three years."

My heart plummeted. How on earth did Nolan figure that out?

"Wh..what are you talking about?" I asked, trying to sound convincing, but the quiver in my voice was a dead giveaway.

"I know everything, sweetie. And it's okay. At first I was furious, of course, but when Zayn told me everything, I knew he was really in love with you. I believed that he would never, ever hurt you."

"So, how did you find out?" I asked.

"It was driving me crazy because I knew that I recognized him from somewhere, but I couldn't figure it out for days. And then it hit me – the hotel at Leigh-on-Sea. That's how I knew him. I knew he worked nearby because I just happened to notice that he was on the beach all the time, at least when we were. I think we actually chatted a few times."

"So...you confronted him?"

"I wouldn't call it a confrontation, exactly. I just told him I knew him from Leigh-on-Sea and I asked how he happened to end up here. He just spilled everything, almost like he just had to get it off his chest. As he told me about his infatuation with you, I had a gut feeling that his intentions were pure. Otherwise, he would have attacked you or abducted you long before now."

"Wait, so the trip to the cabin...?"

"I understand. He said he was following you to make sure you were okay. All right, that sounds a little creepy and obsessive. But he told me that when he offered you a ride, he wanted to help you, of course, but he also saw it as an opportunity to get to know you better. He told me about your spur-of-the-moment decision to go with him, and it made sense because I knew that freshman year was eating you alive."

I breathed out huge sigh of relief. Nolan knew everything about you, except for the actual kidnapping. I felt relieved that someone else knew. I'm sure you were protecting yourself by leaving out that bit of information and sticking to our fabricated story. But you were also protecting me. Protecting us.

"So, have you told anyone?" I questioned fearfully.

"No, River, and I'm not going to. This will be our little secret, okay?"

Another sigh of relief followed his promise, and he wrapped his arms around me and hugged me close to himself.

It wasn't long before the doctor from the ER came out to talk to us. He had a small smile on his face, which I took as a good sign.

"Ma'am?" He said expectantly, and then I realized that he was waiting for me to tell him my name.

"I'm River. I'm Zayn's girlfriend. And this is my brother, Nolan."

"Well, River, Zayn is doing fine." My face crumpled as I held back happy tears. "We gave him a transfusion and 47 stitches in three different locations on his arm. He will have to stay here for a night or two while he recovers. He will feel very weak and tired for several days, but then he should be back to normal."

"Can I see him, please?" I begged.

"He's still very groggy, but yes, you can see him. They're preparing a room for him upstairs so he should be transferred to inpatient shortly."

Nolan and I followed the doctor back into the ER. I caught sight of you and I cried out with happiness.

"Oh, Zayn, don't ever scare me like that again!" I cried. I carefully wrapped my arms around your shoulders and I buried my face under your chin.

I felt your uninjured hand lightly caressing my back and I let myself be comforted by the warmth of your skin and the unique smell of you.

Nolan stayed and chatted with you for a bit. Then, after making sure I was okay, he left, promising he would visit again in the morning.

I followed you as your bed was wheeled to an inpatient room. The nurses got you hooked up to monitors and arranged the cords so they were out of the way. They did a vitals check, and then one of them told me where the pantry was, in case I got hungry or thirsty. Clearly, they knew I'd be staying with you.

She left and came back shortly with a large cup of water for you and warm blankets for both of us. I took a blanket from her and tucked it around you. Then I pulled a chair up to your bedside and wrapped the other blanket around myself. I laid my head down on your chest and closed my eyes in contentment.

"Love?"

"Why do you want me?" You asked.

"I love you!" I said passionately. "You know I love you."

"I've turned into my father," you said weakly and a few tears escaped your eyes.

"Stop that now," I gently chided. "You can't waste any more of your tears. Your body needs fluid right now." I smiled, trying to lighten the situation. Then I placed my hands on your cheeks and said, "You are not your father. You had enough self control to stop yourself from hurting me, and instead, you almost killed yourself."

You closed your eyes and shook your head slightly. "I don't deserve you," you whispered.

"Don't you ever say that again. I would be lost without you. And do you see these?" I giggled as I playfully flexed my arms. "These arms were made for holding you. And these," I said gently rubbing your arms, "these were made for holding me."

"I tried to hit you," you argued.

"But you didn't. You have a strength inside that you don't fully understand. You knew in that split second that you couldn't possibly hurt me. You knew that you didn't want to become your father. Now, hush up and go to sleep. I'll be here all night and I'm not leaving you. Ever."

I stroked your hair until you drifted off. Then I held your hand and rested my head beside you until I fell into an uncomfortable but contented sleep.

I woke up a few times when they came in to do your vitals checks. You slept through it all, but I couldn't sleep anymore, slumped over your bed. The nurse offered a helpful tip. "You can sleep on that chair, you know – it reclines all the way back. Can I get you another warm blanket?"

I nodded eagerly and adjusted the chair so that I could lie right next to you.

The nurse returned with a warm blanket and a warm smile. I held your hand and fell asleep again.

You were released the following afternoon with the standard instructions: get plenty of rest, drink a lot of water, and come back immediately if you develop a fever.

It was only when I got into my car that I noticed the huge amount of blood that had congealed and dried in the passenger seat. I gulped down my revulsion and tried not to look at it. I had no idea how much blood was in our apartment either, so I decided to prepare myself for the worst.

I drove up to the entrance of the hospital and the transport tech helped you out of the wheelchair and into the car. He grimaced when he saw all the blood.

"I haven't had a chance to clean it yet," I said sheepishly.

All you said was, "Wow."

"It's all right, I'm just glad you're okay."

The apartment was indeed covered in blood; a large pool of it had dried by the window, which had been allowing the cool spring air to flood our apartment through its broken remains. Thank goodness it hadn't rained. There was blood splattered on the windowsill as well. I had no idea what I was going to tell the landlord.

"I'm sorry you have to clean that up," you pouted.

"It's fine, babe. Don't worry about it. Now, go and lie down. I'll bring you some water – or do you want some tea?"

"Water is fine."

I brought you a tall glass of water with ice, and then I went to call the landlord. He was surprisingly understanding and he seemed more concerned with you well-being than the state of the apartment. It was clear that he liked you, and I was sure you'd been the model tenant. He told me that he'd come up and have a look and then decide what to do.

He arrived quickly and surveyed the damage. Then he informed me that he would call people in to replace the window and to clean up the blood. I asked if he wanted us to pay anything for the repairs, but he just smiled and said, "Nah. I have pretty good insurance. Now, you just take care of Zayn." Then, to my surprise, he hugged me.

I heard you clearing your throat to get our attention. You were standing in the doorway.

"Zayn! You should be resting!"

"I wanted to thank him," you smiled at me, and then at the landlord. "Thanks so much, Tim."

"How are you, my boy?" Tim asked, shaking your hand and then pulling you into a manly hug, taking extra care not to upset your injuries.

"I'll be all right," you smiled with your cute little boy smile. "But I really feel like we owe you something."

"Nonsense!" Tim said. "How many times have you helped me with repairs around this place? It's the least I can do for you. Now you take care, okay?"

I was thankful for a positive male influence in your life. Not that Tim could replace the love you needed from your father, but he was certainly very fond of you, and I'm sure that had to count for something.

But then I had a revelation – in an instant, I knew why your emotions had been out of control recently. You had already gone back to lie down, and when I checked in on you, you were already breathing heavily, telling me that you were asleep.

I laid next to you until you woke up. I had replenished your water, and I asked if you were hungry.

"Starving!" You replied.

I went to get you some food and came back. You sat up in bed and started to wolf it down.

"Take it easy! I don't want you to choke – we've had enough hospital drama for now!"

You swallowed and then grabbed my hand. "I don't know what I did to deserve you."

I blushed and then said the same thing to you, fully convinced that we were perfectly matched.

"I think I know why you've been so...moody lately. Do you want to hear my theory?"

"Of course."

"You never really processed your parents' deaths. You were angry at your father and you grieved for your mother, but you had no one to help you through it. Not a single person. Your said your grandfather didn't know about it. So you carried that terrible, terrible burden all by yourself. That's too much for a kid to handle. So you let yourself be sad and angry, but only to a certain point. You had to keep pushing it down because you assumed the role of the responsible adult, caring for your grandfather, keeping up the house, going to school as if everything was okay. You didn't have anyone in your life to care for your needs."

Tears were falling freely when you said, "How did you become so wise?"

"Years of therapy," I said, laughing. "Now, stop crying – you're wasting all your body's fluid." Then I started kissing your face, on all the spots where your tears had left their mark as they streamed down. Slowly, I moved to your lips.

I kissed you gently at first, but then you slipped your hand into my hair and held me firmly against you. You moved your mouth slightly and let your tongue wander, and I gladly accepted the intrusion. Soon we were both lying down, kissing each other wildly. Your bandaged hand rested above your head, but your other hand began wandering up and down my body, kneading my skin and massaging small circles everywhere.

You used your one strong hand to push me gently, making me lie down on the bed. Then you carefully laid down, situating most of your body over mine and you began kissing my neck and shoulders and collarbone. I let out a soft moan at the magnificent feel of warmth pressed together and the residual sensation that your mouth had left in each spot where you kissed me.

When you finally stopped kissing me, you looked at me and said, "I will always need you."

"And I will always need you," I replied, kissing you lightly on the lips

As the days grew longer and warmer, you seemed like you were starting to work through your fear, anger, guilt and grief. You still got very moody on occasion for the next few months. But with a little bit of coaching from Dr. Conyers and a little bit of my own instinct, I usually knew how to help you, how to love you through it.

If you were afraid, I reassured you that our new life together was going to be far better than the life you had while growing up. I was continually reminding you – cementing it into your brain – that I would never leave you.

If you were angry, I would remind you that your anger towards your father was justified. You had to let yourself feel the anger and then get it out of your system. I bought you a free standing Everlast punching bag and encouraged you to use it. We also decided to take brisk walks together, now that it was getting warmer. It helped both of us to manage our stress.

If you were feeling guilty, I brainwashed you by reminding you over and over and over again about how many heroic things you had done. I even made you stand in front of the mirror and repeat them to yourself. You thought I was crazy, but I stood there with you and we laughed through it the first few times. I also helped you with some guided imagery that Dr. Conyers had taught me. You were to imagine your feelings of guilt like a barbell that you'd been carrying for so long, with several weights attached to either side. Then you had to envision yourself releasing those weights and letting them fall to the floor.

And when you grieved your many losses – your parents' death, the loss of your childhood, the absence of someone to care for you – most of the time, I held you while you cried. You told me once that you felt kind of embarrassed crying in front of me all the time, but I reminded you that crying was not only cathartic, but it was absolutely appropriate for what you'd been through.

Sometimes, you sincerely wanted to be alone, and I respected that. We developed kind of a "safe word," so that if I was nagging you to open up to me, but you really wanted to be alone, you would just say the word and I would back off, give you some space. We chose the word Hesperus. 

We were going to make it, Zayn. I just knew it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I just wanted to clarify that, in the last chapter, when Zayn threw the punch, he was angry enough to hit something or someone, obviously, but he knew that he couldn't cross that line with River. He could have lashed out and hit her, but in an instant, he knew he couldn't, shouldn't and would never do that to her.

As a mom who struggles with a family history of rage, violence, and depression, which can make you very angry, I have come close to hitting my kids, but there was always an invisible barrier that wouldn't allow me to do so. I had to walk away or go scream in my pillow or ask my husband to take over before I really lost it. 

We're all human and we all have issues and temptations, but it's how we choose to respond to the issues or act upon the temptations that defines us.