Chapter 1

Bed sheets rustled in the darkness as Tommy Oliver tossed and turned, unable to find a comfortable position. His pillow seemed lumpy, more like a pile of bricks than a foam cushion. His mattress springs seemed determined to wreak havoc on his back and his sheets alternatively clung uncomfortably or billowed, washing cool air over his heated skin.

Muttering a dark curse, he threw off the covers and slid his feet over the edge of the bed. The carpet was a welcoming softness his bed seemed to be lacking and he toyed with the idea of stretching out there before rejecting it. It didn't matter where he tried to sleep; it wasn't going to happen.

Not while the news that she was returning to town plagued him like something out of a bad nightmare and he'd lived through nightmares. Nightmares that still occasionally haunted him from his time as a Power Ranger. It had been a happy time in most respects and a time when she had been the bright light in his life. A light she'd snuffed out with a sheet of paper and simple words. Words like 'brother' and 'friend'.

He leaned forward, running his hands into his shoulder length hair and squeezing tightly as his fingers rubbed his scalp. Damn her. Damn her for doing this to him.

After five years the thought of that blasted letter still had the power to sting.

He pushed to his feet and reached for his pants. He wouldn't be able to sleep tonight; he knew it as sure as he knew the Power Rangers still fought evil on a regular basis. He snapped his pants closed and then pulled on his shirt. He needed some exercise, a way to burn the energy thought of her always sent coursing through his veins. Thankfully, he'd kept up with his martial arts - the only compromise he'd been unwilling to make when starting his racing career - and he knew just the place to practice.

Grabbing his keys and helmet off the table, Tommy headed for where he had parked his bike.

A pre-dawn chill was still hanging in the air as Tommy pulled to a stop just off the pedestrian trail of the meadow he'd practically claimed as his. Jason, the only ex-Ranger he'd kept in touch with, sometimes joined him for early morning exercises but for the most part it was like this morning.

Still.

Silent.

Peaceful.

Something he hadn't been since before she had left.

Climbing off his bike, he hung his helmet and jacket on the handle bars before taking a deep breath of the dew scented air. It was enough to calm his nerves but not banish them entirely. He wasn't looking forward to that afternoon when there was no escaping having to see her again. In truth, he wasn't sure if he wanted to escape. Seeing her would be both pain and pleasure - a drop of water to a dying man. He stretched, reaching for the sky, and threw himself into a forward flip without pause.

There were no other sounds in the meadow save for the tattooed beat of his feet as they hit the ground and the even inhale and exhale of his breathing.

Punch. Block. Kick.

He ran through a series of basic moves, expending frustrated energy and pent-up anger as he progressed to a more advanced set. Fighting an imaginary opponent, he threw himself into a routine. Seeing in his mind's eye the Putty's that had once threatened them, those minions of evil he's fought on a daily basis until he'd grown too old and jaded - until she'd left. Or rather, until she'd sent that letter. He'd been perfectly fine until that awful letter had reached in and torn his heart out.

The thought intruded as he landed and stopped, inhaling deeply of the early morning's fragrant smells. Damn her. No matter what he did, she was with him. Haunting him like a ghost who had unfinished business. His lips twisted at the thought. It was accurate, only the unfinished business was his, not hers.

He settled into a cool down routine, knowing he'd regret it later if he didn't stretch, and focused on clearing his mind. Or rather, clearing it as much as possible. He needed strength today. The strength to see her and not care, the strength to see her and not want; the strength to walk away as she once had when it was all over.

If he could.

Shaking his head in frustration, he tried to focus on the task ahead. He had a photo shoot this morning, an interview with a local and international paper, practice and - later that afternoon - the race. Only, the race came after the Olympic team's performance and he wasn't sure if he'd be in any shape to get on his bike.

Or rather, if he'd have the focus to avoid getting himself killed.

He spent the next few hours in the meadow, focusing on the only things that still kept him sane. He managed, through strength of will, to banish her back to the back of his mind. Snapping a mental door closed, he finally checked the time.

Enough to get back to his place, shower, change and get to the track for his photo shoot. His lips twisted into a semi-smile. Ah, the life of a star. It left no room for regrets until that fame sputtered and died. For that he was thankful.