JUSTIN'S POV

Slowly but surely, I knew I was getting better, when I had my first shower since the bombing. When I thought the nurses couldn't see, I smiled, remembering all the times Brian and I shared. I was even able to get out of my room a little to stretch my legs—being cooped up in that hospital bed really hadn't helped matters.

Then, I saw them—they'd come back to visit. I tried to alter my path to get to everybody, but the nurses were determined to keep me going straight. I shrugged, letting them know the situation, and they gladly altered for me. Of course, I knew Brian couldn't be happier—he just held out his arms and waited, as I slowly made my way down. Just when I didn't think I could take much longer, I felt his hands touch mine, and I just collapsed—collapsed into his arms.

Of course, everyone else had to have a turn celebrating my accomplishment—Mom, Daphne, Debbie, and Michael all put an arm around me as I struggled for breath.

A wheelchair had been provided for me, which I gladly pulled myself into. I knew it was killing Brian just to fight the urge not to pop a wheelie as he wheeled me back to my room, as happy as he was—as happy as we all were!

"Come home when you're better," Mom pleaded. "Please—come home."

I thought of the art show I'd been at when the whole thing started. How—how did they handle the bombing?

"Here's the paper, honey, if you feel like reading," Jennifer said, pushing it across the table to me, when I was safely back in bed.

I read the paper nonchalantly, putting each section aside. It was when I reached the social section, however, that something caught my eye: "Taylor injured in gallery bombing; art show cancelled."

By that time, my eyes were tired and I couldn't read the story. "Would you like me to read it to you?" Debbie offered, retrieving it from me.

"Please," I gasped, exhausted from seeing the headline.

"Promising artist Justin Taylor was critically injured in last week's bombing," Debbie read. "Our thoughts and prayers are with him for a speedy recovery."

"That was sweet," Michael said, as Debbie put the paper aside. "It looks like all of New York is pulling for you now."

"Justin, I have to agree with your mother," Brian said, taking my hand. "Sounds like you don't need to be here right now. As soon as you're out of the hospital, I'm taking you home."

As much as I hated to admit it, I knew Brian was right. Now I was in no condition to be attending an art show!