DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS.

HUGE THANKS TO EVERYONE THAT IS ADDING ME AND THIS STORY TO THEIR ALERTS AND FAVES.

AND FOR THOSE ENTOURAGE FANS OUT THERE, PHIL IS BASED ON ACTOR JEREMY PIVEN AND HIS CHARACTER, ARI GOLD

Pictures of you

"Pictures of you
Pictures of me
Hung up on your wall for the world to see

Pictures of you
Pictures of me
Remind us all of what we used to be."
-Pictures of You, The Last Goodnight

Bree-Anne's POV

It takes all of my strength and will power to simply put one foot in front of the other. Both my throat and chest constrict; threatening to cut off all air as I struggle to juggle the immense emotion that seems determined to bring me to my knees. The pavement below quickly turns into a swirling black mess as hot tears blur my vision, and the thudding of my heart is deafening, muting all surrounding noise. I am barely aware of a car ignition roaring to life behind me and the sound of tires on cement, or Phil's assertive voice as he shouts orders into his cell phone, conducting business in between demanding that Collin keep his 'grimy hands' away from him and telling him that 'children should be seen and not heard'. I feel as if my body is on autopilot. Nothing computing or making sense as it instinctively propels itself forward. I hold on to that business card as if it's my lifeline. At this point in time, it's the only thing that's keeping me from falling apart. Because that card, and the name printed on it, represents everything I've spent the last three years praying and hoping for. And as I glance over my shoulder and watch as that unmarked squad car slowly makes it way down the street and disappears around the corner, I feel the sudden compulsion to both chase after it and to sit down in the middle of the sidewalk I now stand on, curl my arms around my knees as I bring them to my chest, and break down at what seems like an insurmountable loss. I'm terrified that that unexpected and shocking visit would also be the last. That by not going after Don, I've made the same mistake I did three years ago. And it takes all I have to have faith in him. He's abandoned me once before; I don't think I could take that again.

And suddenly I'm nearly crippled by fear. A thousand pound weight settles on my chest and iron fists close around my lungs. The ability to breathe abandons me and sharp pain hits me square in the heart. So intense that it doubles me over and sends the tears cascading down my cheeks. As I violent tremble from head to toe, I clutch at my chest and struggle to draw air into my body. The result nothing more than loud, desperate gasps mixed in with my terrified, anguished sobs. A sound so appalling and frightening, that I hear Collin cry out my name, followed by the patter of his feet that he rushes to my aid.

"Mommy!" he screams, and I feel little hands pushing my hair out of my face. "Mommy! Are you o'tay? What's wrong? Are you sick? Mommy!"

I shake my head and reach out to lay a hand on one of his tiny shoulders. I can't get enough air to even form a proper response, but I manage to lift my head up far enough to look at him. There's terror in his bright blue eyes and he's near tears, and I know that I need to get a grip. I need to fight my way through the shock and the panic and compose myself. Not for myself, but for that little boy that relies so heavily on me.

"Mommeeee...." he sobs. "What's wrong mommeee?"

I force myself down into a sit right there in the middle of the sidewalk. Not caring who the hell sees me there or what they think as I drop my chin to my chest and place my face in my hands, forcing myself to take deep, even breaths and release them slowly. My lungs burn from the simple task and my head spins, and while I will my heart to cease its relentless pounding and silently plead with my body to calm down, Collin stands nervously beside me, sniffling noisily and wiping his nose with the back of his sticky and dirty hand.

"Mommy?" he asks fearfully, and once again pushes my hair away behind my ears and off my shoulders.

I wait until breathing becomes easier and my heart settles down and the weight begins to lift off of my chest, then I remove my face from hands and give him a brave, reassuring, albeit shaky smile.

"I'm fine now Button," I say, and his hands clear the tears off my cheeks. "Mommy just got upset. She's okay now."

"Why you get upset?" he inquires. "Why you get upset mommy? Are you sick?"

I shake my head, then reach up to cup his tiny, sticky face in my hands and drawing him down towards me, press a kiss to his forehead. "I'm fine," I assure him, and he gallantly offers one of his small hands in order to help me up off the ground. "Why thank you sir," I say, causing him to giggle, and then curl my fingers around his and use my other hand to push myself up off the sidewalk.

Before I can even get to my feet, Phil is beside me, his face flushed from embarrassment and anger furrowing his brow. I'm about to make a smart ass comment about how nice it was that he rushed to my aid so quickly, when he reaches down to wrap a large hand around my bicep and yanks me unceremoniously to my feet.

"For Christsakes, Bree-Anne!" he hisses, and yanks me into him. "What the hell is wrong with you? Making yourself look like an ass like that?"

"Mommy's sick," Collin says, quick to defend me.

"Your mother is not sick," Phil glares down at him. "She's overreacting like she does with everything and anything that upsets her in the slightest. There's nothing wrong with her. And she wouldn't be upset if she didn't have so many damn secrets she's hiding from everyone. Would you, Bree-Anne?"

"I'm not...."

"And how many times do I have to tell you not to touch me?" Phil asks Collin. "Do you have any clue how expensive this suit is? Quit touching me with those nasty little paws of yours."

"Donnie let me touch him," Collin retorts.

"This is a two thousand dollar suit. Not one that I got on sale for two for ninety nine bucks at a discount store," Phil says snidely. "But I guess you have to settle for less when you're on a city salary."

"Don't talk to him like that!" I snap, and laying my hands on Collin's shoulders, draw him in front of me. "He's a little boy, Phil. He has feelings, you know."

"When I was his age my mother was paddling my ass for talking back to adults like he does. And she certainly didn't let me run the neighbourhood in my bare feet with shit all over my face and hands. Look at him!" Phil gestures to Collin with his cell phone. "He looks like he's homeless! Like he lives somewhere without running water! This isn't a third world country, Bree-Anne. You want the people around here thinking your some neglectful mother spending her time watching soap operas all day? Or worse, smoking crack and tipping back forties? Look at him! And look at you! Do you know what a hair brush is? Or an elastic?" he reaches out and flips my hair off my shoulder. "For fuck sakes, you look like a bag lady. You really have to wear second hand clothes?"

My eyes narrow in anger and I open my mouth to respond, but the shrill ring of my boyfriend's cell phone brings an abrupt end to any and all confrontation.

Phil looks down at his call display and sighs heavily. "What the fuck now?" he mumbles, then twists his head to one side, then the other, cracking his neck noisily. "If that little prick bastard doesn't start cooperating soon, I'm going to Indiana myself and putting a firecracker up his ass."

"Do you mind not using that language in front of Collin?" I ask. "Do you really have to...?"

"Take the kid inside and clean him up," Phil ignores me completely. "And yourself while you're at it. You'd be a beautiful woman if you put some effort into it Bree-Anne. But like that..." he eyes me from head to toe, shakes his head in disdain before pressing the talk button on his cell phone and putting it to his ear. "Talk to me, Eric..." he orders into the phone. "And it better be good unless you want to end up back in the mail room or drinking out of toilets..."

I glare at my boyfriend's back as he turns and begins pacing the front yard while conducting business. Phil has always been brash and abrasive. In a strange way, I think that's what actually attracted me to him in the first place during that chance meeting a seven months ago in the elevator of the same building his lucrative agency and my lawyer's office was located in. I'd been minding my own business, leaving after yet another useless appointment held in an attempts to nail down some financial security for myself and my son, and I'd just stepped onto the elevator when I'd heard the rapid click of dress shoes as they hurried towards the lift.

"Hold that elevator there sweetheart!" a deep voice, dripping with a Bronx accent had called out to me, and I'd quickly slammed my finger down on the open door button and watched as Phil as had rushed into the elevator, his short dark hair mussed, dress shirt slightly un-tucked and his tie loosened. A briefcase in one hand, his phone to his ear with the other. He'd given me a wink in both greeting and thanks, and then we'd retreated to our separate sides of the passenger cab as the elevator made its slow descent.

I'd been -shamefully enough- turned on by the way he barked orders at whoever was on the end of the call and the way his voice commanded both respect and perfection. He was gritty and raw and took no shit nor let anyone walk all over him. It was his way or the highway, plain and simple. And if people didn't like him or the way he handled business, well that was their fucking problem as far as he was concerned. It was a dog eat dog world, he'd explained to me on our first date, when he'd wined me and dined me at the famed Russian Tea Room. Being an agent, especially the head one at his own firm, was a lucrative and nasty business. His cell phone never stopped ringing and he was always on the go.

"To the victors go the spoils," he always said when he nailed a high profile athlete. "Soon I'll be bathing in fucking caviar while the rest of the peons eat out of garbage cans. Stick with me Bree-Anne and you'll never want for anything ever again."

Materialistically speaking, he was right. In the seven months that we'd been together, he'd been showering me with expensive gifts -a new car, designer clothes and elaborate jewellery- and paying for Collin to attend an exclusive private day care on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. If he was going to play daddy, as he called it, there was no way his 'kid' was going to attend some public facility. Image was everything to Phil. He wanted to project the picture of a beautiful, well-adjusted and well-behaved family. An obedient child in a school uniform and a trophy 'wife' to parade around at functions. After the three and a half years that I'd gone through -since the time of Dean's arrest- I had figured I'd deserve to be spoiled and I'd eagerly and willingly accepted the presents. Much to my parents dismay, who both know that I'm some materialistic, high maintenance bitch nor was I raised to value objects in that way. Recently, I've realized that while the things that Phil can provide me with are wonderful, it doesn't make up for the fact that he's emotionally absent. It's a shame, really. Because he's an attractive man and he's smart and witty and when he's not hung up on business he can be sweet and debonair. And it's those moments that keep me hanging on so tightly to him.

That and the fact I can't bear the thought of spending the rest of my life alone.

"Now you listen to me!" Phil bellows into his phone, snapping me out of my reverie. "You tell that little piss ant that if he doesn't sign on the dotted fucking line by nine o'clock tonight, I'll go to the press and leak the news about his bum knee and then no one will want to sign him! He wants to screw around, well then you tell him to get his ass over here and bend over and I'll show him how us bad boys do it!"

I sigh heavily, then bend down to press a kiss to the top of Collin's head. He smiles up at me, his blue eyes sparkling.

His father's eyes.

My chest constricts once again, and it takes all I have to smile down at my son.

"Let's go and have a bath," I say, and gently push him in the direction of the house.

"With bubbles?" Collin asks hopefully.

I nod, and he gives his musical giggle and takes off in a run across the grass. Glancing over at Phil stalking across the yard with one hand holding his phone to his ear and the other planted firmly on his left hip, I wonder if he'll ever be able to give me exactly what I need. The feelings of love and emotionally and physical security. If the day will come when he'll realize that I'm just not something he can parade around and show off. That there's more to me than what he's seeing.

I look down at the business card still clutched in my hand, and my thumb traces slowly over the name that's printed on the front. My mind goes back to all of those promises of forever. Of being a fourteen-year-old girl falling hopelessly and madly in love for the first time. Then of a woman just shy of her thirtieth birthday rediscovering that love once again and revelling in the maturity and the intensity of so much more.

I don't know if that will happen ever happen again. Between Don and I. There's a lot of obstacles standing in the way this time. And it's not something that can just happen overnight. He can't just walk into my life after three years and expect things to go back to the way they were. And I can't expect that to happen either. Things like that talk time to build and develop and we need to....

I close my eyes briefly and force all thoughts of a future with Don out of my mind. It's never going to happen. Too much has happened, too much has changed. We've changed.

I'm only fooling myself, I conclude, then tuck the business card into the back pocket of my capris before I continue towards the house.

An hour and a half later, as Collin -worn out from both his bath, his time out in the sun and the excitement of meeting a new friend- naps on the floor of the living room in his Thomas the Tank Engine sleeping bag and Phil takes a shower in the main bathroom upstairs, I find myself sitting at the kitchen table with tears once again spilling down my cheeks. A cup of steaming chamomile tea sits on a coaster to my right, and in front of me is a tattered and faded copy of the yearbook from my senior year in high school. After cleaning both Collin and I up, I'd dug the book out of its resting place inside an old trunk in the basement and began the ordeal of torturing myself by reliving the past. I flipped through the pages slowly and methodically, the places where there's pictures of Donnie and I either together, or alone, long ago etched in my memory. Photos of us on our senior class' trip to Canada. Our arms around each other and smiles plastered across our faces as we pose at the base of the CN Tower, Donnie's chin resting on my shoulder as he stands behind me, Rangers caps on our head as we stand in front of the old Maple Leaf Gardens. There pictures further on in the book of me with the rest of the decorating committee and the drama club, and ones of Donnie with the various sports teams that he'd been on. He'd excelled in everything that he tried. Baseball, basketball, football. But his true calling and his real passion had been hockey. Our final year of school, he captained the team to the city championship, which they easily won, and he'd had scouts from various high profile universities watching him closely, ready to offer him scholarships to come and play for them.

That had been our original after graduation plan. We were going to both go to Georgetown and get our own place to live as opposed to staying on campus. We were going to get married as soon as we turned twenty -why we put that age limit on ourselves, I still don't know- and I was going to work towards my teaching degree and he was going to concentrate on studying engineering and playing hockey. He wasn't the smartest guy on the planet, but he had more brains than he ever gave himself credit for. I believed in Donnie. More than he believed in himself. I knew how determined and tenacious he was, and I knew he had amazing things inside of him. And I was sure that if he tried hard enough, those four years of post-secondary education would be a cakewalk for him. Only three weeks before we were to leave for school, he'd informed me that there was a change of plans. That his application to the NYPD academy had been accepted and he was going. No ifs, ands or buts. No matter how much I argued, begged and pleaded, his mind was made up. He was going to be a cop, just like his father. I had wanted so much better for him only because I knew he was capable of it. And quite honestly, I was terrified of being a cop's wife. I was scared that something horrible was going to happen to him and I couldn't fathom my life without him. But because I did love him and adore him and I wanted him to be happy, I'd accepted his decision in the end and that September we started our journeys down two entirely different paths.

Everything happens for a reason. I truly believe that. We'd been kids then. Sure, we'd been in love, but had it hadn't been the real thing. That had surfaced when we'd reconnected years later and we'd discovered that we had back when we were teenagers could in no way compare to what we were experiencing as adults. God had brought us back together for a reason. And, in a sense, Dean had played a part in it as well. If I'd never met Dean, I'd never had met up with Donnie again. And if I'd never hooked up with Donnie again, then Collin wouldn't be here. It really all is a double-edged sword in a way. Dean had fucked up and we had suffered for it. No one in our lives had come out of that unscathed, and Donnie and I, and our son, had paid the biggest prices of all.

For the second time in a little over an hour, I flip to the very back of the yearbook and my eyes wander over all of the messages scribbled in different coloured ink all over the inside. Donnie's stands out the most. He'd rolled his eyes and bitched and moaned when I'd plopped down beside him in the cafeteria and handed him a pen and told him he HAD to sign my yearbook. He didn't see the point. We were boyfriend and girlfriend, we had plans on getting married in two years time. Why did he have to sign the damn thing when he saw me every day and planned on spending his life with me? I'd insisted, and had in the end, gotten my way. Something that he'd been used to by then. And I can still see him sitting there at the cafeteria table, tapping the lid of the pen against his lips, eyes riveted on the yearbook as he thought of what to say. And when he had decided, he'd guarded the book with his forearm so I couldn't peek at what he was writing.

Breezy,

I love you more then today then yesterday, but less then tomorrow

Donnie

I'm not ashamed to admit that when I'd read it, I'd cried right there and then in the middle of the cafeteria. And I'm neither startled or embarrassed that those words still bring tears to my eyes.

"Are you there, Squeaks?"

I give a small start as the female voice on the other end of the cordless phone that's pressed to my ear snaps me out of my daydream.

"I'm here B," I say, and with my free hand, pick up my mug of tea and take a sip.

B is actually Bianca DeFazio. My best friend since grade nine and the only person that I've kept in contact with from high school. She was -still is, actually- a feisty and mouthy little thing with a head full of black ringlettes, a body that could stop traffic and a grey eyes that seem to be able to penetrate to your very soul when she looks at you. Twice married with four kids of her own, she'd gone back to her maiden name after she'd split from her second husband -a plastic surgeon to the elite- a little over a year ago, and was living large and completely in charge on the Upper West side. We'd met - complete polar opposites- when we'd been assigned as lab partners in science class and we'd been inseparable from that moment on. Known as the Bee-Bee Twins around school for our ability to finish each other's sentences and the fact we seemed joined at the hip, the only time we'd ever been on the outs was when she and Donnie had fooled around with each other after the senior prom. I'd been unable to attend and I'd been the one who'd encouraged my best friend and boyfriend to go to the dance together. I didn't give them permission to make out in the back seat of his father's caddy mind you, and while Donnie and I weathered that storm, Bianca and I didn't speak to one another again until she showed up as I was leaving for Georgetown with a care package she'd put together for me. We've kept in constant contact ever since. Bianca was my maid of honour when I'd married Dean and she'd been the one at the lamaze classes with me and in the delivery room when Collin was born.

She was also the only one who knew the truth and the whole truth. And I hadn't hesitated a minute to call her and tell her about my unexpected visitor.

"Tell me what you're thinking," Bianca gently encourages. "Tell me what you're thinking now that you've seen him again."

I sigh and tap my fingernails on the side of my mug. "I'm thinking that..." I struggle to find the right words.

"And be honest with me," Bianca says. "Don't piss on my shoes and tell me it's raining."

I can't help but crack even the smallest of smiles. "I'm thinking that I still love him," I admit. "That I've never stopped loving him."

"I see..." my best friend says, and I hear her take a sip of her own drink. It had been her idea when I'd called in a state; both of us make some chamomile tea and enjoy it together. "Well that's a fine how do you do, isn't it." It's more a statement than a question.

"I never should have walked away from him that day at the courthouse," I lament. "I never should have left him standing there like that. But I was just so hurt and so angry and I..."

"He's just as much to blame, Squeaks," Bianca informs me. "Sure, you shouldn't have done this and you shouldn't have done that and you were stupid to toss things away like you did, but honestly hon? He had your phone number and your address. Nothing's changed in three years and he could have just gotten a hold of you."

"But things were so messed up," I say, feeling defensive for both Donnie and myself. "The whole thing with Dean and the logbook made Don's life a living hell at work and he was trying to protect me and keep me away from all the craziness. And I guess time just got away from him and...."

"Three years?" Bianca asked. "Like, seriously?"

I don't have a response for that.

"Look, you both fucked up, plain and simple," my best friend says. "You both had a million and one chances to make things right and neither of you took up. But what's the sense beating a dead horse? What's done is done. And as shitty as it is he hasn't had contact with his son all this time, things could be worse. He showed up today for a reason, Squeaks. He was meant to come into your life again. Into Collin's life. He deserved to know about his boy and you know that."

I simply nod.

"But the past is the past," Bianca concludes. "None of that matters now. What matters is that Don's back in your life and you two have this beautiful, precious little boy. The important thing now is what the two of you do to make up for the past. How you go about making a future."

"But what if that isn't what he wants?" I ask. "I mean, I doubt he came here today looking to rekindle things with me."

"What the hell does it matter why he came there? He came, didn't he? Don't look a gift horse in the mouth. You've got this amazing chance in front of you. Don't blow it, Squeaks. You love him. You've always loved him. And maybe he's feeling the same way about you."

"I doubt it," I grumble.

"What do you have to lose?" Bianca asked. "What's the worse that can happen by at least trying?"

"He can laugh in my face and tell me to get a life?"

My best friend laughs. "Highly unlikely," she says.

I give a heavy sigh and cast a glance up at the ceiling as the shower stops running. "I should get going," I say into the phone. "Phil's just getting out of the shower and..."

"So Mister Personality is there, huh?" Bianca does little to disguise the disgust and disproval in her voice.

"Be nice," I scold.

"I am always nice," Bianca informs me. "I am the Queen of Nice, in fact. The Mother Freaking Teresa of the Upper West Side."

"Lizzie Borden or Mommy Dearest of the Upper West Side is more like it," I tease.

"Watch it, Squeaks. Don't make me come all the way to Queens and smack you around."

"I'm shaking," I laugh. "Thanks, B. For listening to me go on and on and on."

"I'm used to it," she chides. Then turns serious once again. "I mean it Bree-Anne. Don't let Don get away this time. It's a sign that he showed up today. The two of you are meant to be. And third time is the charm, right? Please don't let this chance get away."

"I'll see what I can do," I promise, then glance up as Phil wanders into the kitchen in a pair of khakis and a white golf shirt that is tight across his wide chest and around his strong arms. His hair is still damp from his shower and he sports a five o'clock shadow, and at that moment, as he stands alongside of my chair and leans down to press a kiss to the top of my head, his masculine smell permeates my senses and I'm reminded that there's still someone in my life that deserves better than the plans that are swirling through my head.

I tilt my head back as he moves to stand behind me chair, and he gives me a soft, adoring smile as he pecks the tip of my nose, then my forehead, before heading for the fridge and yanking the door open. He's been staying at the house with Collin and I since my parents left for their yearly month long retreat to the Dominican a week ago, and while at first he grumbled about us not coming to stay at his loft on the Upper East Side, he'd given in when I'd detailed everything I'd have to bring with us to make my son comfortable. Clothes, toys, books....it was simply just easier to just stay put.

"I'll give you a call later," I tell Bianca.

"Yeah...after you're done disinfecting yourself after you sleep with the douche," my best friend responds, then promptly hangs up.

"You're feeling better now?" Phil asks, as he takes a bottle of Bud from the fridge and twists off the cap as he uses his heel to close the door of the appliance.

I nod, and pressing end on the cordless, I set it on the table. My eyes quickly take in that treasured message in my old yearbook once again before I snap it closed. " I think I just had too much sun," I say, and sip my tea slowly.

"Who are you trying to kid, Bree-Anne?" Phil asks, and leans against the counter by the stove. "We both know what this is about."

I arch an eyebrow and stare at him pointedly. Waiting for him to enlighten me.

"How nice of daddy to just show up after three years of shirking his responsibilities," Phil remarks dryly, and swigs his beer.

"That's not how things went down and you know it," I retort. "He didn't even know that...."

"That Collin was his kid," Phil finishes. "Yeah...I know....you've told me a thousand times over and over again how you pulled the wool over everyone's eyes. His, your folks', Collin's, that dirt bag con that you were married to."

"I had my reasons for keeping things from Don," I argue. "It's not just as cut and dry as you think it is."

"You know what I think, Bree-Anne? You know what I really think?"

I sigh. "No...but I bet you're going to tell me, aren't you."

"I think that while your intentions, for the most part, were honourable, that you're an immature little girl. That for a mother, you've got a lot of growing up to do."

I roll my eyes, and pushing my chair back, wince as the legs squeak noisily on the wooden floor below. "That's just your opinion," I say, and stand up. "And we all know the old saying about how opinions are like assholes. Everyone's got one."

"So what are you going to do now?" Phil asks. "Now that the great love of your life has returned? Now that NYPD Blue knows he has a kid."

"Don't call him that," I respond, and carry my mug to the sink. "Donnie's a great cop and he deserves more respect than that."

"Oh that's right, he's royalty as far as flatfoots go," Phil snorts. "Daddy was some big name and he's been trying to fill the shoes since he was knee high to a grasshopper. Too bad he just succeeded him making himself look like a complete ass for not only turning in one of his own but for having that high speed chase in a cab that made the news a couple years back."

"Don did the right thing helping nail Dean," I say. "He stole drugs from a raid and he killed an innocent kid and...."

"And your golden boy is just your knight in shining armour," Phil interjects, a smirk on his face. "Next you're going to tell me, for the hundredth time, about how he masterminded that huge bust that brought down some crime family and about how he helped catch that serial assassin. Suspect Q or whatever."

"Suspect X," I angrily correct. "Why is it people always dwell on the bad things and not mention the great stuff? All you can talk about is the thing with Dean and some car chase through the city..."

"A car chase involving spies," Phil adds with a smirk. "Don't forget that. That's my favourite part. Top secret, international men of mystery responsible for robbing some of New York's elite. Including that bimbo your Mister Perfect was banging."

"Don't believe everything you read in the papers," I huff.

"You mean the same stories that you so lovingly cut out of the newspapers?" Phil asks. "How sweet, Bree-Anne. Keeping your own little shrine of sorts dedicated to the love of your life. I wonder how he'll react when he finds out that you've kept every little thing you've come across about him. It's actually kind of stalker-ish, don't you think?"

"I think you're being a complete ass," I reply. "Now I'm going to lie down and..."

Phil grabs a hold of my wrist as I attempt to leave the kitchen and yanks me into him. The move itself is aggressive, but not in the least bit abusive. It's more to do with assorting his assorting and claiming me as his possession than it is about controlling me. And it's a side of him that he knows turns me on. That domineering, bossy way that always manages to get me all hot and bothered and has me eating out of the palm of his hand. Only today it doesn't seem to be working. At least not to me.

"Here's what we're going to do," he says, his voice low as he wraps both of his arms around me, one hand settling on my ass and the other, the one with the beer bottle in it, on the small of my back. The position of my chest flat against his has hiked the bottom of my shirt up, and I can feel cold glass against the slice of exposed skin. "Now that daddy's come back into the picture and he's going to be itching to get not just a piece of that kid of his, but a piece of this..." he squeezes my ass. "...I'm going to call up one of the nice, expensive, ruthless lawyer friends that I have and we're going to make sure that A, you have full custody of the kid regardless of all the juicy skeletons in your closet, and B, that daddy dearest starts paying out of his ass for child support."

"Don isn't a bad guy," I protest. "In his defence he didn't know about Collin until today and he..."

"And he has a right to see his kid. Yeah, yeah, yeah. I get all of that. But you know what else I get? I get that as the sperm donor, he has a legal responsibility to that kid and you shouldn't have to be saddled with all the expenses and all the child-rearing duties. Am I right?"

I sigh heavily.

"Am....I....right?" he repeats, speaking between pecks to my lips.

I nod reluctantly.

"He can't just walk into your life after three years and expect to claim that kid, or you as his own," Phil continues. "Especially not you. A lot has changed in three years. You're not the same person anymore, Bree-Anne. You've gone on with your life. With me. And the sooner that Prince Charming realizes that, the better off we'll all be. You honestly don't think that he's going to waltz in here after all that time and just offer you the world, do you?"

"I don't think that..."

"Because you're even more delusional and immature than I thought you were if you do," Phil tells me. "I'm only looking out for your best interests here. And Collin's. And if this knight in shining armour of yours broke your heart not once but...."

"He didn't...."

"...not once but twice..." my boyfriend continues. "....then he's going to do it a third time if you let him. And I'm not going to let him. Plain and simple. You and me? We work. And you and him? Well do I really have to elaborate on what a God awful shitty mess he's managed to make your life and not even be in it?"

"You don't understand," I attempt to protest yet again. "You just don't..."

Phil kisses me softly, and a smirk crosses his face as he runs the cold beer bottle along the small of my back and notices how I shudder. "It's you and I in this Bree-Anne," he says. "Not me, you and the flatfoot. I can give you a better life. Look at everything I've already given you? Don't you want more of that? Don't you want that kind of life?"

I honestly don't know what I want anymore. But I can't come right out and say that.

"You leaving me for someone like him?" Phil gives a dry laugh. "That's like giving up your Ferrari for a bus pass."

I open my mouth to argue that point, and he covers my lips with his in a long, slow kiss.

"I know I'm not always the best man for you," he says, and strokes my forehead with the tip of his nose. "I know I can be an obnoxious, abrasive ass sometimes. But that's the job side of me and with this job....this job is twenty-four seven and it's hard to turn that side of me off. But you..." he pulls me tighter against him, so I can clearly feel the state of his arousal. "...you just drive me insane, Bree-Anne. You just look at me a certain way and you just drive me insane. Can you feel that? Can you feel the effect you have on me?"

I swallow noisily and nod. Unable to suppress the shiver that passes through me as he slides his hand over my ass then brings it up to shoulder and moves my hair away from the side of my face.

"You and me babe," Phil whispers against my ear, then twists his hand in my hair and begins to kiss, nibble and suckle at my neck. "All that matters is you and me," he says.

I give a sigh and my close as my body relaxes under his touch.

And while it feels good and I feel cherished and wanted, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't thinking of someone else the entire time.

Massive thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! And lurking! I appreciate all of the support!

Special thanks to:

CSINYMinute
Andorian Ice Princess- AiP
ParaCaerOuVoar
xSamiliciousX
Mauveine
Forest Angel
Heart2handgun
monoxide lullaby
blueeyedauthor
soccer-bitch
new-york-babeee