Chapter Six

The crash of a coffee mug against the steel door had Mark leaping aside, just barely avoiding being beaned between the eyes as he walked into the flat. All around him were shards of glass and chunks of broken ceramic. In the middle of it all stood Roger, eyes wild and skin flushed.

"Holy shit!" He gaped at his roommate, ducking out of the way as a drinking glass flew by, shattering against the wall. "What the hell is going on here?"

Roger's eyes were narrowed and deadly. "You told her."

"Told who what?"

Roger launched a dictionary next. "You told Olivia about her."

Mark, kept a keen eye on his friend's throwing arm, edging around the couch and toward Roger. "She's our friend, Rog, she'd have found out eventually. Did you want her hearing about it on the street?"

"Did you tell her about the letter?"

"What letter-" he cut himself off, remembering the envelope, the news that had been the harbinger of all this madness. Sighing, he shook his head. "No."

"So you can respect someone's privacy." Roger sent him a furious glare. "I'd wondered."

"She deserves to know."

"Why?" Roger exploded back into motion, picking up another book, this time heaving it at Mark.

Mark dodged it easily, well aware that if Roger had wanted to hit him he would have. "You know why."

As his body fed on the last dregs of the drug in his system, Roger was surly and his roommate was the perfect target. "Damn it, Mark. The girl's been gone five years, done God knows what for five years. We know nothing about her!"

"She's Olivia; of course we know her."

Roger deflated and turned his back. "We know who she used to be: the little girl who followed you around asking about f-stops and dogging the band for guitar lessons." His voice turned wistful. "That girl's gone, Mark. Mark and I can't trust the stranger that's taken her place."

"Why can't you?"

Roger turned to glance at Mark over his shoulder. "I just can't."

"Roger, it all comes down to fear. Life..." Mark bit off a quiet, bitter laugh. "Life is fear."

"It needs to stop."

Mark approached him cautiously and laid a hand on Roger's bowed back. "It can't."

Roger scrubbed a hand over his face. "I went out and bought more heroin."

"Did you use it?"

He nodded. "There's no stopping." His muscles trembled, and he swallowed hard, his mouth dry.

"Some things you can't change, Roger. Fate. Life. The actions of others. But some things you can change." He gave his shoulder a squeeze. "This you can change."

"I can't..." Roger drew in a shuddering breath. "I've tried; I'm not strong enough alone."

Mark smiled encouragingly. "You don't have to be alone. I'm here for you." He glanced at the large dent in their door. "Even if you tried to kill me with that ugly ass mug of Maureen's."

Roger laughed, sniffling loudly. "Yeah, sorry about that."

Mark waved the apology away. "Maybe you should have taken that baseball scholarship to Syracuse, instead of dropping out and running off to be 'the lead singer in a rock and roll band'."

A real laugh escaped Roger's lips and he draped an arm over Mark's shoulder. "Maybe."

Mark looked around the loft, suddenly aware that something was missing. "Where's Olivia?"

Roger's arm stiffened and dropped from his friend's shoulder. "She...had to go."

Mark narrowed his eyes. "What did you do?"

Roger turned away, kicking at the shards of glass into a pile, pretending to straighten the chaos he'd made of the living rooom.

"Roger-"

The phone's shrill ring interrupted Mark's angry remark. Neither man moved to answer it, Mark glaring at Roger and Roger looking anywhere but at Mark until finally the singer shriveled under the burning glower turning his back to stare out of the window.

"Speak."

"Damn, don't you boys ever change that message?"

The voice startled both inhabitants of the apartment, and they crossed to the answering machine together, staring at the blinking red light. "It's Collins. Throw down the key."

Mark cast a smile in Roger's direction, all annoyance and animosity forgotten. Their brother was home.


"You want to do what?" The laugh that escaped as Cullen sipped at his coffee was more of a snort. Offended, she glowered at him and tested the weight of her empty mug, as if preparing to throw it. "I'm sorry," he choked out, setting his drink aside. "But...opening a community center, here? That's...rather pointless don't you think?"

"Pointless?" Olivia shot him an incredulous look over her mug. "The streets are full of drugs, prostitutes and people without homes. That makes having an alternative sound very important, if you ask me."

Cullen sat back, eyeing her with an odd mix of amusement, wonder and confusion. "And you're going to accomplish this all by yourself?"

"If I have to."

He shook his head. "You don't dream small, do you, Olivia?"

"No." she swirled the dregs of her coffee in the bottom of her mug. "My mom taught me to set out for the impossible."

Cullen's eyes widened and Olivia knew the admission had caught him off guard.

"Really?" He smiled and propped his elbows on his knees. "What'd she dream about?"

"That my brother and I would get out of Alphabet City someday." She shrugged one shoulder. "Go to college; change the world - the basics every mother wishes for their children."

"Looks like you're making them come true, I bet she's very proud."

Olivia nodded and set her empty mug down with a quiet, definite click on the table in front of her. "I like to think she would be. She died when I was eight."

His eyes grew as big as saucers. "I'm so sorry..."

Waving it off, she crossed her arms over her chest and looked away. "It was a long time ago."

Cullen sighed, "I'm really putting my foot in my mouth today, aren't I?"

Laughing a little, she cocked her head. "What makes you say that?"

Shrugging he settled back into his own chair, dark eyes trained on her face. "I stalk you, all the way down 11th Street, badger you into having coffee, insult your dreams and bring up bad memories." He made a face. "This is the worst first date on record."

Rolling her eyes, she stood. "It's just coffee. Besides, I've had worse." She stood, brushing her hands on her jeans, eyes flicking to the door, eager for escape. "Well, this was fun. Thanks for the coffee." Without another word, she turned on her heel and walked away, leaving him staring holes in the back of her head.


The couch cushions hard against his back, Roger lay quietly, staring up at the ceiling. His argument with Olivia played back through his head, leaving him nauseated and angry all over again. Only this time, the anger was directed at himself.

The way she'd looked at him.

Sighing heavily, he strummed at the guitar resting against his chest, hoping his pain could be flushed away by the music.

"I'm writing one great song before I-" he cut off, listening as his roommates laughed their way back into the loft. He sat up slowly and watched them with guarded eyes.

Laden down with groceries, Mark and Collins were talking amiably as they walked through the door. Their laughter rang out through the apartment and Roger found himself wondering if he had ever been that carefree.

Often, it didn't seem like it.

Setting his guitar aside, he rose to greet them. "Hey brother," he said, holding his arms open for Collins' swift, fierce embrace.

Thumping his back twice, Roger released him and arranged a smile on his face. "You look great. I guess MIT agrees with you?"

"For now," Collins hedged. "All right, what are we doing?"

"I'm playing." Roger stated blandly.

"You can do that any time, Roger," Collins interjected. "Let's go out; find a party. Come back hung-over and sexed-out."

"Nah," Mark vetoed it swiftly, with a discrete glance in Roger's direction. "How about hitting The Vice?"

The suggestion piqued Roger's interest and Collins hummed a little in agreement. "We should call Liv, too. I bet she needs a night out." Mark suggested innocently.

Roger's aquiescence evaporated and he glowered at his roommate who only sent him a pointed stare and a shrug.

Missing the exchange, Collins smirked. "Ah, so the prodigal has returned?" he said, looking at Roger shrewdly. "How fares the catching up?"

"It doesn't," Roger said shortly. "I think I'll just turn in early, Mark."

"Oh, don't be a pussy." Collins caught him by the shoulder when he made to pass by. "Let's go."


"Livvy," her father's voice jolted her out of the book she'd been reading. Looking up, she spotted him standing just outside her doorframe. "Phone."

Smiling gratefully, she leaned over and lifted the receiver. "This is Olivia."

"Well, well, looks like there's more than one prodigal home this time around."

Her eyes widened, the corners of her mouth turning up at the familiar voice on the other line. "Collins?"

"Hey darlin'," he chuckled. "Surprised?"

"Shocked. Aren't you supposed to be in Boston?"

He scoffed. "And miss hanging with my girl? Hell no. Speaking of..."

Olivia paced back down the hallway, grinning. "When and where?"

"That's my girl. We're hanging at the Vice."

"All right...I'll meet you there in ten."

Collins interrupted before she could hang up. "We'll come get you."

Rolling her eyes, she flopped back on her bed. "Collins. I'm twenty-two, not twelve. I think I can handle a little walk down to the club."

There was a moment of humming silence, then Collins sighed. "Meet us at the loft, and we'll walk over together?"

She pulled the phone back to gape at it in exaggerated shock.

The impossible had happened, had actually happened!

Someone had deigned to compromise with her, and treat her like an adult. It made her do a little jig as she jumped up from her mattress and walked to her closet. She had to find something suitable; fluffy bunny slippers and ratty gym shorts were not proper club attire.

She smiled broadly. Having Collins home would help take her mind off of things. That man could cut a rug like no one else. Digging through her clothes, Olivia hummed under her breath.

She was so enveloped in picking the perfect outfit, she didn't hear her father knock on her doorjamb. "Livvy?"

She whirled around, a sequined halter in one hand and purple tank in the other. "Jesus, Pop!" she cried. "Don't do that!"

He chuckled softly. "Sorry. Where are you going?"

She bit back the childish reply that sprang to her lips and instead turned back to survey the contents of her closet one more time. "Out to the Vice with the guys."

"I thought we agreed you'd stay away from there."

She rolled her eyes before turning her head to stare at him blandly. "You agreed."

His brows beetled. "Olivia-"

She turned, crossing the room and taking his hands. "Daddy. You have to let me be a grown up," she said, softly. "You did a great job of raising me and as much as you may not like it, I can take care of myself now."

Her father blew out a breath that was not quite steady. "Damn." He smiled when Olivia giggled quietly. "You really have grown up."

She grunted when he took her into his arms and squeezed her tight. "Pop," she grunted. "I can't breath."

He pulled back and smiled mistily at her. "My little girl," he whispered.

She chuckled and hugged him again. "Pop," she murmured, burying her face in the side of his neck. "I'll always be your little girl." Pulling back she winked at him. "But get out of here, I need to change. Collins only gave me twenty minutes to get over there."

Laughing, her father ruffled her hair and stepped back. "Be careful, baby."