A/N: Well... At least you guys now know that I didn't abandon this story. School's been out for exactly a week and I would've uploaded quicker if grad parties and sleep were a nonissue, but as it was - I needed to sleep for about 36 hours before I did anything else. XD Anyways, here's the next chapter - and I'm not doing anything over the summer except for a class where I just write stories, so I think you guys will get quicker updates.

Dedication: Well Class of '09, we did it. We graduated, got to throw our caps in the air, take the walk, whatever. This chapter's for you guys because we've seen each other at our best and at our worst, laughed about random crap, loved and hated, and played 20 questions one too many times. I'll miss you guys! ILY!!

Special Thanks to: Laugh-Dance-Love, 12superstar, unknownbyhim22, zanessa4evr12, , myemoh, and Oliverwoodschic

Special Welcomes to: Friends Not Food, zanessa4evr12, and myemoh

FYI: All mistakes are mine, no beta, and my BFFs aren't the best proofreaders.

Disclaimer: All I own is the little bubble I live in, everything else is up for grabs.

Finding Your Way Back Home

Chapter 9

What makes you hurt? What makes you smile? What calms your nerves? What drives you wild?… What's your favorite color? What's your favorite song?... What makes you curse? What makes you pray? Is your daddy your hero? What would your mama say? What I need to know, what I need to understand is what it takes to be your man… - Adam Gregory

~*~*~

"So," I sigh incredulously as I ease into Troy's embrace. It is Sunday afternoon, the sun is peaking behind the many high-risers and the heat is still cranked to its highest point in Troy's small and well-lived-in condominium. "You ask me to lunch on a Sunday, make me mouthwatering omelets, serve the expensive coffee, watch a few episodes of NCIS, and then proceed to suggest we play twenty questions?" I ask for clarification.

Troy's azure eyes hold my chocolate gaze, the twinkle evident even from afar. "That's exactly what I'm saying Montez. Why? You scared?"

"Nope," I assure him. "I just never pegged you for a Hilary Duff fan."

"'Scuse me," coughs Troy, shifting slightly so that we are face-to-face.

"Come on," I giggle. "That whole twenty questions deal is straight from the fairy tale of A Cinderella Story."

Troy grimaces before holding his hands up in surrender. "My niece went through my sister's old chick flicks and begged to watch it with me," he explains nonchalantly.

"You have a sister and niece?" I question suddenly sitting up just a bit straighter.

"What? You think I was genetically engineered or something?" teases Troy.

"No," I say slowly. "I guess we just haven't delved that far into our personal lives."

"And that's why the twenty questions is a good idea Ella," he states smugly.

I roll my eyes and dive for the bag of Cheetos. "Fine," I state haughtily dusting the orange powder on Troy's jeans. Ignoring his sudden outburst, I proceed to tell him, "You can go first."

"Nah, isn't it right to let the girl go first?" he asks playfully, his fingers just barely brushing my arms, leaving me shivering slightly – just not from the cold.

"If it was the girl's choice, we wouldn't be playing twenty questions," I tell him cheekily. Troy just snorts before tossing a handful of popcorn kernels in the air – successfully capturing two, with the rest falling around us. I snort this time and pop a few kernels in my mouth. "Great skills, Bolton."

"Shut up, Montez," he states, rolling his eyes slightly.

"I aim to please," I tell him before resting my head on his shoulder. "What's the first question?"

"And I'm telling you," Troy states playfully. "Girls go first."

I roll my eyes, "How about we switch on questions, but answer 'em both?" I suggest.

"Meaning?"

"Where'd you grow up Bolton?" I ask while digging around the Cheetos bag.

"Easy question Ella," he states, running his fingers through my curls. "Albuquerque, New Mexico. Up until I was twenty-one and got drafted by the Knicks. How about you?"

"Oh," I wave my hand around aimlessly. "New York City, except for the four years I attended Stanford in California. I was supposed to spend another four there, but hey things change. Next question Bolton."

"Wait," he says. "Why were you supposed to stay there?"

I bite my lip, weighing my options. The game is supposed to be totally tell-all, but am I ready to tell Troy all? I glance over Troy's head to look at the time, in exactly twenty hours I'm supposed to meet with Don and the head of the New York Crime Lab and discuss the chance of becoming an investigator. Sighing I shake my head slightly. "I was supposed to attend Stanford's law school," I disclose, giggling slightly at Troy's gob-smacked look.

"Hey," I squeak. "You think I couldn't do it?"

"Oh, no," teases Troy. "I'm wonderin' why you're an author and not a lawyer."

"I was never going to be a lawyer," I say exasperatedly. Now, Troy is looking like I am insane. I giggle and before I can stop, I am rolling around laughing my ass off. Meanwhile Troy is looking highly confused with just a hint of a smile. "I got in on a scholarship," I explain. "The scholarship though, was good for law school. I didn't want to work that branch of the criminal justice system though."

"But the work?" Troy states meekly.

"The work was nothing," I shrug. "I'm used to work. It's a nonissue in my world. Going though law school though, would give me another option if the job I really wanted fell through."

"Writing," Troy states soundly.

I shake my head, and Troy creases his brows in a frown. "I wanted to be a criminalist."

Grinning, Troy weaves his fingers through my hair again. "I should've known Ella," he teases. "So, with your connections, why aren't you doing that job?"

I stammer over my words, struggling to come up with the excuse that I have harbored over the years, except none come, except the truth. "Too many things," I reveal to him. "Writing is more important, my friends are more important," I shrug, avoiding Troy's caring gaze. "It's habit to work in the rut that I'm in," I tell him, though my conscience was saying something different: And who am I to complain, this life is much easier than the one that I yearn for. "Enough about me though," I tell him. "Why'd you play pro ball?"

"Oh, that's easy," Troy laughs, albeit a little bitterly. "I'm good at it."

I feel my jaw dropping. After pouring out my soul to the guy, he just gives a wimpy excuse, of 'I'm good at it'.

Troy's next words feel rushed, as if he is reassuring the both of us his real reasons. "I mean to say," he mumbles. "That it was the way it was. I became a pro-baller, 'cause that was Dad's dream." I can tell this is a sore subject so I rub my hand up and down Troy's arm as he tells the story. "Dad wanted to play pro, but he busted his knee in college so all he could was coach at the local high school." Troy stops and takes a breath. I lean against him in a comforting gesture. He sighs appreciatively before surging on. "From the time I could hold one of those small nerf balls, Dad and I were always on the court. It didn't stop when I hit grade school, in fact I became best friends with this kid, Chad Danforth, who was just as crazy about basketball as I was," Troy says ruefully.

Before I can stop myself a question tumbles from my mouth. "Are you still friends with Chad Danforth?" I ask hesitantly.

Troy glances over slightly confused, before nodding happily. He points to the small shelf where photographs in frames were lined up. Leaning closer, he singles out one of the pictures. One side of the frame held a photo of two young boys with huge smiles. The one with blue eyes and sandy hair was obviously Troy, while the other one had the skin of coffee with a dash of cream thrown in and the curliest afro, I have ever seen. On the other side of the frame, the same two boys – the one with the afro carrying a basketball, the other a diploma – are pictured with smiles and at what looks like their high school graduation, in a sea of red and white. I look at Troy who is grinning widely. "Chad always moves to his own rhythm."

"I can see," I tell him, laughing slightly. "What's Chad do?"

"Oh, well," Troy stammers, rubbing a hand behind his neck. "He was supposed to play ball with me." My mouth forms a perfect 'O' as I watch him fidget slightly. "Chad hurt himself during our last few months," Troy stops and looks at me. "I guess it's kinda sore subject, between me and him. In a nutshell, he screwed up his shoulder and back during a frat party."

I nod comfortingly, placing a small kiss on Troy's cheek. "That must suck, but that didn't answer my question," I tell him with a slight twinkle in my eyes.

Troy snorts, "He works for ESPN right here in New York. He's one of the consultants during basketball season and then works baseball in the off-season."

"Wow," I murmur. "Big job."

"Yeah, he loves it though."

"I bet. He gets to criticize all the moves of the games while getting paid."

Troy laughs loudly, "That… is exactly what he said when he accepted the position."

"How'd he get it?" I ask tentatively.

"Oh, that's easy," Troy says.

I roll my eyes. "Is it cause he's good at it?" I ask, the echo of Troy's earlier statement.

Laughing, Troy shakes his head slightly. "Well, he is good at it, but in truth, some guy from ESPN walked over to us at the end of one of our games where it was announced that Chad wouldn't be playing due to an injury and the guy just walks over and asks if he wants to head up to the announcer place with some of the guys and do that job," Troy pauses and stuffs a few kernels of popcorn in his mouth. "The whole game was frickin' hilarious, but still really impartial. The ESPN guy loved it so much that he took us out for drinks and proceeded to tell Chad that he had a job."

I laugh lightly. "Will I ever get to meet this best friend of yours?"

"I dunno," teases Troy. "I told him that my place was off limits today. So maybe in a year or two."

I roll my eyes. "Tell me about your family," I tell him my eyes slightly downcast as I pick at a nonexistent thread on my t-shirt. Families have always been my sore subject, at least since Dad died, but since Troy knows my family, it is only fair that I know about his… I guess.

"Oh," he says after a moment. "You know all about 'em."

I glance up, his blue eyes bright, before I break the gaze to look at the photos on the ledge, my eyes searching for a family picture.

"It's the third from the left," Troy whispers, pointing it out for me. "Kinda hard to miss considering that it's the biggest one there." I laugh quietly as I look over the picture. It was indeed the biggest photograph there. Four people all with big smiles on their faces had their arms around each other and were grinning at the camera. The picture could not be that old, Troy looked about the same, but at the same time younger. He was on the far left; next to him was a woman who looked to be just a few years older with hair darker than Troy's and hazel eyes instead of Troy's cerulean ones. Her smile though, that was the same as Troy's. My eyes slide to the next person – an older male with the build of a former athlete still in tip-top shape, eyes the same as the young woman's – and finally, the last individual in the photo was of an older woman with the same bright blue eyes as Troy but the same petite stature as the younger woman.

I feel Troy ease up from our embrace to cross the small space between the couch and entertainment system. He picks up a few frames of group shots before returning to his spot behind me. Curious, I pick up the picture to inspect it further.

"This," he says pointing at the photo I had been peering at from across the way. "Was taken six summers ago, before my sister's wedding." I nod, taking in the fancy attire of the four Boltons. "This is, obviously me," he says pointing to the boy on the far left before continuing down the line. "My sister, Madison, my dad, Jack, and my mom, Lucille."

"You guys look happy," I say quietly, knowing the truth was never in pictures – families who I was closer too were testaments to that bit of knowledge.

"Yeah," breathes Troy. "We are." He picks up another picture, this time with three individuals – his sister, and who I assume are her husband and daughter. "This was taken last winter, Maddie and Jeff – her husband – came to New York for New Years, that's their daughter, Sophie."

"She's so cute," I whisper looking at the picture of the happy family, the toddler was giggling and in the act of waving to the camera as her parents smiled on.

"Yeah," says Troy proudly.

"Do they live in Albuquerque?" I ask playing with the edge of the frame.

Troy shakes his head. "Nah, Jeff got an offer to go work in Denver, so that's where they are right now. I see 'em whenever the team gets shipped to play the Nuggets and over the summer, they come over here to hang around. Maddie's a teacher you see."

I nod silently, before carefully picking up the last frame; it was the one of Troy and Chad. "I wish I had a friendship like you and Chad's," I whisper to Troy.

"You seem to be doing pretty well with Taylor, Kelsi, and Sharpay," says Troy slightly confused.

I laugh bitterly, "They're my friends – I guess. If the term friendship means that you shop, drink, and talk with one another, then yes they're my friends."

"Hey, hey," Troy says, wrapping his arms around me. "You seem to be better friends with the cops who were giving me the evil eye."

I laugh through a sniffle, before leaning down for my purse. I sift around for a few seconds before emerging with my wallet. Handing it to Troy I tell him to open the first flap. Confused, I watch as Troy follows my instructions and reveals a rather beat-up picture. He takes it out carefully, throwing me glance. Instead of what I assume Troy believes to be a picture of me, Sharpay, Kelsi, and Taylor from our formative years instead is a picture of me and Don back when we were six and nine respectively.

"Cute," laughs Troy. "Didn't think a socialite would be one to play around in the dirt."

I shove him playfully, before proceeding to pluck the photo out of his hand. "This has yet to fill a frame, but it's probably my most prized photo besides the ones of me and my dad."

"Is that why he's so protective of you?" asks Troy hesitantly. I knew the 'he' Troy was referring to without needing to ask.

I shrug, "His own sister's a complete waste of space apparently, so he channels all that big brotherness into me instead of Sam."

Troy nods. "You still seem slightly bitter," he points out.

"How would you feel if your parents sent you to a fancy private school in Manhattan from the time you were in kindergarten to when you graduated from high school and you befriended the prettiest and richest and most popular girls in school just because they thought you were one of them and then for the next thirteen years of your life you're stuck working a billion jobs to pay for fancy clothes and designer bags and pedicures and manicures when all you really wanted to do was go to your local catholic school like the neighborhood kids, play hockey and baseball and go to the shooting range with your best friend who just so happens to be a guy, and work your ass off for a job that pays next to nothing just so that you could feel closer to your dead father," I state hotly, fuming slightly.

Troy winces as he places a comforting hand on my arm. "I would be just as pissed as you are now," he tells me quietly. We sit in silence for a few minutes before he laughs lightly. Turning around I find him holding his picture of him and his friend Chad. "And I thought I had it bad in school," he mutters.

"What d'ya mean?"

"Well, I guess," Troy rolls his eyes slightly as he throws his head back. "I gave you the watered down version of my life, but since you so kindly let me in on your torture, I guess I can reveal my own." My brows crease as I open my mouth, ready to issue the truth that my life was actually quite pleasant, before I realize that Troy's just about to elaborate a bit more. "I mean, my father and I were always kinda off-script in the way we dealt with things. For him it was always basketball, like I said before, but I mean it was obsessive. He was my coach as well as my dad in high school, which is when sports really truly matter."

I nod encouragingly, even though I know the truth already. Don was always quick to tell me about college scouts at hockey games even though he and I both knew he was not going to attend college.

Troy sighs before continuing. "He had this plan set up since before I can remember, I'd play ball, go to his alma mater – University of Albuquerque – and then go on and play pro ball. I followed his plan to a tee," Troy says hollowly. "Never once did I stray off the path. I was the cool guy in school, made the varsity basketball team as a sophomore and lead the team to back-to-back championships when I was captain in my junior and senior years. And in college, I was a starter in my freshman year and once again captain during my junior and senior years, part of one of the big fraternities, partied long and hard while getting good grades. But I was never anything other than the basketball guy and I never will be." His last few words seem to be spoken at in a whisper and had a dejected air about them.

The silence is oppressing, but not strained as we sit together and watch as the sun starts to dip lower. Finally though, laughter bubbles to the surface as I open my mouth, "What an inspiring couple we make, Mr. Bolton. An acclaimed best-selling author wishing to be digging around someone's murder scene and a famous all-star basketball player who's only doing the sport to make his dad proud."

Troy laughs manically at that last statement while at the same time pulling me close. "I made my choice though," he whispers against my skin. "I could've backed out and attended UC Berkeley like I wanted to, but I didn't and now I'm paying for it by dragging my feet during games."

I, meanwhile, shake my head. "I had the same choice you did. I could've declined the offer to publish my book, but it seemed like easy money at the time and I got swept under the current of being friends with three socialites making headways in the tabloids. I craved the money and having a name to match their's."

"And I'm still hoping against hope that after all is said and done, my number'll be retired," mumbles Troy.

"I wouldn't worry about that Superstar," I tease in a serious voice. "I've seen your stats, you're one helluva player Bolton."

Troy just throws me his signature smile before ruefully shaking his head, "I like how this was supposed to be a game about what's your favorite movie or what was your least favorite subject in school and instead we make it out to be a bitch and moan about our lives."

I giggle my head resting against Troy's strong chest. "I rather liked this tell-all though."

"I'm sure," he says wryly. "But please, so when I tell my mom and dad all about you I can tell them more than 'Oh, Ella hates her job and the three girls she calls friends'."

"Ass," I mutter, shoving him lightly. "I don't hate Shar or Kelsi or Tay, they're just difficult right now. I've never really hated them before. I've been jealous, annoyed, ticked, and even pissed at them, but I've never hated them. They were the only girls I could call friends before Stella and then Lindsay came along."

Troy nods in a silent understanding before his eyes twinkle again. "But really Ella," he whines. "What's your favorite color?"

I laugh and roll my eyes, "Surprisingly pink – but not that vivid bubble gum pink. Rather the light rose colored one, kinda dusted and muted."

Troy nods slowly, "Why can't girls just say blue or pink or black without the added details?"

"We're picky," I state. "Why, what's your favorite color?"

"Red or orange," says Troy with the familiarity that I suspect the choices have not changed for a good chunk of time. I raise my eyebrow as if to raise the question of why? Troy shrugs in a beats me kind of motion.

"How about favorite movie?" I ask.

"Gran Torino," Troy states. I scoff, remembering the movie. "Oh, don't start Ella. I'm gonna guess that you're favorite movie is some Disney chick flick?"

"I'm thirty not thirteen Bolton," I remind him, before smiling slightly. "I love Silence of the Lambs," I reveal before Troy's mouth drops open.

"I should've known," he mutters. I grin and open my mouth, before Troy beats me to the next question. "In keeping with this bland questionnaire, I believe it is only fair to ask what your favorite book is."

"Oh," I say as my mind processes the hundreds if not thousands of books I've read in my thirty years. If writing is my way of venting, reading is my way of escaping. I love it when I can pick up a book and completely forget all in the world except the pages in which I am immersed in.

"Oh," teases Troy. "That's all you got for me?"

"Hold on a sec," I tell him, my brain still sifting through titles until I let out a breath. "Don't laugh," I warn him. Troy holds his hands up in the air, with another big grin on his face. "The Harry Potter Series."

"Really," says Troy as he jokingly prods me in the nose. "I would've thought you'd go for the mysteries."

"Nah, but I'm surprised you didn't tease me about it possibly being a chick book like what I write."

"I highly doubt you'd like one of them," Troy says with an air of assurance. I raise an eyebrow, before he elaborates. "Your life at the moment is almost like one of those chick books so it's not really escaping is it?" I nod, while a smile finds its way across my face. "Hey, I'm smart," jokes Troy.

I roll my eyes. "I never said you weren't. But, what's your favorite book?"

"Oh, y'know Calvin and Hobbs," laughs Troy. "The good stuff."

"Oh, really?" I ask faking interest.

"Nah, I like the classics," says Troy. "Kurt Vonnegut's works, especially Cat's Cradle and Slaughterhouse Five are some of my favorites."

"I remember when I had to read Slaughterhouse Five in high school, a bunch of the girls were bitching about how horrid the book was," I roll my eyes. "It was actually a really good read, but all of them didn't like the fact that it was assigned during Fashion Week."

"Oh that sucks," murmurs Troy as I feel him draw me close. "But how 'bout we do this right," he tells me. "Do you believe in love at first sight?"

I smile slightly. I could play his game and give him the answer from the movie, or a variation of it, or I could give him my own. "I believe in happily-ever-after and prince charming," I tell Troy, remembering a long ago conversation with Kelsi, Sharpay, and Taylor. "And by default, I have to believe in love at first sight, I need the magic of fairytales. Why? Do you?" I ask him turning around to look him in the eyes.

As cerulean meets chocolate, I watch as the playful twinkle that Troy's eyes have held the entire afternoon disappear and instead I see something else in the depths of his eyes, something I just cannot quite place. He gently places a hand on my cheek as I stop breathing.

"Yes, I do," he whispers to me.

It is with those three words that I finally understand the true importance of love and fairy tales and the feeling that everyone who has ever been in love while being in a difficult situation at the same time. The hesitant smile he gives me before placing his lips on mine gives me more strength than anything I could do on my own. The fact that he will be there to catch me if I fall tells me to walk headlong into a different career and, as he wraps his arms around me, I know that whatever happens to my friendships, he'll be there at the end of the long road. But, when we break apart, it is my mother's words that whisper in my ear first: You know when there's something special. It's a feeling that we can't explain but understand. I hate telling Mom 'You were right'.

~*~*~

This kinda rambled on, so not quite sure about it, but it was needed as y'all can hopefully tell. But, you all know the drill: review please! Tell me how you felt instead of me wallowing in my own thoughts.