Cal's POV:

"Jordan, you've already been kind enough," I tried to protest. I watched Jordan scan the newspaper for apartments. She kept saying that she wanted to rent a two bedroom, so I had a place to sleep. Truthfully, anything was better than the street where she found me yesterday, but I didn't want her to go out of her way.

"I can't afford to stay in a hotel too much longer," Jordan replied.

"Why are you doing this?" I asked as I picked that a muffin she brought me for breakfast.

"You need help, Cal," Jordan replied firmly.

"I always thought it would be my brother that came here to save me. You barely know me," I replied as I tried to fight the nausea from my latest withdrawal.

"I know you need help," Jordan replied with a smile, "There's a rehab clinic that I want you to go to."

"I don't have insurance. There's no way I can afford that," I replied embarrassed at how little I actually had, if anything.

"I sold a house not too long ago. I have more than enough money to help you," Jordan replied.

"I can't take your money," I argued. I knew Woody would kit the roof if he knew what Jordan was trying to do.

"If people didn't give me second and third chances, I wouldn't be employed . . . I wouldn't have any friends. Let me give you a second chance, Cal," Jordan said as she clasped one of her hands over mine.

"I think I've used up all my second chances," I replied as I stared down at the table. It had to be pretty bad if my own brother wasn't willing to have anything to do with me anymore. I think I had gotten up into the tenth . . . eleventh chances with him.

"Cal, I know what it's like to grow up pissed at the world. I know what it's like to always feel like you are fighting an uphill battle. It's not fair. Just take my help," Jordan replied.

"Woody told me about your mother and your father. It sucks growing up knowing that some of your earliest memories are from graveyards and hospital. I can't imagine what you remember," I said as I shook my head.

"It's something you never forget," I replied.

"I'll go to rehab. How long did you plan on staying in Miami?" I asked as I lowered my head to the table. I willed the world to stop spinning. All the spin was making me more nauseated than I was before.

"I was thinking about applying for a job in the pathology department at one of the hospitals. I have six weeks off . . . more than a little time to kill," Jordan replied.

"Are you going to go back to Boston?" I asked as Jordan continued to circle ads in the newspaper.

"I haven't decided yet," Jordan replied with a smile.

I thought about how Woody responded to knowing Jordan with me. Despite how hard he pushed her away, I knew he wanted her back. It must have been a double edged sword. Maybe he hadn't decided yet what was worse . . . living with her or living without her.

He had always been too proud to ask for help. Even with the possibility of never walking again, he didn't want Jordan's help. Jordan made herself vulnerable to him; he saw it as pity. I wondered if we ever learned to love. Maybe Woody didn't know how to love her. Maybe he was so afraid to lose her that he decided never to have her at all.

"Your cell phone is ringing again," I commented. I knew right away it was probably Woody. He was probably ready to send out the Marines to rescue Jordan from what ever he imagined me getting her into.

"I'm not ready to talk to him yet," Jordan replied quickly, "You want to go out for a walk on the beach before I drop you off at the center."

"You make it sound so nice, Jordan. I know I'm a junkie. I know I'm a screw up," I replied.

"Well, then why don't you join another fellow screw up for a walk on the beach," Jordan replied.

I knew why Woody fell in love with her.