Sorry I haven't updated in awhile, I've been kinda busy, but plwase review! My mom loves all the reviews her stories get and since she doesn't really know how to use a comouter ai'm the one posting. Anyhow, enjoy! ;)

How can I convince Joe Iola's death wasn't his fault?

One hour later, Joe wakes.

"Hey," I say and place a protective hand on his shoulder.

"Frank?" Joe whispers.

"I'm here. We need to talk," I say. "Iola's death wasn't your fault. If Callie or Mom had died, would it mean me or Dad did a bad job?"

"No," Joe whispers.

I smile. Didn't expect it to be this easy.

"Didn't flirt…in front of them," Joe whispers.

I wince and remember how Joe flirted with another girl in front of Iola. Iola ran to dad's car. The car exploded before Joe reached her.

"We all make mistakes," I say. "You've got to let this go."

But the truth hits me hard. Joe can't let this go, any more than I can let go of the guilt I feel for Joe's eyes.

"Replay that day," Joe whispers with a ragged breath. "What if I ran faster? Or…"

"Joe," I say and put my hand gently on his shoulder.

"Stupid," Joe whispers. "Rumor going around I was gay. Decided to prove them wrong by flirting with every girl I met."

"How come you never told me?" I ask.

"Wanted to fix my own mess," Joe mumbles.

"Who started the rumor?" I ask.

"Don't know," Joe says and yawns. "If I caught Iola … could have saved her."

"Joe, stop," I say.

"If I'd run faster and pulled her away from the car quicker," Joe says and his voice breaks.

"If I'd realized my car had a bomb attached, you wouldn't be in the hospital," I say.

"Not your fault," Joe says.

"Then it's not your fault either," I say. "Okay?"

"Iola's dead," Joe says. "You saved me."

"I almost got you killed. When Dad pulled up and my car exploded…" I stop and swallow hard.

"Frank?" Joe whispers and reaches out his hand.

I grab it.

"Thought you were dead," I whisper.

"Right here," Joe says and squeezes my hand.

Joe is asleep before I find my voice.

I want to get drunk. To escape. But I can't. Joe can't escape his darkness, so I won't escape mine.

Two hours later Dad walks in. Joe is still asleep.

"Any luck finding the guy who did this?" I ask.

"Not yet. Sam and I are working the case," Dad says. "Con is guarding the hospital room."

"Joe's chain?" I ask.

"No luck," Dad says. "Hospital says Joe wasn't wearing it when he was admitted. Sam and Edward are searching the woods where Joe was found."

"Good," I say. "I'll tell Joe if he asks."

"Not your fault, Frank," Dad says.

His words bounce off me like bullets off a bulletproof vest. Is this how Joe feels when I tell him Iola's death isn't his fault?

After Dad leaves, I sit in the dark hospital room. If Joe is blind, this is what I've sentenced him too. Joe hates the dark…always has. Since Joe was little, I'd wake up in the morning and find him in my bed. I'd pretend to be asleep until Joe woke up and snuck back to his room.

The next morning, Joe is not happy.

"You try peeing in a cup when you can't see," Joe says, as I guide him back to bed. "It's not pretty."

"Thanks for the visual," I say.

"How are you feeling Joe?" Dad asks.

"When can I go home?" Joe asks.

"Today," Dad says.

"Cool," Joe says.

"He's not ready to go home," I say.

A nurse distracts Joe by taking his blood pressure.

"Joe's safer if he's not here," Dad says. "Too many ways to get into the hospital."

Right. I knew that. But Joe's still a mess.

"Wanna sleep in my own bed," Joe says.

Four hours later, I'm still trying to figure out how to break the news to Joe.

"You're driving my Mustang?" Joe says as I push his wheelchair outside the hospital.

"How did you know?" I ask and look at the bandages that cover Joe's eyes.

"Smell the car wax," Joe says and strokes the car's black hood. "Can't wait to get home."

"About that," I say. "We're going to my condo."

"No way! I've slept in a hospital bed for days! Nurses woke me up every 30 minutes to ask me if I was asleep! I want to sleep in my own bed!"

"My place has a security alarm," I say. "Yours doesn't. Deal with it."

Joe mumbles in his seat. I ignore him.

"Gotta go home and get my stuff," Joe says triumphantly.

"Sam already grabbed your clothes," I say. "Your stuff is in the backseat."

"You're kidnapping me?" Joe says.

"No, I'm taking you to my condo to recuperate," I say.

Joe gives me the silent treatment as I pull into Fox Haven, the gated community I call home.

I was lucky to get a condo here. Amenites include a gym, restaurant, swimming pool and sauna. Most of the people here are retired, but it's a great place.

"Smells like old people," Joe says and wrinkles his nose.

"Hello Mr. Hardy," the security guard says. "Nice car."

I nod as I drive through.

Joe mumbles something.

I grit my teeth, grab Joe's bag of clothes, and guide him to my front door.

"Franklin, you have a guest?" Mr. Green asks. "I don't remember you filing out a visitor request form."

Green is the president of the Home Owners Association and a stickler for following the rules.

"Feeling's mutual," Joe mumbles.

"Just while he recovers," I say, as I unlock my door and push Joe inside.

"Frank, you know the rules," Mr. Green says. "No guests unless approved by the association."

"How old is Mr. Green?" Joe asks. "He's like 120 years old, right? What is he? The undead?"

"He's still standing here," I say.

"Don't care," Joe says.

It's going to be a long night.