The next morning when Jennifer arrived at WATB, she discovered she had a bothersome assignment. Valentine's Day was coming up in a few weeks and they needed to get some themed stories prepared to show when they had a slow news day. She was supposed to go to a jewelry shop and get some diamond buying tips and go to a wedding dress store to showcase people shopping.

Jennifer hated these kind of fluff pieces. She wanted the hard-hitting news stories that showcased all of the people who were down on their luck or in crisis. She didn't want to educate people about the 4 C's of diamond, but it came with the territory of TV journalism—look good on camera and do the 'lifestyle' stories.

The jewelry store bit was fine. It took longer than Jennifer wanted because the cameraman had to take a lot of time messing with the lighting for the diamonds. But it was finished and they got to the wedding dress place by lunchtime.

As soon as Jennifer stepped through the door and saw the racks and racks of wedding dresses, she knew she was in trouble.

Jennifer tried to quiet and quell the rising terror in her stomach; she tried to fight back against the memories. She could get through this day, she swore to herself. Just a few hours (two hours tops!) and she be done and out of here.

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That afternoon, Vern rushed into Jack's office. "Jenny Girl had an incident today while on assignment for the TV station."

"What happened?"

"She was filming a fluff piece to put in the can for Valentine's Day. It was filming at a jewelry shop and a wedding dress store and she kind of lost it at the wedding dress place. Worst of all, the cameraman got it on tape."

"Lost it why? How?"

"The girl who was modeling the dress had her boyfriend there and during a filming break, they were playing around and the guy started undoing the girl's dress and Jenny Girl just started screaming at the guy to 'Stop!' It was bad. She smacked the guy. No one knew what to do."

Jack's voice was icy, concise. "I want that tape. Vern, you get me all the copies of that tape. You understand me?"

"Yeah, I'm on it."

"Vern, I'm serious. Call in any markers, empty out petty cash. Whatever is necessary. I don't want some reporter throwing a Super Bowl party and showing that to fifty close friends as part of the entertainment. I definitely don't want Alamain getting a copy. Got it?"

"Yeah, I got it."

"Thanks. I'm counting on you, Vern." Jack pointed at the office door. "Can you grab that?"

Jack went over to his desk and dialed up Dan, Jennifer's boss at WATB.

"Hi Dan, how's it going?"

"You're calling about Jennifer," Dan guessed. "Look, she was completely unprofessional. I'm not sure how to move forward with her."

"Look just give her a few days off to pull herself together. She's been taking Emilio's murder really hard. It's been less than two weeks. At the wedding shop, it just brought back her wedding day to Emilio. She's in mourning."

After a long pause, Dan relented, "Okay, I'll call her and tell her that I'll give her three days off and that only because she's done such a stellar job. I hope you realize that the only reason I'm discussing her with you is because you're publisher of the Spectator. I normally don't discuss personnel issues with boyfriends."

"I got it Dan. I promise I'll throw my next big scoop your way."

"Very well. Don't call me again if she has any repeat performances though," Dan warned.

"Understood," Jack hung up and left the office.

Jack raced over to Jennifer's loft and knocked on her door repeatedly, "Jennifer? Jennifer? I know you're in there. Please open up."

Jennifer slid the door open and she looked lost, defeated.

Jack stepped forward immediately, "How are you? Please don't send me away."

"I'm probably fired."

Jack shook his head, "I called Dan and fixed things."

Jennifer looked up, instantly alert, "What did you tell him?"

"Nothing. I told him you were feeling bad about Emilio."

"Oh God, poor Emilio. He's dead now and I can't even get out of my head long enough to mourn him. I was so awful to him last year. I used him; I was such a tease to him."

"Jennifer, no you weren't."

"You're just saying that because you benefited and we ended up together. Maybe I did get what I deserved."

Jack realized she was talking about the rape in that moment—this was going too far.

Despite their unspoken agreement that the topic was restricted, forbidden, verboten, he couldn't just let her think something so god-awful and wrong. "No woman deserves to get raped, Jennifer."

She looked up, surprised he had said that. He had said the word. He had actually broken down that wall.

She looked back down and started speaking very softly, "I'm sorry. Someone else…had…me. You were the only person that I wanted to be with in my whole life. That's why I waited until you. I wanted it to be you—and only you—for me…for always. That's all gone now. We were cheated out of that. I—I cheated on you."

Jack very slowly, cautiously moved towards her. He held his hands aloft in front of him, signaling that he was going to touch her. She didn't shy away or discourage him so he took that as assent. He cupped her face with both of his palms, his thumbs resting on her cheeks beneath her eyes.

"Jennifer, you make love with your eyes, not your body. You taught me that in the cave. I foolishly thought, arrogantly thought that day that I was going to be teaching you, but you taught me so much more. That love, that the union of souls, comes not from the body, but from the eyes, from the heart, the spirit. I realized that day in the cave that it was also my first time making love. With you and only with you. It wasn't my first time having sex I know, but all those other times before count for nothing when compared to everything that you taught me in the cave."

Jack's voice started to break. They were here in Jennifer's loft, unfortunately standing five feet away from her couch, which of course reminded him of another couch. That whole time, Kayla had looked away. Kayla had been disgusted and determined to hide her feelings during her whole ordeal by looking away from him.

"I am sure," Jack continued, "that despite everything that he took, or tried to take rather, that you gave him nothing. You offered him nothing. You probably couldn't even look at him. I am still the only man you've made love too. I am so sorry for what you are going through, but it changes nothing between you and me—for me at least."

Jennifer nodded and backed up from him; his hands that had been on her face that whole time fell back to his sides.

"Can you talk about it?" he asked. "It's time."

It's time. Jennifer gave a rueful smile. She had said the same thing to him in the cave.

"Jennifer, I—I hope that we get through this. I still want to marry you and have our happy life together—if that's still what you want as well. I'm not going anywhere. Not now. Not ever again. But to get from here to there; to get to that happy point in the future, we have to get through this now. It has to be spoken. It has to be said aloud."

Jennifer shook her head and walked over to the stairs; she sat down on the third step. She didn't say anything and Jack waited.

"It was the day of the wedding," Jennifer began, only slightly faltering. Her voice was soft, but clear, like she was a storyteller and relating someone else's story. He supposed that was the only way she could get through it. He also noticed that she said 'day of the wedding' not 'my wedding day' like any happy bride would under normal circumstances. She needed to dissociate herself as far as possible from that day.

"It was the day of the wedding," Jennifer repeated. "He tore the wedding dress off of me," she looked up at him and Jack understood that was the catalyst for the incident in the wedding dress shop earlier today. He pictured Lawrence doing that; roughly ripping the expensive dress. He imagined the fear in her eyes as it was happening and as she was struggling on that slippery slope down to hell.

Jack walked over and sat next to her on the stairs. "Was it more than once?" Jack hated asking, hated jumping ahead, but ever since learning the truth he had tortured himself wondering the extent and scope of that pig's depravity. Had it been more than once; had there been more than Lawrence?

Jennifer shook her head. She was glad that they were sitting side by side, close but not quite touching. If she was going to get through this retelling, then she needed to just say it, get the words out, but not see his reactions. She knew it needed to be said, but saying it was going to be one of the hardest tasks of her life. She knew the details were going to hurt him, would hurt like a thousand shallow knife cuts. He needed to know her reality. He needed to know what they were up against. He needed to hear the full ugly truth.

"I'll never forget the wedding dress laying in tatters on the floor of his bedroom; ill-used and discarded, stained with drops of my blood. It looked like I felt. I couldn't believe the change in him—even though he had already threatened me and I knew he had kidnapped Frankie. I didn't know where you were, but I knew he must've done something to you too because you would have been there if you could. He changed; something switched over and he was no longer the civilized, refined, mannered person I had seen up until then.

"He started ripping my clothes, getting through the several layers of clothing. When he put his hands on my bare skin, I was panicking. I was terrified. I couldn't breathe well and I couldn't see well. My eyes were filling with tears and he had my hands gripped up over my head so I couldn't wipe them away. I was screaming; screaming for someone to hear me. I was begging him to stop hurting me. But he didn't care. He pulled off my wedding veil and put that in my mouth to gag me. I felt like I was going to throw up, but I had to control it because I was worried that he would hurt me more—that he would punish me for being so uncouth as to vomit on him while he was raping me."

Jennifer put her hand up to her throat, remembering that terrifying moment that Lawrence's hand had been there, "I tried thinking about the Lord's Prayer. I tried concentrating on that, focusing on remembering the words, reciting the words, instead of what he was doing to my body. I got through it four times. That's how long it lasted from when I started thinking 'Our Father, who art in Heaven…' until he was done. But each time when I came to the 'As we forgive those who trespass against us' part, I just couldn't say those words. I skipped over them every time.

"You were right earlier. I did try to look away. To not let him see me. To not allow that final violation. He was killing part of me. I recognize that now and these last weeks have been me in a period of mourning as I dealt with the part of me that he killed. He did that. There's part of me that I won't ever be able to get back. I guess that has to happen—part of you has to die in order to be able to endure in that moment.

Jennifer paused for a moment, squeezing her eyes shut tight. "I remember—when the…frequency increased and I knew he was…finishing. I remember hoping that meant it was almost over. I glanced at him; I allowed myself one glance in that instant. I wanted to see what he was feeling in that moment when we are all at our most unguarded and unshielded. I didn't see he was human, feeling pleasure or release. I saw him as a monster. He was looking victorious, exuberant almost cocky in his power, like a wolf towering over his captured prey.

"He loosened his grip from my wrists, rolled off of me, and went to sleep. Like he had done a hard day's work. Like he deserved to relax then. I stumbled out of bed, desperate to be away from him. I went into my own room, locked the door—like that could keep him out. I took a long, long shower. I could still feel his hands; I could still feel him. No matter how hot I made the water, no matter how hard I scrubbed, no matter how long I scrubbed. I gave myself bruises from scrubbing so hard, but it didn't help. I felt so alone and broken.

"I remember before this happened to me, I've heard other girls, other women, say after they had been raped, that they felt like they were ruined. And I remember thinking at the time how ridiculous that sounded. Of course they weren't ruined! Nothing their rapist did could ever ruin them, I thought. But in that shower, I finally understood what they meant. Or how it meant for me. I did feel ruined. I felt like I wasn't a person anymore—that my humanity had been murdered and from that day onward, I would just be this mere shell of the woman I once was.

"I stayed up that night for long hours, scared that he would enter into my room, not knowing how to move forward in my life. I finally just fell asleep from exhaustion. The next morning, I kept dreaming that you had come to me and were rescuing me. But in the dream, you became him and my rescue turned to another nightmare. And then I woke up and it was him and he was actually in my room. He had the audacity to tell me that I had played a dangerous game with him the night before and I had gotten off easy. I couldn't believe it; he cruelly raped me and said I'd gotten off easy! He even told me that in his grandfather's time, I would be severely punished for not being a virgin on my wedding night.

"A week later, I got my period; I was never so happy to get my period in all my life. I didn't know how I would have coped, how I would manage, if he had gotten a baby on me. Back here in Salem, he told me that I couldn't get an annulment because technically the marriage had been consummated. He threatened to tell everyone what he did, like he wasn't ashamed at all. He told me that I would never get a divorce unless I convinced Frankie to hand over the Von Leuschner fortune. He raped me and wants to be compensated! He raped me precisely so he could be compensated! I hate him. I never thought I could hate anyone. I didn't even hate Ernesto Toscano even after everything he put us through last summer; I pitied him more than anything else. But I hate Lawrence more than I've ever hated anyone ever in this life."

Jennifer brought her fingers to her lips, silently telling him that she was done with her story—for now. Jack didn't say anything; the words would come later. They just stayed like that, sitting side-by-side on the stairs. For now, he just put his arm around her and leaned her head down, resting on his shoulder. She let them stay like that for a long time.

Throughout her retelling, Jack didn't interrupt. It was her story to tell and she needed to just be able to speak her piece without him butting in. However, his mind was in a torrent of anger towards Lawrence, profound heartache for Jennifer, and shame for himself that he could have ever done anything like what she just described. And it was so much worse for her than he imagined! The images were horrendous and heart-breaking. It was devastating and paralyzing. It was just beyond all comprehension.

Three years ago, that had been him.

Jennifer's blood was on the wedding gown, she said. He had stuffed the veil in her mouth to stop her screaming, she said. He had murdered part of her soul, she said. She had scrubbed herself raw in the shower, she said. She had been frightened about a baby, she said. He told her she got off easy, she said.

The comparison with himself was natural, obvious, but still he inwardly recoiled. He did say 'I'm sorry' to Kayla that night. He wasn't that monstrous, not like what Jennifer described, and yet…and yet rape is still rape.

That had been him.

No wonder she hadn't wanted to speak of it to him. He had never fully understood the impact, the depth of the resulting wounds. He wanted to flee; he wanted to escape from this loft and the ghosts of the past and the traumatic words ringing in his head. The story Jennifer had just told and the memories of three years before—Kayla's pleas, his determined assertion, 'I'm going to make love to you. I'm going to make love to you.'

That had been him.

It had happened the day of the wedding, in Lawrence's bedroom. He realized with a shudder that he had told her to go to that room and had never appeared. He had failed her that night and got himself captured. He was chatting with Francois while she was in hell.

Jennifer, dear God, where do we go from here?

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There was a knock at the door. Jennifer didn't want to see anybody. "Who is it?" she asked, her voice cracking.

"It's Kayla, I came with some stuff about Stephanie's birthday party," she called through the door.

Jack cringed. Not Kayla. Not today, not with all these infernal images bouncing around his head.

"I'll ask her to leave?" Jack asked.

Jennifer nodded so Jack rose from the steps and went to the door.

He cracked it open and stepped out into the hall. Kayla took a step back, reacting to the haunted look on Jack's face. Kayla glanced into the loft, realizing that Jennifer was going through a horrendous experience.

"This isn't a good time," Jack said, forlorn, trying to not reveal too much. Trying not to remember.

"Okay," Kayla said slowly and evenly, then called to Jennifer, "Anytime you want to talk about anything, I'm here for you." She handed over the papers and magazines she brought to Jack. "Remember, we're sisters," she said loudly so Jennifer could hear.

Jack gave her a confused, questioning look, "Well, almost, after your wedding," Kayla said to him as she briefly squeezed his hand and then she went to the elevator and shut the door.

Later, back at home, as Kayla was looking through bills and Steve was on the floor playing with Stephanie, she casually remarked, not looking up from her papers, "You might want to go check on Jack sometime soon."

Steve looked up at her, instantly curious, "Why? Has something happened?"

Kayla replied, trying to appear unaffected, "He might need to talk."

Steve stared at his wife's profile for a long time. Her capacity for forgiveness and understanding was boundless. He loved her so much. He stood up and went to give his wife a long kiss.

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Back at the loft, Jack and Jennifer had stayed sitting on those steps that led upstairs for a long time. After Kayla left and he deposited her papers on the kitchen counter, he came back and sat next to her, putting his arm around her.

Jack didn't know what to say. Please don't see me as that monster? Jack could never say that now. That it didn't change anything? Jack didn't know that. That he would destroy Lawrence? Jack wanted to annihilate him, but he couldn't promise it. That he was sorry it had happened the night of the wedding and that he had failed her by getting captured? How would 'sorry' change anything?

Anything he could think to say just felt so useless, so inadequate, so unhelpful, that all he could offer was himself, his presence, his arm around her. He hoped that it would be enough for now.

"Have you talked with anyone else?" Jack asked at last. He wasn't trying to deflect helping her onto someone else, but he knew she needed guidance that he couldn't provide.

Jennifer shook her head, "I called up a hotline once. The day after…I slapped you. I guess that is when Steve overheard me. I never told you this, but I after I learned that you knew, I went over and yelled at him, smacked him around some. He let me. Did he tell you?"

"Sort of," Jack hedged. He saw her hand resting on the step between them; he picked up her hand and interwove their fingers. "Can you…are you willing to go to counseling? Dr. Baker helped me last fall. I'll go with you…if you want." Jack remembered seeing Kayla going for counseling after what he had done. He had tried to bully her into not going because of how it might appear for him. God, he couldn't help but be disgusted with how he had been sometimes.

Jennifer turned to face him, "You're willing to do that?"

Jack caressed her hand, "If it'll make it easier for you to go or if you just want me to go, I'll go."

They heard keys jangling in the door lock and Jennifer's grip tightened around Jack's hand.

Frankie slid the door open and spied them over on the steps. He noticed the intense energy between them and realized he had interrupted a serious moment for them.

He didn't want to disturb them, but he did live here and really didn't want to turn around and walk out again.

Jennifer was the first to rise. "Hi Frankie," she offered with fake brightness.

"Sorry if I'm interrupting," he said, but the exchanged looks between Jack and Jennifer were drawing out the moment and making it quite awkward for him.

"No, it's fine," Jennifer appeased him. "I just had a bad day at work. I do think I need a shower," she turned to Jack. "If you don't mind…"

Jack stood up and gestured for her to go up the stairs, "No please."

"Okay," Jennifer quickly squeezed his hand as she went past him and up to her bedroom.

"Sorry again about that," Frankie repeated to Jack when Jennifer had closed her bedroom door.

"It's fine. You live here. You're allowed to come home." Jack used a tone to make sure Frankie knew he was being ridiculous. He tried not to, but old habits…

Frankie looked Jack up and down like he was debating about starting a topic, "Steve talked to me. I assume you know that."

Jack nodded. He remembered what Jennifer told him earlier-that Lawrence was angling to get the Von Leuschner fortune and holding the marriage over Jennifer's head as collateral. "Yes, Steve and I have a partnership of sorts," Jack didn't know Frankie well; he assumed he could be trusted but didn't want to reveal too much. "Just do everyone a favor, don't give Alamain any money under any circumstances and tell your sister that too. The last thing we need is to give Alamain more resources while depleting our own. Got it?"

Frankie agreed. "You got a plan? After what he did to Jennifer, my sister, and me, I'm anxious to take a tear at him myself."

"Working on a plan."

"I want in."

Jack shrugged, "We'll see. This may get dicey. We don't need boy scouts."

Frankie was about to say more, but Jack looked upstairs towards Jennifer's room. "Tell Jennifer I had to leave."

Jack knew that Jennifer wouldn't expect him to leave without saying goodbye, but he needed to get out of that place. The walls of the loft, especially when Jennifer wasn't in the room with him, were just closing in on him too fast.

Yes, Jack was definitely no boy scout. And he left wondering if maybe a boy scout was exactly what Jennifer needed instead of him.

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Jack pushed open his front door of his home. He looked around at the place, remembering all the conversations he had with Harper when they had lived here together as a family. What an illusion it had all been—Harper and Jack, Harper and Angelica, even Angelica and Jack. No real feelings and certainly not a real family. This was just a house, a mansion—not a home. Most of the time, he couldn't even tolerate to be in this part of the house; preferring to spend most of his time in residence up in his bedroom. Here in the living room, Abe had come to arrest him for Kayla's rape. Here, he had been put in handcuffs and read his Miranda rights. Here, later that night, after he had been released from jail and after he had gone to the loft to see Kayla and threaten her some more, he had came back to this room and justified the rape to Harper.

Jack poured a drink; he needed a double shot of good Kentucky bourbon. He would plot Lawrence's destruction tomorrow. Tonight, he intended to wallow in his own. He tore off the red wax seal from the bottle and poured out the amber liquid into his Tom Collins glass, doubling the intended double shot.

Before, though, there was something he must do. He grabbed the phone and punched in Vern's number. He wasn't still in the office, so he punched in his home number.

"Did you get all the tapes of Jennifer at the wedding store?" Jack asked as soon as he heard Vern's voice. He wasn't in the mood for pleasantries. "That better not circulate around as Salem's version of the Rob Lowe video."

"It's done," Vern answered. "I'll show you the dollar amounts tomorrow, but I figured the money was secondary after Jenny Girl."

"Yes, thanks."

"Do you want the tapes?" Vern asked.

"No. I don't want to see them. Destroy them." He dropped the phone back in its cradle.

He looked at the bourbon in his left hand and drank it all down in two gulps; appreciating the burn as it went down his throat. He needed to feel something tonight. He needed to feel the pain of the burn of the alcohol. Jennifer had been in pain—physical, mental, emotional pain. Jack owed it to her to feel something of that pain. The physical pain would be the easiest for him to simulate—the mental and emotional pain he wanted to block out and he wanted to feel numb instead. He poured another glass and quickly downed its contents.

He looked at the empty glass and saw weakness. His weakness three years ago and thirty minutes ago when he had ducked out of Jennifer's place. She had gone upstairs for a quick shower and he took advantage of that opportunity to escape.

He played over in his mind what she had told him—how it had been for her. He heard her go through the horrific story and he re-experienced the self-loathing when he realized it had happened on the wedding day in Lawrence's room. It happened because he had made a plan to meet her in Lawrence's bedroom of all places. Jack had sent her there and of course she had gone there because she had trusted him. And in the wake of that decision, she had endured hell. Part of her was murdered. Before today, he had no idea how bad it truly was. He imagined it was Kayla telling her story, telling in equally graphic detail, how Jack had been on that awful night long ago.

Jack hurled his glass across the room. It hit the bookshelf and shattered into a thousand pieces. Jack liked that. He liked throwing the glass, he liked hearing it shatter, he liked watching the breakable glass break into tiny irrecoverable pieces. He liked seeing the shards of glass rain onto the carpet at the foot of the bookcase. He picked up another glass and tossed that, and another, and another, and another, and another. He threw all the glasses that were sitting on the bar; seventeen in all.

Damage done, glasses depleted; buzz and burn gone; Jack sank onto his couch. He realized he was sitting on a couch—not the couch and not a couch in Jennifer's loft in the same spot as the couch, but still a couch. He stood up, upended the couch and then collapsed in a nearby chair.

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Jennifer came downstairs; her hair up in a towel and wearing both a nightgown and a robe. "Where's Jack?" she asked Frankie who was in the kitchen microwaving a hotdog for dinner.

"Jack left," he said, trying to sound sympathetic.

Jennifer looked at the door. She pulled off the towel from her head and started running her fingers through her wet hair. She was disappointed, but not upset. She ran out on him at the Cheating Heart the other day after he had requoted the Shakespeare from his proposal; she shouldn't expect him to be perfect. He's trying, she knew.

Frankie abandoned his hotdog and walked her over to the couch. "Would you like to talk?"

She shook her head. "I'm kind of talked out right now."

Frankie reached up and pushed an errant hair out of her face, "I'd like to help if I can…"

Jennifer shook her head, "I'm not trying to shut you out. It's just that I'm dealing with something right now and I just don't really know how to—how to go on. Jack's helping. He really is helping me, but there are just parts of me that even he can't reach," Jennifer looked upstairs towards her bedroom, "I just want to go sleep for a long time and not wake up for months—not until this is all over. And that's what I'm really doing; I'm just kind of sleeping through my life. I want to go far, far forward to some time in the future when this doesn't feel so bad."

Frankie was feeling left out and feeling guilty about that, but knew that Jennifer was going through too much right now to be bothered with his petty jealousies.

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Steve noticed that Jack had left his front door ajar when he arrived at his house. He didn't hear anything so he slipped through the opened door. He saw the overturned couch and the giant pile of broken glass. Kayla had been right. Whatever she saw, whatever she knew, she knew that Jack would need him tonight.

Steve stood there for a long moment wondering what had happened. He looked at Jack; his feet were drawn up on the chair and he was just staring at his hands and hadn't even noticed Steve had come in here.

It could have been Lawrence walking in to his living room for all Jack knew. He should be more careful. With the photos yesterday, both Jack and Steve knew Lawrence was drawing battle lines again.

"Jack?" Steve finally said.

Jack looked up with dull eyes.

Steve picked up a chair and pulled it close. "What happened?"

"Nothing that didn't already happen," Jack said in a flat monotone, looking up at the ceiling, not at Steve.

Steve didn't want to play twenty questions. He knew the best way to break through his defenses, "Okay, why do you think Kayla told me to come see you tonight?"

That got Jack's attention. He looked at his brother. "She came to the loft. Jennifer didn't want to see anybody. I sent her away."

Steve rolled his eyes. This was going to have to get dragged out of him, "Okay, why didn't Jennifer want to see anybody?" Jack didn't answer. "Will you just talk to me?" Steve pushed.

Jack shook his head. "No."

"No? That's all you've got to say? Y'know, Stephanie's starting to talk now. She likes that word. 'No.' She's not even one yet. Can't you do better than your niece?"

"No," Jack answered.

"Fine. You change your mind, you know where I live." Steve rose and went to the door. He stood there for three minutes, hoping Jack would yield. "I'm walking out now," he said finally. He want to be there for his brother, but he wasn't going to be his frickin' doormat.

"Bye," Jack answered.

"Fine." Steve was gone.

"Fine," Jack echoed.

Jack sat there, remembering a conversation with Steve long ago, before he knew Steve was his brother. He was in the hospital after his fall off the roof and his body was rejecting Steve's donated kidney.

"Let me tell you something about Kayla. What you did ripped her heart out. Do you understand me? So now she's fighting for her life. She's fighting to get better and I'm fighting to be with her and to help her and to make her happy. And you better believe that one of these days, we're going to be together and we're going to be happy."

After Steve left, Jack started talking to the walls about what he should have said to his brother, "Jennifer told me what Lawrence did to her. Told me every detail. How it destroyed her. How it sickened her. It ripped her heart out too."

The room was quiet. He was glad that his dads didn't visit him tonight. Sometimes, when you're in hell, it's good knowing that there are still lower levels of hell beneath you where you aren't visiting.