November, 1993

Sam used her key (the idea of which made her feel a little giddy every time) to let herself into his apartment, stopping just inside the door to hang up her jacket and purse. Jonas was even more of a neat freak than she was. He must have been on the phone – she could hear him – and light shone from the kitchenette, so she headed that way.

"How much?"

Her fantastically gorgeous boyfriend sat slumped at the small table, the phone to his ear. His somber expression and the half-empty glass of amber liquid in front of him was testament to the fact that it wasn't a pretty conversation. "Fine. No, it's fine. I'll just wire it to you."

Sam stepped into the door frame and just inside his line of vision, not wanting to interrupt, but wanting him to know she was there. He held up a finger with a grim smile. "No," he growled into the phone, "I don't think you do. You're not going to like what happens if I come down there. You can go pick it up first thing tomorrow morning."

The person on the other end of the line clearly pushed the issue, because he shot back, "The hell I will! He got himself into this mess; he can sit there. It wouldn't be the first time." Slamming the phone down, he drained the rest of the whiskey in one gulp and rested his head in his palm.

"Don?" Sam asked softly. Though she had to give him credit for raising a good man, Jonas' step-father had been nothing but trouble for as long as she could remember.

"He's in jail again."

"For what?" Before he could answer, she added, "No, on second thought, I don't want to know."

"Wise beyond your years," he drawled. "Sheryl doesn't have the money to bail him out."

She cringed. The situation was pretty messed up as it was – Jonas and Don's new wife didn't get along all that well anyway, and it was only compounded by the fact that none of them were actually related. Sam had thought she'd had it rough, growing up with only one parent, but Jonas had been kicked over and over again and left to deal with a "family" that was maybe more trouble than it was worth. "How much?"

"Three grand."

"Ouch."

"Yeah." Shoving the chair back from the table, he looked her over for a minute. "Come here."

Offering him a wry smile, she crossed the tiny kitchen and let him pull her into his lap. "It'll be okay," she offered softly.

He shrugged. "I've got my hazardous duty pay saved up."

"That's not what I meant."

"I know. Managing his life just gets old. I've been doing it for two decades."

"He's lucky to have you," Sam pressed, running a finger softly along his cheek.

"Yeah, well." Wrapping his arms more firmly around her, he pressed a tender kiss to her lips. "And speaking of lucky..."

She couldn't help but smile. "Aww, you think you're lucky to have me, huh?"

"Actually, I was thinking more in terms of getting that way."

Yanking back, she smacked him hard in the chest. But he was grinning, so she figured he didn't mean it the way it sounded. Still, she chided lightly, "You are such an ass!"

He chuckled and settled her a little closer on his lap. "Yup, that's me." Quickly sobering, he added, "You're the only real family I have."

Softly kissing his temple, she pressed her cheek to his. "I suppose I could say the same." Mark had kind of drifted away, and her father... well, she was done letting him try to run her career. And her life. Lord knew he didn't like Jonas a bit.

"You keep me sane," he murmured into her ear.

"Well, that's good. You're crazy enough as it is," she joked gently. "I'd hate to see what would happen if you really lost it."

"I guess you're stuck with me, then."

She smiled against his skin. "Somehow I don't think that's going to be a problem."

"Good." Pivoting a little in his chair, he shifted his weight and swung to his feet, easily lifting her in the process. "What are the odds you pity me enough to make me want to feel better?"

"You have a one-track mind," she accused gently.

"Uh-huh. But you do want me to be happy, right?"

She groaned – only half-playful. "Yes."

"Excellent."