Okay y'all, biiiig chapter here. More than one big change coming down the pipe.

For those of you asking about 9/11 and when we'll get there, we are going to be approaching it in the next chapter. In the timeline, we're at Fall of 2000. As you guys know, I do have to sum up and skim time a bit in order to cover the wide range of years this fic spans.

And because I don't want to spoil anything now, the song for the chapter will be at the end! Enjoy, and let me know what YOU think about the decisions made.

/*/*/*/

Adam stumbled back into his dorm after practice, collapsing onto his couch before he could even reach his bed.

The RA was really bad right now. It literally felt like a flame sparked in his joints every time he moved. This was unbearable.

But that's what his pain pills were for. He was still getting them from his doctor back home, but more than once he'd thought of supplementing with something else–anything. He had tried twice to smoke pot, once in high school and again a few days ago, hearing it could kill the pain or at least dull it. But it did nothing.

I can't do this.

The unrelenting reality of his situation pressed through every thought, assaulting him at every practice, during every game.

He was eaten up with rheumatoid arthritis. He had sustained an injury to his shoulder that would never go away and which had affected his puck handling. He could lift weights and he could run bleachers all he wanted, but he could not use speed to make up for dexterity. Yet how many stories had he heard the past couple years about athletes who themselves had battled RA through most of their career? It was surely possible to do it, if he could just relax the strain he was putting on himself to simply make the NHL first. Once he was there, the overperforming would be over. He could just be himself, a great hockey player. Right?

Two more years, he had been telling himself. If he could just maintain this for two more hockey seasons. He had promised Lacey that he'd eat real meals except for his whey protein shakes, and he was sticking to that. Mostly. He usually had a shake in the morning before practice, but swore them off the rest of the day. And he had slowed down on running, realizing the overcompensation wasn't helping him score any more goals. But he needed that weight room for all he was worth. Because college players didn't play around with checking. In order to survive a game, he needed to be able to push back with aggression.

So he had his plan. Adam tried not to think about the fact that hockey season wouldn't even be starting for another month. He would have to drag himself through. If he could just get past the pain.

"Do it," he muttered to himself, gritting his teeth as he stepped into another scalding hot shower to release his muscles, tensed against the pain radiating from his bones. "You've got to. If you want it, go get it." He did everything he could to pump himself up with phrases he'd heard in the past from coaches, his dad, his Grandpa Greg. And he regularly read the tattered, sweat-stained Gordie Howe quote Lacey had slipped to him during his senior year playoffs back in high school.

That was back when he loved hockey. He had been hurting, sure, because he was freshly diagnosed with the RA. But on the whole it had been manageable then, and even though his beloved game was work, it was also fun. Life-giving.

Not life-draining.

He knew if Lacey fully realized how hard he was still being on himself, she would be upset with him. But he was trying to keep their rules, at least most of them, and surely she would understand that it was only for now. If he could look impressive enough to make it to the draft, he'd show any team he was worth their while. Yet, he felt the distance between him and his girlfriend. Something had arisen, almost overnight, this past summer. Was it because of him?

No. It was her. She was swallowed up in pursuing her degree, which Adam didn't resent whatsoever. He had his dream, and he'd always wanted her to have her own. But why would that cause her to be so cool during their interactions? They were supposed to love each other through this "preparing for the future" stage of life. He'd felt like they were surely up to the task. He would make the NHL and stay there as long as he could before retiring into a comfortable business career while Lacey was employed as a social worker. When the time was right, they were going to get married, and then they were going to have children. And she could have all the Prada purses and cats she wanted, even if he had to pluck them out of every corner just to have a place to sit in their nice, big house. It would all be good, so good. But he needed her to just wait, to not give up on them. He made a promise to himself that he'd talk to her over Christmas break after giving her time to get adjusted in school and him a chance to get past this horrible flair. Then they would work out whatever was between them.

After he got out of the shower, Adam reached for his methotrexate injection. The doctor had told him to increase the dosage during a flair. Adam's eyes floated to his bathroom counter, upon which sat a plethora of drugs. His doctor had decreased the dosage of Percocet he was allowing Adam to have as there was some issue coming out about its abuse being rampant. He had bottles of Ibuprofen and Aspirin, as useless as two of those were, and some Volteran cream. Then there was the prednisone he was only supposed to use during extra bad spells. Well, that would mean now.

He gave himself his injection, then gathered up the rest of the bottles on his bathroom counter and brought the armload into the bedroom with him. This was embarrassing. He was fairly sure he took more crap than Grandpa Greg did. Oh, and he nearly forgot his folic acid. He was just about to reach for it in his bag when his phone rang, jarring him. Folic acid in hand, he went for the phone, moving slowly and stiffly.

"Son?" His dad's voice was on the other end of the line.

"Dad, hey…" Adam popped the vitamins dry, then reached up to rub the back of his neck nervously. His dad rarely called him, and when he did Adam felt nothing but pressure and expectation. It was the same now.

"Hi." Dad cleared his throat. "How's it going there? Keeping up with your classes?"

"Yes, Sir," Adam sat on the edge of his bed, laying out all his medications beside him in a row, nervously. "Classes are going pretty well, actually."

"Good, good. One in particular that captures your interest?"

Adam had to think here. The fact was, his classes were becoming more and more fascinating, particularly the courses about law. But he still had to work hard to focus each day. "Problems in American Constitutional Law," he finally answered.

"Good choice." His dad was quiet for another minute. "How's hockey?"

"Um, it's going pretty well. We're still just scrimmaging and getting ready for the season."

Another pause. "And your arthritis?"

Adam bit his lip. "It's giving me a little trouble, but I'm okay. Working through it." He peered back over at his cluster of meds, now beginning to organize them alphabetically. How long was this conversation going to last?

"Son," his dad began, clearing his throat once more, and Adam tensed instinctively. "I want you to know, uh…well, I just don't want you to get the impression that you can't quit playing if you need to."

Adam's eyes widened. Was his dad talking about quitting hockey? He was speechless for a moment.

"Yes. If it's hurting you, and I know sometimes it does, I want you to know it's okay if you can't do it anymore."

Adam's chest tightened. Had he been longing to hear this without realizing it? When he could speak again, he nodded resolutely as though his dad could see through the phone. "Thank you…for telling me that. But I think I'm okay."

"Adam, you know you, um…" his dad continued. "You know you mean more to me than you going to the pros, don't you?"

Taking a deep breath, Adam felt hot tears suddenly spill down his face.

"I mean you've given it your all. Since you were a kid. You've pushed yourself beyond all reason, but it may be time to stop."

He moved the phone away from his face and placed his hand over the mouthpiece, letting out a quiet sob. His dad was releasing him, at last, from his nearly impossible expectations.

"Dad," Adam answered in a shaky voice as he returned to the phone. "I still want to try. But I don't know for sure if I can do it."

"And that's okay," his dad replied quickly. "You're determined, you're smart, and you're driven. You can put that toward other things. And you'll always remember hockey as something you had fun with, something you excelled at. But it doesn't have to be everything anymore."

What had caused Dad to say this to him? Had it been Mom? Or had this been something his father had been chewing on for awhile, maybe even since the diagnosis?

"Thanks, Dad. Really."

"I just want it to go on record that I'm okay with whatever you do. All right?"

Surely his dad could hear the tearfulness in his voice as he replied, "All right. I'll remember it. And when it comes time to let go, I…I promise I will."

He had made the same promise to Lacey. The trouble was, he wasn't sure how much was enough. He was used to pushing himself to a higher standard. Would he know when he had hit a wall?

/*/*/*/

Adam gave it all he had. He had scored the most goals on the Violets in all of their practice scrimmages, and in their scrimmages against other teams. Nobody had any idea how badly he was hurting.

"You're on fire, dude!" Morrigan had flashed his infectious grin at Adam after their scrimmage against the Baruch College Bearcats (what kind of team name was that? But he supposed it was no worse than the Violets).

But after a week of pressing himself onward through one of the worst RA flairs he had ever had, he collapsed in his room Friday night and curled into the fetal position on the floor.

His dad's blessing echoed in his head. Something about his words had set Adam free, but he wasn't exactly sure what to do with them. He still wanted more than anything to play hockey, but at times like this he didn't think he could manage for much longer. What if, after all his effort and sacrifice, he was never going to be able to push harder than he already had? He may have peaked. And if an illustrious team wanted him, they would have to take him as he was.

For now, though, he had to get control of this pain. It was so strong it nauseated him, and he grabbed a nearby trash can just in time.

Adam wasn't sure just how long he lay on the floor, unable to move without being assaulted by crushing pain in his hips, his knees, his shoulders.

Damn this.

He was twenty-one years old and his body was failing him. Why him, of all people? Charlie and Fulton, for instance, were guys who never intended to play hockey professionally. Why couldn't this have been them? But immediately Adam chided himself for wishing his disease on anyone else, particularly his friends, and gritted his teeth as he tried to shimmy into the bathroom so he could reach up to the counter for his pills. He just barely made it, popping two Percocets, two Ibuprofens, and an aspirin. He didn't care what the med combination would do to him as long as it took away the pain.

Adam fell into a fitful sleep there on the bathroom floor, for how long he wasn't sure. He was jarred awake by the sound of the dorm phone. He couldn't possibly reach it, so he let it go, trying to ignore the new pains he had from falling asleep contorted on a hard floor. Next, he heard his cell phone ring in the other room. But again, he couldn't even try to get to it. He had used all of his remaining strength to come get his medicine.

He fell back to sleep, more deeply this time, waking up only when his bladder was close to bursting. He managed to get up just long enough to take care of it before collapsing back onto the floor. He should really try to get to bed, but it felt so much better just to lay still.

With no concept of time's passing, Adam remained on the ground, trying not to move a muscle except when he sleepily reached up to grab the toilet and pull himself up for it. He had at least enough cognizance and dignity not to wet his pants. But he was thoroughly confused when suddenly, after who knew how long, he was awakened by…

"Mom?" His eyes opened fully for the first time in…

"Adam," his mom knelt over him, her voice frantic. "I haven't been able to reach you for two days, and I had a terrible feeling why. Honey, what in the damn world?!" She tried to help him up until he cried out.

"I can't move, Mom. I can't. Leave me here til it's better," he murmured. How many more Percocets had he taken when he stood up last time to use the toilet?

"No. No Sir," she replied bluntly in the tone she had used with him when he was a little boy caught drawing big fuzzy-looking creatures on the wall with a purple crayon. "We're getting up, and we're going to the hospital."

Adam groaned. "Not again. Come on, Mom, just let me…figure this out…"

But she didn't. He should have expected nothing different from his strong-willed Mom. She managed to get him in a sitting position, where he was rather frightened to realize his vision was blurry and he was wheezing. He couldn't seem to get a good breath.

"Mom?" He rubbed his eyes, feeling a sense of horror when his focus didn't clear up. "Something's wrong…"

"Yes, it is. And I'm calling an ambulance right now."

Adam groaned, but noticed then the pain in his stomach. It was sharp and stabbing. Something really bad was happening.

/*/*/*/

At the hospital–the ambulance ride a blur–Adam was barely able to register what the emergency room doctor was telling him.

"...Joints are severely swollen."

"That's what I noticed first when I found him," his mom was speaking in a hyper voice, clearly still upset.

"...Respiratory distress…his vision can be affected. Rheumatoid arthritis, when it goes unchecked, is–"

Adam then experienced the heady feeling of something being pumped into his bloodstream. "Wh-what is it, what are they giving me?" He finally managed to regain full consciousness and tried to sit up.

"Adam, Honey, no." Mom gently eased him back onto the bed. "Things apparently got so bad that you need some high-powered steroids. Your eyes were affected, your abdomen…" her voice broke. "You're coming home for a while. You need to rest."

This time Adam didn't protest.

"I want to talk to Lacey," he finally spoke, imagining her comforting presence, her voice. He needed to hear it.

"Lacey will see you when you get home."

"You haven't told her any of this, right?" He peered over at his mom. "She'll worry until she knows I'm okay."

"Babe, Lacey and I talked after you didn't answer the phone for either one of us. She was waiting for an answer from me, and I called her a little while ago. She knows you're coming back."

Adam let his head drop back against the pillow, closing his eyes. Something told him to get ready for an angry outburst, lots of tears, and every one of his family members and close friends finding out what a fool he'd made of himself this season over his game.

"You're going to stop playing," his mom added.

"No." He tried sitting up again. "I'm finished pushing so hard. I'm done going for runs and to the gym on off days, and I'm not going to lift any more for awhile. But I can't not finish out the season. I just got carried away, Mom, and I–"

"Adam," his mom began again, getting up and pacing to the opposite side of the room. "Is it something Dad or I said to you when you were young? Why do you push yourself so hard for a game? I really want to know. I won't be angry if you say we made a mistake."

Adam stared at her, astonished. He wasn't even sure how to respond. "Mom, no. I…"

"Because you cannot do this again. Do you understand me?" She came back over and stood beside his bed, hands on her hips. "Never again. You'll use control, or you will not play at all."

"I'm twenty-one–"

"Let me rephrase this." She leaned down, giving him a good view of her glittering eyes and trembling chin. "You will not play if we say so because we're still keeping you up on your dad's dime."

Adam had rarely seen his mom this angry and demanding. He stared back at her for a moment in disbelief and frustration, then just shook his head and closed his eyes once more. They didn't speak again at length until he was discharged, feeling mostly back to normal, and packed to go home. She reached out her arm to loop in his at the airport as they approached the terminal to a plane that would take them back to Minneapolis, but he gently shrugged out of the contact. He felt bad for it, but just didn't want to be touched right then.

As Adam made the walk of shame through the terminal gate taking him back home and away from his first pre-season as an upperclassman, he wondered how he'd gone so wrong. Why had he gotten so carried away? He, who was always credited for being responsible, disciplined, and practical?

He spent the flight back trying to lose himself in a John Grisham novel he'd picked up at the airport, but could barely focus on it. His mom persisted in her silence, opting not to read anything–even the Danielle Steel book he had seen in her carry-on bag–and instead, stared straight ahead.

Once home, his dad gave him a quick embrace before telling him to go upstairs and rest. That, Adam figured, was also code for "I want to talk to your mom alone." So he happily obliged, crashing onto his bed where he had crazy dreams for hours.

When he finally awoke, he blinked sleepily and rolled over to see Lacey. Her face was tear-stained, her brow furrowed. He smiled instinctively and reached up to place the back of his hand against her cheek.

"Lacey," he murmured, trying to better wake up. "It's okay. I'm okay."

But there was something in her eyes. It was something akin to what he'd seen in his mom's when she'd first found him on the bathroom floor. He knew his mom's expression was partly one of anger. Was it the same thing lurking just underneath the surface of his girlfriend's face?

"I didn't know it was that bad," he found himself explaining, which was true. But he felt an urgency to make Lacey understand his new promise to himself. "I'm not doing it again. I'm not pushing myself like that ever again."

Lacey watched him for awhile. "Does this mean you're done with hockey?"

Adam paused. "Well…I would like to finish out the season. But no more running, no more weights. I'm going to just…play. Like a normal person. And if I don't make the NHL, I don't."

She seemed to be weighing his words, her eyes drifting to stare at some invisible point beside him on the wall. Then she swallowed as though trying to beat down more tears.

He wished he could know what she was thinking. She usually offered her opinion freely, but she seemed too logged with emotion at present. Adam just reached down and took her hand, stroking over her fingers with his.

After a moment, she turned back at him with a shaky smile. "Let me help you roll over and I'll rub your back. Okay?"

Adam did so, with effort. But feeling her warm hands on his skin proved to be so very worth it. She stroked over his back, raw from all the hot showers, for several minutes before she rested her cheek against it.

He could swear he felt tears.

/*/*/*/

It took Adam a good two weeks to be fully back on his feet. The exhaustion that came during an RA flair was nothing to sneeze at, and his joints needed time to heal. He tried to move a little more each day to work out the soreness and swelling.

As far as school went, he was grateful for the mid-semester break, which overlapped his own. This meant he hadn't missed as much school as he otherwise would have, but he would still have alot to catch up on when he got back. He would be able to join back up with hockey just in time for games to begin. But this time, he would remain in charge of his health and temper his determination. No matter what.

His mom gradually softened. His dad didn't say much, but Adam would occasionally catch him sneaking concerned glances during dinner.

Lacey didn't come over nearly as much as he expected she would, which surprised him. But he also knew she was alot busier with schoolwork this year than she had been previously. Because of this, he was happy to see her the Saturday before he was to go back to school. He sat in the breakfast nook eating two eggs and a whole wheat bagel–way more than he usually had for breakfast, but he was already trying to establish better habits. She slid into the seat beside him, looking somewhat sullen, but he couldn't figure out why. Wasn't she happy this had passed and that he was okay?

"You all right?," he inquired, tossing down the paper his dad had left behind that he was mindlessly scanning.

"I…yeah," Lacey flashed him a smile.

But Adam knew she very much wasn't. So he leaned in and nudged her with his shoulder before propping his head on his elbow, regarding her closely. "Tell me the truth. Come on."

For maybe the first time in their relationship, Adam witnessed Lacey struggle with words. She kept her eyes averted from his. Something about this felt uncomfortable, and he wasn't sure exactly why. He shifted. "Lacey…?"

Lacey took a very deep, big breath, before looking up at him. "Adam, you realize you could have died, right? I mean, the inflammation was so deep that if your mom hadn't found you, more damage could have been done."

Adam nodded. "Yeah, I know. It was stupid. I was in a flair, and I should have backed off way earlier. But if you'd seen how great I did at the scrimmage a few nights before, you'd understand why I just had to go the distance that once. But I'm not doing that anymore, Lacey, I swear. That was the last time–"

Lacey shocked him by chortling bitterly. "But you've said that before. First when you became so exhausted you collapsed during a game. Then you got so depressed over the summer I wasn't sure if you were going to pull out of it."

He was still as he watched her, trying to digest her words. But they were coming more quickly than he could process them.

"Look at this. I want to show you something." Lacey looked down and leaned into Adam, reaching up to separate certain portions of her hair. He stared as she showed him the patches, feeling both sickened and ashamed. She didn't have to say it: he did this. He'd caused her to worry so much about him that she pulled more of her hair than he'd seen during their entire time together.

All he could do was breathe her name.

She let go of her hair then and sat up, looking at him with tears streaming down her face. "Adam, you say you can't live without hockey, that it's your dream, your life's purpose, and you can't let it go. Well, the thing is…I believe you." She reached up to swipe at her tears. "But if you can't let go of hockey, then that means I can't let go of this anxiety, and it leads me back down the worst road I've ever been down. Do you see?"

Adam blinked, his eyes still trained on hers. "Th-then I'll quit. I'll quit playing today."

"No," Lacey shook her head. "You can't quit for my sake, Adam. It has to be because you want to. And I don't know that that's ever going to happen. You love it way too much, and it's killing you, but I–"

"Lacey, I'm calming down. Way down, I told you. I'm not worried about the NHL anymore." He shook his head. "Please, you don't have to be so scared."

"I can't believe it anymore. That's the thing. Like I said."

Adam didn't know what to say, his eyes drifting down to his cup of orange juice, which he just now realized was way too sweet.

"And I can't do this anymore."

His eyes shot up to Lacey's again, trying to discern what exactly she meant by that. He finally found his voice. "What…does that mean? Like, do you need some space…? Do you…can I…"

Suddenly a frantic feeling arose in his chest.

"I think…we have to end this, Adam." Leaving off trying to wipe tears, Lacey now wept openly. "It's been good. So good. But maybe we just don't fitanymore. We have different goals, different needs, and this is going to kill us both. I can't watch you do this anymore, and since I can never believe you when you say you're going to be careful…" she trailed off.

"Lacey, no. Please, we can fix this. I'll stop playing, and I'll do it for me," the words fell from his lips, even though the very air around them caused them to drop like lead.

"Sometimes love can't fix everything. I think we used to believe it did, but now I'm seeing that sometimes people have to choose things for themselves, and… and before things get really bad, I have to walk away. Adam…I will never stop loving you. You have to know that."

But there was buzzing in Adam's ears, and he blinked furiously, everything going sideways in his field of vision. "Please. Please don't do this," he pleaded. "You said you'd stay through all this, you said th–"

"I said I'd stay with you until it was all finished. But Adam, you didn't keep your promise to me, either. You swore to me you'd stop when it began hurting you, and you haven't. It's like you're addicted, and you can't stop."

At that, Adam felt a streak of anger shoot across his heart. "I'm not addicted to hockey, Lacey. Why would you say something like that?"

"Because it's true. And Adam, I can't just sit here and watch you become another person in front of my very eyes. I want to hold onto my good memories, not let them be crowded out with the bad ones. I…I think we can be friends, okay? One day. For now, I need time, and you probably do, too." She pulled off her promise ring.

Adam stared at it in shock, then looked back up at her, feeling tears rising to his own eyes. "Wait, what? So just like that, it all…we…mean nothing?"

"No. We mean the world. And that's what I want to preserve–that love we've had, in my memory, forever. Not all of this. This is what I want to forget. And if we stop now, we'll one day look back on this and see the good things."

"Lacey," he reached out and placed a trembling hand over hers, feeling a weight on his chest so heavy it made it difficult to breathe. "This can't be it. We can't just be over. Not when we…" he broke off, at a loss.

Her face was red and tear-streaked, her eyes pleading. "Please, don't make this harder. I've really thought about it, okay? I've also been talking to Dr. Hemby, and I knew that if this happened again…" Lacey began to stand up from the table.

"It won't. It'll never happen again, I told you. Why can't you just believe me?" Adam stood as well and pulled her to him in an embrace. "I'm so, so sorry I did this to you," he whispered, his face close to her ear as he brought a hand up to comb gently through her hair. "I was selfish. I was dumb."

"No. None of those," Lacey held onto him so tightly that for a moment he knew she must be reconsidering her decision. "You just know what you want the very most. And I'm afraid I can't handle it."

Adam was stricken. She gently pulled back from him but kept her face close, looking longingly at his lips. He pulled her back to him and pressed them tenderly but passionately against hers, fresh tears spilling down his cheeks that mingled with hers.

They were so right together, and would be forever. Lacey would realize it. She had to.

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, returning the kiss, and they stayed in that moment awhile before she, again, began to pull away.

It was all he could do not to hold on for dear life. "I don't think we can be without each other. I know I can't…"

Lacey reached down to squeeze his hands as she began to back away. "We have to try."

He studied her face, every feature, in case…was this even possible?...he actually wouldn't see her again.

She turned away, picking up her purse with shaking hands. But she turned back to him one final time. "You've been my very biggest adventure. But you deserve to go after the one you want the most. I'm only sorry I couldn't go with you."

Glued to the spot, Adam stared after Lacey as she turned and headed quickly toward the archway leading to the front hall. A moment later he heard the front door close.

And just like that, it was over. All of the wonderful he'd held onto so dearly for over two years had been ripped away.

He stood there, too afraid to even move for fear every part of his body would crumble like an imploding skyscraper. Finally, his dad walked in, slowly.

"Son," Dad came over to him and took his shoulders. "It'll be okay."

"No it won't," was Adam's swift, stony response. "And it never will be."

"That's not true," his dad replied in a sincere voice. "Did I ever tell you about my first love? And how–"

"I can't hear a 'chin up' story right now, Dad, I can't…I can't talk." Adam was suddenly aware of the discomfort of his cold, wet face and realized there was nothing for him to do–nothing at all–but to go upstairs and just go back to bed. He had to shut the world out, just for a little while.

The ring, its aquamarine still glinting of happy possibilities, lay on the table behind him. And as far as he was concerned, that's where it would stay.

/*/*/*/

It took Lacey days to even want to eat again.

She spent long hours in her room for the next few days, missed her Monday classes, and wouldn't talk to anyone. Not Kristy, not her mom, not even Stuart.

Had she made a terrible mistake? She most certainly had. Or…had she? Lacey knew she couldn't handle one more health scare out of Adam lest she wake up one day without any hair at all, her insides permanently turned to jelly. It was impossible to stay, yet felt more impossible to go.

So many times she nearly picked up the phone, even after she knew Adam had gone back to school, prepared to reason with him, to agree on more promises. BecauseBut even though he said he wasn't actually addicted to hockey, she now had enough addiction science under her belt to see all the signs. And she couldn't thrive like that. Not if she wanted to come out alive. After so many broken vows that he was finished hurting himself, she knew he wasn't.

By Tuesday, a knock came to her door. Figuring it was likely one of her sisters, both of whom had endlessly tried to pull her from her room, she hatefully called out, "I'm not coming out right now. So you can stop knocking."

But the door opened anyway, and there stood Stuart holding a tray of grilled cheese and his homemade root vegetable soup. Immediately upon seeing him, Lacey wanted to cry all over again. Because Stuart's style was so comforting. He always gave space, but knew when you'd had enough, and came in to get you to at least eat.

She sat up, sniffling, and obediently took the tray, too hungry to resist. Stuart pulled the chair from her computer desk over and sat down on it backwards, tucking his long legs under it.

"Lass, ye canna do this."

"Why not?" Lacey took a big bite of her grilled cheese, chewing slowly and swallowing before she spoke. "Everything just feels…like a blank sheet of paper."

"Aye, I know th' feelin' well. Most o' us has 'ad a heartbreak or three durin' those early years," he replied softly.

But this only irritated Lacey. That's something she was dreading–every adult saying they knew exactly what she was going through. They didn't know her and Adam, the way they were with each other. All the sweet nuances of their relationship, which had spanned only three years if the simple friendship was counted, but felt like a lifetime. And she had thought they'd have a lifetime more.

But damn hockey.

"Mom's mad at me," she murmured between bites of her sandwich. "She thinks I made a big mistake. But Stuart, him constantly getting sick was killing me. I had t–"

"Shh," Stuart hushed her. "Ye dunna 'ave t'explain anymore. Yer mum jus' saw ye 'appy, an' she wanted that t'last, see. It's all aboot yer 'appiness wi' her."

Lacey looked down, studying her soup. "Maybe so. But still, I could use a little support. Good thing I have you, huh?"

"Ye al'ays do, Love. D'ye plan t'talk to 'im at all? Stay friends?"

Lacey paused. That was exactly what she'd been trying to figure out. "The thing is, every couple I know who tries to stay friends like this only ends up prolonging the pain. But how would I just cut him out of my life? I don't think I can. And of course I have no idea what he would want either. I mean, I think for at least a little while we should heal from this, and then maybe I could reach out and get a feel for whether or not he wants to be friendly…"

Stuart nodded. "Soonds like a good plan. For noo, though, ye'd best take care o' yerself. But ye know, don' ye, that ye canna stay up 'ere forever, pushin' oot those who love ye. We're the ones t' 'elp ye feel better in the end. Love does that t' a person, ye know."

"I know…"

"An' yer sisters, they need advice fro' ye. As do I. I dun al'ays know what they're up to wi' th' lads they been seein'," Stuart spoke seriously, brow furrowed.

Lacey then realized just how much she'd been neglecting her sisters during the past year when they may have needed her most. "I think maybe I'll take each of them to the Daily Grind one day just to talk."

The Daily Grind–what memories. That might be another mistake, yet part of her yearned more than anything for the comfort of a place she had gone with Adam. Would their essence still live there?

But Stuart, not really knowing the significance of the coffee shop, just nodded. "Bairnes an' coffee shops these days."

"I'm hardly a 'bairne' anymore, Stuart," she chuckled weakly, getting ready to dive into her soup.

"Al'ays t'me ye are." He stood up, pushing the computer chair back in its place. "Take time. Let yerself 'urt over it. Tis 'ow ye 'eal. But dunna stay there. Come down an' let yer family 'elp care fer ye."

Lacey nodded. And she would do as Stuart encouraged. But tomorrow.

Tonight, she would have a long, hot shower, and then log onto AOL. Just in case he was there. Not to talk to him, but simply to look at the name "BanksAL79" and remember.

And, it was probably a bad idea, because when she did log in and see that his status was set to "Away," she noticed what the Away message actually said:

"I see the moon and the moon sees me."

Lacey felt her heart almost stop and, before she could think about it, set her own status to "Away" and typed in her own status message box:

"And the moon sees somebody I want to see."

Feeling her tears prepare to flow again, she got up from the computer, pressed the monitor to turn off the screen, and went to bed to cry her eyes out once more. If this kept up, there would be no more water left in her head to drown her pillow in.

And maybe that was when she would start to feel better.

/*/*/*/

Adam knew the futility of dragging this out and sending a message out into cyberspace for Lacey to receive. But he couldn't help it–he needed desperately for her to know how very much he loved her, and always would.

Of course, right before he headed back to school, his dad finally managed to slip in his first heartbreak story, whether Adam wanted to hear it or not. Something about a girl he'd escorted to her debutante ball and fell head over heels with, becoming involved with her and taking her out on several dates before he went out one night with friends and saw her kissing someone else.

It was the usual kind of thing that happened to people, but nothing that even remotely connected with what he and Lacey had just gone through. He had been continually dreaming of the lake house, their car rides, the icy pond, and the night they'd spent fully consummating things in San Francisco. It was maddening, but Adam could only hope the throbbing pain in his chest would die down enough so he could function through the rest of the hockey season and the school year. He had to believe it would. If he didn't hang onto that, what would be left for him?

It seemed the prudent thing to do, when he'd gotten back to his dorm that weekend, to put away the photograph he kept framed on one of his bookshelves: it was the one Connie had taken over two years ago during the dinner Julie had prepared for them, the giddiness still apparent on his and Lacey's faces as they held hands and leaned in toward one another. He'd wanted an updated picture–they still looked so young there, fresh-faced high school seniors–but they never had the chance.

Adam finally walked away from the picture he wouldn't take down. No matter how much time went by, he was sure that all it would take would be a couple of words from her and he would drop everything in a minute, as unhealthy as it might be, and go home to her. And that was a day he prayed would come. But until then, he'd love Lacey Primmer like nothing had ever changed between them. Because in his heart, it hadn't.

And so, too busy marinating in his sorrow to even think about anything else, the phone call came quite unexpectedly. It had been a long, rainy day, and he was just dashing into his dorm following his Reconstruction History & Antebellum South class when the ringing began. Irritated by the interruption to what he hoped would be a quiet evening, Adam picked up the phone and issued a perfunctory greeting.

"Hello, Adam?" The voice belonged to Craig Aimes, his agent.

"Yeah?" He hesitated.

"I got a call today from Herman Browning, owner of the Georgia Sentinels. Kind of a newer team. You heard of them?"

"Yeah," Adam repeated the word, thinking Craig a little thick. How would he not have heard of any team that was a part of the NHL?

"Well, have I got news for you. When can we meet to discuss his offer?"

/*/*/*/

"Don't Go Away" - Oasis