Warren opened his eyes and looked around. "Where am I?" he asked.

"In an ambulance," a man in a uniform next to him told him.

"What happened?"

"You were in a car accident."

"Jesus. I don’t remember a thing."

"You knocked yourself out, but we think you’re going to be OK."

"What about my friend, Jessie? The girl in the car with me?"

"I don’t know, pal. She’s in the other ambulance. What’s your name, anyhow?"

"Warren."

"I’m Fred. We’ll get you to the hospital and get you fixed up."

"Can someone call my wife?"

"Sure," Fred grinned, and pulled out his cell phone. "Does your wife know you were out with your ‘friend’?" he joked.

"Jessie’s not just my friend, she’s my wife’s best friend. She lives with us. We were out grocery shopping. We do all the cooking, so my wife stayed at home with our daughter."

"Nice arrangement," Fred grinned. Oh, if he only knew, Warren thought! "What’s your number?"

Warren gave it to him, and the EMT dialed it on his cell phone. He handed the phone to Warren.

"Honey? It’s Warren. Don’t panic, but there’s been an accident. They’re taking us to the hospital at the University."

Sophia showed up at the hospital only a few minutes after the ambulances did. She found Warren in the emergency room.

"Oh, Snugglebear!" she hissed, seeing him there.

"Hiya, Pookie."

"You look horrible!"

"Thanks. How’s Jess?"

"I don’t know, I came to you first."

"Where’s Betsy?"

"Paul and Cait have her. Do they know if there’s any damage yet?"

"No, but I can tell you—there’s something wrong with my right leg."

"Oh, not your leg!"

"Yeah. I don’t know what, but it feels like it got run over."

"Oh, Jesus. Do you know what happened?"

"Nope. The last thing I remember was cruising along, talking to Jess about all the fresh herbs she bought. The next thing after that is waking up in the ambulance. Hey, we’re not going to know anything until the doc gets here to check me out. Go see if you can find Jess."

"Good idea." She went, and came back a few minutes later.

"Warren? Jessie’s still unconscious."

"OK, this is the deal," the doctor was telling Warren, with Sophie there. "Warren, you had a mild concussion, but you’ll be fine there. It was very minor, but that’s why you were out for a few minutes—that, and shock. You have bruised ribs, but that’s minor. The big problem is your right knee.

"It’s bad, Warren, I won’t minimize it. Both your anterior cruciate and medial collateral ligaments are torn. There’s torn cartilage. It’s a mess. You’re going to need it reconstructed."

"Oh shit oh shit oh shit," Warren groaned.

"This is repairable, Warren. You’ll be able to live a normal life, no problem."

"Will I be able to skate?" he asked. The doctor looked at him questioningly. "Sophia and I are competitive ice dancers. In fact, we’re past world champions. And the Olympics are less than a year and a half away."

"Ah," the doctor said. "My honest answer to that? I don’t know. However, there’s been athletes that have done quite a number on their knees and have come back from it. I’m a skier, myself—purely recreational, but I follow the competitive skiing, and I remember Picabo Street coming back from a hell of a knee injury."

"You’re right," Warren said.

"What we’re going to do is we’re keeping you overnight. Even with a mild head injury, we have to do that. And we’re going to have an orthopedic man check you out while you’re here. You’re going to need surgery, I know that much. But we’ll make sure the orthopedic guy knows about you being an athlete."

"OK, Doc."

A few hours later, Warren had been settled into a regular room. Sophie came in.

"Jessie’s still unconscious. I called her parents. They’re flying out here."

"I talked to mine," Warren told her, "and I told them not to fly out here. I told them I’d let them know what was going on—since I wasn’t in a coma or anything, and it was just my knee, there was nothing they could do."

"Yeah."

Just then, a policeman came into the room, asking to speak to Warren. "Sure," Warren said, "but I have to tell you, I don’t remember anything."

"Nothing?"

"I was driving, talking to Jessie about the groceries we had bought." He turned to Sophia. "She’d bought piles of fresh herbs, I was kidding her about buying the store right out of them." Sophia giggled. Warren turned back to the cop. "The next thing I remember is waking up in the ambulance. I don’t even know what I hit."

"Another car."

"Oh, shit!" Warren hissed. "The other people, are they, you know…."

The cop sighed. "The driver is a guy about your age. He’s in rough shape. They had to operate on him for some sort of internal bleeding. They don’t know if he’ll pull through. His girlfriend, who was in the passenger’s seat, is fine. Look, Warren, we have eyewitnesses. Every single on of them told us that he ran a red light. You had a green."

"I’m glad witnesses told you, because I wouldn’t have been able to. I don’t remember."

"I know, but everyone did, including the girlfriend, the passenger in the other car. She confirmed that he ran a red light. Also, he had a blood alcohol level of .17. You were tested, of course—yours was zero. This accident wasn’t your fault."

"That’s good to know, but still….."

"I know," the cop said sympathetically. "Anyhow, we might have some later questions."

"That’s fine."

The cop left and Warren looked at Sophia. "Shit. I know it wasn’t my fault, but, shit."

"I know, Snugglebear."

The next morning, Warren was waiting for the orthopedic doctor to show up. Sophia beat him there.

"Jess is still out," she told Warren worriedly. "She hasn’t come out of the coma."

"Do they know what’s wrong?" Warren asked.

"Severe concussion. That, and shock, are what’s got her in the coma. They’re confident she’ll come out of it. But they don’t know how she’ll be when she comes out of it."

"They’re worried about brain damage," Warren said.

"Exactly. Her parents are on their way. I’m so worried."

"I am too, Pookie. You know how I feel about Jess."

Just then the orthopedic surgeon came in. They discussed options. Surgery was really the only one, and the doc didn’t know how bad things were until he got in there. Warren was going to stay in the hospital for a couple of days, and they’d hope to do the surgery soon, as soon as the swelling went down.

After the Doc had left, a teenaged girl, about seventeen, appeared in the door. She was accompanied by two people who were apparently her parents. "Are you Warren Kelleher?" she asked.

"Yes," he said, "can I help you?"

The poor girl looked downcast. "I’m Suzanne. I was, well, that was my boyfriend….I was in the other car. I just wanted to apologize."

"For what?" Warren asked. "You weren’t driving. Come on in," he said, waving her in. She introduced her parents, and Warren introduced Sophie.

Suzanne sat in the chair by the bed. "No, I wasn’t driving, but I should’ve been. I tried to get the keys from Adam. Evidently I didn’t try hard enough. I knew he had been drinking."

"How is he?" Warren asked.

"He’s still in a coma."

"Jessie is, too." Warren said. Suzanne looked at him blankly. "My friend, the girl that was in the car with me."

"Oh, no!" Suzanne wailed.

"Look. It wasn’t your fault. None of it."

Suzanne started crying. Her parents looked on with dismay. "Are you OK?" she managed through her sobs.

"It’s just my knee," Warren smiled. "They’re going to have to reconstruct it, but they think I’ll come out of it OK."

"You won’t have any problem walking?" Suzanne’s father asked.

"Oh, no, I’m not even worried about that," Warren laughed. "I tore two ligaments and some cartilage. Walking won’t be a problem. It’s skating that I’m worried about. The Olympics are 16 months away. And we’d like to compete this year, at least at Worlds, which is, what, five months away? I’m having surgery this week, and then we’ll see."

"Skating?" Suzanne asked. "The Olympics? You might skate in the Olympics?"

"We already did once," Sophia smiled. "We won a silver medal in the last Olympics. This time it’s gold or bust. We’re ice dancers."

"I knew I recognized you from somewhere!" Suzanne’s mother said.

"Oh, God, you’re that good and you wrecked your knee?" Suzanne whined, dismayed again.

"Suzanne, it wasn’t your fault!" Warren reiterated.

"I really did try to get the keys," Suzanne said, sobbing again. "But Adam gets, well, he gets upset easily when he’s been drinking." Warren and Sophie shared a look—they strongly suspected that ‘upset easily’ was an understatement. "I didn’t push hard enough to get the keys."

"Does he hit you?" Sophie asked quietly. Suzanne just looked at her, wide-eyed.

"My God," her mother said, "we didn’t know any of this. Adam’s a little older, and we worried about that, but he always seemed like a nice young man."

Suzanne looked completely disconsolate. Warren and Sophie shared another look. Sophie stood up, looked at Suzanne, and said, "Come on. We need to take a walk, you and I. Let’s go down to the cafeteria and see what we can rustle up for lunch. My treat."

Suzanne looked at her, confused. "Come on. Trust me," Sophie told her, while Warren was saying the same thing with his eyes to her parents. Finally, Suzanne looked at her parents, who gave her a nod, then shrugged and followed Sophie out the door.

When they left, her father asked Warren, "What was that all about?"

Warren sighed. "Sophie suspects, I can tell, that Suzanne’s only telling the tip of the iceberg. I think that guy’s doing a number on your daughter."

"And your wife thinks she can do something?"

"When I first met Sophie, she was being abused by her boyfriend, and it had been going on for some time, with more than one boyfriend. Keep in mind that she was all of fourteen at the time." Both parents gasped. "She’s lived it, and she counseled other girls about it back in high school. Believe me, she’s the best person for Suzanne to be talking to right now. It took a shock to the system to wake Sophie up, plus a sympathetic person in her life—that was me, by the way," he grinned. "I think Suzanne just had the shock to her system. Sophie’s trying to be the sympathetic listener. She’s very good at it."

Suzanne’s parents left, stopping off to see her and tell her to give them a call when she wanted to be picked up. A couple of hours later, Sophie came back to the room.

"As bad as you thought?" Warren asked.

"Yeah. Well, apparently, he’s a complete sweetheart when he’s sober. When he’s drunk, he’s a monster. And his drunk episodes are increasing. He’s 21, she’s only 17, that’s a problem right there. She’s completely cowed by him—and she’s truly in love with the sober one. What a mess."

"It’s a moot point if he doesn’t get better."

"And she’s completely broken up about that. You think she’s blaming herself for you? She told me she looks at him lying there in ICU and just cries ‘why didn’t I take the keys?’ The poor kid’s a mess."

"And you’re conflicted. Because you know that some people like that can turn their lives around."

"Yeah. My Dad. It’s the war in my mind—Scott on one hand, Dad on the other. And this is closer to Dad, because Scott was a monster drunk or sober. Did I tell you he’s back in jail?" Warren shook his head. "Yup, they let him out last year, and he did it to someone else. Some batterers never get better. But Dad did."

"Yeah."

"She’s got our phone number. And Mary’s card, of course. I think I convinced her to give Mary a call."

"Good."

Just then, a figure burst into the room. "WHERE’S JESSIE?" it demanded.

"Ryan? Calm down," Sophie said.

"I just heard! A car accident? Where is she?"

"She’s in intensive care," Sophie told him. "Ryan, they won’t let you in there. You’re not family. She’s still in a coma."

"Oh, God," Ryan said, slumping visibly. He lurched over to the chair next to Sophie. "Do they….I mean, is she going to….."

"They don’t know yet," Sophie said softly.

"Oh, God," Ryan repeated. Then he visibly pulled himself together. "I’m sorry, Warren. How are you?"

"I’ll be fine,’ he smiled. "They’re apparently going to have to put my right knee back together with wire and duct tape, but they assure me it’ll hold through our free program." Ryan grinned at that, which was the intention. "Though you’ll probably get a free pass at nationals; well, except for Evan and Shawna."

"I just hope you can recover."

"Other athletes have. I’m just going to have to rehab like a madman during my senior year in college as a pre-med, that’s the problem."

"Well, I hope you recover. Ice dancing needs you guys," Ryan said.

"Thanks," Warren replied. He shot a look at Sophie.

"Ryan? Come with me. Let’s see what we can do." They walked down to ICU, where they found Jessie’s parents.

"How is she?" Sophie asked.

"No change," Corinne, Jessie’s mother, answered. "Still in the coma. They still think she’s going to come out of it, but….." she sighed. "How’s Warren?"

"OK. They’re going to try to do his surgery this week. He’s in remarkably good spirits for an ice skater with a severe knee injury."

"Good," Corinne laughed. "Who’s that with you?" she asked, looking out the door to the figure standing outside.

"That’s Ryan Killen," Sophie said softly. "He’s part of another dance team."

"The one with that bitch in it, right?" Corinne laughed. She’d kept up with Sophie and Warren’s skating.

"Yes, but Ryan himself is a great guy. He stays to watch us practice sometimes, and he’s become great friends with Jessie. They had their first date Friday night. And, then, the next day….." She pointed at Jessie and sighed. "I think poor Ryan’s a little traumatized."

"Son? Come on in," Bill, Jessie’s dad, said. Ryan stepped tentatively into the room. "The doctors said talking to her helps."

"Hi, Jess," Ryan said to the inert figure on the bed. "You need to get out of that coma by next weekend, we have another date." Everybody in the room chuckled at that, and Ryan looked up sheepishly.

"Good, Ryan, you tell her," Corinne laughed.

"It’s hard to talk to someone that doesn’t talk back," Ryan said.

"Telling her to get off her ass so you can take her out is fine," Bill laughed. "This is Jessie we’re talking about."

"I have an idea. Be right back," Sophie said. She ran down to the gift shop, and then ran back.

"How about reading to her?"

"Great idea!" Corinne said. Ryan nodded agreement, and Sophie handed him a couple books. "Found these in the gift shop."

Ryan looked at them. "Romances? Oy."

"She loves them," Corinne said.

"Yeah, she trades them with my husband," Sophie laughed.

"Warren reads this stuff?" Ryan asked.

"Yup. He is a romantic," Sophie pointed out. "Plus, he likes the ‘action’ scenes."

"Oh, jeez," Ryan said. "That’s all I need is to read that out loud!"

"We’ll give you some privacy, we have to go check in at the hotel anyway," Corinne laughed. On their way out, they talked to the head nurse. "There’s a boy in there with Jess now. We approved of him being in her room. He’s reading to her." The head nurse agreed.

Corinne and Bill came back a few hours later, stopping to check up on Warren first.

"Mr. and Mrs. Reidel, I’m so sorry," he said.

"We’ve talked to the police, Warren, we know it’s not your fault," Bill said.

"I know, but I still feel bad. And I’m worried about Jess."

"The doctors tell us to just wait. They really do think she’s going to come out of it."

They talked for a while, and then headed down. The head nurse caught them as they walked past her. "Is that her boyfriend?" she asked them.

"The way we understand it, they’re friends that went on their first date just Friday night."

"Well, you’ve been gone three hours and he hasn’t left her side. He’s been reading to her the whole time. I walked by and saw him stroking her forehead as he read to her. I’ve seen husbands that aren’t that devoted."

Bill and Corinne smiled at one another, then walked into her room. Ryan was hunched over, book in one hand, the other stroking Jessie’s arm, reading to her in a low voice. Bill cleared his throat.

"Hello," Ryan said, faintly embarrassed, sitting up.

"We’re here to relieve you," Bill smiled. "Go on, get something to eat. We don’t need both of you in a coma."

"I guess I am kind of hungry," he said, standing up. "I’ll be back later," he told Jess.

He went out and found something to eat. Afterwards, he went to the local bookstore. He went to the romance section, and walked out with a bag full.

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