S I LEAVE EMT CLASS LATER that week, I’m accompanied by an unfamiliar sense of pride. Yes, pride. I’ve always been a good student, and suddenly, I’m acing all the checklists on taking a patient’s history, remembering what order to assess which systems, knowing the physiology we have to memorize in order to pass our written test. Suddenly, people are asking me for help, leaping at the chance to be my partner, much to Ernesto’s annoyance, since he considers me his exclusive property.

Maybe dating Ryan Darling has caused some medical savvy to rub off on me. More likely it’s just that I don’t have to see real injuries just yet. Don’t actually have to help someone who’s writhing in pain. Smell the smells that go along with injury and illness. See the twins, Blood and Gore. I swallow. Soon, our practicals in the emergency room will come up, when we have to spend an entire shift in the E.R. I’m hoping my nurse will just tell me to stay out of the way, coward that I am.

I unchain my mountain bike from the rack and shoulder my backpack. I need to run home and grab Buttercup, then head out again. I’m babysitting Dylan because Elaina has a date. I feel a little guilty about enabling my friend to go out with someone who’s not my brother. But Mark has brought his problems on himself, and I love Dylan, his tendency to bite me notwithstanding.

Several pain and shriek-filled hours later, I gaze down upon my nephew as he sleeps in his crib, his mouth open, eyelashes feathered on his pink cheeks, snoring just a little. He looks like an angel. I know better.

“I love you, Dylan,” I whisper, stroking the delicious cluster of curls at the back of his head. He is a breathtakingly beautiful child—black hair, dark blue eyes, dimples like Mark, curls like Elaina. Of all us good-looking O’Neills, I’d have to say that Dylan is probably our most stunning, an Irish–Puerto Rican specimen of pure beauty. Of course, then there’s Claire, whose apricot cheeks are a study in poreless perfection. And Olivia of the coppery curls. And let’s not forget Graham’s giant eyes and infectious laugh…or Christopher’s elfin smile…or pink-and-cream Jenny. Okay, so I’m a doting aunt.

I hear Elaina’s car in the garage, give Dylan a final kiss and trot downstairs.

“How was your date?” I ask as she puts her keys and purse down.

She bursts into tears.

“Lainey! What happened? Come on, sit down.” I lead her to the living room. She sits down, grabbing a tissue off the coffee table first.

“Did you clean up in here? It looks nice,” she weeps.

“Honey, what happened?” I ask.

Elaina blows her nose and wipes her eyes. “Oh, Chastity, it was fine. Nice guy, all that crap. I’m never seeing him again.”

“Why?” I ask. “Was he a jerk? Did he do something?”

“Well, no, Chastity! He just wasn’t your brother!”

“I guess it’s too soon, huh?” I suggest.

She starts sobbing in earnest. “Your brother…he’s…I still…I just wish…”

I move over to the couch and put my arm around my friend, tears in my own eyes at the sight of her heartbreak. “It’s okay, Elaina. Go ahead and cry.”

Buttercup, who has been sleeping in front of the fireplace, clambers up and approaches Elaina, putting her big head on Elaina’s lap. This elicits a sloppy laugh from my friend. “Even your dog feels sorry for me.” She hiccups. “How pathetic is that?”

“Very,” I say, grabbing a few more tissues.

“So,” Elaina says, sagging back on the couch. “I still love Mark. I want to forgive the rat bastard, but…” Her voice trails off, and she looks so sad.

“Has he apologized, Lainey?”

“Oh, sure. Like, ‘I said I’m sorry! What do I have to do for you to believe me?’ Then he storms out or something. Pretty crappy apology if you ask me.” She sniffs.

“Well, what would he have to do, Lainey?” I ask. Buttercup wags her tail, knocking over an empty cup, then woofs softly and collapses, her legs buckling in her trademark flop.

Elaina blows her nose again. “I don’t know,” she says honestly. “He can’t ever cheat on me again, and how can I be sure of that, you know? I mean, it’s one thing to be rejected once. Twice, that’s another thing altogether. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, I’m a stupid idiot…You know?”

I nod. “Has he gotten any counseling or anything?” I ask. Mark is the brother to whom I speak the least. Living with Matt gives me an insider’s view on his life, obviously, and Lucky is the brother most like me, and we talk a couple of times a week. Jack checks in every Sunday night, doing the eldest child shtick, which I think is kind of cute.

But Mark is the highest strung. Tense, jumpy, too much energy…but he also has the biggest heart. No one tries harder than Mark, and no one screws up more, either.

“How was Dylan?” Elaina asks, managing a watery smile.

“Oh, he was great!” I say, deciding against telling her about my nephew’s twenty-seven-minute scream fest when I took him out of the tub. Or the bite marks on my shoulder. “An angel. I was just worshipping him when you came up.”

“And so when are you and Doctor Good-Looking gonna pop some of your own?” Elaina asks.

I smile. “I don’t know.”

“But things are good?”

I nod. “Yup. Very good. He’s a wonderful boyfriend.”

“How is he wonderful? Tell me. I need to hear what wonderful is like.” She wipes her eyes once more and toys with a lock of her curly hair.

“Oh, he sent me flowers yesterday. He took me to a nice restaurant on Tuesday, and yesterday, when he was stuck in surgery, he had a nurse call me and let me know.”

“He had a nurse call? Like she’s his answering service or something?” Elaina snaps.

“Well, you know, he was elbow deep in someone’s abdomen or something, Lainey. Some gruesome ripping injury thing.”

She sniffs. “And are you crazy about him?” Her eyes are too knowing.

“Yes. Yes, I am.” I pause. “I’m getting there.”

“Speaking of boyfriends, have you met Harry? Your mom’s guy?” Elaina asks, kindly changing the subject.

“No,” I answer. “But I don’t think it’s the real thing. She’s just playing with Dad.”

“I don’t know about that, Chas.” Elaina blows her nose. “They’ve been seeing each other a lot.”

“Dad and Mom?”

“No, dummy. Your mom and Harry.”

A little trickle of dismay wriggles through my stomach, but I dismiss it with a shake of my head. “Well, whatever. She wouldn’t really leave my father.”

Elaina doesn’t answer.

“At any rate,” I announce heartily, “try not to feel bad, sweetie. Mark will come around. You keep your chin up, okay? True love conquers all, blah blah bleeping blah.”

“Such a way with words. No wonder you’re a journalist.”

I give her a gentle punch on the shoulder and find my jacket. “Come on, Buttercup,” I call to my dog. Several minutes later, when I’ve hauled her to her feet and forcibly walked her out the door, I clip the leash to her collar and mount my bike. I love riding at night, and Buttercup gallumphs along beside me, sloppy and joyous, as we cruise through the dark streets, the pinkish glow of the streetlamps lighting our way. Up ahead are two men, heads close together, shoulders bumping. Love is in the air, I think with a smile. As I approach, they thoughtfully step onto the strip of grass between the sidewalk and the street.

“Thanks, guys,” I call, glancing back. Holy crap! I suck in a quick breath and whip my head around, swerving slightly.

One of the men is Teddy Bear, Lucia’s fiancé of the past four years.