My doctors keep me at the hospital for observation one more night, so that they can make sure the swelling has gone down in my head. Then Im free. Mom and Dad head to the billing department to sign some paperwork, while Kurt carefully wheels me down to the lobby and parks the wheelchair near a couple of guys in Cincinnati Reds hoodies. Then he starts chastising me about the amount of hair gel I used this morning.

"Dime-sized dollop, Blaine. Thats all you need."

"Thats all you need, maybe. You dont have the worlds curliest hair. A dime-sized dollop wouldnt make a dent."

"Your hair looks good with a little wave to it. Gives it character. Youre not fooling anyone into thinking its straight with all that shellack, you know."

"Its been a long time since Ive been able to fool anyone into thinking part of me is straight, thats true."

"Right. Not since Rachel." He lasts about three seconds before bursting into giggles, and I swat at him playfully with my good arm.

"Trust me, it looks better this way. You have no idea just how curly it is."

"Of course I do. You think you never showed me your curls? I begged you one time when we were spending a weekend at Robs apartment. You took a shower and towel-dried it, and then it just grew and grew and grew." Kurts eyes widen at the memory.

I sigh. "Wow. You saw the fro and you didnt run for the hills. You must really love me."

His expression grows soft, and he reaches for my hand. Then he glances over at the guys nearby and drops his hand quickly.

"Whats wrong?" I ask.

"Nothing," he says tightly.

"Kurt?"

"Youve already had your head bashed in twice," he murmurs. "Lets not draw attention to ourselves and make it a third."

I look over at the two guys, who are bent over an iPhone and seem oblivious to us. "You do realize they werent hate crimes, right?"

"What?"

"The attacks. In McKinleys parking lot, and in the apartment. They werent hate crimes. I mean, yeah, Morgan hated me, but it wasnt because he was a homophobe."

Kurt starts to reply, then frowns. "Oh." Then hes quiet for a long time. "I kind of got used to assuming thats why it happened."

"I know. Me too."

He glances at the guys again. I wait for him to relax, but he doesnt.

Much to his chagrin, Kurt has to leave for work once I get situated at home. He doesnt go into detail, but its clear, things at the tire shop arent going well.

"I could help out," I tell him.

"Absolutely not. You need to rest."

"My dad and I rebuilt a car once, I know my way around an engine. Even with one arm in a sling."

"Well be okay." He kisses my forehead gently. "Ill see you later?"

"Youd better."

Mom busies herself around my room once he leaves. She fluffs my pillows and refills the water pitcher next to my bed. "Do you need anything, honey?" she asks. "Toast? Maybe some soup?"

"Im not sick, Mom, I just have a concussion. Im fine, really. Dont you have a Junior League meeting today?"

"Oh, I wont go to that."

"But you have that charity auction coming up."

"There are more important things than auctions, dear."

"Like watching me watch the wall?" I stop her as she reaches to re-fluff my pillow. "Mom. Im fine. You heard Dr. Weeks this morning; I dont need monitoring anymore, I just need rest. Go to your meeting. Ill call if I need anything." She hesitates, and I add, "You know Belinda Cartwright is going to completely ruin the auction if youre not there overseeing the planning."

She huffs out a breath. "Belinda Cartwright. That woman doesnt know the first thing about event planning."

"She might order carnations," I say seriously, and Mom is on her feet in an instant.

"You promise youll call if you need anything? Anything at all?"

"I promise."

The house grows quiet and still once she leaves. Im not supposed to watch TV, read, or use a computer, so my options are limited. I wander around the house and down the stairs, smiling when I take the non-squeaky route out of habit. It makes me think of that night Kurt, Puck and I broke in to retrieve my cell phone, just a few weeks ago. It was a night of stolen glances and stolen kisses and a stolen phone, heavy in my palm as I turn it over. Kurts too busy for a phone conversation, and theres no one else I can think to call. Mike and I may be rebuilding our friendship, but he doesnt strike me as the type whod want to chat on the phone for longer than a minute or two.

Hours pass. Kurt texts me often, asking how Im feeling. I tell him Im fine. I am fine, as long as I keep the house dim and quiet. Recovering from a concussion seems minor, compared to what I went through last year. I swallow a couple of Tylenol to help with the shoulder pain, and try to nap. But when I close my eyes, I see the swing of a crowbar, and they pop back open.

The house becomes stifling as the afternoon crawls onward. I think of Robs apartment, with its homey modern furniture and warm ambiance. Thats all gone now. I was upset with Rob at first for selling it, but now I cant imagine going back to a room stained with my blood. Not to mention Sebastians.

Sebastian. No one has updated me on him, not since Mike told me he was in the ICU. I wonder if hes still there, or if hes been discharged like me. My thumb runs over the face of my cell phone, before I turn it on and call the hospital.

"Hi, can you connect me to Sebastian Smythes room, please?"

The operator taps a few computer keys, then says, "Im sorry, Mr. Smythe is in the ICU and cant currently accept calls."

"Oh." I frown. Its been days. "Thanks."

The walls creep slowly toward me as the sun begins its descent. Mom calls just before four, and I tell her Im going to take a nap.

"Daddy needs to work late, but Ill try to be home by seven. Is that okay?"

"Dont rush, Mom, Ill probably sleep till at least eight."

"Eight it is," she says, sounding distracted. "Ill see you then. Enjoy your nap."

"I will," I say, ending the call and pulling up the number of a local taxi service.

The harsh fluorescent lights in the hospital hurt my head, so I stop at a water fountain to take a couple more pills. Then I take an elevator up to the ICU.

I hate hospitals. Ive been in enough that I can say that with some authority. They all smell like antiseptic and antibiotics and pee, and theres no dignity as you roam the halls in a paper-thin gown with your ass on display. This is the ICU, though, so the patients are all in their beds, the steady beeping of monitors and low hum of conversations the only sounds to be heard as I step through the set of double doors. I get a few curious glances from orderlies, but most people ignore me as I wander past each room, trying to peek inside without being intrusive. Room after room, and no Sebastian.

Once I round the corner, theres no need to keep looking. A large blond boy is sitting in one of the chairs outside a room, his head in his hands. I approach slowly, and he looks up just before I reach him. "Hi, Lawrence."

"Hi." He looks exhausted.

"May I?" I ask, gesturing to the chair beside him.

"Sure, yeah." He waits till Im seated, then clears his throat a little. "So, uh. How are you feeling?"

"Okay. Hows Sebastian?"

"Still unconscious. Doctors say we have to wait and see what happens when the swelling goes down. But theres good... brain activity, or something?" He rubs a hand over the back of his head. "I dont know. It doesnt make a lot of sense to me. But his nurse said theyre optimistic hell make a full recovery."

"Good, thats good."

He nods, and we sit in silence for a bit. A nurse goes into Sebastians room at one point, but she heads out again shortly.

"Are his parents here?" I ask.

"No." Theres no mistaking the bitterness in Lawrences tone. "Theyre on vacation in Rome."

"And nobodys been able to reach them?"

"Oh, we reached them. But his mother said theyre not scheduled to come back until after the new year, and theyre not cutting their trip short."

I gape at him. "Their kids in intensive care."

"Yup."

"And theyre staying in Rome."

"Its..." He shrugs. "Its how they are. Ive known Sebastian most of my life. His parents act like hes a trophy. Something shiny to take out and wave around when they want to impress someone, and then stick it back on a shelf. Why do you think he ended up in so many boarding schools?"

"Is that what happened with Morgan too?"

"Morgan. No, Morgans parents arent like that."

My cell phone buzzes, and when I check it, theres a message from Kurt, asking how I am. I type back a quick text and send it to him.

"Cant use that in here, theyll yell at you," Lawrence says, so I power it down.

"Youve known both of them a long time?"

"Yeah, we all grew up together. Sebastian got shipped off to a few boarding schools overseas before his parents decided Dalton was a better option. All three of us transferred in at the same time. I was pumped about their lacrosse team. Morgan just kept talking about how great it would be to see Sebastian again. I figured hed just missed him a lot or something, I didnt know he..."

"Was gay?"

"Nah, I knew that, hed told me back when we were in middle school. I just didnt know he had a thing for Sebastian at that point."

"So what happened?"

"Sebastian became Big Man on Campus. He had his pick of pretty much any guy at Dalton — even most of the straight guys wanted him. Every once in a while hed get really drunk and hook up with Morgan. Just enough to keep stringing Morgan along."

I study his face. "You blame him for this?"

He looks up at me sharply. "For this? For Morgan beating him to a pulp? For ruining your life? Im not insane, Blaine. I dont think theres any excuse for what Morgan did to you guys."

"Except the first time around."

He sighs deeply. "You heard that."

"Yeah. You said Morgan told you it was self-defense."

"There were two of you, and only one of him, and..." He spreads his palms. "He was my friend. I trusted him. And I guess deep down I didnt want to believe the alternative."

I nod. "Thanks for calling 9-1-1 that night, by the way."

"How did you—"

"The police said it was an anonymous call from a pay phone near the stairwell, about ten minutes before Kurt called. Anyone else would have stayed with Sebastian and waited. I figured it had to be you."

Lawrence shrugs. "I didnt know if Morgan would go after me too. And I had to get help."

"I know. Those ten minutes may have saved his life."

He scoffs. "Ten minutes. Morgan had called me about it half an hour earlier. If Id called the police right away, maybe Sebastian would be awake right now."

"Why didnt you?"

"I didnt want to believe it was true. I hoped he was exaggerating, or making it up. I mean... who wants to believe their best friend is capable of something like that?"

I try to imagine getting a call from Mike, saying hed attacked someone. The idea is too far-fetched to even fathom. "Did you tell the police it was you who called?"

"No, but they took my fingerprints. They probably figured it out." He pauses. "Do you think Ill get in trouble?"

"For calling 9-1-1?"

"For not telling them it was me."

I look at the dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. "No, I dont think you will. Seems like youre punishing yourself enough right now."

Someone is crying in another room. Great big sobs, and I feel uncomfortable overhearing them.

"Hes at home now?"

"Who?"

"Morgan."

"Yeah, his parents posted bail while he was still in a holding cell. Hell be there until the trial."

"Is that normal? To be put on house arrest instead of going to jail?"

"There is no normal when youre Henry Adamss kid." At my blank look, he rolls his eyes. "Henry Adams? The stock market guru?"

I shrug.

"His dads a legend, man. Inherited six million dollars when he turned 21, turned that into six hundred million in ten years just by playing the stock market. Cashed in everything before the big market crash in 08. Wrote a couple books, hosts that show about money management on CNN... youve seriously never heard of him?"

"Sorry."

"Hes one of the most powerful men in Ohio."

"Yeah, Im sure hes hot stuff. Doesnt mean his kid didnt turn out to be a psychopath."

Lawrence pauses. "He, uh... he wants to talk to you, by the way."

A trickle of fear runs down my spine. "No."

"You might want to—"

"I have nothing to say to Morgan. And I certainly dont intend to put myself in the same room with him ever again."

"Not Morgan. Henry, his dad."

"Why, so he can try to buy my silence like he bought his sons freedom? Not a chance."

"Its not like that. Henrys a good guy, he wouldnt—"

"Im not for sale," I tell him sharply.

An alarm goes off in the room next to Sebastians, and two doctors in scrubs race down the hall toward it. A nurse follows, wheeling a crash cart, and I figure its a good time to leave. Lawrence doesnt look up as I go.

I turn my cell phone back on while Im waiting for a taxi, just in time to get a new text from Kurt. I tell him Im fine.

I tell myself Im fine, too.

I arrive home just before seven. Plenty of time to heat up some macaroni and cheese for dinner. Mom walks in when Ive just started trying to wash the dishes with my one good arm.

"I can get those, sweetheart. How did you sleep?"

"Fine. Hows the auction planning going?"

"Fantastic. One of the ladies on the committee is an old friend of Ted Stricklands, and said we could probably get him to be a celebrity auctioneer." She chats amiably while scrubbing each pan, and I grab a dish towel to dry them off. It reminds me of when I was little. I used to keep a footstool in the kitchen so that I could help Mom wash the dishes after dinner each night. She would ask me about my day, and Id skip all the ugly parts—

"Blaine?" Shes peering at me, looking concerned. "Are you all right?"

"Im fine, fine."

"I was saying, Kurt will probably come over tonight. Daddy and I can stay upstairs if you two would like to watch a movie down here."

"Kurt? He didnt mention wanting to come over."

"Yes, well, its the, ah..." She looks down. "Its been a year, today."

"A year?"

"Since the attack."

My stomach turns. No wonder Kurts been texting me all day. "I didnt realize."

"Well. Things have been pretty hectic lately. Speaking of which... Christmas is three days away."

"Oh. Right." I havent bought a single gift for anyone. Truth be told, the idea of opening a stack of presents makes me feel ill, knowing how much the Hummels are struggling financially.

"I thought maybe we could postpone it," she says, scrubbing the strainer a little harder. "Until after the new year."

"Yeah," I say at once. "Yeah, lets postpone it."

"Burt Hummel called the other day, he said theyre postponing theirs too," she continues, and I wince a little. His family probably wont be exchanging gifts at all. "So maybe we could all celebrate together?"

I start to answer, then pause in confusion. When exactly did my parents become chummy with the Hummels again? "Mom... I dont think thats a good idea. They cant really afford it right now."

"Im not talking about presents, Blaine. Im talking about our two families coming together." She sets the strainer down in the sink, but doesnt look at me. "Weve been through hell over the past year. All of us. And your father and I... Yes, we were trying to keep you safe, but we ended up making everything worse by keeping you and Kurt apart. Wed like to try to make up for that. Weve spoken with Burt a few times this week, and hes been... very gracious about the whole thing. Probably more gracious than Id be in his shoes."

I cant help reaching out for her. My hug seems to surprise her, but she hugs me back at once.

"Thank you, Mom."

She hums a little. "Hes staying around for good, isnt he?"

"If Im lucky, yeah."

"Id like to think youre both lucky, dear."

My mom may be a few inches shorter than me, but for some reason when I hug her, I feel like that little boy on a footstool again. For a moment, I wonder if thats how she still sees me.

The doorbell rings, startling us both.

"Go let him in," she says, pulling away and wiping her eyes. "Ill finish up here."

Sure enough, when I open the front door, Kurts standing on the front porch. Hes holding a takeout bag from that Thai restaurant we went to the other day, and another bag filled with DVDs. I kiss him thoroughly, right there in the doorway, until the tension starts to ease from his shoulders.

"Hi," he murmurs.

"Hi."

"Sorry I didnt call ahead and ask. Is it okay for me to come over?"

"Always."

We dont end up watching any of the movies. Instead, we curl up on the couch together, eating dinner and holding each other close.

"You look exhausted," I tell him softly.

"Theres only so much those facial creams can do," he sighs. "I am exhausted. Dad and Finn and I are working as much as we can to keep up with the added workload — Dad had to let a couple of the other guys go because he couldnt cover their salaries — and Caroles taken on a second job, but the bills are still piling up. Yesterday we got a notice threatening to turn off our heat. Merry Christmas, right? Dad applied for a second mortgage, hopefully that will help keep the creditors at bay."

"I didnt realize the situation had gotten so bad."

"I didnt want to worry you. I only found out the full extent of it a couple of days ago."

I think guiltily of my parents wealth, and my own sizable trust fund. Kurt catches my expression and shakes his head adamantly. "Dont you even think about offering us money."

"But Im the reason you—"

"You are not. Dont ever think that way. And you need that money, for college."

"What about you?"

"College isnt in the cards right now," he says flatly. "Maybe in another year or two Ill look into scholarship options at Ohio State."

"Ohio State? What happened to New York?"

"Those were pipe dreams, Blaine. Reality got in the way."

"We could still go to New York. I could pay for an apartment, we could find jobs there—"

"Im not going to abandon my family during all this," he says firmly. "If I left home, thats one more income theyd lose. Theyd never have a chance at getting back in the black."

My mind goes back to my conversation with Lawrence, about Henry Adams and all his millions. And all his power. "Kurt... Morgans father wants to talk to me."

"Yeah, hes called our house too."

"He has?"

"Probably wants to bribe us into not testifying against his son. As if he could convince us that Morgan belongs anywhere other than behind bars for what he did to us. I didnt call him back. You?"

"Yeah. I mean no, I havent talked to him either."

"Who cares about that guy and all his money," he says, pulling me in closer. "As long as Ive got you, Im the richest man on earth."

I kiss his jaw and hold him tight, trying not to think about how far a man like Henry Adams might go to keep us quiet.