“Since when did a little sex ever stop you from sleeping?”

Bri brushed her fingers over the short, tight curls at the base of her belly. “It’s not the same. Not even all that much fun.”

Caroline laughed. “Yeah, I know.”

“Do you…think about me? When you do?”

“Always.” Caroline sighed. “You really okay?”

“No. I’ll probably be begging you for phone sex in another week or so.”

“Any time, baby. I don’t want you to suffer.”

“I’m already suffering.” Bri stroked the inside of her thigh, but she wasn’t really in the mood for anything more. When her body clamored for attention, she took care of it, but it didn’t come anywhere close to making love with Caroline. Not just because Caroline was the hottest, most beautiful girl she’d ever known, but because when they were together that way, Bri felt better than she did at any other time. Even better than when she was working.

“I wasn’t talking about just the physical stuff, you know.” Caroline sighed. “I’m sorry it’s hard for you.”

“No,” Bri said quickly. “It’s okay. I mean, it’s not okay. But I’m glad you got this chance. I think it’s so cool.”

“I don’t think I could stand being here if I didn’t have you,” Caroline whispered. “I’m really lonely, but when I think about you I feel better. It doesn’t hurt so much to be so far away then.”

“That’s good, baby.” Bri shifted aimlessly, tired, but not wanting to say good night She hated the empty feeling right after she heard the click followed by nothing but empty air. “Reese has set up a date for my black belt test. In October, during Women’s Week.”

“Oh,” Caroline gasped. “Oh, so soon.”

“Yeah. I was surprised, too.”

“And I’m going to miss it. Oh, I’m so sorry, baby.”

“Yeah, well. It’s just a test, you know.”

“It’s not just a test. It’s a very big deal. You’ve been working so long, so hard for this.” Caroline was silent for a moment. “Maybe I-can get a supersaver flight or fly standby or something.”

“No, I don’t want you to do that,” Bri protested, meaning it. “Save your money to come home for the holidays. You have to come home then.”

“Are you ready for your test?” Caroline asked, changing the subject.

“I don’t know. I think so. If Reese thinks so, then I guess I am.” Bri brushed a hand across her chest, toying unconsciously with a nipple. When it hardened beneath her fingers and her stomach clenched again, she moved her hand away. “I’ll be ready by the time the test comes.”

“You’ll tell me when and everything, right?”

“Sure.” Bri stifled a yawn. “I better go, baby. I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“You be careful this weekend, you hear?”

“Don’t worry, I’m always careful.”

“Be extra careful. I love you.”

Caroline made a small kissing sound and Bri smiled. “I love you bad, baby. Good night.”

“Good night,” Caroline said softly.

Bri waited for the final click, then set the phone down. She curled on her side, cupped one hand between her thighs, and closed her eyes, imagining Caroline’s face and the sweet sound of her voice as sleep claimed her.

KT stared at the ceiling. Her arm throbbed, her stomach rolled with the faint swell of nausea, and sweat streaked her face. The early September night was hot, and despite the air-conditioning, the room was stuffy. It felt as if a weight sat astride her chest, heavy and dark. It might have been loneliness, or sadness, or merely the fact that she’d awakened with the overwhelming urge for one of the small white pills. She turned her head and glanced at the red numerals on the cheap plastic clock radio by the bedside. 3:41 a.m. In less than six hours, she’d need to be at Pia Torres’s for her first therapy session.

In less than six hours, the pain she was feeling now would double. Physical therapy was a difficult road, and she’d need her pain medication then. She had to wait.

Her mind raced. She tried not to think about the conversation with Tory. At least not beyond the fact that she would have a job. It wasn’t the money she needed, but the sense of being valuable. Of doing something worthwhile. Her entire adult life, even before she could have truly been considered an adult, she had equated achievement with self-worth. The youngest child in a family of notables, she had set out to be the best at her chosen field because anything less would have made her less. In the eyes of her family, in her own eyes. She’d succeeded. In everything. In everything except in her relationship with Tory.

Tory. She’d gone for years barely thinking of her. She’d been so busy with work, and when she wasn’t, she could easily fill the void that Tory had left behind in the arms of some other woman. There was always some other woman. Until she’d gotten to the point where the women became interchangeable and the temporary solace she found in their arms slipped away. Before the interlude with Vicki earlier that afternoon, it had been months since she’d been with anyone.

Tory. When she thought of her now, she remembered the bright-eyed, optimistic young woman she had been. The women they had both been. She thought of their lost dreams Tory’s of Olympic gold, hers of the pair of them taking the medical world by storm, co-chiefs of emergency medicine, battling death and winning. Always winning.

Well, I’m not winning now.

KT pushed herself up with her right arm and swung her legs over the side of the bed. In the tank top and briefs she’d been sleeping in, she crossed the room, opened the sliding glass door, and stepped out onto the deck. The moon was high, the sky clear, and in the distance through the trees she caught a glimmer of the harbor. The water was black, streaked with silver from the running lights of the boats moored on its glassy surface. The faint breeze dried the sweat on her face. She cradled her injured left hand against her chest and tightened the fingers of her right around the wooden railing that edged the deck. Moments of quiet were extraordinarily rare in her hectic life, and even now, surrounded by exquisite beauty, there was no peace.

She thought back to her interview that morning. Tory had obviously been surprised to see her. The anger still simmered in her eyes, but she had managed it well. But it wasn’t the anger or the distance that KT remembered most clearly. What she remembered was that when Tory had mentioned Reese and Regina, she had looked beautiful. Beautiful and happy. KT searched her heart and could not find it there to resent Tory the peace she had so clearly found.

Turning from the soul-wrenching view, KT walked into the bathroom and shook another pill from the small orange plastic container. Even more than she needed sleep, she needed respite from her thoughts.

Pia Torres, dressed casually in a short-sleeved turquoise blouse, tan slacks, and sandals, opened the side door of her cottage at five minutes to nine on Saturday morning. She looked up at the slightly taller woman who leaned against the porch column in a shaft of morning sunlight. Dr. O’Bannon wore jeans and a white oxford shirt, the right cuff rolled to midforearm, the left unbuttoned and hanging loose over the molded splint. Pia couldn’t help but register what a striking picture she made, but noted the shadows beneath her dark eyes and the faintly haunted expression on her face.

“Good morning,” Pia said warmly, “Did you knock?”

KT pushed herself upright and shook her head. “No. Not yet.”

“I don’t stand on ceremony, Dr. O’Bannon. Please, just”

“It’s KT. Remember?”

Pia smiled. “Yes. And the next time, KT, just knock on the door, or better yet, stick your head in and holler.” She pushed wide the screen door and gestured with her head toward the interior. “Please, come in. How are you feeling?”

KT stiffened, then forced herself to answer evenly. “Fine. I’m looking forward to getting started.”

“Yes, I can imagine.” Patients approached physical therapy with very different attitudes. Some resented it, feeling that they could do whatever needed to be done in terms of rehabilitation on their own. Some feared it, especially the possibility of pain. And others, and she suspected that Dr. O’Bannon would be one of those, approached therapy as a battle to be waged and a war to be won. Unfortunately, there was no standard time period for a particular campaign, as every individual needed to progress according to the particulars of their injury, their age, their pain tolerance, and their ultimate goal. A surgeon with a hand injury, like a musician, was one of the most difficult of all patients to treat. It wasn’t just that incomplete recovery would make it difficult for Dr. O’Bannon to return to her profession it would make it impossible. Most skilled laborers could still work with dysfunctional digits, but that was not going to be the case here.

“The treatment room is this way,” Pia said as she led the way down the narrow hall to a large, sunny screened-in porch at the rear. Another garden, more luxurious than the small flower patch in front of the house, filled the entire yard behind the cottage. The flowers, a riotous panoply of color, danced in the breeze beneath the bright, clear sun.

KT didn’t notice the beauty. All she saw were the strain gauges, the neurosensory filaments, and the goniometers arranged on a stand next to a picnic table with benches on either side that apparently was the treatment table.

“Should I take my splint off now?” KT asked as she sat on one side of the long, narrow table. A clear sheet of Plexiglas covered the top.

“In just a minute,” Pia responded. “Let me review your medical history for a few minutes, and then we’ll taut about where we’re headed.”

After KT confirmed Pia’s understanding of her injuries, she listened politely as Pia laid out the treatment regimen, but she wasn’t really absorbing the details of the plan. She’d slept fitfully the remainder of the previous night despite the sedating effects of the oral narcotic and had awakened inexplicably disturbed and agitated. Now, unexpectedly, Pia’s voice, musical and rich, soothed her into a comfortable lassitude.