As Justin looked around the table, he felt like he’d landed inside a warped Olive Garden commercial. They all sat around the big oak dining room table, the loud din of conversation permeating the room as they ate the elaborate spread of Italian food Regan had put together. The only thing that didn’t fit were Mike and Regan’s accents. She’d been right. Where Regan’s slight brogue became stronger the more she got into the conversation, Mike’s became almost unintelligible. Justin felt like they should be eating corn beef and cabbage instead of the incredible “penne alla vodka con pollo” Regan had whipped up in the few hours since she’d returned with his friends.

Justin, himself, didn’t really participate in the conversation but he laughed when something was funny, groaned when something was supposed to be funny, and listened intently when the discussion would turn serious.

Every once in a while, he caught himself noticing how striking Regan was when she smiled. She smiled with every available resource her face had to offer. It wasn’t that he was attracted to her. Not noticing Regan would be like not noticing some exotic animal like and elephant or something equally attention demanding. Denying noticing Regan would be like saying, “No, what big gray thing?” The striking part was the range of emotion her face went through in a single smile. It wasn’t hard to picture her as a ballet dancer. Every movement was pure grace. The simple gesture of one smile was art. The turning up of the corners of her mouth looked like it should evoke a musical accompaniment. It conveyed vulnerability and joy with just a touch of hidden sorrow. Behind her 19-year-old eyes there seemed to be a lifetime of experience and regret combined with a determination underlying her entire presence.

What got to Justin the most, though, was the very fact that he could read all of this on her face. She wasn’t hidden. She unabashedly held herself out for people to see. It was refreshing to be able to sit back and observe someone who was actually observable. He decided in that moment that this person was worth all the effort it would take to get to know her. He just couldn’t decide if he wanted to do anything about it.

Justin Timberlake didn’t have the luxury of being able to “get to know” every remotely intriguing person he came across in his travels. It was just too hard getting close to people he knew he’d have to leave behind. Developing any kind of salient friendship with her while he was there wouldn’t be fair to either of them. JC said it himself but two days before: “Our lifestyle isn’t exactly quality-time friendly…” He just didn’t know if he could see her everyday for the next week and keep the safe distance they both deserved. They were kindred, he could tell that already.

If she were any normal person, he could just be friendly for those few days and leave it at that. Regan wasn’t normal though. He could tell that clearly after their exchange in the living room that morning. He had to fight with himself to keep his side of the conversation terse. The inflection of the tone of her voice and the way her eyes flashed this kind of electric honesty made him want to open up and trust her right then. And that was a dangerous proposition. Justin knew people like her before. They were unconsciously magnetic. They could draw you in without even realizing it so they never know how much they mean to you because you can’t even describe it to yourself let alone them. They more he thought about it, the more noticeably uneasy he became.

“Hey Captain America, worried about what the Red Skull is up to?” Bridget smirked, tossing a dinner roll at the distracted young man to get his attention. The look on his face as the small piece of bread knocked him square in the nose was priceless, sending Maeve into an irrepressible fit of giggles.

“Mommy hit Justy with bread!”

“Yeah, some role model, Bridie,” Mike laughed pulling his daughter up onto his lap.

“Yeah, some role model,” Maeve parroted a split second before Mike’s fingers crept around her tummy and began to tickle her mercilessly.

”Always picking on those smaller than you,” JC shook his head. “Hey Captain America, you gonna help this damsel out?”

“Oh, no,” Mike said sitting Mae back in her seat. “I don’t want to tangle with the superhero,” he continued sitting a still laughing Maeve on her chair and holding his hands up defensively.

“Captain America, huh?” Justin shook his head with a crooked smile. “You’re gonna call me that until I die, aren’t you?”

“Hey, you brought it on yourself,” Bridget grinned, patting Regan on the shoulder. “Besides, as far as nicknames go, it’s not so bad.”

“I think he’d just rather be Cap'n Crunch,” Chris teased, ruffling the younger man’s unruly curls.

“What is a ‘Cap’n’ anyway?” Joey pondered out loud. “The rank below ‘Maj'r’?”

“And why don’t they make the whole plane out of the same stuff they make the black box out of?” Lance joined in.

“And what part of the chicken is the McNugget?” JC added.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Chris said, wiping his hands with a napkin. “I believe we were in the middle of taunting the youngster. What did the McNugget ever do to you?”

Regan laughed along with the rest of the table, feeling sorry for whoever got caught in the “butt” position of a tease-fest with these guys. “Let no good deed go unpunished,” she said giving Justin a sympathetic smile.

“You picked the wrong time to speak up, my girl,” Mike grinned evilly. “I haven’t even begun to rail you yet for this morning.” Taking that as her cue to exit, Regan stood up and began to arrange plates to clear them from the table.

“I’m not even sure whether to thank the young squire over there. Maybe a pair of broken legs would teach you to be a little more aware of your surroundings.

“Mike I don’t think—”

“No Bridget, I think maybe a few months of not being able to fit those toe shoes on her feet would have been the reality check baby sister needs.”

Regan’s eyes clouded over, her body stiffening at her brother’s harsh words that she knew he didn’t mean beyond kidding. They just hit way too close to home. She knew to take him seriously would be asking for more questions from him than she wanted to answer. She set the plates back on the table and flashed her brother her most devilish grin, fully intending to burn him back but, for the first time, she found herself at a loss for a good smart-ass remark. Instead she heard herself say, “Why don’t you ask your guests if they want coffee while I clear?”

Both Bridget and Justin eyed Regan warily, seeing right through her smiling face to the pained expression underneath. Bridget knew the facts behind her reaction while Justin had a hunch he was sure was right. Regan was very possibly facing the “reality check” Mike had cracked a joke about seconds before. Had Mike known, he never would have opened his mouth.

“Did I just win?” Mike said in legitimate shock after his sister had left for the kitchen.

“No baby, that didn’t count,” Bridget said, rubbing her husband’s arm in condolence.

“Why not”

“Because I said so and I’m your wife, and therefore my word is law.”

“You ok, babygirl?” Mike inquired, stalking up behind his sister who stood at the sink.

Regan jumped slightly as her brother’s voice cut through the silence of the room. She nodded, wordlessly, blinking back the tears that gravity was threatening to introduce to her cheeks.

“I’d like to take this opportunity to call you on your bullshit,” Mike said nonchalantly, taking a seat on a stool at the island in the middle of the kitchen, still out of the site of his sister who didn’t dare turn around.

“What are you talking about?” Regan laughed nervously.

“I’m talking about the fact that there is no way in hell I should have gotten away with what I said back there and I want to know why you let me,” he replied, matter-of-factly.

“Everyone has an off day,” Regan dodged, turning on the faucet and proceeding to rinse the plates she’d cleared.

“Not in 19 years, you haven’t,” Mike countered, hoping to spark something.

“So I was due,” Regan returned, hoping the exact opposite.

There was silence for a moment while Mike planned his attack. “Is something wrong with your legs?” he blurted out suddenly, intending to take her by surprise.

If she was, she was fighting pretty damn hard to cover it up as she responded with a simple, “No.” She was fighting. Besides fighting to keep her body language from betraying her, she did the same with the tone of her voice trying to keep it as cordial and non-defensive as possible.

Regan never felt worse than when she kept something from Mike. She was completely shocked that she’d been able to last the past two weeks without spilling her guts. Memories from her childhood swept over her at that thought. It took five minutes for her to crack and confess to being the guilty party who’d spilled red paint all over Mike’s model planes, less than that to admit that she’d accidentally knocked an entire bottle of Tabasco sauce into the cake batter Mike had made for their father’s 35th birthday, and all of thirty seconds under minimal grilling to confess her first crush— on JC. It was obvious she’d only lasted this long because she’d already confided in Bridget. Sometimes Mike and Bridget seemed like two halves of the same person so telling Bridget was almost like telling Mike. She half-expected Bridget to spill the beans to her brother anyway, despite her promise not to. She hadn’t even ruled out the possibility he’d find out through osmosis.

“You know you can tell me anything, right lass?”

There it was. Mike knew exactly what he was doing. The age-old Costelloe interrogation method— guilt. Regan almost snapped right then. She didn’t know if she had the strength to on the next phase.

“It just breaks my heart to see you hurting about something,” Mike continued, careful not to let his triumphant grin show itself even though Regan still had her back turned. He knew he’d already won. It was just a matter of time. If he smiled now, he’d never be able to get back the pitiful expression that was one of the most effective weapons in the Costelloe armory. He was almost positive she wouldn’t make it that far, though. “I Just wish I knew so I could help. You mean the world to me, my girl. Without you, I wouldn’t even be here right—”

“OK!!” Regan cried, spinning around. She couldn’t believe he’d invoked the “life-debt clause”. That was low, even for Michael Joseph Costelloe. He didn’t even try the pitiful face first. He went straight for the jugular and it was all too much. “I don’t know what wrong. My ankles have been giving me problems lately but its stupid, really. There was no injury. I just woke up one morning and when I stood up… Mike, I’m sure it’ll take care of itself,” she explained trying to be as convincing as possible. “I probably just worked too hard, like when muscles get sore when you step up a workout. It’ll just right itself.”

Mike studied his sister. She was close to the breaking point. She didn’t believe what a word that came out of her mouth any more than he did. He tried desperately not to let his level of concern cross his face. She would see it as pity and shut down on him.

“Mike, you really don’t have to worry. Like I told Bridget, I know my body and it’ll get through this just fine on its own.”

“Wait a sec,” Mike said, his face contorting in disbelief. “You mean Bridget knew about this before I did?”

“Mike, I told you. It’s not a big deal. If it was, you’d have been the first to know,” she lied. She lied to his face, looking him directly in the eye, and felt a small piece of herself die.

She was so scared. She was so scared she couldn’t even bring herself to trust her brother, the only person she’d trusted all her life. It was an oxymoron and it had her head spinning. He just looked back at her, searching her eyes for any uncertainty, of which there was an abundance. She turned back to the sink, unable to bear the weight of her brother’s knowing gaze- otherwise known as the Costelloe Lie-Detector.

“What doesn’t Camilla have to say about all this?” he threw out trying to keep the conversation going. Regan was a master at the art of getting a subject dropped but she wasn’t in her best form at anything that day.

“She doesn’t know,” she replied simply, returning to the dishes.

“Uh, Regan, don’t you think it might be a good idea to talk to her about this?” he raised an eyebrow in inquiry not quite expecting the reaction he was about to get.

“No!” Regan cried, practically flying over to where her brother sat. She braced her self on his shoulders, a look on her face of an emotion he’d never seen cross her face: desperation. “Please tell me you will not talk to her, Michael, please. I’ll be fine but she’ll cut me from the tour if she even thinks there’s a chance I’m injured. I’m so close, Mike. If I’m cut from this tour, I’ll never make it to ABT.”

“If you don’t do something about your ankles, you might never walk again,” Mike asserted studying her pleading face. “It is amazing how little common sense you have when it come to your ambition.”

“Mike, please,” she whispered. “Let me handle this. Don’t go to Camilla behind my back. Trust me to handle this. I’m a big girl now.”

“I promise I won’t tell Camilla, Regan. You will,” Mike stated not taking his eyes off her.

“Dammit, Mike!” Regan cried, recoiling from him like a cornered animal. “I have a father, thanks. Same one as you, in fact, so I’d expect you to remember that simple fact.”

Mike opened his mouth to respond but he didn’t get the chance as Justin stepped into the kitchen, plates in hand.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he lied. He’d gotten to the door of the kitchen around the same time Regan broke down and admitted something was wrong. Hunch confirmed, he couldn’t tear himself away from the conversation. The fear in her voice was unmistakable. She was grasping at straws and she knew it; it was in her voice. Again, he reeled at how easy it was to read her. In his life he’d known only one other person he could read like her, but then again, he’d known Cristin his whole life.

“You’re lying.”

“I am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am not.”

“Are too!”

“Justin, I am not!” The young girl’s left hand tightened around the fingerboard of her violin, getting more and more frustrated with her best friend. He was too damn perceptive for his own good.

Across her living room, fourteen year old Justin sat, his elbows resting on his knees, looking at her incredulously. He knew there was something wrong— really wrong. It was in the way she tucked hair behind her ears, her stance, in the very rhythm of her breathing. Her entire presence spoke to him. He thought for a time that this was his trick; that he could do this with anybody; that he was just that perceptive. However, as time went by, he realized it had as much to do with her as it did him. The trick was reciprocal. It wasn’t just that he could pick up on her vibes and subtle mannerisms. It was also that she sent them out. She didn’t know how to conceal herself. She was honest. She was real. She brought things in him that no one else could. His only fear was that she didn’t know how much it all meant to him; how much she meant to him.

“You know I can tell when you’re lying, Cristin,” Justin cautioned. “Now tell me what the problem is. We are best friends. You can trust me with anything, you know that.”

“It’s really nothing, Justin,” She said raising her bow to her violin. She began to drag it back and forth, Brahms’ Violin Sonata echoing through the room.

He could tell now. As many times as he warned her that he could read her mind if she let him, she had no control over how much she let him see. The way she lowered her eyes when she said his name, the tiny tweaks in her voice that most people would shrug off if they even noticed, spoke to him. He crossed the room, raising his hand to still the bow, the crisp melody it made as Cristin drug it across the delicate stings being silenced. “He did it again, didn’t he?”

Her face remained stoic but her eyes clouded over, once again, telling him everything he needed to know without a single word.

“I’m fine, Justin. You’d be the first to know.”

“No, Justin, you’re not interrupting anything,” Regan smiled striding over to him and taking the dishes out of his hands. “Thanks.”

Justin smiled back pleasantly, hoping he did the right thing in walking in when he did. Regan had been stalking around like a caged tiger and they both sounded like they needed a break before one of them pounced. “Do you need any help in here?” he offered, attempting to cut through the tension that had been building before his entrance.

“Aw, thems Southern manners,” Bridget drawled, entering the kitchen with her own set of plates. She playfully gave Justin a peck on the cheek as she walked past to the sink. “Love that boy,” she mumbled just loud enough to tease Mike.

“Hey!”

“No I think we’ve got everything covered,” Regan answered Justin’s question.

“Regan!” Maeve called running into the room, slipping across the floor in her socks.

“What’s up, piglet?” Regan grinned, bending to catch her as her slid into her arms.

“Are you sleeping over tonight?”

“No, sweetie. Your mom’s got a house full of people now and I while the couch is comfy, I need my own bed tonight.”

“Will you at least sing me Granddad’s song before I go to bed?”

“You’ve got a house full of professional singers and you’re asking me to sing you to sleep?”

“They don’t know the Unicorn song. I asked.”

“Don’t know the Unicorn song?” Regan raised an eyebrow at Justin teasingly.

“Sorry, we’re not really up on our Irish folk songs,” Justin laughed, winking at Mae, eliciting a shy smile from the little girl.

“Ah, but you know its an Irish folk song?”

“Maeve took the liberty of enlightening us.” Justin smiled at eh way Regan held her niece. Her mood had instantly lightened with Maeve’s entrance. There was that smile again.

With the dishes soaking, and after a whispered warning to Regan from Mike that their conversation wasn’t over, everyone retired to the living room. Too everyone’s delight, Bridget broke out her “last” stash of cookies to go with Regan’s Tirmisu; an odd yet tasty combination. Regan looked around the room, everyone looking stuffed and happy and having fallen into a contented silence.

“Well, this is what a chef likes to see,” Regan smiled.

“How would you know?” Mike chuckled under is breath.

“I heard that,” Regan shot back.

“You were supposed to,” Mike countered.

“Please!” Bridget suddenly burst out with a laugh. “Let’s not do this tonight. For once guys, please!”

“I didn’t start it,” Regan defended herself, sticking her tongue out at her brother across the room.

“Well I for one would like to offer my compliments to the chef,” JC nodded his head dramatically toward Regan.

“Are you—” Mike began before his wife’s hand clamped over his mouth.

“Not a word, Michael” Bridget warned.

“Well, I’m sure when Mike treats you to dinner at the restaurant, my humble offering will pale in comparison,” Regan admonished regally.

“Well, I’ll tell you something, Miss Costelloe,” Joey grinned. “I know food. I know Italian food. If it weren’t for the accent and the bony butt, I swear you were my mama.”

They guys laughed, nodding their agreement. “Joey’s house always has something cooking and its very hard to find a meal that measures up,” Lance confirmed.

“Thank you,” Regan grinned staring at her brother giving him her best “nah na-nah na-nah nah” look. “You think my butt is bony?” she asked suddenly, eliciting a laugh from the room. “What? My butt’s boney?”

“I would think you’d take that as a compliment Miss Soy America,” Bridget laughed.

“Well, ‘bony’ sounds derogatory,” Regan pouted, jokingly. “Thin, I like thin. Thin sounds good. Besides my ass is gonna jiggle for week after that meal.”

“I don’t think you have to worry about it, Regan,” Bridget shook her head. “You can stand to make it a hundred an one, I think.”

“A hundred and one pounds of fun, that’s my little honey bun,” Chris began to sing causing the guys to groan. “Get a load of honey bun, tonight. I’m speaking of my sweetie pie, only sixty inches high. Every inch is packed with dynamite.”

“Chris! No show tunes, please!” JC said hitting him with a couch pillow.

“What? Its South Pacific!”

“Excuse me, a minute,” Justin said rising. “Where’s the bathroom?”

“Second floor, third door on the right, young squire,” Mike answered.

“Thank you,” he replied making his way to the stairs.

The room fell silent once again before everyone’s attention shifted as Maeve squirmed in her mother’s lap and she let the biggest yawn her tiny mouth could muster.

“Ok, littl’n, I think its past your bed time,” Bridget chuckled, getting a better handle on her daughter before standing.

“But I’m not tired!” Mae protested through another yawn.

“You’re not? Then why are you yawning, babygirl?”

“I dunno. Regan said she was gonna sing the Unicorn song!”

“So she did,” Bridget agreed, turning to Regan. “And Regan always tells the truth.”

“Regan grumbled under her breath at Bridget’s double meaning and stood allowing Bridget to transfer her daughter to Regan’s arms.

“C’mon, piglet,” Regan sighed as they headed to the stairs. “Say g’night to everyone.”

“So long, farewell, auf wiedersehen, good night! Hate to go and leave this lovely sight,” Maeve sang giddily.

“That’s it,” Regan laughed slinging the little girl over her shoulder and turning around. “You started this Rodgers and Hammerstien Boy,” she pointed at Chris, while Mae laughed trying to balance herself on Regan’s shoulder.

“Regan, knock it off,” Bridget laughed. “You’ll never get her to sleep now.”

“Get her to sleep?” Regan repeated. “I’m just singing one Unicorn song and going home. You’ll have to worry about the sleep part.”

“Yeah, you’ll have to worry about the sleep part, mommy,” Maeve giggles as they disappeared up the staircase.

“That little girl is quite a character, Chicks,” JC remarked with a smile.

“Which one?” Mike quipped.

“Seriously,” Bridget added running a hand through her shoulder length red locks. “I feel like I’m raising the both of them sometimes.”

“Is there something wrong with Regan?” Joey asked suddenly.

“Why do you ask?” Bridget replied, uneasily.

“Before we went out this morning, she went to stand up and flinched like someone has sliced her heels or something. It was weird.”

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” Mike muttered under his breath. “She swore up and down that it was no bog deal.”

“And you believed her?” Bridget said, digesting the same information.

“No, not really, but that girl cannot keep anything from me and I guess it kinda threw me for a loop that she’d lie to my face. Which reminds me,” Mike said shifting in his seat so they could be face to face. “How the hell did you find out about this before me?”

“You know how she used to used the third floor apartment as a practice space before we furnished it last week when she’d baby-sit for Mae?”

“Yeah…”

“Well, I came home one day a little over a week ago and found her curled up on the floor with both ankles taped,” Bridget explained. “She was to upset to even try and cover it up. She said she was just freaking out because she was being stupid and it was not that big a deal. Sound familiar?”

“All too,” Mike mumbled.”

“So it is serious?” JC questioned.

“We won’t know until she gets into a doctor and she’d been less than cooperative in that area. Doctors scare her to death.”

“Any particular reason?” Chris wondered.

“Unsolved mystery,” Mike answered. “Ever since she was little she’s been deathly afraid to even set foot in a doctor’s office. It possible its just that a ‘doctor’ has an awful lot of control over whether or not she’s allowed to dance and she doesn’t like to be told to take it easy. If a doctor recommends she not dance, she gets bumped just like that. Somehow I thinks its more than that, thought. I’m not even sure she knows.

“Doesn’t she care that there could be a serious problem, though?” Joey asked. He already felt a tinge of protectiveness for Regan. They all did. It was tough not to care about that one. Justin wasn’t the only one to notice the inherent magnetism of Regan Costelloe. One day together and they felt like they’d known her for years.

“I don’t think she’s really thinking rationally. Regan has worked her bony butt off from the time she could stand to get where she’d so close to being. I’m sure you guys, of all people can appreciate what its like to have your dream threatened,” Bridget reasoned.

“Tell me about it,” JC breathed, remembering what it felt like to go through the law suit those few months before.

“I think I’ve one something that will make sure she gets the help she needs, though,” Regan said warily, dreading how her actions would play out.

“What’s that?” Mike huffed. “Ropes and chains or are you breaking out with the heavy sedatives?”

“I called Camilla today,” Bridget breathed.

“You’re joking right?” Mike said his brow wrinkling in concern.

“Who’s Camilla?”

“One of Regan’s instructors. She’s kind of a mentor,” Bridget explained.

“Bridget, please tell me you didn’t do what I think you did,” Mike said leaning his head back against the couch already knowing the answer.

“Mike, someone has to make her walk into that doctor’s office and I think Camilla is the one person alive that could scare her into that,” Bridget defended herself.

“Or she can bump her from the company, Bridget,” Mike raked a hand through his hair. “You should have talked to me first. If she get cut, she may never forgive you. You should have heard her tonight when I mentioned someone should talk to Camilla about this.”

“I have thought about the consequences, you know,” Bridget sighed, while, once again, the non-Costelloe’s in the room began to feel like flies on the wall, witnessing something they shouldn’t. “I didn’t just go off on a whim, here.”

“Yes, you did,” Mike said calmly. “The proper procedure here have begun with telling me about this as soon as you found out.”

“Well, its irrelevant now. Its done now and I guarentee this is the only way. Camilla’s going to get in touch with the Company’s regular doctor and he’s going to give her an exam when she comes in on Monday. Camilla promised that as long as its realistically fixable, that she may have to cut her from the tour but she’d still have a shot at ABT. I did the right thing, here, Mike.”

“Who’s your favorite, Regan?” Mea asked as Regan tucked her in under the covers.

“My favorite what?”

“Nsync boy,” Mae sighed.

“Oh, well I don’t really know any of them. Why? Who’s your favorite?” Regan tickled the little girl through her covers, knowing full well who it was.

“Lance!” she smiled brightly. “He’s nice. I like his voice.”

“Yes, he’s very nice. I like his voice, too. Its very se— er… deep.”

“Well duh,” Mae rolled her eyes. “Anyway, I know who you favorite is.”

“Oh yeah? Who?”

“Justin.”

“What? Why do you say that?”

“’Cus he saived you like Prince Charming and you’re a princess and Princes and Princesses always fall in love and get married.”

Regan almost choked on that one. “First of all, what make you think I’m a princess?”

“’Cus that’s what granddad always says.”

“Well, you know he’s just pretending. I’m not a real princess.”

“Then why did Justin rescue you? Princesses always get rescued.”

“Because I was silly and didn’t pay attention and Justin is just a really nice man.”

“I still think you’re a princess,” Mae smiled. “Now will you sing the song please?”

“Ok, ok,” Regan said, settling herself next to Mae on the bed, the little girl snuggling up against her.

Out side Mae’s room, Justin was making his way back down stairs when he heard someone singing, assuming it was the famous Unicorn song. He leaned up against the wall on one side of Mae’s door and listened. Regan’s voice wasn’t phenomenal but she could carry a tune. He caught sight of her through the slightly opened door and couldn’t help a smile from forming on his face.

She sang the song as if telling a story with different voices that made Maeve giggle. She looked genuinely happy at that moment. He wondered if she could even recognize it.

He leaned back again and closed his eyes, listening to her soft voice tell the story. He chuckled at the lyrics and noted how her brogue also got stronger when she sang. Maeve began to sing along, her tinkling little voice making the moment almost too cute.

Inside the room, the two girls finished their song with a chuckle. “I’ll never know why you love that song so much, piglet,” Regan shook her head. “It’s kinda depressing.”

“What’s depressing?” Mea yawned as Regan scooted off the bed.

“When something makes you sad,” Regan said, straitening Maeve’s covers.

“It doesn’t make me sad, its funny,” she replied.

“But the unicorns die in the end,” Regan countered.

“Yeah, but not really,” Mae said, turning on her side. “Unicorns are only make-believe.”

“Oh, well, I’m terribly sorry Professor Costelloe,” Regan laughed as she bent down and kissed Mae’s forehead. “Light on or off?”

“Off, but turn on the hallway light.”

“You got it, piglet,” Regan smiled hitting the switch by the doorway. “G’night, sweetie.”

“G’night.” With that the exhausted little girl was asleep and Regan exited the room quietly.

“Oh my god,” she gasped, Justin’s presence taking her by surprise. “Lurking, Mr. Timberlake?” she smiled.

“Sorry about that,” he blushed. “I just heard you singing and figured I should catch up on my Irish folk songs.”

Regan laughed softly as she reached up and turned the hallway lamp on. “So what’s your professional analysis? Shall give up ballet and become a popstar?”

“I wouldn’t quit the day job,” Justin smirked.

“That was cold,” Regan laughed, motioning him to walk with her so as not to disturb Maeve.

”Well, I was teasing, dontcha know?” Justin smiled. “You’d make a great popstar.”

“Riiiight,” Regan chuckled as they started to descend the stairs.

“So when did you plan on breaking this ingenious plan to Regan? Or where you going to let her get ambushed on Monday?” Mike questioned as he and Bridget brought the coffee mugs into the kitchen.

“I told her I had to talk to her before she left tonight.”

“This is gonna be bad.”

“What’s going to be bad?” Regan inquired strolling into the room.

“Now’s as good a time as any,” Mike shrugged making his way the door.

“Wait, where are you going?” Bridget panicked.

“I don’t get a consultation, you don’t get moral support,” was Mike’s only reply before he ducked out of the room he was certain would become a war zone in a matter of minutes. He moved back into the living room where his guests, minus two exhausted bodyguards and, sat talking casually. He sat down uneasily beside JC a look of foreboding sweeping over his face.

“Everything ok in there?” JC cocked an eyebrow.

Mike took a deep breath and held it for a moment before answering. “This is gonna be bad,” he breathed.

“What’s going on?” Justin asked, completely lost.

“Regan’s about to get some news that could be detrimental to the health of everyone who comes in a twenty foot radius of her in about a minute and a half,” Mike answered.

“I’ll tell you later, Curly,” JC assured the younger man seeing his still confused expression.

“This is gonna be bad,” Mike repeated yet again.

“Should I break out the mud?” Chris spoke up.

Every head turned toward him looking at him like he had two asses. “What?” he squeaked. “Mud wrestling? Two hot chicks about to have it out? Jeeze, tough crowd.”

They all turned their attention, pretending that Chris’s outburst never happened and strained to hear what was going on in the kitchen.

“Any second, now,” Mike muttered.

As if on schedule, immediately following Mike’s comment, the crash of a dish breaking was heard followed by what sounded like an explosion of gibberish to 5 of the six men in the living room. All they could make out were Bridget’s pleads for Regan to calm down and stop yelling in Gaelic.

Mike leaned back into the couch, slapping a hand over his eyes and dragging it over his entire face.

“Uh, Gaelic?” Joey whispered as if there was a possibility that either women in the next room would hear over the racket they weren’t making.

“Yeah, we both had to learn it as kids but she seems to only remember it whe talking in her sleep,” Mike said sitting up and cringing as he heard another dish bite the dust. “Or violently upset, it would seem.” He was waiting for the other shoe to drop; for his sister to come bursting through the kitchen doors, slugging him for being a part of the heinous conspiracy against her. It didn’t matter that he’d only found out not twenty minutes before.

It became eerily quite for a moment before they heard Bridget call for Mike. He hesitated for second before rising from the couch, wary of what awaited him behind the kitchen doors.

JC rose as well and slapping Mike on the back reassuringly. “We got your back, Mike. Give a holler if she get you in a hold.”

Mike nodded his thanks and made his way slowly before Bridget’s call for him to get his “ass back in the kitchen” sent him into a jog. He didn’t know what he expected but the sight he found when he came through the double doors wasn’t it. Both women sat on the floor, Regan with her knees pulled to her chest, head down, rocking with sobs and Bridget knelt beside her trying to lend some kind of comfort.

“Uh, honey?” Mike said approaching the pair cautiously, steering clear of the broken glass on the floor.

“Mike,” Bridget said looking up, “take Regan upstairs and put her to bed, please, while I clean this up.”

“We don’t have any free beds tonight, remember love,” He said softly crouching down beside her.

“She can have mine,” a voice said from behind them. Mike and Bridget turned to see Justin standing at the doorway. “I’ll take to couch.”

“Thanks, kiddo,” Bridget replied as Mike picked his sister up like a rag doll. Regan seemed completely oblivious to anyone around her as Mike carried her through the living room and up the stairs.

“You just keep saving the day, dontcha kid?” Bridget laughed tyring to cover up how flustered she was.

“Yeah, well, I try,” he replied somberly as he knelt don’t to help her pick up the chunks of broken glass.

“Are these those Southern manners again?” she smiled, rising to grab a broom.

“Could be,” he returned glancing up at her. “Maybe I have an ulterior motive.”

“Hey, I’m a married woman, squirt,” she teased.

“I was talking about the possibility of there being another stash of cookies around here.”

Hours later, Justin lay on the couch which proved to be remarkably comfortable. His brain just wouldn’t stop working making sleep a near impossibility. He thought about Regan’s situation, the details of which he’d gotten from JC before they went to bed. He thought about the look on her face as she sang to Maeve. He wondered how things would work out for her. He even caught himself wondering if he’d be part of how those things worked out. He thought about Cristin. The image of her face flashed in his mind every time Regan’s did. He wondered what she was doing at that moment. Again, he marveled in the presence that was Regan Costelloe. He hadn’t allowed himself to think about Cristin in years. When she managed to slip in, he only think of the hurt she’d caused him and how angry he was. One day of being around Regan and he found himself not only thinking about her, but worrying about her; even forgiving her, if only a little bit. Regan just reminded him so much of her.

He was shaken out of his thoughts by the squeak of the staircase. Taken by surprise, he sat up quickly, squinting to make out he figure stalking down the stairs. She came into the light cast by the street lamp outside the window and Justin could now see Regan clearly.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered noticing his presence. “I didn’t man to wake you but there’s a free bed upstairs now.”

He glanced over at the digital clock on the TV and looked back at her. “Where you going at three in the morning?”

“Home,” she answered, pulling on her jacket.

Justin pulled the blanket off his body and sung his legs off the couch. He stood, forgetting that he was wearing nothing but a pair of gray sweatpants and moved toward her. “By yourself?”

“Yeah, I called a cab.”

“Isn’t that kind of dangerous at this time of night?” he asked noting her puffy eyes and defeated features.

“I’ll be fine, thanks,” she replied, emotionless, turning her back to him and bending down to pick up her bag.

“I understand you’re upset but its no reason to get yourself mugged or worse,” he practically lectured, leaning against the frame of the entrance to the front hallway where Regan stood.

“I suppose you all know, huh?” she said bitterly, turning back to him. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Look,” Justin started, his tone gentle, “if it makes any difference, I figured it out long before anyone told me. You didn’t hide it very well.”

“No, it doesn’t make any difference. I really could care less. But don’t tell me you understand because you sure as hell do not,” she spat, salty liquid stinging her eyes.

He couldn’t bring himself to claim to understand. While he could empathize with her, imagining what it would do to him to have his ability to sing threatened. However, he didn’t know what it was like. But he did understand what it was to be face to face with your greatest fear. And being faced with losing his ability to perform wasn’t it. “I’m not saying that I understand how you feel. All I’m saying is,” he paused trying to figure out what exactly he did mean, “don’t let it make you stupid. You’re upset and not thinking clearly. Now is probably not the best time to be wondering around New York City alone at 3am.”

She bowed her head bringing her hands up to her face and wiping her eyes dry, trying to figure out why this guys even bothered. He was absolutely right. This was no time for her to be alone. “You wanna come?”

“Come?” he looked up at her. She was serious.

“Yeah, we can hit a diner, grab some coffee. You’re right, I shouldn’t go along and I don’t particularly want to either. But I’m going either way,” she said her eyes wandering down from his face, noticing for the first time that he was half-naked. “And put some clothes on, for the love of God. There’s a child in the house.”

He laughed at that, becoming self-conscious at the same time. “Ok, I’m in,” he smiled. “Not like I wasn’t getting much sleep.”

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