When I was sixteen, my four-year-old cousin, Patrick, died because no donor had been found in time to save him from kidney and liver failure. He'd been adopted as a baby after having been left at a firehouse in Indianapolis, so there'd been no biological family to get tested after he was diagnosed at just two years-old. My family had done everything they could, even loaning my uncle and his husband money to hire a PI to try to track down Patrick's birth mother. We'd all been tested to see if we matched since a single kidney and a partial liver could have saved his life, but none of us had. Because of Patrick, I registered as a living donor as soon as I turned eighteen.

I'd gone through almost all of the testing process two years ago for a ten-year-old with CLL, but her older brother made it home from his deployment before my donation had been necessary. He'd been a better match.

It was Patrick I'd been thinking of when I told Veronica and Iggy that I wanted to see if I was a bone marrow match for his sister. I promised myself that when it came back negative, I'd swallow my pride and call Jace to beg him to be tested. I didn't know Iggy, but I wasn't going to let her die without doing everything in my power to make sure she lived.

Except when my information was pulled up and matched against Iggy's, it was a match.

I started volunteering in hospitals after my cousin's death, and I'd kept it up when I moved to New York. I'd organized blood drives and marrow drives, done fundraisers and written informative pamphlets. Which meant that the moment I decided to do everything I could to help Iggy, I'd started making a list of all the people I met over the last few years. I might not have had the sort of money or influence that Jace wielded, but I had some personal connections that I had no problem using.

It was thanks to those connections that, what would normally have been a four to six-week process of testing had been reduced to Iggy checking in Saturday evening for prep while I checked in this morning for my own final testing and prep. The transplant would take place tomorrow morning, and I'd be home tomorrow night or Wednesday morning. I had no idea how things had gotten accomplished so quickly, but I wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"You do know you're crazy, right?"

I gave Everett the best smile I could manage. Just because I was willing didn't mean I wasn't a bit nervous.

He grabbed my hand as he leaned onto the bed. His eyes were full of concern...and a little anger.

"That bastard doesn't deserve to have you doing this for him."

Okay, a lot of anger.

When I'd gotten home Saturday night, I told him everything, then made him promise to not go after Jace. The last thing I needed was for my friend to end up in the ER with a broken hand because he'd beaten the shit out of my former lover. It was only my request to have him at the hospital with me that kept him from being the overprotective big brother I'd never had.

"I'm not doing it for him," I reminded Everett. "I'd never be able to live with myself if a seventeen-year-old girl died because I was too pissed at the half-brother she didn't even know to do what was right."

Everett scowled, his fingers tightening around mine. "He didn't deserve you."

"I'll agree with you there," I said lightly. When he gave me a skeptical look, I continued, "We were both in the wrong the first time he blew up at me, but I know I didn't do anything wrong this time. Whatever issues he has, they're all on him."

A nurse came in and Everett excused himself to make a call. By the time he came back, she was finished, and he was smiling.

"You were talking to Cal," I guessed, happy for my friend.

"Guilty." He grinned as he plopped back down in his chair. "Back to–"

"No..." I held my two pointer fingers into a cross as if warding off the ghost of that topic. "I don't want to think about Jace or any of that. I'm doing the right thing here, I know that, and nothing is going to change my mind. What I need from you is a distraction."

He was quiet for a moment, then nodded. "I can do that."

"Good," I said. "Now, distract. Tell me how that amazing boyfriend of yours is doing."

The puppy dog expression reappeared. "He got that promotion I was telling you about last week."

"That's great!" I reached over and grabbed his hand.

"It is," he agreed, squeezing my fingers. "In fact, they gave him a huge account with the promotion, and he's going on a two-week trip to Greece in September to meet with the company heads face-to-face." After a moment's pause, he added, "And he wants me to go with him."

"That's wonderful," I said sincerely. "I'm so happy for you."

While I could see that he was still worried about me, the light in his eyes was one hundred percent genuine. The emotion that squeezed my heart was part joy at seeing my friend so happy...and part grief that I wasn't able to experience the same thing.

Maybe someday, but not right now. It'd be a while before my heart recovered enough to even think of being with another man. Anger hadn't burned away what I felt for him, no matter how much I might've wished it would have.