I woke up alone again in a sleepy haze. There was a smile on my face as the memory of last night's activity ran through my head. I didn't feel ashamed or even embarrassed like I thought I would. Instead, I snuggled up to the cushions taking in Patrick's rich scent. I forgot about the past week's drama and only focused on what I felt last night. The pleasure that Patrick's mouth brought. And for a moment, the world was good.

After awhile, I knew I needed to get back to reality. Taking my robe, I pulled it on my body before making my way back to my room. Still in a sleepy haze, I got dressed in some shorts and a black singlet with ! In big yellow letters across it. I put a quick brush through my hair and pulled it up into a bun, pulling out a few strands.

It had become an everyday occurrence which I enjoyed greatly. Finding the boys in the kitchen, having coffee and chatting like they weren't at work. I found Patrick amongst them, causing my cheeks to burn under his eyes. A small smile appeared on his face making my heart race at the sight. I tried to be confident, pretending that last night's activity was a weekly occurrence. To the others, I pretended like everything was normal, knowing already that I couldn't handle them knowing.

"Good morning, Lizzy," Antonio greeted today, with a big grin on his face.

I frowned not understanding why. Oh God, please tell me Patrick didn't tell them? My eyes landed on Patrick who gave me a subtle shake of his head, making my worry fade away. But not my confusion.

"What's got you all cheery?" I asked, moving over to the coffee.

"Oh nothing," he sighed, dreamily, "just the idea of you whooping Patrick's ass."

Oh, the gym. Garrick must have told him about mine and Patrick's training session.

"Ah, I don't think that's how the story went," Patrick stated, confused.

"Really? That's how I remember it," Garrick corrected, sipping his coffee.

"Me too," Alberto added.

I couldn't help but laugh, taking a sip of my coffee.

"Oh and how do you remember it?" Patrick asked me, raising a brow.

"I remember you screaming like a little girl," I made up on the spot, making the guys snicker into their mugs.

"Oh, I see," Patrick narrowed his eyes at me, turning dark and out for blood.

I couldn't help but giggle into my mug both from fear and a feeling of playfulness that I hadn't felt in a while.

"Lizzy," my eyes landed on Nickola, who was squinting at me, "what's on your neck?"

I frowned, trying to looking at it myself, "what? What is it?"

Piero gasped, "Is that a hickey?"

On instinct, I covered my neck with my hand glaring at Patrick.

He had one job!

"Oh my God, did you two hook up?" Nickola asked, sounding almost like Zoey.

"Who are you?" Patrick asked him, looking him up and down in disgust.

"Calm down, Nickola. Don't get your panties in a twist," Garrick teased.

"And no," I finally answered, "I burnt myself."

The six of them, even Patrick scoffed.

"On what?" Alberto asked, shaking his head in disappointment.

"Curling iron," I answered, almost challenging him to correct me, "you don't think these curls are natural, do you?"

He raised his brow, not exactly believing me but not willing to call me out.

"I only believe that story because I know how much you hate his guts," he admitted.

Patrick's death stare didn't go a miss but Alberto just smiled and soaked it up like it was sunshine.

Ring, ring, ring

I jumped at the sound of a phone ringing, watching as the six of them dug for their phones.

"It's me," Garrick said, answering it before walking out of the room.

"How'd you sleep?" Piero asked me, making me frown.

"You know what, you guys always ask me that. How did you sleep?"

Piero, Antonio, Alberto and Nickola froze at the question. I guess they're not asked it often.

"Hey Patrick, how come you never ask us that?" Nickola asked, making the four of them turn on Patrick.

"What am I, your mother?" Patrick spat finishing up his coffee making me giggle.

"Patrick," Garrick called from the dining room doors gesturing him to come.

Patrick nodded, before following Garrick back out into the void. I felt my heart ache with worry, hoping they weren't talking about going to Mexico. I couldn't be worried about Patrick killing people let alone the Cartel killing them.

"What do you think that's about?" Antonio asked, taking his last mouthful.

"Garrick's probably got his hands full with too many hookers and needs Patrick's help deciding," Alberto huffed.

"What?" I yelled, watching the four of them freeze like a dear in the headlights.

I guess they forgot I was here.

"Garrick sleeps with prostitutes?" I asked in disbelief.

Antonio's, Piero's and Nickola's deadly gazes fell to Alberto as he was forced to explain, "Did I say that?"

"Yeah," I scoffed.

And he thought my lie was pathetic.

"You said, Garrick's probably got his hands full with too many hookers. Does Garrick see a lot of them?" I asked.

Alberto um and ah, trying to get out of the question, "not a lot."

I scoffed not believing him.

Nickola saw my anger and moved over to me, taking my arm.

"Ah, Lizzy, remember what we talked about," he whispered so the others wouldn't hear.

"Yeah it was -."

Anyway, Garrick had this girlfriend in college. Loved her more than life, that's what Patrick says anyway.

Sarah jumped in front of Garrick, got hit, died in his arms.

Oh crap. That's got to be one of the saddest things I've ever heard. Already I was seeing the bigger picture. Garrick didn't want to open himself up to anyone, so he sleeps with prostitutes who want nothing but sex. God, it wasn't disgusting. It was sad.

In my horror, I didn't notice Patrick and Garrick come back into the room.

"Eliza," Patrick started with sadness in his eyes that I hadn't seen before.

Already, I was worried and was torn between wanting to know what was going on and not knowing.

"What?" I asked, "Is it about Mexico?"

He shook his head, remaining silent.

"Then, what is it?"

He took in a deep breath, gaining some courage, "that was Brandon Walker."

Zoey's dad?

"It's your father."

I ran. I didn't know if Patrick was following me or not but I ran into the sea of nurses, doctors and patients. My eyes searched into every opened door that was available to them, searching for any sign of him. The shinning floors that continued through the long corridors, played with my head making me lose my bearings. I found the nurses' desk easily, along with two chatty women that only seemed to frustrate me more.

"Excuse me," I started, getting their attention.

One looked to be my age, the other in her thirties. They were both wearing navy jump suits and a watch pin to their right chest.

"I'm looking for Nicholas Uccello," I told them, the panic in my voice not going a miss.

"Well, do you know what ward he's been admitted too?" She asked as the other nurse started to look for his papers.

I shook my head, "I-I don't know."

"Okay, Miss. Just calm down," the nurse told me, only adding to my frustration.

"Listen, my father's just been shot okay," I growled through my teeth, my voice raising with each word.

"Hey," Patrick said softly, tugging at my arm.

I closed my eyes and took in a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down.

"If he's been shot than he's most likely going to be in the ER," the nurse informed me, trying to be helpful, I guess, "Who's his doctor?"

"I don't know, he doesn't come to the hospital much," I groaned, running my hands through my hair.

We'll never find him at this rate.

"Okay, I think I found him," the other nurse said holding some papers, "male in his late forties."

"Yes, yes," I cried, feeling the hope.

"He's just coming out of surgery but I'll take you to him, okay," she smiled, trying to comfort me anyway she could.

I sighed in relief, grateful for her help. I followed her down the corridor with Patrick, Garrick and Nickola not far behind. She stopped in front of a row of seats that faced into a set of opened double doors that opened to the ER.

"He'll be out in a bit," she told me, as I sunk down in one of the plastic seats, "would you like me to fetch you something? Coffee, cup of tea?"

I shook my head, too numb to talk.

"No thank you," Patrick answered, sitting down next to me.

I knew he was watching every move I made but I didn't have the energy to make him stop. My eyes were glued to a spot on the floor.

Why was this happening? Was it punishment for telling him that I needed space.

"Lizzy," my head turned at the sound of my name being called and spied Brandon Walker running towards me.

I stood and ran into his opened arms. His huge body brought me warmth in this uncertain time.

"What happened?" I demanded, breaking out of his arms.

"He said he wanted to be left alone," he said simply, making me cup my hand over my lips, "he was out on his balcony and..."

I shook my head stumbling back. God, this was all my fault.

"Their bringing him out of surgery, now," Brandon told me, not making me feel better.

"Did they say anything to you?" I asked him.

He shook his head, his eyes sad, "no, I'm not family."

I nodded, at least understanding that.

"Lizzy, I think -," Nickola didn't finish.

Brandon stepped aside revealing two nurses pushing a bed down the corridor. My knees buckled at the sight of my father, so pale and hooked up to a drip that one of the nurses carried. Patrick's solid body supported mine, the only thing keeping me standing.

"Are you family?" A forty year old male asked following behind them.

His white coat gave him away.

"Yes, I'm his daughter," I blurted out quickly, returning to panic.

"Hi, I'm Doctor Wright," he introduced himself, shaking my hand.

I refused to read anything into his sad face, feeling my heart already start to break.

"How is he?" I asked, begging him for the answer.

He sighed, preparing himself for the news, "He lost a lot of blood. The first bullet hit a major artery in his thigh and the second one shot through his kidney and scraped the lining of his stomach. The third bullet was the problem. It hit the side of his brain, I'm surprised he survived this long."

Survived this long?

"What are you trying to tell me? Is he going to be okay?" I asked, trying to get to the point.

He sighed again, cupping my upper arm.

God, please don't say it, please don't say it, I begged.

"He will come out of the anaesthetic," he stated, dodging the question.

"But..." I prompted, filling a lump the size of a golfball cutting off my breathing.

"I'm sorry," he said gravely, "it's likely he won't survive."

No, no, no! My inner-self screamed, no, it's Nicholas Uccello, the strongest person I knew. This couldn't be how he died? This couldn't be how it ended.

"W-well, c-can I see him," I stuttered, the tears streaming down my cheeks.

"Yes, of course," he told me, gesturing to the room.

I nodded, struggling to say thank you. Patrick supported me as I stumbled into the room, clutching my hands tightly to my chest. My mouth dropped as my eyes filled with tears at the sight of him. My stomach stirred as I looked at his face that was half covered by a white bandage holding his skull in place. A tube was stuck into his mouth giving him the oxygen that his lungs couldn't. He had a drip going into his arms and the beeping from the heart monitor was the only sound that any of us could make.

"Pappa," I cried, breaking out of Patrick's grip, clutching Pappa's smooth hand in mine, "Pappa, can you hear me?"

He didn't answer.

I sniffed, struggling to breath, "Pappa, please don't leave me. Please, you have to wake up, you have to get better."

I couldn't stop the tears as they fell on his arm. I tried to wipe them away, but there was always five more to replace them.

"I'm so sorry," I cried, rocking back and forth, trying to burn away the frustration, "I didn't mean to turn away. I didn't –."

My voice cut off, struggling to breathe. I was transported back to that library all those years ago. The room filled with wails and tears. The clouds that were dark outside. The people in black, patting my knee and telling me, your mother was a lovely person. You're being so brave. I couldn't do it again. I couldn't lose another parent.

Well, I need you to be brave like those heroes, okay. Can you do that for me? Pappa asked me, one last time.

I shook my head, answering the question in my twenty-one year-old-body.

You were brought up like a princess, my darling. Now it's time to be a queen.

I couldn't. Not anymore.

Everything I had ever done was for him. If he dies. What was it all for?

I couldn't handle the thought. I bolted.

"Eliza!" Patrick called after me.

If I get to the outside, everything stops. If I can get outside –

I didn't make it. I had only ran five feet before I collapsed on the cold floor. Tears had blinded me so I couldn't tell if people were looking at me all not. My chest felt tight and my throat was clogged. I cried out when strong arms lifted me to my knees hugging me to a body.

"Come on, not here," I heard Patrick say before he pulled me to my feet.

For a moment, we were in the dark before something clicked and light rained down on us. My eyes slowly came into focus revealing that we were now in a private room, away from everyone. Patrick sat me on the bed, shaking my shoulders.

"Stop, stop this," he ordered, as if I had a choice in the matter, "Stop, you need to be strong for him. You need to be the queen."

I shook my head, struggling to speak, "I can't. Everything I ever did was for him. M-marrying y-you. I-I can't do anything w-without him."

"You can, I've seen it," he told me, cupping my cheek as I continued to hiccup, "Wipe your tears."

His order only made it worse. It only reminded me of Pappa. His thumbs ran under my eyes, wiping them away for me.

"I can't, Patrick," I repeated, sniffing, "I-I'm not strong enough."

"You are, I know you are," he tried to convince me.

I couldn't argue with him. I could only cling to his shirt as he wiped away the tears and snot from under my nose. I groaned, trying to wipe my nose with my cardigan sleeve. By accident, my eyes landed on Patrick's, my breath being stolen by that simply look. For a second, I forgot about everything. No one, had ever looked at me in that way before. In a way that wasn't love, but affection and care. I didn't believe that I could get through this. But Patrick somehow did.

"I-it's, m-my f-fault, P-Patrick," I hiccuped, a fresh butch of tears trickling down my cheeks.

I heard him take in a sharp breath, his brows coming together. I struggled the breath as snort filled my nose once again.

The more I thought about it, the more I was convinced. I abandoned him when he needed me most. I was no better than Oscar.

"I told him I needed space, it's all my fault," I cried, clawing at his suite.

"Oh, Eliza," he sighed, not hiding his pity as he curled me into his arms, "shhh."

I shook my head against his chest, struggling to get ahold of my uneven breaths. His warmth seemed to cover me like a warm, wooly blankets, holding me close. My hands dug deeper into his chest, making sure that the last source of comfort didn't slip through my fingers.

Somehow, Patrick managed to lead me back into the room where my father lied, slowly dying. The grave looks were everywhere. Nickola looked as if he wanted to hug me, but couldn't quite make the move. I wanted to hug him too. But I knew if I did, the tears would start again.

"We, ah, found you a seat," Garrick told me, gesturing to the two plastic chairs they had probably stolen from the waiting area and placed them by my father's bedside.

I nodded, thanking him.

"And, um, one of the nurses gave us this," he said, holding out a form.

All I could do was stare at it. It was a turning off the life support form. My heart started to race, reality starting to set in.

"Thank you, Garrick," Patrick said, taking the form before gently pushing me towards the chairs.

I sat down, taking Pappa's hand in mine again.

God, please pull through, I begged, please God, please help him pull through.