I don't own these characters--I only borrow them on occasion.

This is a very belated birthday story for V. Thanks for being so patient. And thanks to TSL'ers--you're all the best. Sorry for the long intermission, but life's been hectic, to say the least.

This is number 10 in the Sports Series.

This story is a sequel to: Gliding Closer to Home

broken play: a play that goes awry, usually due to miscommunication.

It could have been bad karma, or one of a hundred other theories based on superstitions or pseudo-scientific hypotheses.

Or it was simply shitty timing.

Blair glanced at his friend who paced the hospital waiting room, his jaw clenched and his lips thinned in a grim line. A bandage was wrapped around Jim's left bicep and dried blood smeared his gray t-shirt. His navy blue sweatpants were ripped across the right knee and Blair could see a white bandage through the slash in the material.

Blair shifted from his own position of leaning against the wall and searched the corridor, wondering how much longer it would be until they heard something. He restrained a sigh and went back to watching Jim prowl the small area.

"It wasn't your fault, Jim," Blair reiterated for the umpteenth time since it had happened. If it was anyone's fault it was Blair's, yet nobody could've predicted how things would go down on a bright, sunny Saturday afternoon.

The detective paused his pacing only long enough to cast the younger man a glare.

Blair resisted the urge to fire back a verbal salvo. Only his clenching fists betrayed his frustration. He breathed deeply, determined to remain calm.

"Want some coffee?" Blair asked a few minutes later.

Jim shook his head tersely without breaking his stride or looking up.

Blair's annoyance rose again and he squelched it before it was released in a torrent of heated words. "I'm going to get a cup," he said instead. He turned, but paused a moment, wondering if Jim would acknowledge his departure. He didn't.

Knowing the way to the cafeteria too well, Blair walked independent of thought. He ordered a cup of sludge-like coffee and started back to the surgery's waiting area, but ended up slumped in a chair at a cafeteria table. He hated it when Jim locked him out like this. Especially now since they'd been riding a smooth wave in their relationship for almost four months. They'd become so attuned to one another, almost to the point of finishing sentences for the other. At first, Blair had been worried that Jim would be freaked out by their closeness, but the reverse had happened. While it sometimes freaked Blair, Jim seemed perfectly at ease with their connection.

If only Jim would keep that connection open when things like this happened. But, no, Jim Ellison's defensive psyche would shut out everybody--including his best friend. Such a sharp contrast from last night's long bout of lovemaking. Afterwards Blair had lain in Jim's arms, and he'd suffered more than a twinge of jealousy toward his partner's past lovers--a part of him hoped Jim had never treated them with the tender affection he treated his guide. He hoped he was special, but with Jim it was difficult to tell. From what Blair had observed, the detective tended toward old-fashioned gallantry with everyone he'd dated.

Blair folded his arms on the Formica-topped table and rested his head on them. He diverted his depressing thoughts with memories of their long weekend in the Cascade Mountains less than two weeks ago. He and Jim had gone there to cross country ski, but had ended up spending more time in their cabin than outside. To be more accurate, they'd spent the majority of the weekend in bed, on the sofa, in the oversized easy chair, and in the shower. He'd never realized how imaginative his seemingly traditional friend could be. Some of the things they'd tried...

Despite his surroundings, Blair couldn't prevent his body's reaction to the memories. He shifted restlessly and wondered if he'd ever sleep in Jim's bed again.

He veered away from that painful possibility and tried to figure out how the day, which had started out so well, had gone so wrong.

Blair awakened to find Jim's side of the bed empty and sighed in disappointment. He'd hoped to have an encore of last night's performance, but it appeared Jim had other plans.

"Breakfast in ten, Chief," Jim called up from the kitchen, obviously sensing Blair was awake.

So much for grabbing a few more minutes of sleep. Sometimes it sucked living with a sentinel but, Blair had to admit, those times were rare and getting rarer. He threw off his covers and the scent of their lovemaking rose around him. He and Jim together. Who would believe it? Often times, Blair himself had trouble grasping the concept.

After tugging on his boxers and t-shirt, Blair trudged down the steps. Jim glanced at him over his shoulder and sent him one of those brilliant smiles that never failed to bring a warm tingle to the pit of Blair's stomach. "Hey, sleepyhead."

Blair padded into the kitchen and walked into Jim's one-armed hug. He wrapped his own arms around the sentinel's waist and tilted his head upward. Jim kissed him lightly as he gave Blair a squeeze. Jim smelled like soap and toothpaste, and he was already dressed in his favorite faded jeans and a dark green polo tucked in the waistband.

"You have time for a quick shower," Jim said when they separated.

Blair glanced at the stove to see Jim's heavenly blueberry pancakes on the griddle. "What's the special occasion?"

Jim shrugged and his cheeks pinkened. "Just felt like pancakes, Chief."

"They're my favorite."

Jim studied him for a long moment, his eyes filled with affection and light. "I know." He tapped Blair's backside with the pancake turner. "Shower, Chief."

Blair rubbed the offended piece of his anatomy. "Oooh, do it again. Please."

"A kink of yours?" Jim asked, an eyebrow arched.

"You want kink, join me in the shower, Ellison," Blair said, his voice low and seductive. He was rewarded with movement in the vicinity below Jim's belt buckle.

"Sandburg, we've got a hundred things to do this morning before we meet the others at one to play football," Jim reminded even though Blair could tell he was more than a little tempted.

Blair groaned. "That's right. I forgot." He grinned impishly. "After last night, I'm surprised I even remember my name."

Jim's blush deepened, but his smile told him he felt the same.

Blair showered quickly and, with a towel wrapped around his waist and another slung over his shoulder, he hurried across the hall into his bedroom to dress. When he joined Jim five minutes later in the kitchen, his plate held two steaming pancakes and Jim had his fork poised to start eating.

"Good timing, Chief," Jim greeted.

Blair slapped his friend's shoulder companionably as he sat down. "This looks great, Jim. Thanks."

"No problem." Jim tousled his damp hair.

They ate the entire stack of pancakes Jim had made and groaned in unison when they stood to take care of the dishes. But they quickly cleaned up the kitchen, moving around one another effortlessly, hands touching and eyes caressing.

Blair had lived with Ann seven years ago, when he was twenty-one years old. He'd thought she was the one, but they'd never possessed the close camaraderie he and Jim shared. The sex hadn't been as hot either, Blair thought with a satisfied smirk. Their living arrangement had lasted five months before they split for good. Five years ago, Blair had roomed with another male student. Blair and Ethan had shared more than the rent, but it had never graduated beyond some buddy fucks when they were both horny and without dates. They remained friends and still met over drinks a few times a year, which sometimes led to a motel room and sometimes didn't. No-strings sex.

But with Jim... Blair 's emotions were tangled and chaotic. They were so much to each other: sentinel and guide; best friends; mentor and student; partners; and now lovers. There was no doubt Blair loved Jim with an intensity that equaled his love for Naomi. But was he "in love" with him? Could he "forsake all others" for Jim?

Blair didn't want to ponder such deep questions, and so continued blithely along, sharing Jim's bed more often than not and refusing to look beyond the present. To do so might jinx their relationship, however it was defined.

Jim tossed Blair his jacket and guided him out the door with a hand on his shoulder. Odd, how even such an innocent gesture could make Blair's breath quicken and his heart miss a beat. For a moment, Blair wished he could wrap his arm around Jim's waist and walk together as lovers instead of friends. But outside the privacy of walls, he and Jim fell into their buddy personas.

The first stop was the hardware store to pick up new innards for the toilet tank and some two by fours for Jim to add shelves to the basement storage area. Then it was an office supply store, and while Blair picked up some floppy disks and notebooks, Jim eyed the rows of pens like they were Wonderburgers with the works. Jim's secret obsession with pens amused Blair but in a funny, throat-tightening way. The sentinel fingered some of the writing utensils and Blair committed to memory the one that he liked the best. He'd come back later in the week and buy it for him.

The next errand was picking up the dry cleaning, and finally grocery shopping. Amid good-natured bantering about each other's food fetishes, Jim and Blair managed to finish there in half an hour.

By the time they arrived home, they had just enough time to put away their purchases and change into sweats to play football with some of the guys from the department. They met the other players at the specified park, across the street from an insurance office, a bank, and a Dairy Dream.

"Hey guys," Eddie Peppard called out.

Jim and Blair grinned at the well-built dark man as he strode toward them.

"Pep," Jim greeted, shaking his hand vigorously.

"Hi Pep," Blair added, raising a hand. "Where are Jenna and the kids?"

Pep shrugged sheepishly. "Over at Jenna's folks. I forgot about her dad's birthday. I offered to skip the game today, but Jenna knows how much I enjoy playing with the guys. I'm meeting them after we're done."

"Jenna's too good for you," Jim teased his old friend from his Vice days.

Pep rolled his eyes. "Don't I know it."

H and Rafe strolled over to join them. H was wearing stained gray sweatpants with a faded Orange Crush t-shirt, while his partner sported navy windpants and a matching zippered jacket with a blindingly white t-shirt beneath it.

Blair grinned at the divergent partners. "I didn't know you two played football."

"I play football. Rafe just looks pretty," H teased.

Rafe made a face at his partner. "You wish. I'll leave your butt in the dust."

Blair glanced at Jim who caught his eye and winked. Anybody who didn't know H and Rafe might've thought they despised one another, but beneath the "trash talk," it was obvious to their friends they liked and respected each other.

The five men strolled over to join the other seven men who'd shown up to play some touch football. Blair knew some of them, but Jim introduced him to the ones he didn't. Two detectives were from Homicide, two were from Robbery, and the remaining three were patrol cops. Major Crime had the best representation with four, and Pep was the only detective from Vice.

The dozen men divided into two groups of six, and Blair was glad that Jim surreptitiously managed to keep them on the same team. Blair had played football in high school over Naomi's protests, and what he lacked in size, he gained in speed and agility. Being a receiver, he'd managed a game-winning touchdown his last year in high school, which put the team in the state championships. But before the finals began, Naomi had decided it was time to move on again. Blair accused her of doing so to stop his participation in what she saw as a violent, aggressive sport with no social--or other---redeeming qualities. She hadn't denied his accusation. Sometimes Blair wondered if he'd ever truly forgiven her.

Blair and his teammates stripped down to their playing clothes--shorts for a few, but most everybody merely wore sweatpants and a t-shirt, including Blair and Jim. Blair searched for a hair tie, but realized he'd forgotten one. Shaking his head at his forgetfulness, he was surprised to see Jim tug a band out of his pocket. Smiling his gratitude, he tied back his hair.

Blair joined his team's huddle, one shoulder tight against Jim's, while his other side was flanked by Pep, who was to be their quarterback since they won the toss to receive the kick. In tag football everyone was a receiver on offense, and on defense everyone tried to stop the offense from getting the ball in any way but physical contact.

H kicked off and the ball tumbled toward Blair, who caught it easily and took off running toward the goal. He kept his head down, plowing ahead, until two hands tagged him between the shoulder blades.

"Gotcha," Rafe shouted.

Blair stumbled to a halt and grinned at Rafe. "Lucky tag."

Rafe slapped his shoulder. "Nah. I'm just good."

Blair sent him a good-natured scowl, and trotted back to join his teammates.

"Good run, Chief." Jim slapped his butt and Blair met his mischievous gaze. Jim clearly recognized Blair's reaction to the typical jock gesture, which was anything but typical coming from a lover.

"Your turn will come," Blair murmured under his breath, certain sentinel ears would hear him. The lecherous lift of Jim's eyebrows only raised Blair's blood temperature another few notches.

"Nice catch, Sandburg," O'Neal, one of the robbery detectives, said.

"Thanks," Blair said, his breathing a little heavier than what his run necessitated, a leftover from the undercurrent of sexual byplay with his partner.

The offense would have five downs to make a touchdown or field goal, according to touch football rules. If they didn't, the other team would take it at the line of scrimmage. The first play for Jim and Blair's team was a hand-off from Pep to Lopez, a patrol cop. He carried it only a yard before H tagged him. The next play Pep made a lateral pass to Blair, but the ball was batted down by one of the defenders. Another hand-off resulted in a gain of three yards, and Pep was tagged behind the scrimmage line on the fourth play with a loss of five yards. On their last play, the ball was snapped to Blair who punted the ball toward the goal, but was short of the uprights. The other team took over on the ten yard line where the ball dropped.

The evenly matched teams went up and down the park field without either scoring a touchdown or field goal. The day had warmed considerably, and sweat and dust mixed on the men's clothing and skin. Standing next to Jim in a close huddle, Blair was entirely too aware of Jim's familiar musky sweat odor, which acted as an aphrodisiac for the grad student. He leaned closer to the sentinel and breathed deeply, hoping no one noticed.

"You stink, Sandburg," Jim whispered close to his ear.

"So do you," Blair said, sotto voce, his meaning all too obvious to a man with heightened senses.

Jim chuckled silently. "Now you know what being around you does to me."

"No shower until later," Blair stated quietly, remembering to keep their conversation private. "Much later."

Jim's eyes widened, but before he could reply, they broke the huddle and set up their defensive line. Distracted, neither Jim nor Blair saw the quarterback sneak that allowed Rafe to score a touchdown. After much ribbing, H kicked off, and Blair forced himself to concentrate on the game and not his lover. Finally, on a reverse where Blair took it from Pep and handed it off to Jim, the sentinel ran without interference for a touchdown.

Blair slapped Jim's muscular butt and let his hand linger, sliding it across the firm contours covered by soft cotton. "Nice move, Ellison," Blair said, his eyes twinkling.

"I've got some moves for you, Chief," Jim said in a low, passion-husky voice.

Blair's groin twitched in response and the air suddenly grew thick. Then Jim was being congratulated by the rest of their teammates and teased by their opponents.

Pep picked up his watch, which he'd left on the sidelines with his sweatshirt. "Hey, guys, it's almost three and I have to go."

"You're just afraid we'll score again," H taunted.

Pep grinned. "Nah. I just don't like to see grown men cry, which you'll end up doing when we win."

"Dream on, buddy," a homicide detective on H and Rafe's team shot back.

Amidst affable bantering, the cops picked up their discarded clothing, cell phones, and pagers. As they strolled as a group toward their cars, the unmistakable sound of a gunshot broke the afternoon's calm, followed by cries of alarm. Across the street, a man was double-parked in front of the bank with the car motor running.

Jim thrust his phone at Blair. "Call it in, Chief."

"What're you going to do?" Blair demanded, fear eclipsing his smoldering awareness.

"My gun's in the truck."

Before Blair could speak, Jim was gone, followed by his fellow officers, who also carried their weapons in their vehicles.

The next seconds were a blur as gunshots suddenly erupted, followed by a jarring shove to the ground. Blair lay with his cheek pressed to the grass, the wind knocked out of him as he struggled to breathe. He was aware of exchanged gunfire, the squeal of tires, and finally, a loud crash.

Then there was a warm hand on his back and another on his forehead. "Chief, are you all right?"

Blair blinked and turned his head to find Jim kneeling beside him, his expression terrified. "Uh, yeah. Fine," Blair managed to say.

Jim helped Blair to a sitting position. Although Blair's head was ringing and his ribs ached, he didn't appear to have any serious injuries. "What happened?"

"Call an ambulance," somebody shouted.

"No," Jim breathed as he gazed past Blair, then abruptly left Blair's side.

The younger man turned to see what had caught Jim's attention, and his heart slid into his stomach. Pep lay at the edge of the street, a pool of blood forming on the concrete beside him.

A former medic, Jim quickly staunched the flow of Pep's blood even as anguish and guilt filled the sentinel's pale features.

It had been touch-and-go for Pep all the way to the hospital, but he'd survived and was now fighting for his life while the doctors and nurses fought the battle beside him. Jim had tried to find Jenna, but he didn't know her maiden name, so was unable to track down her parents. Rafe and H had volunteered to find them so they'd gone to the office to put their computers to work. All the officers who'd been playing football had given their reports, then headed home after leaving their numbers with Jim and Blair to be called when they knew more about Pep's condition.

Blair picked up his coffee cup and took a sip, but nearly gagged at its tepidness. He glanced at the clock and was shocked to find forty-five minutes had elapsed since he'd sat down. He quickly rose and tossed cup and cold coffee into a large waste container. Nearly running, he returned to the waiting room to find Jim talking with an exhausted doctor dressed in green scrubs.

"The bullet nicked his aorta. If he'd gotten here five minutes later, we might've lost him, but for now, his prognosis is good. He'll be out of commission for at least a month, but he should heal without any lasting repercussions," the doctor, a tall, slender redhead, was saying.

"Thanks," Jim said with a relieved smile. "Can I see him?"

Dr. Veronica Harmon rested a reassuring hand on Jim's arm. "He's in recovery now. You look like you could use a shower and a change of clothes, Jim. Go home, take care of yourself, and by the time you return, you can see him," she said gently, almost tenderly.

Jim frowned. "I'd rather stay since his wife hasn't been contacted yet."

A flurry down the corridor caught their attention and Blair turned to see Jenna, flanked by H and Rafe, rushing toward them.

"How is he?" Jenna demanded, stopping in front of Jim.

"He's going to be fine," Jim reassured.

Jenna's expression collapsed and her head dropped. Jim wrapped his arms around her, allowing her to cry her relief.

Blair met Jim's gaze over Jenna's shoulder, but the sentinel's eyes were curtained. For the first time in weeks he was hiding his emotions from his best friend. The knowledge hurt, and Blair quickly turned away to hide his anguish.

"What happened?" Jenna finally managed to pull herself together long enough to ask.

Jim explained, and Blair listened closely, since he had only heard bits and pieces himself.

"We heard a gunshot from the bank across the street from the park where we were playing football," Jim began. "I handed my phone to Blair to call 911 while the rest of us ran to our cars for our weapons. Next thing I know the robbers come out shooting. Blair was in the line of fire and Pep pushed him down, but got shot doing it." Jim didn't look at Blair the whole time he spoke. "One of us got a lucky shot and hit a tire on the getaway car. It crashed into a light pole, and they were arrested."

Blair's stomach churned. So that was it. Jim blamed him for his friend being shot.

Bile rose in the younger man's throat. Blair mumbled an "excuse me," and stumbled down the hall to the bathroom. Once inside, he went into a stall, closed the door and sat down, burying his head in his hands. He swallowed convulsively, hoping to contain the sour vomit.

Was it his fault that Pep had nearly died? If he'd ducked behind some cover instead of remaining in the opening, would Pep be lying in a recovery room now? Blair fought to remember the details, the time between Jim handing him the phone and the armed felons coming out of the bank. There'd been only seconds, less than a minute. Nobody had foreseen the two robbers coming out like a modern day Bonnie and Clyde.

Blair's head spun with the details, trying to sort them out, trying to figure out if Jim was justified in blaming him for Pep's near-fatal wound.

He heard the restroom door open and held his breath.

"Blair?"

He hadn't expected Jim to come looking for him. Pulling himself together as best as he could, Blair unlocked the stall door. "How's Jenna doing?" he asked in a husky voice.

Jim turned to a sink, giving his back to Blair, and turned on the faucet. "She's sitting with Pep now." He cupped his hands and splashed water on his face.

Blair yanked some paper towels from the dispenser and handed them to his sentinel. "Dial down. They're pretty rough," he said as Jim accepted them with a mumbled thanks.

Jim dabbed the towels against his face, then tossed them in the trash receptacle. He braced his hands on the sink and spoke to Blair via the mirror. "I'm going to head home and change, then come back to stay with Pep and Jenna."

"I'll come back with you," Blair volunteered immediately.

Jim shook his head. "No. I-I need some time to think."

Blair's throat felt like he swallowed broken glass. "About what?"

"Things."

"Like what?" Blair's fear made him impatient.

Jim straightened and turned to face his guide. "I should've picked up on the robbery with my senses before it went as far as it did. I was thinking about you instead of using my so-called gifts." Bitterness colored his words. "If I hadn't been thinking about what we were going to do when we got home, I would've known about the robbery early enough that no one would've been hurt."

Relieved that Jim didn't blame him, but frustrated that the sentinel blamed himself, Blair stepped into Jim's personal space. "You're only human, and humans make mistakes. Besides," he laid a hand on Jim's arm. "Even a sentinel can't be on twenty-four, seven. You need downtime just like the rest of us mere mortals." He smiled to ease his words.

Jim shook his head. "No. It's gone beyond that. Lately, I can't seem to concentrate on anyone but you when you're around. Doing that today almost got a good friend killed." Anguished sky blue eyes met Blair's gaze. "I can't let it happen again."

Blair's mouth gaped, disbelief storming through him like a hurricane. "What're you saying here, Jim? You want to call it quits?"

Jim closed his eyes and shook his head. "I don't know. I have to think, Chief."

"You're just going to throw away a three-year friendship?"

Jim swallowed and met Blair's eyes steadily. "It's not the friendship that's getting in the way."

It's the sex.

Although Jim didn't say it aloud, Blair could hear it plainly. Anger, grief, disappointment, hurt, and a hundred other emotions coursed through the grad student, leaving him empty and adrift.

"C'mon, Chief. Let's go to the loft," Jim said.

Not "home," but "the loft."

Blair nodded absently and followed Jim to the parking lot.

Blair, wrapped in his old flannel robe, remained slumped on the sofa, where he'd been for nearly three hours, ever since Jim returned to the hospital. The silence of the loft only compounded the numbness that pervaded Blair's heart.

The same questions chased through Blair's mind, like a dog chasing its tail. If Jim decided he didn't want Blair in his bed anymore, where did that leave them? Could they return to their earlier friendship? Or would everything be different now that they'd shared physical intimacy?

Blair stood and paced. Hell yes, everything was different. How could they go back to what they were when Blair's heart would break a little each time Jim spent the evening with someone else? How could Blair act normal the morning after when all he wanted was to be was the one in Jim's arms all night?

Blair paused by the patio windows and stared out across the late night sky. Darkness surrounded him inside and out. He leaned his forehead against the cool glass and wondered what decision Jim would make.

A set of headlights down on the nearly deserted street caught Blair's attention and he recognized Jim's truck as it pulled into its usual parking place. Blair returned to the sofa as his heart began to race and his stomach curled.

It seemed to take forever before Blair heard Jim's key in the door. There were no lights on in the loft, but Blair knew Jim would be able to see him. The light from the hallway splintered into the apartment, then disappeared when Jim closed the door behind him. Blair heard his keys chink in the wicker basket on the small table and the rustle of cloth as Jim removed his jacket and hung it on the coat rack by the door.

"How's Pep?" Blair asked quietly.

Jim jerked, obviously startled by his guide's presence. "I thought you were in bed."

"You should've seen me when you came in."

"I, uh, turned down my senses."

Blair shouldn't have been surprised.

"Pep woke up about an hour ago," Jim continued. "Veronica--Dr. Harmon--says he's doing exceptionally well."

"That's really good news," Blair said with quiet intensity. Although he'd only met Pep, Jenna and their two girls a few weeks ago, he'd liked them immediately. That they truly cared about Jim was another big plus in their favor. Blair's only regret was that he hadn't met them earlier. "Is there anything they need?"

"Jenna has our number," Jim replied as he walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge. "Want a beer, Chief?"

"Do I need one?" Blair asked seriously.

Jim shrugged. "Won't hurt."

That didn't bode well. "In that case, maybe you should bring me two." Blair was only half kidding.

Jim twisted the caps off two bottles and carried them into the living room. He passed one to Blair then sat down on the loveseat across from his guide cradling the other.

Blair took a long draught of the cold brew to fortify himself. "When do you want me out?"

"I don't," Jim said immediately, then shifted restlessly. "But I think we should stop sleeping together."

"Do you have a date lined up with Veronica already?" Blair couldn't halt his ugly question.

Jim frowned. "Who?"

"Dr. Harmon. Redhead. Tall. Beautiful. Just your type. You called her Veronica." Blair waved an admonishing finger at him. "Freudian slip, Jim. Classic example."

Jim leaned forward, his elbow on his thighs, and his beer held between his knees. "I've known Veronica Harmon and her husband for over five years." His sharp voice revealed annoyance.

Blair's "sorry" stuck in his throat.

"For what it's worth, I don't like this anymore than you do, but I can't keep my mind on my job if I'm thinking about screwing you," Jim said bluntly.

Blair closed his eyes at Jim's crude wording. "Funny. I always thought we were making love."

"You're right. You didn't deserve that. I'm sorry," Jim apologized quietly. He finished his beer in three more swallows. "It's been a long day and a lot has happened. Let's just go to bed and get some sleep." He stood and slapped Blair's knee companionably. "Things'll look better in the morning. They always do."

Blair listened to Jim rinse his beer bottle and toss it into the recycle bin. He heard Jim pause at the bottom of the stairs and felt the sentinel's gaze on him, but he didn't turn to meet his eyes. He couldn't.

Long after Jim went upstairs to his bed, Blair finally trudged into his tiny room beneath the stairs. They'd come so close to getting it right.

Blair's mind and heart were numb, and his body chilly as he lay there on his futon, clutching his pillow to his chest.

Alone once more.

To be continued...

End Broken Play by Romslinger: romslinger@yahoo.com

Author and story notes above.

Disclaimer: The Sentinel is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount.