My dad is taken away to the ICU and I'm left in the limbo of the waiting room to fill out forms. I think there must be a special circle of hell where all they do is present you with an extremely stressful situation and then ask you to fill out a form.

I can barely remember my own name right now, much less all the information I'm asked to provide.

Somehow, I manage it though, and hand in the paperwork to the tired-looking man at the reception desk.

"Can I see him?" I ask.

"Someone will let you know," he says. "Have a seat, sir."

At least it seems to be a quiet night, as far as emergencies go. The waiting area is relatively empty. A young couple sits side by side, the man's hand wrapped in a bloody towel—another victim of the dreaded avocado, maybe, given their strong hipster vibe—and a mom and dad sit on either side of a boy with his arm held limply against his chest and tears streaking his plump brown face. From the helmet he's still wearing, I'm guessing a bike accident.

Other than these unfortunates, though, I have the place to myself. Eventually, the couple and the family are called away to be treated, and I'm left alone.

I watch the second-hand tick it's way around the plain, white-faced clock on the wall, mincing my terrible uncertainty into precisely cut intervals of time. An hour passes,  and then, somehow, I fall asleep, overcome by stress and fatigue.

The gentle brush of fingers through my hair draws me back to consciousness, and I realize I'm lying down across the top of several chairs with my head resting on something soft and warm. Opening my eyes with an effort, I come fully awake and look up into a handsome sun-browned face and a pair of green-gray eyes.

"Hey, beautiful," Isaac says, smiling down at me and continuing to comb his fingers through my hair.

I stare up at him, enjoying the dream. It feels quite real—the dried tears crusting my lashes, the way my lips crack when I try to smile, the sea-fresh scent of his skin.

It can't be real though, I tell myself. Isaac is far away, on a beach somewhere, riding the waves like a young, sea-born god.

"I wish you were here," I say, my voice a parched whisper. I take a breath and close my eyes again, letting the dream go, but it doesn't fade.

"I am here, Felix," Isaac says gently, brushing his hands over my face and making me open my eyes again. "I'm here. I'm here for you."

I sit up slowly, still unwilling to believe my senses. "You're...not a dream?" I ask. The answer is fairly obvious at this point, but it still seems impossible.

He shakes his head, his smile turning uncertain. "Isabelle called me. When she told me you had a performance, I couldn't stay away. I wouldn't miss it for anything, Felix—not even the best surfing on the planet."

"Isaac..."

I can't say more, but my voice holds what I mean.

"Hey, come here." Isaac pulls me into a hug, but I'm still a little off-balance, a little unsure that I can trust what's real, and I remain stiff and unyielding.

He waits, just holding me and not letting go, until finally my body and my mind realign, and I'm able to surrender. He feels me soften and tightens his hold just a little bit.

"Felix, I'm sorry," he says, hands stroking up and down my back. "I'm sorry I let all that shit come between us. I should've been here for you. I should've been right there, at your side. I'm sorry I ever let you go."

"How are you here?" I ask, pulling away from him slightly.

"I was at the premiere," he says. "I was right there in the front row, watching you be gorgeous on that stage. I don't think I even looked at the screen. I couldn't take my eyes off of you."

He keeps touching me as he talks, running his hands down my arms to take my hands. I'd grown accustomed to his physicality during the time we'd spent together, comfortable with the level of contact he seemed to crave; but now, after months of separation, my skin feels hyper-sensitized, and I can't decide if I want him to stop, or to never let me go again.

"After the show," he goes on, "I tried to find you, but you'd vanished. Then someone said you'd left in an ambulance, and I...I freaked."

He pauses to swallow, the muscles in his throat shifting against whatever feelings he's holding back.

"I didn't know what the hell had happened," he says. "The last time I saw you, an ambulance took you away, and I've never regretted anything as much as I regret not going with you that day. When I thought it had happened again, I was frantic. I went to the wrong hospital at first, and I couldn't find you anywhere. Finally, someone told me there was a smaller ER about the same distance from the theater on the other side of town, and I raced over here. Felix..." He pauses, taking my face between his hands. "I'm so sorry your dad's in the hospital. But I am so damn grateful it's not you."

He folds me in his arms again, and finally, at last, I fully accept the truth of his presence. I let myself be held, and I return his embrace.

"Do you know what happened?" he asks after a moment.

I let him go and shake my head, glancing over at the clock. It's been about ninety minutes since we arrived. "No. Not yet."

Even as I speak, a nurse enters the room and calls my name. I stand, and Isaac stands at my side, his arm around me, letting me rest against his strength.

The nurse's face is grim, and I brace myself for a devastating blow, but it turns out not to be as bad as I'd feared.

My dad had a heart attack. Not a massive one, but bad enough he won't be going home for a few days.

Apparently, he got over-excited during the performance, couldn't catch his breath, and it spiraled from there. He'd stepped outside so he didn't interrupt the end of the show (of all the times to be considerate) and then he'd collapsed.

Fortunately, someone saw him fall and called 911.

"Can I see him?" I ask the nurse.

She nods. "He's awake, but medicated. Don't be alarmed if he's not entirely coherent."

She leads us along a labyrinthine route to a small room. The lights are dimmed,  machines beep and hum, and my dad lies on a hospital bed, propped up with pillows. Wires and tubes trail from his arms, chest, and face, and I feel myself shrinking from the discomfort of the sight.

Isaac steadies me and pulls up the two available chairs to the side of the bed. We sit, and I take my dad's hand in mine. His skin is cool, but not cold, and he gives me a reassuring smile from behind the clear mask covering his face. He pulls it down so he can speak.

"Hey, kid. Sorry to put a damper on your big night."

I squeeze his hand. "Dad...you scared me."

"I know. Sorry. You were wonderful, though, Felix. I was so proud. It was truly a...performance to die for."

"Dad..." He has a tendency to joke at inappropriate times, and I don't think I can handle it right now.

After a while, the nurse comes back and tells him to put his mask back on, and says that we'll have to leave. I want to stay—the way my dad had stayed with me after my fall—but he won't have it.

"Go home, Felix. Rest. And you—" he looks at Isaac with a sternness I know is for show, "—you take care of my boy, you hear? At least until I get back on my feet."

"Yes, sir," Isaac replies, with equal—and in his case, genuine—solemnity.

Reluctantly, we leave. Isaac drives me back to the theater where I left my car, and then follows me to the house.

"You don't really have to stay with me," I tell him as I unlock the door. "I'm okay now."

He looks at me with an expression of undisguised, raw-nerve openness that is impossible to look away from.

"If you tell me to go, I'll go," he says, "but I meant what I told your dad. I know I've done a shitty job of it so far, but I want to be here for you from now on—to be your rock, your safe haven in the storm. I want to take care of you."

I frown at him, a bit of my old defensiveness creeping back in.

"That's sweet of you, Isaac, but I don't need anyone to take care of me," I say. "I'm fine on my own."

"I know you are," he answers softly, not coming closer, not backing away, just waiting in the liminal space of the open door. "But maybe I'm not. Please, Felix. Can we try again?"

Now that the question is out there, I'm not sure what to say.

Time has passed, things have changed.

Looking at him, I see something that I badly want, but I don't know I'm brave enough to let myself have; something that could light up my heart, but could just as easily set my world on fire.

In the end, there's really only one answer I can live with. There's not much to my world at the moment, after all.

"No, we can't try again," I say, keeping my voice gentle. "Whatever we had, we left it at the lake that day. I'm not quite the same person as I was then, and neither are you."

"Felix..." Isaac's face is an image of hurt, but I continue before it can go too deep.

"We can't try again, Isaac," I say, "but if you're willing, maybe we can pick up the pieces, and we can try something new."

Slowly, his face lights, brightening like the sun breaking through clouds. He steps closer, so we're almost, but not quite, touching, and waits with a smile playing on his lips.

Returning it with my own smile, I close the final gap between us; and as I stand in our shared embrace, I realize that—more than any place, even more than the house that waits at my back—it feels like home.