Trevor Scott sat in the too small plastic and chrome chair of San Francisco’s St. Mary’s Hospital holding his best friend’s hand. Brian Campbell looked like a losing boxer in the tenth round. His complexion was chalky, his lips bruised and swollen. A long, purple gash sewn together with thick, black thread ran in a jagged line from his temple down to his chin.

He was a fucking mess.

“I want you to take care of Lil for me. I don’t want her going to some goddamn foster home.” Brian’s voice was a strained whisper as he fought for his life.

Trevor tried to ignore the standing IV’s, heart monitor, and other gadgets that were attached to his childhood buddy like long feelers of robotic insects. The sterile smell of disinfectant made his stomach churn as he took in a shaky breath. “Hey, man, you’re not checking out just yet.” Trevor aimed to keep his voice steady. “You can’t leave, Bri, you’re all Lil has left in this world. Hell,” he laughed, “you’re all I have left.”

The Campbells had always been Trevor’s second family. More of a family to him than his own parents had ever been. He’d known them since he was a five-year-old when they moved in across the street. He had been there when they’d brought Lillian home from the hospital two days after she was born; she was now a curly-headed, freckle-faced, seventeen-year-old tomboy. When his own folks died six years ago, the Campbells had taken him in, treating him like one of theirs.

He had already lost his natural parents, though there hadn’t been any great love loss there, only horrific memories, but now he had lost his surrogate parents as well. He’d be damned if he was going to lose his best friend.

“Come on, buddy.” Trevor lightly shook Brian’s shoulder when he drifted off, eyes closed, breathing erratic. “Lil needs you.”

Brian moaned in pain, letting out a few guttural coughs. Trevor nearly lost it. “Let me call the nurse. She’ll give you something for the pain.” He stood, unfolding his six-foot-four frame, years ago rail-thin, now muscle-bound, ready to make a run for the door. Brian’s hold on his hand stopped him. His brown eyes opened wide, though incoherent.

“Trevor!” It was a hoarse whisper. “Promise me that you’ll take care of Lil.”

“Yeah.” Trevor blinked several times. Pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand, he fought against the emptiness gathering in his chest. “Of course I will.” Brian’s grip relaxed.

“Thanks, bud. Now I can go in peace.” His eyelids fluttered shut again. A soft smile curved one side of his swollen mouth.

“You aren’t going anywhere.” Trevor didn’t want him to give up hope.

“Hey, don’t be bummed-out, man. I’m going to Heaven.” His smile looked weak as he said, “Least I hope so.” A laugh sputtered from his chest.

Trevor stood there by the chrome-framed hospital bed, looking down at pristine white sheets and the young man who was approximately the same color. The very man who had been his friend for the better part of their twenty-four years. He had never felt so helpless in his entire life. What was he supposed to do? Wait around until the cruel and uncaring hand of death claimed Brian Campbell just as it had Dorothy and Chester Campbell? Just as it had his own folks?

Yes, dammit, that was all he could do. That, and pray. Neither activity brought him any comfort.

Trevor swore softly, clenching his jaw against the storm of pain he was experiencing once again. A pain so intense he had hoped to never again experience such soul-ripping torment. Yet here it was for the third time in only the past twenty-four hours.

When Brian had grown quiet, too quiet, Trevor’s heart jumped into his throat. Seeing that the heart monitor was still bleeping at regular intervals, he let out a long, shaky sigh and relaxed a little, but was too tense to sit back down.

He was glad Lil wasn’t here to see this. She had flipped out last night after she heard about the car wreck. He’d nearly done the same.

Trevor’s gaze followed Brian’s labored breaths, the shallow rise and fall of his chest. The lousy drunk might add another notch to his belt before the night’s through. Brian looked bad. Real bad.

He and Lil had been invited to go along with them last night, but he’d had to work and Lil wanted to get some extra sleep before pitching at the baseball game that was to be held at the high school she attended.

She didn’t go to the game. He didn’t go to work. If they had gone to the barbecue last night, they would both more than likely be dead.

The way he felt right now, he wished he was.

Tonight Lil would go back home with him. Perhaps she would be staying at his place for the next who-knows-how-long. She’d be eighteen in just a couple of months. Knowing her, she’d double-up her hours at the department store and find a place of her own. Lil was that independent. That damn stubborn.

“Trevor?” Brian frowned as he tried to focus.

“I’m here.” Trevor bent down, closer to Brian’s pulverized face so that he could be seen. “What do you need? Just tell me. I’ll get it for you.”

“Just one more thing.” He gave a short laugh. “I sure have a lot of requests for a man whose dying, don’t I?”

“Nah. What are friends for?”

“When I go, I want you to have a Corona for me. I hear God doesn’t allow liquor in Heaven.” He smiled again, a boyish dimple appearing in his left cheek. A reminder of how young he was. Too damn young to die.

Trevor gave an amused snort. “I’ll tell you what, Bri,” he tried to keep the tears from showing in his voice, “I’ll down an entire case.”

Brian lifted a weak hand in the thumb-up position.

The next thing Trevor heard was the blare of the heart monitor. Felt Brian’s hand slip lifeless from his own. He didn’t have to look up at the howling machine to know it was flat-lining.

Brian Campbell, captain of his college football team, future psychologist, heartbreaker to at least five women a month, his very best friend, was dead.

I am not going to start bawling, Trevor counseled himself, resting his forehead on the side rail of the bed. He forced away any and all ballistic thoughts, when all he wanted to do right now was go kill the scumbag bastard that did this. But he couldn’t. Violence never solved anything, as he well knew. Absently he ran a finger over the bump on his nose, sliding the appendage under his left eye to wipe away a tear that had spilled.

Besides, he needed a clear head. He had to tell Lil. From this day forward he was now her family--and she his. They were alone in the world. All they had from this moment on was each other.

Before Trevor had a chance to ponder over any more grim thoughts, the door burst open, a froth of white and drab-green pouring through the opening, spilling over to the bed where Brian lay so still.

Somebody pushed him out of the way so they could attempt resuscitation. Voices were loud as directions were shouted. The whole scene soon reached a crescendo of frustration.

Limbs quaking and brain numb, Trevor turned around and left the medical personnel to their vain efforts of bringing back the dead.

As he stumbled down the endless corridor, he headed toward the exit, knowing he would soon be facing the toughest situation he had ever encountered: Telling Lil that her brother was dead and that he would be watching over her.

Too damn bad they’d never gotten along.

Chapter One

Eleven years later

Lil sat cross-legged on the floor while Trevor lay draped over her sofa like tinsel on a Christmas tree. Both held a white quart-sized container of their favorite Chinese food. Lil had sweet and sour shrimp with steamed rice, while Trevor devoured his Kung Pao chicken--extra spicy. This was their customary Friday night dinner get-together and in-depth conversation that was guaranteed to get the old brain cells puffing and panting.

Tonight’s topic: single motherhood.

“I mean, I’m nearly thirty-years-old,” Lil said, pointing at him with a white plastic fork. “I’ve all but given up on finding a husband. My biological clock is in its final hours. I don’t want to waste what fertile years I have left waiting for Prince Charming to come along and sweep me off my feet.” She snorted, placing the fork and empty cardboard container on the coffee table in front of her. “I could be dead and buried before he ever came along. In fact, I seriously doubt that there is a man for me out there in the world.”

“I know what you mean,” Trevor said around his last bite of chicken. “I think I’ll stay solo too, but my decision is by choice.”

“I could be a single parent.” Lil leaned back against the couch, drawing her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. “A lot of women have done it. Why not me? I’ll just find some guy I know reasonably well, that way I won’t be taking the risk of contracting some god-awful disease, ask him to go to bed with me, and when I get pregnant, cut off the relationship.” She shrugged, looking right at him. “All I want is a baby.”

“I don’t know whether or not to take you seriously.”

Lil frowned. “What do you mean by that?”

A slow shrug lifted Trevor’s shoulders. “I don’t know. Women have a strange way about them occasionally, especially at certain times during the month. They either get pissy, weepy, or, in your case, melancholy.”

“You know, you can be a real ass sometimes.” She sniffed, absently twining a finger through one of her curls.

“Okay, okay.” Trevor held up a hand, munching on his last sauce-covered peanut. “You’re looking for a surrogate father in order to create a baby. To add the final building block onto your well-structured life.”

Lil nodded.

Trevor lifted his brows. Okay, he’d go along with her on this. “You’d make a great mother. You seem ready. Fine, I’ll help you choose a father.” Lil smiled then stuck her tongue at him when he said, “Even if I do think this is a crazy-assed idea. How about Joe Reinhold over in automotive?” he asked, setting his empty container next to Lil’s on the table. He shifted into a more horizontal position, his head resting on one arm of the couch, his shoeless feet propped up on the other end.

“Have you seen his hands? All that grease?” Lil shuddered. “I wouldn’t let him touch me with a ten-foot wrench!”

Trevor let out an amused laugh.

Lil stood, lifting his sock-clad feet so she could sit on the sofa. When she was seated and comfortable, Trevor rested his legs on top of Lil’s thighs, looking at her through lowered lashes. “Comfy?” she dryly asked. When he grinned, she rolled her eyes at him, but didn’t attempt to remove the big hairy legs that were sprawled all over her.

Trevor stuck a finger in his mouth, deep in thought, then pulled it out and snapped, “I have an idea!”

Lil groaned. “Please, not another one of your lousy ideas.”

“Since when have I ever had a single lousy idea?”

She lifted a brow at him. “Oh, how about the time when you vowed to make us both rich, insisting that homemade silk was the perfect market? So, without warning, you brought over two thousand silkworms in ten different aquariums, looking at me with those sad, brown puppy eyes of yours, begging for my help. As if I knew what to do with two thousand silkworms! A number of weeks later we had a whole herd of white moths, three-hundred cocooned corpses, and not even the tiniest scrap of silk.”

Trevor grimaced. “That was different.”

“Okay. How about the time you rented a hotdog cart and had one of your blonde bimbos push it along the streets of downtown as she wore a string bikini?”

“Hey,” Trevor interrupted, “I made five hundred bucks that day selling those hotdogs.”

“True. You also lost every penny when you had to pay the fine you received for peddling without a license, and whatever-her-name-was was arrested for indecent exposure.” Lil laughed. “I do have to admit though that your gym project has come along quite well. I’m amazed at all of the arrogant muscle-heads who’ve joined in the past two years. Men!”

“Now do you want to hear my idea or not?”

“Let’s hear it, Einstein.”

Trevor feigned indignation. “How about Frank over in Electronics?”

Lil wrinkled her pert, freckled nose. “Strike up another lousy idea for Trevor Scott. He’s too wimpy.”

“Kevin Greene?” As soon as he’d said the man’s name, Trevor knew it was a bad idea.

“Kevin Greene, huh?” Lil’s lips curved in a seductive smile. He didn’t miss that wicked spark in her eyes either. “You mean hunk-of-the-month, Playgirl-centerfold, hurt-me-bad, Kevin Greene?”

Trevor frowned. “I don’t like the way you just said that.”

“Now what are you talking about?”

“In all the years I’ve known you, not once have I seen your libido kick in. It definitely won’t be Kevin Greene.”

“Oh, stop acting like a jealous brother.”

Trevor was wide-eyed as he pointed to his chest. “Jealous? Me?” He went silent before saying, “Oh, hell, maybe I am just a tad jealous, but I have to watch out for you. That man has an ego ten times bigger than his two-hundred-plus pound body and twice as many women lining up to worship him.”

“So?”

“Not Kevin.” Trevor was getting edgy.

“Why not?” Lil absently trailed a short-trimmed nail over the scar in his right knee. The surgery had been ages ago, yet he still walked with a limp whenever he was overly tired or the weather got too cold. Living in foggy San Francisco played havoc with him quite often. “It would be a night I’m sure I would never forget.” She indulged in a moment of fantasy centered on her and hunky Kevin, sweaty and tangled amongst her bed sheets. Focusing back on Trevor, she pulled one of his leg hairs, making him yelp. He knew she did it on purpose, just to bug him.

“Hey!” He reached down to rub his leg. “Better watch it, Pill.”

Lil ignored his warning and went on, saying, “I wouldn’t have to worry about getting emotionally involved with him since he only loves himself.” She grinned, displaying the same set of dimples Brian had possessed. “Besides, I’ll be getting a beautiful baby out of it.” She sighed.

“Not Kevin.” Trevor swung his feet to the floor, missing Lil’s nose by a fraction of an inch, and sat upright.

Lil frowned. “And why not, may I ask?”

Leaning forward with his forearms on his knees, fingers steepled under his beard-shadowed chin, Trevor thought hard and fast. “He’s ... uh... he’s gay.” He snapped his fingers, jerking his head in her direction. “That’s it, he’s gay!”

Lil’s mouth dropped open. “Kevin Greene? Gay? But he’s so hunky!”

Trevor got up to get himself another lite beer, mumbling, “Yeah, well, people can shock you these days.” He felt like scum telling Lil that lie, but he couldn’t bear the thought of Kevin manhandling that little body of hers as if she was nothing more than a piece of meat. Another one of his adoring groupies. Lil needed to be treated gently, worshipped tenderly, even if it was for only one night.

He opened the fridge, extracting a clear, long-necked bottle, twisting off the cap and swallowing long and deep as he studied the woman in the living room who was clearing the table of their dinner debris.

She was wearing a blue, faded football jersey. THE PILL and the number sixteen were on the front and back in big white numbers and letters, though they were now pale and cracked. He had given her that jersey for her sixteenth birthday, and was surprised that she still wore it after all these years. Each time he saw it on her he figured it would head for the garbage rather than another washing. But she was a sentimental one and continued to hold onto it.

When Lil was younger she had inherited the title of Lil the Pill; a nickname given to her by Trevor himself. He was always complaining about how she got in the way, was always a pest following him and Brian around when they were all kids. A royal pain in the ass. A pill.

As the years passed, The Pill name stuck, but Trevor no longer found her to be a pest. On the contrary, she was his very best friend. His companion. His solace. She was also a freckle-nosed, curly-headed pip-squeak who got on his nerves from time to time.

Brushing past him as he lounged in the kitchen doorway, Lil dumped the empty cartons into the orange plastic garbage can that sat next to the fridge; closing the door he’d left open, retrieving the cap off the floor that he had tossed in the general area of the trash, yet missed. “You really are quite a slob.”

She went to stand next to Trevor, absently taking the empty beer bottle he handed her, discarding it in the trash can. She walked back over to him, chewing thoughtfully on her lower lip. “That only leaves old Mr. Dower over in Linens. I’m not that desperate!”

A sigh seeped from her lungs as she went back into the living room, plopping down on the leaf-print couch. “Everyone else is married, spoken for, or otherwise unsuitable. I really want a baby, Trevor.” She cast him a woeful glance. “Isn’t there anybody who’d be willing to sleep with me a couple of times so I could get my baby?”

Pushing himself away from the doorframe, Trevor went to sit next to Lil, their bare thighs touching. “How about me?” he suggested, surprising them both.