Cap’s bed filled the center of the Spartan room—an island in a gray linoleum sea. Lou took in a sharp breath. He’d mentally prepared himself for this moment, but seeing his friend looking so beaten and tired hit him like a sucker punch. In spite of himself, he flashed back to the moment right before they started on the trail, when Cap had suggested they give running a rest for that day, and get their workout in the gym. Had Lou not persisted, the man would be back at Stick and Move, and Lou would probably still have his job with PWO. Cap could tell him not to blame himself all he wanted, but unless he could also change Lou’s twin live-in monsters, responsibility and guilt, it was going to be a wasted effort.

The head of the bed was slightly elevated. Eyes closed, body unmoving, Cap lay there, a magazine splayed open on his belly. Lou approached, pausing to watch the ragged rise and fall of his chest, each breath strained. One IV line in each arm was infusing fluid and piggy-backed smaller bags of medication. So far, it seemed clear that all the fluids and meds were no contest against the deadly germ savaging his leg. The leg itself, still suspended above the bed and braced inside a metal frame, was cocooned within layers of gauze, stained in the front with bloody drainage. Lou resisted the urge to unwrap the bandage and inspect the infected area, but what lay beneath the wrap wasn’t hard to imagine.

Placing a gloved hand on Cap’s muscled shoulder, Lou nudged him awake.

“Hey, sponsor-guy, it’s me.”

Cap’s eyes blinked open. He took a moment to get his bearings. Then his parched lips bowed in a thin smile.

“Can you come back in a bit?” he asked, his voice hoarse and dreamy. “I’m supposed to have a dance lesson in five minutes. Tango.”

Lou poured a cup of water from the plastic pitcher, stuck in a straw, bent the end, and helped Cap take a much-appreciated sip. He seemed to have lost ten pounds since the beginning of their ordeal.

“I spoke to your dance instructor and told her you’d reschedule,” Lou said. “She said you’re hot, so she’ll be back.”

“Good. You making meetings?”

“Don’t you even give me a chance to ask how you are?”

“The leg hurts and they can’t keep my temp down. There. Now, you getting to meetings? Don’t bother answering. I can see it in your face. Don’t trust your disease, Buck-o. Even though you think you’re an old-timer now. Don’t trust it a bit. While you’ve been growing, it’s been growing, too. I assume if you’re not going that there are problems. Work? Emily?”

Sponsors.

Like most of the other good ones, Cap had a sixth sense.

At that moment, his face scrunched up.